in which, you have do not have a crush on your brother's best friend, jake; decelis high's golden boy, campus crush, and football superstar.
because that would be ridiculous.
...right? OR
the one where two oblivious idiots fall in love while everyone around them patiently waits to collect their betting money.
byr : brothersbsf!jake x f!reader, romcom, fluff, friends to lovers, brother's best friend, mutual pining, high school au, idiots in love
wc : 7147 words (i got carried away, it was supposed to be 4k)
masterlist 𐙚 tl is always open ; reblogs are appreciated!
sim jaeyun, or better known as jake, was decelis high’s golden boy.
the man was the star football player, smart, rich, popular, and surrounded by a group of friends so tightly knit that watching them felt like a sitcom. he was the “golden retriever” of the group– or perhaps even the school. the happy-go-lucky boy who made every room he entered a little brighter with his loud personality and bright smile.
and the campus crush, of course. the kind acts, and the charming smile brought a number of girls flocking towards him.
then there was you, yang y/n, the older sister of yang jungwon. you weren’t exactly a favorite of the people. not that you were a bitch– god no– you were simply a little too direct, straightforward, and somewhat cold; the type who made people think twice before starting a conversation. by sophomore year, people had decided you were somewhat of an enigma.
you were the type of girl people thought twice about asking a pen from. and jake was the type of guy they’d wave at in the hallways and ask for help even if it’s for dumb things.
you were the beauty they observed from afar. you had that “untouchable” air around you. the quiet confidence you carried yourself with made your presence known and respected. it was only the coldness in your eyes that drove people away.
it didn’t bother you much. you preferred being alone or surrounded by your group of friends.
and you weren’t a stranger to jake. how could you be?
your younger brother became friends with him when you were in middle school. and since then, the whole friend group, seven guys all with different styles and personalities, would come to your house every wednesday and friday after school.
they were a lively bunch, often inviting you to their frequent movie nights or game nights when they came over, and you did comply a couple of times.
and of course there was the fateful day, just a day before jake’s birthday. they had invited you to their movie night as usual and none of your friends were free either, so you joined them. you sat down on the floor, pillow in your lap, back resting against the sofa.
the movie, sunoo’s pick, was a romance and slow paced one. honestly, it was flat out boring and unintresting.
not even half way through the movie, you had to fight to keep you head up– you tried, really did– but eventually, it was all in vain. you fell asleep. where you may ask?
ding ding ding!
sim jaeyun’s shoulder.
he woke you up when the movie ended, apologising and teasing, saying he had to go home and your shoulder was crushing him– but his voice? it was too soft to be “casual”. you jerked back, the drowsiness earlier gone– your cheeks turned red with embarrassment and your mouth open with horror.
for a second, you swore the room seemed as if it had suddenly gone silent. but he just laughed and pinched your cheeks, ruffled your hair, whispered, “close the mouth, you might drool” all before standing to walk out.
you sat there, glued to the floor, flushed as you watched all the boys leave.
jungwon turned to you when it was finally just the both of you, “what was that, huh?”
“nothing!” you said. your voice came out a little louder than you intended it to. he just smirked, eye-brow raised as he gestured to your red ears.
you grab the nearest thing to you, which so happens to be a pillow, and throw it at his face.
he laughed, muttering something teasingly as you got up quickly, fanning your face, profusely blushing– the embarrassment getting worse.
letting the door fall shut, you walked into your room and fall face flat onto your bed.
you cursed, how could you fall asleep on jake sim of all people? and goddamn it, why was he actually pretty cute? you screamed into your pillow, frustrated because you can’t find jake sim cute. he’s your classmate and your brother’s friend.
a horrific thought crossed your mind.
you didn’t like him. right?
you couldn’t. crushes were lame. and boyfriends were uncool, useless and a distraction. you always said so, since you were twelve.
that was two months ago.
now you’re making it your mission to ignore him. it wasn’t going really well though. how can you possibly ignore someone when they go to your school, is your classmate, friends with your brother– and should be charged rent for how often he was in your house.
no matter how hard you tried, the butterflies always came back. with every greeting, with every stupid puppy-like smile, every invitation for you to join them for dinner, or their movie nights, or their game nights, or– well, you get the point.
the kids in your school would freak out if they found out the yang y/n acted like a human who couldn’t function, couldn’t work and gosh couldn’t stop getting flustered around a certain boy.
oh how humiliating it would be.
eventually your two friends, yunah and sora, found out about your “not” crush on jake on your weekly trip to the local mcdonalds. and, oh my god, they could not stop cheesing.
“aww, our baby girl has finally grown up,” yunah gushed, smiling so wide you wondered whether her cheeks hurt.
sora wasn’t any better. she giggled, elbowed your ribs, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly.
rolling your eyes, you repied, “it’s not a crush. i don’t like him,” before aggressively biting a fry.
“sure it isn’t babe. that’s why you get all nervous every time he enters the room, or challenges you in class, or—” sora was interrupted by your whiny screech.
the two girls couldn’t help but burst out laughing, watching their dear best friend malfunctioning at a not-so-crush on a certain boy.
“okay, fine! maybe i do have a crush. but it’s only a little one. and it WILL go away. i can’t stand this,” you admit. finally.
“right. and that’s what they all say,” yunah said, smiling cheekily.
you elbowed the girl beside you, only making her laugh more. you groaned, letting your head drop to the table, hiding your face from them.
“Y/N!”
oh no. jake. you freeze. you turn around and see the man running towards you. you pause your music, pulling your earbud out as he stops in front of you.
“hi,” he says.
“hi,” you reply, keeping your tone flat and uninterested.
“ouch, y/n. why so bored?” he says, feigning hurt. “i thought we were friends.” he moves to walk ahead of you.
“oh, is it so? i didn’t think so,” you say, rolling your eyes. his smile only widens, and he turns to walk backwards so he is facing you.
“jake, walk properly. you’re going to trip over something,” you say, eyes narrowing.
“oh! she cares,” jake says, cheering like his favourite football team won. you can’t help but let out a small giggle at his antics. but what you fail to see is that jake sim’s smile widens as he watches you giggle.
“why are you even here, sim?” you ask, trying to sound bored, though you aren’t able to crush the smile that has already formed.
“why, i’m here to accompany the dear lady on her voyage to her great home, for i” he pauses dramatically, pointing at himself, “am a gentleman and am also going to meet her dearest younger brother, yang jungwon.” he finishes with a tiny little bow in your direction.
you roll your eyes. “you? a gentleman? didn’t you and sunghoon throw sunoo in the pool three days ago?”
sighing, he says, “i recall no such thing, m’lady,” and lies. and he says all this while delivering a cheeky wink.
“of course you don’t, was it a technical malfunction because of gravity?” you ask, eyes attempting to look serious but there is a small laugh in your voice.
jake only laughs, shaking his head, running his hand through his hair.
when you reach your house, he runs ahead to push the door open for you. you mutter a quick thanks, ears turning red, silently praying he won’t notice.
you sprint up to your room, so you don’t see that jake’s cheeks have also faintly flushed pink.
you shut the door behind you, throw your bag on the bed and slide down to the floor, covering your face.
“i can’t be acting like this over jake! it’s so embarrassing,” you whisper, scared that saying it any louder will expose your crush on the man.
a couple of minutes later, a knock on your door pulls you out of your trance. you pull open the door and are met with your brother’s face.
“come down, we’re ordering pizza,” he says, not waiting for a reply before turning around and walking downstairs again.
you make your way downstairs, fixing your hair as you go. your heart is still beating a little faster than normal because of a certain boy and his antics, and you’re walking towards him right now.
shit. do you look good? you hope you do. because– actually, you don’t know why. he’s seen you in worse attire.
“there she is. the lady, the woman, the icon,” sunoo’s loud voice greets you as you step into the room, and it is also the last thing you hear before you find yourself in a bone crushing hug from said boy.
a small laugh leaves your lips, as you ruffle the younger boy’s hair before greeting the rest of the room.
heeseung smiles at you, greeting you with a side hug, before asking “what pizza would you like?”
“i’m not sur—” you begin to say, but jay shoves the phone in your hand letting you scroll through the options yourself. you thank him, pulling out of heeseung’s embrace and collapsing on the sofa beside your brother.
placing your order, you hand the phone to sunghoon, who sticks his hand out for you, clicking his tongue in impatience, teasing you for being so slow. you smack his hand lightly, watching as he feigns hurt, sending the room into bursts of laughter.
ni-ki– the youngest of the group– true to his age and flings himself onto the sofa, landing on everybody with a small “oof”
groans and cries fill the room, cursing the younger boy. he yells in protest as everyone pushes him down.
as jake pulls out a deck of uno cards from his bag, you ask “why do you even have that?” sliding down onto the floor alongside sunghoon.
he grins, “preparation.” was all he offered.
jungwon and heeseung bring out the drinks as everyone not-so patiently waits for the food. during the third game of uno– after multiple accusations of cheating, dramatic threats to end friendships, and cries of frustration and happiness– the pizza finally arrives, much to everyone's happiness.
“thank the lord, my stomach’s been growling like i haven’t fed it for years.” heeseung groans dramatically, lying down on the floor, clutching his stomach.
cans of soft drinks and boxes of pizza are spread all around you, and of course no plates, because at the end of the day you guys are still lazy high school students who hate doing the dishes.
the hum of something upbeat plays softly in the background, but no one really pays it any mind; everyone is busy stuffing themselves full and talking their hearts out.
at the moment, jay and sunghoon are arguing about some assignment and the rest of the room is just passing comments and watching, occasionally giggling at them. you shift closer to sunghoon, and without looking away from jay, he scoots over to make room. you grab the can from his hand and take a sip. sunghoon lets you, too caught up, trying to prove his point.
you giggle, watching jay animatedly mimic sunghoon, and pass the drink back. without even pausing for a moment, he grabs it and takes a swig before placing it down on the floor, his his hands flying wildly as he loudly threatens jay.
the whole group is clutching their stomachs, falling backwards laughing and enjoying the argument. well, everyone except jake. his eyes are fixed on the can sunghoon placed on the ground.
a faint trace of your lipgloss was left on the can. the very same spot you had taken a sip out of? sunghoon had taken one too.
it was stupid really. very stupid. but he couldn’t stop staring at the can’s rim and he couldn't figure out why his stomach twisted so uncomfortably.
a particularly loud laugh breaks through the room, but his eyes snap towards your figure. he doesn’t know why you’re laughing, but he does know he wishes he caused it instead. and he really wished it was him you were leaning on instead.
he plays along, laughing as well. he moves to grab another slice of pizza when his hand brushes yours. sparks shoot through his body. he pulls his hand away, muttering a quick sorry, pushing the slice towards you. you stare at him for a second, grabbing the slice. your smile widens a little more.
a warm feeling engulfs you, and without your knowledge your smile widens as well. you hum along to the song playing in the background, suddenly feeling a little happier.
sunghoon turns to you and raises an eye-brow. as if asking why the sudden increase in happiness. amongst the screaming chaos, he lowers his head to hear you better.
and ni-ki, always the menace, notices. big mistake. “sunghoon making them moves,” he teases, his voice exaggerating every syllable.
you only roll your eyes and sunghoon threatens to hit the kid, but no one realises how jake’s smile has disappeared from his face.
“okay guys, pack it up. it’s getting really late.” heeseung announces. “ni-ki, sunoo, i’m dropping the two of you,” he informs, as he gets up picking up the empty boxes of pizza walking past the rest of you, to the kitchen. you follow the man, grabbing a bunch of empty cans, and jake joins you.
you walk in silence, shoulders brushing, to the kitchen. and god, that shouldn’t give you butterflies. but it does. you’re absolutely screwed.
pen spinning in your hand, you’re trying your best not to fall asleep in class. yunah is dozing off right beside you, and you sigh. you’re watching the clock tick on the wall, wishing time goes faster.
slumping against the chair as you watch jake answer something you don’t even know the question of.
god, he looks so pretty with the sleeves of his hoodie rolled back and those thick black framed glasses with his fluffy hair falling into his eyes.
with ten minutes to spare, your teacher announces a group project worth forty-five percent of your grade. you rolling your eyes, because god. you hate group projects.
“yang y/n, don’t roll your eyes.” your teachers colds, because of course he had to notice. you mutter a quick sorry, before you turn towards your best friend, opening your mouth to ask her to be partners.
your teacher clears his throat, getting the class’s attention once more. “before you decide who to partner with, i’ve already assigned—” and he is cut off by loud groans and whines.
he only shakes his head, “i know, you guys are never happy. i’ll announce the groups and no changes will be made. these groups are final.” he says, his eyes narrowing and moving across the room, as if waiting for anyone to disagree with him.
you let your head fall to the table, a group project. with your classmates. amazing.
he starts announcing groups one-by-one. “kim nari, park juhoon, kang…”
four or five groups later, yunah perks up as she hears her name, and immediately lets out a disappointed moan when she realises the two of you weren’t paired together.
bouncing your leg, you get increasingly anxious watching all the tolerable people in your class get put into teams.
god, you hoped you got a good group.
“sim jaeyun, choi jiwoo, park sunghoon and yang y/n.” the teacher announces, finally.
you heave a sigh of relief as you learn sunghoon and jake were in your group. you didn’t talk to jiwoo but she seemed like a nice girl. but the thought of working with jake? made you a little nervous.
the bell rings, and the teacher walks out– the last class finally dismissed. you sling your bag over your shoulder, walking out with yunah.
feeling a slight tap against your shoulder, you spin around to see choi jiwoo in front of you. you only tilt your head, waiting for her to speak as you wave yunah off.
“uhm–” she stutters, “i need your instagram? or number, preferably? for the project?” she speaks, her voice soft, but sounding a little unsure.
“yeah, sure.” you say, “could i have your phone? i’ll add it in.” the girl fumbles a little with her bag, as if shocked you were so easy to convince– or for that matter– talk to. you type in your name and number, then save it. she thanks you, and you brush it off, turning around to go find your friends.
you’re drying your hair when you notice you’re in a group chat. you pick your phone up, realising it was the one for the project. everyone is active, how convenient, you think.
unknown
hi guys! it’s me jiwoo, is it fine if we meet up tom after school for the project?
in the library, if everyone’s good with that!
sunghoon
sure
jake
of course!
you reply with a thumbs up, making a mental note to postpone your dinner with jungwon for tomorrow.
and that’s how you find yourself seated across from sim jaeyun at four-o-clock the next evening. the four of you quickly decide on how to split the work, and then settle to do your work. it wasn’t a difficult project, it was just a little lengthy.
the four of you work in silence, the only noise noise comes from keyboards clicking and pages turning.
the silence only lasts for about forty minutes before sunghoon starts twisting in his seat, complainging about his back being stiff. everyone cracks a smile at his statement, and jake snorts. “it’s the grandpa in you,” he mocks, his grin only widening when sunghoon glares at him.
“i’m going to go get some drinks and snacks from the cafe across the campus. what do you guys want?” sunghoon asks, getting up from his seat, grabbing his phone and wallet from his bag.
once he leaves, you shift your attention back to your screen, reading through the article, looking for points to support your arguments. that’s when you feel jiwoo’s eyes on you. the girl sitting next to you stops typing, stares at her screen, then deletes a whole paragraph. scribbles something down, then scratches it.
she lets out a little frustrated sigh, before glancing at you once more. she opens her mouth, as if to say something, but shuts it– thinking better of it.
you glance towards her and she averts her eyes, choosing to focus on her screen instead. you tap the desk once, gaining her attention. “need something?” you ask, voice light.
“uhh, yeah actually. thank you. i’m kinda stuck here.” she says, pushing her screen towards you. you hum, looking at her screen. “see here?” you say, pointing at her screen. she nods, watching you with utmost attention.
you explain her mistake to her carefully, making sure she understands where she went wrong, and pointing her toward the section she should cite. understanding dawns her face when she gets it. she smiles brightly and thanks you, and you just nod, turning back to your screen.
you get up from your seat, muttering something about getting a book. you stretch as you search for the book you need, smiling slightly when you find it.
you take the longer way back, wanting to stretch your legs out properly. and when you reach the table, your eyes narrow and your jaw clenches. because apparently jake migrated to your spot and claimed it his– during your little stroll around the library– to sit next to jiwoo. and they were sitting so close.
you walk closer, watching jiwoo giggle at something jake said. lord since when does he smile that wide? and holy shit, jiwoo. he cannot be that funny, you thought. they didn’t even realise you reached the table, until you cleared your throat.
“sorry, she just need some help, i hope you don’t mind me taking your spot,” jake says, his grin not fading.
you only nod, pulling your things towards you, before taking a seat in his chair.
jiwoo’s eyes shoot towards you for a second, watching your reaction before deciding you were fine and then going back to listening to jake. and you focused back on your work. but suddenly, it seems as if you lost all the willpower to work because you can’t seem to ignore the way jake and jiwoo are speaking, forgetting your presence as if you weren’t even there!
you sigh, removing your glasses and rubbing your eyes. you stretch and when you open your eyes, a cold coffee materializes in front of you. you turn around, to be greeted by the sight of sunghoon– the world’s slowest delivery boy– giving everyone else's drinks.
you thank him, but even to your own ears your voice comes out flatter than usual. he still catches it, raising an eyebrow, questioning your tone. you shake your head, trying to tell him it’s nothing. but you weren’t able to stop the way your eyes flicked to the pair sitting across you.
understanding dawns on sunghoon’s face, and a cheeky grin begins to form. he takes a seat beside you, trying to stop laughing.
jake notices, and asks “what’s up? why do you look like you're laugh away from taking a shit in your pants? ” sunghoon snorts and waves his question off, glancing around the table, catching you crack a small smile while jiwoo bursts into laughter.
the table quiets again, everyone getting absorbed in their work. well, everyone except sunghoon. that man was buzzing with the urge to say something, and only you knew what it was.
kissing your teeth, you suck in a sharp breath, rolling your eyes as you feel sunghoon’s gaze on you once again. you watch him choose to stare at jake from the corner of your eye– after disguising a snicker as a cough.
jake looks up, catching sunghoon stare at him with a smirk on his face. he lifts an eyebrow, tilting his head only for sunghoon to ignore him, who instead chooses to take a sip from his drink.
you spend the next hour, controlling the urge to hit sunghoon and avoid glancing at jake and jiwoo interact. and that goal? not going very well. your eyes keep shifting upwards– but you convince yourself it’s because they’re seated right in front of you. and not because you're jealous or anything. because that would be ridiculous. …right? you can’t be jealous. you aren’t even dating.
because you would never date jake sim right? you can’t. that’s weird.
when the clock hits six, jiwoo rises after packing her things, “i have to leave, i have practice in sometime. text me updates on what you do, and when we meet next! bye!”
she leaves quickly, leaving it to you, sunghoon, and jake.
“so?” sunghoon says, in that specific tone that has you resisting the urge to kick him under the table.
“so, what?” jake and you reply at the same time. you glance at him through the corner of your eyes, only to find him already looking. your face warms. and sunghoon catches it all. of course he does.
“are we going to continue working? or call it a day?” sunghoon asks, trying too hard to keep his tone casual. and you could have sworn that was not what he was going to say. but thank god he didn’t. because if he had, you might have actually jumped at him.
jake, somehow oblivious as ever, questions none of his friend’s weird behavior– and yours for the fact– and replies “we can leave, i’m kind of tired too, i might go mad soon” earning a tired laugh from you.
busy packing away your things, you fail to see the way jake pauses just to watch you laugh. jake’s eyes flick towards sunghoon, who is trying not to laugh and smirks at him, and raises an eyebrow when he catches jake’s eye.
“what?” jake mouths, confused at the other boy’s teasing actions. what could he possibly being teasing him about?
sunghoon’s smirk widens further, and let out a small laugh, gaining your attention as well.
you stare at him, unimpressed and annoyed, and jake looks at his best friend confused and slightly irritated.
the three of you walk out, casually talking about the latest gossip going around your grade. though the guys were more invested in it than you were. whoever decided women gossip more than men needs to get themselves some proper guy friends.
mid-way through the conversation, when you’re about five minutes out of the building, jake stops. he frantically pats his pockets, while a look of horror flashes on his face. “i left my phone in the building,” he groans.
“go get it then, puppy boy. should we wait?” sunghoon asks, as he stops– turning towards the other boy. jake shakes his head, telling you and sunghoon to move on and that he’ll catch up with the two of you. you shrug, telling him you'd walk slowly, and he just smiles and sprints the opposite direction and into the building.
and that was your big mistake. the moment the boy was out of earshot, sunghoon turns to you as you begin to walk. a grin that makes your hands itch to hit him forms on his face, and you knew he'd finally found the opportunity he'd been waiting for.
“so,” he begins. and this time, you deliver a light punch to his side. shooting him a glare, as if saying ‘don’t even try’. he doesn’t get the hint– or he just doesn’t care, and says “you and jake, huh?”
watching your ears turn red, his smirk widens further. “well well well, what do we have here? the yang y/n blushing over a man? much less her brother’s best friend. oh! what a sight to— OW!” he screams, clutching his arm in pain as he jumps slightly away from you. he looks at you in shock and then looks at his arm and the tiny little mark of where you pinched him. you simply stare at him, face burning.
honestly? you just prayed you weren’t in competition to be the brightest tomato in existence. your glare sharpens, watching the man double down, clutching his stomach in laughter. sunghoon’s wheezing when he finally gets up, and slings an arm over your shoulder.
“oh c’mon. it’s not the end of the world, jake’s a really good guy, yeah? and i’m not saying this because he’s my bestfriend, scout’s honour.” he says lifting his other hand and placing it on his chest, solemnly– as if he was pledging to the country’s honour. you groan, trying to duck out from beneath his arm, but Sunghoon only laughs and tightens his grip for another second.
and what neither of you notices is jake returning, his chest slightly heaving. and his jaw clenches, watching sunghoon’s arm around you and— wait. were you blushing? jake couldn’t help but feel angry. and his stomach twists, uncomfortably. because that’s his best friend, not some random dude. he stops in his tracks, his phone falling from his hand.
you turn at the sound, and pull yourself out of sunghoon’s embrace. you turn even more red, watching jake scramble to pick up his phone. your eyes shift between sunghoon and jake, praying he didn’t hear a word of the conversation you just had.
sunghoon opens his arms, his grin widening. you could basically hear him think, ‘perfect timing’. “jakey-poo, my boy!” he says, running towards jake like a heartbroken wife of a man sent off to the military. and jake, because he refuses to show his upset mood, hugs him back. and on sunghoon’s hoodie? he catches the very faint smell of your perfume. his jaw clenches, and he breathes in heavily, trying to calm himself– because he shouldn't feel like this.
you just watch the two of them hug, rolling your eyes. when you click your tongue, sunghoon looks up, smirks and says, “you’re just jealous because i have someone who'll put up with me and will hug me.” and he does all this while clutching jake a little harder.
his grin widens and he sees your eyes narrow.
“okay, boys. pack it up, we don’t have time for you to make-out right now. i have a dinner to attend and i don’t want to be anymore late than i am. and if i miss the bus, i’ll make sure the two of you won’t hear the end of it,” you say, clapping your hands and sharpening your glare.
sunghoon releases jake from his grip, jumping slightly to mimic a sailor listening to his captains command, “aye-aye captain!” he says, pulling jake along with him to match your strides.
all this while, jake hasn’t said a word. his hands stayed clenched at his sides, and his jaw clenched slightly. all that good mood from earlier disappeared within five minutes.
you wave the two boys off with a small smile, when you get on the bus. they watch the bus begin to move before walking back home together. normally, it’s loud, chaotic and filled with teasing each other about something dumb. but right now? it’s a one-sided conversation.
sunghoon is the only one contributing to the noise, talking about something dumb that happened in a league match between him and heeseung. jake doesn’t miss the way sunghoon keeps glancing at him, but he cannot find it in him to act normal.
five minutes into the walk, sunghoon stops, grabbing jake’s elbow and forcing jake to turn towards him. “okay, we aren’t doing this. what’s going on? you were fine like sometime ago. what crawled up your ass in the span of fifteen minutes.”
jake just huffs, rolling his eyes, “i don’t know, maybe you were too busy to realise.” he begins to walk, leaving sunghoon standing there alone.
he catches up with two long strides, “what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“you,” jake replies, without turning to look at his best friend.
“me?” sunghoon repeats, pointing at himself. “what did i do?”
jake glances at sunghoon, releasing an irritated breath, “don’t act stupid.”
sunghoon just stares at him, bewildered. then, like someone flipped a switch, understanding dawns on his face and a sly grin forms.
“jakey-poo, are you jealous?” he snickers. jake turns towards his best friend so fast, his neck cracked.
“what? no.” he pauses, “why the hell would i be jealous. you can do whatever you want with her. not like you haven’t already,” he raps out, his ears turning bright.
“uh-huh. then why are you so pressed?” sunghoon asks, but he’s speaking like he already knows something jake doesn’t. he’s withholding some information. and that pisses him off more.
“i’m not actually. i’m perfectly chill,” jake says, trying to make himself sound casual. but even his own ears don’t believe it. sunghoon just raises his eyebrow, questioning it.
“oh really? that’s why you said ‘not like i haven’t already’? then tell me– if it doesn’t bother you– what i did.”
jake clicks his tongue, refusing to speak. “c’mon puppy boy, i can wait for you all day.”
“you’re all so– so close, yeah? two days ago at their house, today. whenever. i don’t know.” jake spits out.
“jake, my darling, my dear bestfriend. we’ve always been so close.” sunghoon says, his tone dramatic as always.
“so?”
“so? why does it bother you know?”
sunghoon only meets with silence. jake still isn’t looking at him and he waits, before he continues.
“it didn’t bother you last year. hell, it didn’t bother you half a year ago,” he pauses, letting his words sink in. “so what changed now?”
jake’s steps falter for a moment, before he resumes walking. he couldn’t even say anything. because it was true. sunghoon and y/n have always been close. and it was also true he just started becoming aware of it. before? he never batted an eye when she hugged sunghoon, or laughed with him, or teased him. but now? it brings something mean inside him.
“jake, you don’t get jealous because she’s around me. you get jealous because you wish she was around you, instead.”
jake stops. just stops walking. his fingers clutch the strap of his bag a little tighter. because sunghoon wasn’t speaking bullshit, he was confirming something jake already subconsciously knew.
and sunghoon, he just waited patiently beside jake. watching him, carefully. but made sure not to pressurise him into anything.
the road seems to quiet for a moment. “oh.” was the only sound that left jake’s mouth. and at that, sunghoon smiles and claps him on the back, “took you long enough,” he laughs. and jake? couldn’t help but laugh too.
“i’m sorry i got annoyed, it was weird of me.” jake apologizes.
“dude, don’t worry about it. it happens, not to me obviously– i’m too perfect for all of that, but–” and he was cut off by jake elbowing him in the ribs and the two of them burst out laughing.
over the next few days? your crush on jake seems to grow.
not because he suddenly did something new. it just felt like he was a little more intentional with his actions and words. but you were pretty sure you were imagining it, because jake’s a nice guy. and you’re just confusing it because you like him.
he walks you back home– or to the bus stop– more often these days, always saying he was going the same way anyways. but then again, with how often he was at your house– it just might be true. the way you seem to catch his eyes in the hallways more often. the way his gaze always found you, when he entered your house, before sending a bright smile towards you.
and suddenly, you were more aware of the way he remembered things about you. he remembered the way you take your coffee– extra milk, less sugar– but he’d seen you order it for years, the specific brand of pens you like, the fact that you always forgot a hair tie somewhere. but it didn’t mean anything. right? jake was just observant and kind to everyone, he did it without ceremony and without thought. he did it like it was effortless, and as simple as breathing.
sometimes, at home, when the guys are around, every time you laugh, you feel his eyes on you. not in a weird way. but just a quick glance, before looking away again.
maybe you were just noticing it now because of your stupid little crush.
so when he joined you on your walk back home on a friday evening, you didn’t think anything of it. the sky was cloudy, and gloomy. and the weather was your favourite. so you chose to walk back, instead of taking the bus. and jake? he just followed, because you assumed he was going the same way.
he followed you, unquestioning, when you walked past the bus stop– despite knowing neither of you had carried an umbrella and could get drenched in the rain.
the walk was quiet today. none of the regular banter the two of you usually shared. and strangely enough, you were very grateful for it.
then without much ceremony, the rain begins to fall. not pouring, but enough for their clothes to start getting wet. and enough to make you smile. you laugh feeling the rain on your skin. stopping for a moment, just basking in the feeling of the water hitting your skin.
and jake stops beside you. smiling, as he watches you enjoy the rain. he doesn't seem to care that he's getting soaked too. his attention never leaves you.
he stands there, arms crossed in the rain watching you twirl around, hair let loose and getting soaked in the rain.
then you stop, “what?” you ask, catching him watch you.
he just shrugs, smile widening. “nothing,” he says.
you just tilt your head at him, but the grin? it never leaves your face. and jake? his heart started to melt.
“actually,” he blurts out.
you wait, watching him. and he feels your attention on him. he sighs before speaking.
“i was going to wait for a better time, but i guess you had other plans,” he starts.
“me?” you ask, confused.
jake laughs, “yes, you, y/n.”
“what did i do?” you ask.
“you made me fall for you.” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
you freeze. “what…” was all you could say.
and jake’s heart drops to his ass. oh no, did he just ruin years worth of friendship? was this going to make it awk—
“are you joking?” you interrupt his inner monologue. you ask like you’re genuinely shocked. like it’s something you never ever considered before.
he laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, “no, uhm, i’m not. i really like you, for real. and uh, it’s okay if you don’t like me ba–”
“jake.” he stops, looking up.
“shut up.” he starts panicking, overthinking everything.
“you dumbass, i’ve liked you for so long too. since– since the movie incident actually.” you say.
jake lights up hearing your words, like you just handed him the world. “the movie incident? like the one where you accidentally fell asleep on me?” he’s smiling now, the teasing grin and tone back.
“shut up, don’t remind me” you say, rolling your eyes– but you can’t stop smiling. his grin widens, and he steps closer. “hey! you brought it up,” he says, laughing and he offers his hand to you.
you take it, intertwining your fingers. you gasp and stumble against him when he pulls you closer. he laughs as you hit his chest with your free hand.
he spins you around, and you giggle. and you’re suddenly aware of the way his eyes are on you, unwavering and filled with so much admiration. his arm sneaks around your waist, pulling undeniably close. his eyes flicker to your lips for a second before settling back on your eyes. your hands finds its way onto his chest.
his gaze lingers for a moment, searching yours before asking, “can i?” and the world around you seems to quiet.
he waits as you try to find the words, but they get stuck in your throat. so you nod. and he smiles, “thank you,” before leaning towards you slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.
you don’t. instead your hands wrap around his neck, and you stand on the tips of your toes as you meet him half way. his free hand cups your jaw as he finally kisses you.
his lips are warm despite the cold, and it’s so gentle– like he’s still in shock that this is all real. the kiss is everything you hadn't realised you'd been hoping for. soft. unhurried. gentle enough to make you wonder why you'd spent so many months pretending you didn't like him.
his forehead rests against yours for the briefest moment before he closes the distance again. this kiss is a little surer than the first, lingering just long enough to make your heart race. his thumb brushes lightly across your cheek, and you smile against his lips.
his arm around your waist tightens ever so slightly, steadying you as your knees threaten to give out. and god, you're suddenly very grateful for the hold he has on your waist. you're pretty sure he can feel your heart pounding against his chest.
when you finally pull away, you’re still in his embrace and your arms are still around his neck. you're both smiling– small, almost disbelieving smiles.
“hi,” jake says quietly.
and you laugh, unable to stop yourself. “hi.”
“okay, i have something important to ask you,” jake asks, still smiling.
you hum, tilting your head upwards, watching him, “yang y/n, will you do me the honour of letting me be your boyfriend” he says, like a dork.
you burst out laughing, “why would i even say no?” you say. and he places a small kiss on your forehead, muttering that he just wanted to be sure.
that’s when it starts pouring, and the two of you laugh. he grabs your hand as you sprint towards your house. still smiling, still feeling his lips on yours.
when you burst into the house, soaking wet, giggling, hands still intertwined, dropping your soaked bags by the entrance, you're met with six pairs of eyes staring at you.
silence follows. sunghoon, the one closest to the two of you, looks at your hands, then back up. and all hell breaks loose.
“ABOUT DAMN TIME” sunoo and ni-ki scream.
“right? i was starting to wonder whether i’d have to force them to confess or they’d do something before” jay says.
sunghoon here, is taking all the credit, claiming he orchestrated this moment and heeseung laughs, shaking his head.
and jungwon stands there pinching the bridge of his nose, “seriously?” he says. but there’s no bite to it, he’s smiling as well.
“okay i need the deets.” sunoo says. you and jake share a glance before laughing and join the group.
“who confessed first?” jay asks.
“me,” jake says, but he was looking at you. not at jay.
“ATTA BOY. THAT’S MY MAN. NI-KI PAY UP,” sunghoon screams as ni-ki groans and collapses on the ground.
“you placed bets?” you asked, laughing in disbelief.
“in my defense, i had faith in our lover boy over here.” sunghoon replied.
“you called me a dumbass yesterday?” jake shot back immdiately.
“well, you are an idiot. and idiot in love” heeseung says, laughing as he dodges a pillow thrown by jake.
ni-ki asks, “okay, but the important question. did. you. kiss.” and the silence and red faces was enough to send the whole house in screams.
“wait!” sunoo suddenly disappears into the kitchen before returning with a handful of cans of soft drinks, passing one to everyone.
sunghoon pops open the can, and toasts, “to the best twenty bucks i’ve ever made,” sending the whole group to fits of laughter. with a small echo of “to jake and y/n!”
「◉¯」｡⊹˚₊ What starts as a carefully planned out publicity stunt becomes the biggest complication of their careers. When internationally renowned actor Lee Heeseung and a top model are forced into a fake relationship to protect their public images, they're expected to smile for cameras, walk red carpets, and convince the world they're in love. But beneath the flashing lights, luxury fashion weeks, and endless headlines, the line between performance and reality begins to blur. As they travel the world together, old assumptions fade, feelings deepen, and one question remains... when the contract ends, will there be anything left worth fighting for?
𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧! 𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙭 𝙢𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙢! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
fake dating, strangers to lovers, enemies-ish to lovers, celebrity romance, PR relationship, slow burn, forced proximity, mutual pining, Fashion Week, red carpets, paparazzi, international travel, one hotel room, jealousy, miscommunication, contract leak, third-act breakup, emotional reunion, happy ending, angst, fluff.
WARNING: Explicit sexual content, oral sex, rough sex, possessive behavior, jealousy, fake dating to real relationship, emotional angst, media scrutiny, brief mentions of public speculation/scandal
wc: 23,240
🎧: After Hours- The Weeknd, Paparazzi- Lady Gaga, Tough Love- Gracie Abrams, Patient Charlie Puth, Infinity- 1D, Daddy Issues- The Neighbourhood, RUNAWAY- Aurora, Soft Spot- Keshi, Style- Taylor Swift
AFTER HOURS
CHAPTER 1: THE DEAL
The email arrives at 6:47 a.m., which is how I know it's serious. My agent, Lexi, does not do mornings unless the world is ending or a check is involved.
Call me the second you're up. Big opportunity. Don't say no before you hear it.
I read it twice from under my duvet, phone screen too bright, and briefly consider going back to sleep out of principle. Then I remember that principle doesn't pay my rent in this apartment with the view of an airshaft, and so I call her.
"Okay," Lexi says, skipping hello entirely. "Prada wants you for their spring campaign. Face of the line, not just runway. Eighteen month contract, options to renew."
I sit up so fast I nearly drop the phone. Prada is the kind of label that doesn't just make a career, it makes a legacy. I've walked their shows twice, always in the back third, never once been asked to their private fittings.
"Okay, that's… Lexi, that's insane, why do you sound like there's a catch."
"There's a catch."
"Of course there's a catch."
"They want to pair the campaign with a… narrative. A relationship narrative. You and Lee Heeseung."
For a second I think I've misheard her. "The actor."
"The actor. His team reached out to Prada's PR firm, Prada's PR firm reached out to your PR firm, and now four separate group chats are losing their minds. They want to announce you two as a couple. Real dates, real events, the whole thing, for the run of the campaign. Paris, Milan, some overlap with his Seoul shoot, Cannes, and then LA for premiere season. Eight months, give or take."
"Fake dating," I say slowly, like saying the actual words will make it stupider, which it does. "You want me to fake date Lee Heeseung for eight months."
"I want you to sign a contract worth more than your last three years combined, and by chance also be photographed next to a genuinely handsome man at a series of parties. Yes."
I don't know Lee Heeseung personally, but I know of him the way everyone does. Two seasons of a prestige drama that made him a name, then a run of films that made him a face… the kind that ends up on subway ads and think pieces about a new generation of leading men. I also know, because it's impossible not to, that he has a reputation for being difficult with press. Brief in interviews. Walks out of ones he doesn't like. There was a whole cycle last year about him telling a reporter her question was "beneath both of us."
"Isn't he supposed to be a nightmare?" I ask.
"He's supposed to be private," Lexi corrects. "Which the internet has decided to call a nightmare because he won't perform enthusiasm on command. His team says he's on board. Prada wants an answer by Friday."
I look around my apartment… at the exposed brick I pretend to love, at the mannequin in the corner holding a coat I still owe on, at the stack of no thank yous from castings I didn't get… and I already know what I'm going to say. I just need a minute to feel annoyed about it first.
"Set up the meeting," I say.
…
The meeting happens two days later in a conference room on the thirty first floor of a building that smells like money and eucalyptus oil coming out of a diffuser. There's a long table, a spread of pastries nobody touches, and six people whose job titles all seem to be some configuration of the words strategy, brand, and talent.
Lee Heeseung is already there when I walk in.
I've seen him in photographs, obviously, and in the two films of his I actually sat through. Photographs undersell him, which annoys me on principle… I make my living off photographs, I know what they can and can't do, and it's rude that his do less work than the real thing. He's in a plain black sweater and dark jeans, hair a little overgrown, and he has the specific stillness of someone who has learned to make himself smaller in rooms full of people who want pieces of him.
He looks up when I come in. Doesn't smile. Just watches me cross the room like he's deciding something.
"Y/N," I say, sticking my hand out because nobody else seems to mind to make this less awkward.
"Heeseung." His handshake is brief, correct, over before I can form an opinion about it. "They didn't tell me you were the other half of this until this morning."
"They didn't tell me either. Apparently we're being surprised together."
Something flickers at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. A rumor of one.
The meeting itself is a masterclass in people talking around a plan instead of through it. There are terms like honest expression and natural rollout pace. There's a slide deck. There's a woman named Aurora from Prada's PR team who keeps saying the word narrative like it's a spell.
The actual shape of it, once you cut through the deck, is simple. We get photographed "candidly" leaving a restaurant next week. Rumors start. We neither confirm nor deny for three weeks, building anticipation, and then we're photographed holding hands at Paris Fashion Week, which functions as the soft confirmation. From there, a string of appearances… Milan, his Seoul shoot with me flying out separately for brand events so we're photographed in the same city without it looking staged, Cannes for the premiere of his film, and finally Los Angeles for awards season, culminating in some kind of "milestone" moment Aurora refuses to specify yet, gesturing at it only as "the anniversary beat."
"And the actual dating," I say, because someone has to ask. "What does that look like when there's no camera."
Aurora looks at me like I've asked something faintly embarrassing. "You'll coordinate your schedules. Dinners, events, the odd candid at the airport. Authenticity requires consistency, not surveillance. You won't be followed twenty four seven. Just… enough."
"Enough," Heeseung repeats, flat.
"There's a document," Aurora says, sliding two folders across the table. "Boundaries, expectations, a rough itinerary. We'll finalize specifics as we go, but broad strokes… physical affection is expected in public settings. Hand holding, arm around the waist, the occasional cheek kiss. Nothing beyond that is contractually required."
I flip the folder open. There are bullet points. There is, genuinely, a clause that reads: Talent is not required to simulate romantic affection in private, unstaged settings. I almost laugh. As if anyone needed to write that down. As if it wouldn't be obvious.
Heeseung is reading his own copy with the focus of someone memorizing blocking for a scene. When he gets to the bottom he sets it down and looks at me instead of at Aurora.
"Are you actually all right with this?" he asks. Quiet, like it's just for me, even though six people are in the room. "Not the money. The… all of it. People are going to have opinions about you they wouldn't otherwise have."
It catches me off guard, that he asks. Nobody else in the room has asked me that.
"Are you?" I ask back.
"I asked first."
"I can live with people having opinions," I say. "I've been having strangers rate my face for a living since I was nineteen. This isn't so different."
He studies me for a second, like he's checking whether that's true or just something I say. Then he nods, once, and something in his shoulders eases half an inch.
"Okay," he says. "Then I'm all right with it too."
Aurora claps her hands together, delighted, already moving on to logistics… stylists, a joint interview to "set the tone," a mutually agreed list of restaurants we'll be "caught" at. Heeseung and I don't say much else to each other for the rest of the meeting, but at one point, when Aurora describes the paparazzi tip off protocol in the same tone she'd use for a lunch order, I catch his eye across the table and he does the smallest eye roll I've ever seen a human being commit to, and I have to look down at my folder so I don't laugh.
Okay, I think. Maybe this won't be a total disaster. Right?
…
The "candid" restaurant photos run four days later. I'm laughing at something Heeseung said… genuinely laughing, because he'd leaned over the appetizers and, relevant of nothing, told me a story about accidentally calling his own director "Dad" on set in front of the entire crew… and the photo that goes viral is the one where I have my hand on his forearm and he's looking at me like I'm the only other person in the restaurant.
The internet loses its mind. #LeeHeeseung trends for two days. Fan accounts spring up with names like heeseungandynslut4heeseung and start cataloguing our "chemistry" with an intensity that would be flattering if it weren't so thoroughly planned out.
Heeseung texts me that night. It's the first text he's ever sent me.
Heeseung: I looked up what they're calling us. "Hee/N." I want to formally apologize on behalf of the internet.
Y/N: I've been called worse. I once got shipped with a mannequin at a trade show.
Heeseung: That tracks. You do have chemistry with inanimate objects. I saw the way you looked at the bread basket tonight.
Y/N: The bread basket earned it.
Heeseung: Goodnight, Y/N. Sorry in advance for the circus.
Y/N: Goodnight, Heeseung. See you in Paris.
I put the phone down and stare at the ceiling for a long time, telling myself the small, warm feeling in my chest is just relief that this might be easy. It is not, in fact, relief. But it will take me embarrassingly long to admit that, even to myself.
CHAPTER 2: PARIS FASHION WEEK
Paris Fashion Week is a machine, and I am one of the small, replaceable gears that keeps it turning… except this season, for the first time, I'm not just walking, I'm being watched walk, in a way that has nothing to do with the clothes.
Heeseung flies in two days after me, and Prada puts us both up at the same hotel, on the same floor, in rooms that are not the same room, which Aurora mentions with the specific emphasis of someone who wants me to notice she's being tasteful about it.
"Separate rooms," I tell him, when we run into each other in the hallway that first night, both of us still in coats. "In case you were losing sleep over it."
"Devastated," he says. "I had a whole speech prepared about respecting boundaries."
"Save it. You might need it in Milan."
He laughs… a real one, short and surprised out of him, like it escaped before he could stop it… and something about making Lee Heeseung laugh for real, not for an audience, feels like winning a small private game nobody else knows we're playing.
The first official appearance is the Prada show itself. I walk, he sits front row, because Prada is dressing him too now, an ambassadorship tacked onto the whole arrangement like a rider on a bill. Backstage, my hands are shaking slightly from nerves that have nothing to do with the runway and everything to do with the fact that I know exactly where he's sitting and exactly how many cameras are pointed at that seat.
I walk the show. I do not look at him. This is a rule I make for myself and break within four seconds of stepping onto the runway, because some traitor instinct turns my head at the exact moment I pass his row, and he is not looking at his phone like half the front row, he is looking directly at me, and for one unprofessional half second I nearly trip over my own successfully-executed turn.
Afterward, backstage, my phone is already full of texts from Lexi. You looked at him. It's everywhere. It's PERFECT.
I don't tell her it wasn't planned.
…
That night there's the after party, thrown in some private garden behind a townhouse that Prada has clearly rented for an obscene amount of money. This is our first real test… the first event where we're expected to actually function as a couple in front of people, not just be photographed from a careful distance.
Heeseung finds me near the bar. He's traded the sweater for a suit that fits him with the kind of precision that makes me understand, abruptly and unhelpfully, why half the internet has appointed itself his personal fan club.
"Hi," he says, low, close enough that it's clearly for the cameras I can feel rather than see. "Am I allowed to put my arm around you, or is that a third date thing?"
"We've technically been dating for two weeks," I say. "I think we're past the arm stage."
He slides his arm around my waist like he's done it a hundred times, easy, unhurried, and I make myself lean into it instead of holding myself stiff like a mannequin at a trade show. His hand is warm even through the fabric of my dress. I hate how aware of it I am.
"You're good at this," I murmur, smiling at someone I vaguely recognize from a magazine cover.
"I'm an actor," he says. "This is, unfortunately, my whole job."
"Does it feel weird? Doing it with someone who isn't — " I gesture vaguely, meaning scripted, meaning your co-star, meaning someone you signed up to touch.
He's quiet for a second, long enough that I glance up at him. "Less weird than I expected," he admits. "You're easy to be around. That helps."
I don't have a smart response to that, which is unlike me, so I take a sip of my drink and let the compliment sit there, unclaimed, while the flashbulbs go off somewhere to our left.
…
By the third day, a rhythm sets in that surprises me with how comfortable it is. We have breakfast together most mornings… actually together, not staged, just because it turns out we're both up early and both prefer the same tiny café two streets from the hotel, the one that doesn't seem to have clocked who either of us is. He orders the same thing every day, a croissant and an americano so strong it should be illegal, and mocks me relentlessly for ordering something different every morning like I'm running an experiment.
"You're chaotic," he tells me, on day three, when I order a pain au chocolat and then eat half of his croissant anyway. "I need you to know that. As your fake boyfriend, I'm concerned."
"As your fake girlfriend, I've decided your croissant order is boring and needs my help."
"It's a classic order."
"It's a sad order. You've been getting the same thing for three days."
"Consistency is a virtue."
"Consistency is a coping mechanism," I say, and he looks at me for a second like I've said something truer than I meant to, and then he laughs and steals his croissant back, and I decide not to examine that look too closely.
We talk, in the gaps between events, about things that have nothing to do with the arrangement. He tells me about growing up the son of a cardiologist and a violinist, about how his parents still don't fully understand what he does for a living, about the panic attack he had before his first big premiere that nobody has ever written about because he made sure of it. I tell him about modeling out of a strip mall in high school, about the two years I spent doing catalog work I hated to pay for headshots, about the way my mother still introduces me to people as "my daughter, she does the pictures," like I'm not sure what pictures means.
He listens like it matters. Not for show kind of listening… actually listening, asking followup questions days later about things I mentioned once in passing, which is how I know, somewhere around day five, that I am in more danger than the contract accounted for.
The last night in Paris, we're photographed on the Pont Alexandre III at golden hour, an "impromptu" walk that Aurora arranged with the precision of a military operation, three photographers "coincidentally" positioned along the route. Heeseung takes my hand as we walk… real fingers laced through mine, not the loose stage hold from the party… and it feels different than the party did. Quieter. Like it's not entirely for anyone else.
"This is a good photo op," I say, mostly to break the silence, because the silence is starting to feel like something I need to name before it names itself.
"Mm," he says, looking out at the river instead of at me. "It is."
Neither of us lets go until the car comes.
CHAPTER 3: MILAN CAMPAIGN SHOOT
Milan is faster, glossier, all sharp angles and marble lobbies. We're there for the Prada campaign shoot itself… the actual reason any of this started… plus a separate luxury watch campaign Heeseung's been attached to for a year, and a joint magazine cover that Aurora describes, without irony, as "the money shot of the whole strategy."
The campaign shoot is the first time we work together in the literal sense… not just performing a relationship in public, but performing one under studio lights, for a photographer named Matteo who has a reputation for being able to see through fake chemistry from across a room.
"Closer," Matteo says, for the fifth time, waving a hand between us like he's trying to physically compress the air. "You are dating this man, no? Act like it."
Heeseung's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me half a step closer, and I feel the warmth of his palm through the thin silk of the dress like a brand. "We're being told off," he murmurs, close to my ear, supposedly for the camera. "By a man in a scarf indoors."
I bite back a laugh, and the photo Matteo gets… me laughing, Heeseung's mouth curved like he's the one who put it there… ends up being the cover.
Between setups, we sit on a bench off to the side while the crew resets lights, his knee an inch from mine, close enough that I can feel the heat off him without either of us doing anything about it.
"You're good at this too," he says, echoing what I told him in Paris. "The camera likes you like it's known you for years."
"Occupational hazard," I say. "I've had a lot of practice pretending a lens is a person I like."
"Is that what you're doing with me? Pretending?"
The question lands lighter than it should, half a joke, but his eyes aren't joking when I look at him. I open my mouth to say something equally light and instead say, "Not really, no," before I can stop myself, and then Matteo calls us back and I never find out what Heeseung would have said back, because the moment gets swallowed by work, the way most of our real moments do, that month.
…
The watch campaign shoot happens without me… Heeseung spends a full day at it while I have my own bookings, a lingerie campaign for a French label that has nothing to do with Prada and everything to do with paying my actual rent. We don't see each other until that evening, at dinner with both our teams, a long table of people talking business while Heeseung and I sit next to each other not talking business at all.
"How was the watch thing," I ask, stealing a piece of his risotto without asking, which has become, somehow, a habit neither of us comments on anymore.
"Mortifying," he says. "I had to say the phrase 'time is the only luxury that can't be bought' four hundred times with a straight face."
"Very deep."
"I know. I'm considering it as a tattoo."
"Where the sun doesn't shine, hopefully, so no one has to read it."
He laughs into his wine glass, and across the table Aurora catches my eye and gives me the smallest, most satisfied nod, like she's watching her investment appreciate. I look away, uncomfortable in a way I can't fully name… not because the moment isn't real, but because it is, and somebody else is profiting off it as though it isn't.
…
The magazine cover shoot the next day is the closest thing to a full day off we've had. It's a home styled set, meant to look like an apartment… a fake home scene, fake mugs of fake coffee, a fake blanket we're meant to be tangled in on a fake couch that is, ironically, more comfortable than my actual couch back home.
"This is deeply strange," Heeseung says, arranging himself against me on cue, his arm draped over my shoulders while a stylist fusses with the blanket. "Performing house for a camera crew of thirty people."
"Welcome to my whole career."
"Does it ever feel real? Any of it?"
I think about it honestly, for once, instead of deflecting. "Sometimes," I say. "Right now, actually. Not the — " I gesture at the lighting rig, the thirty crew members, the assistant holding a reflector six inches from Heeseung's face. "Not this part. But you, next to me. That part feels real."
He goes still for a second, just barely, his thumb stroking an absent line against my shoulder that isn't in any of the direction notes. "Yeah," he says, quiet, like it's just for me again. "That part does."
The photographer calls for us to look at each other instead of the camera, "like you forgot it was here," and for the first time all week, neither of us has to fake it.
CHAPTER 4: ONE ROOM
The awards show isn't even ours… it's a European style and culture prize thing Prada sponsors, a black tie event that exists mostly to give brands a reason to dress their ambassadors up and photograph them on a different set of steps. But it's the biggest joint appearance yet, the first time we're announced together on a red carpet by name, and Aurora treats it like a coronation.
I wear Prada, obviously… a column of dark green silk that the stylist keeps calling "criminally good"… and when Heeseung sees me in the hotel lobby before the cars arrive, something crosses his face that isn't performance. It's quick, gone before I can be sure, but I catch it, his eyes doing one unguarded pass, jaw tightening slightly, like he's readjusting something.
"You look — " he starts, and then seems to reconsider whatever he was going to say, landing instead on, "Green's a good colour on you."
"Prada picked it. Contractually I'm obligated to look good in their clothes."
"You'd have found a way to look good in a trash bag," he says, and then looks faintly annoyed at himself for saying it, which is somehow more flattering than if he'd meant to.
The carpet itself is a blur of flashbulbs and shouted names, his hand at the small of my back the whole way down the line, steering me with a gentle, sure pressure that I've stopped questioning and started, quietly, relying on. We do the poses… arm around waist, hand on his chest, foreheads close for the photo that Aurora specifically requested, "something intimate, not staged looking"… and by the time we're inside, I've lost track of how much of it was performance and how much of it was just us finding an excuse to stand close.
The ceremony runs long. The after party runs longer. By 2 a.m., both of us are running on champagne and adrenaline and the particular exhaustion of having been on for six straight hours, and when the cars come to take everyone back to the hotel, Aurora intercepts us in the lobby with an apologetic wince already loaded on her face.
"So," she says. "Small logistics issue."
"I don't like small logistics issues," Heeseung says.
"There was a booking error. We've only got the one suite tonight… everything else is sold out for some conference. It's got two rooms within it, separate, obviously, it's basically two suites sharing a door — " she's talking fast now, the way people do when they know they're delivering bad news wrapped as good news, "… and honestly? It's not the worst thing, appearence-wise. If it leaks that you stayed together, it plays great."
"Convenient," I say, flat, mostly at Heeseung, who huffs something close to a laugh.
"It's one night," he says. "I've survived worse hotel situations. I once shared a trailer with a llama for a week."
"Was the llama a good talk?"
"Better than most of my castmates, honestly."
We take the elevator up together, the quiet stretching comfortable between us, both of us still buzzing faintly from the champagne, both of us still half dressed in the formal wear we've been wearing since seven that evening. The suite, when we get there, is exactly as Aurora described… one shared sitting area, two doors leading to two separate bedrooms, a bottle of something expensive chilling on the table with a card that says Compliments of Prada in script too elegant to be sincere.
"Well," Heeseung says, tugging his bow tie loose with one hand, the top button of his shirt already undone in a way that should not be doing what it's doing to my concentration. "This is fine. Very normal. Very platonic hotel situation."
"Extremely platonic," I agree, kicking my heels off by the door with a groan of relief that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with four inches of Italian leather. "My feet may never forgive tonight."
"Sit," he says, nodding at the couch, already crossing to the little bar cart. "You've been on those things since seven. I'll pour something that isn't sponsored."
He finds a bottle of red that isn't Prada's compliments, pours two glasses, and folds himself onto the couch beside me… not performing closeness now, just naturally close, the way two tired people gravitate toward each other after a long night with no cameras left to justify it. My feet are tucked up under me. His tie is completely gone now, shirt open at the collar, sleeves pushed up his forearms.
"Can I ask you something," he says, turning his glass slowly by the stem, not quite looking at me.
"You can ask."
"That thing you said in Milan. On the fake couch. That some of it felt real."
My stomach does something complicated. "I remember."
"Did you mean it?"
I could deflect. I have three different deflections loaded and ready, each one a small, safe lie. Instead I look at him… really look, the way I haven't let myself all night, all month, actually, careful not to look too long in case looking gives something away… and I say, "Yeah. I meant it."
Something shifts in his face, the careful stillness cracking. "Good," he says, low. "Because I've been trying to figure out for three weeks whether it's just me."
"It's not just you."
"I know we said… the contract said—" He sets his glass down, and I realize, distantly, that my heart is doing something absurd, something teenage, something I have not felt in a very long time. "I know none of this is supposed to be real."
"I know," I say. My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to.
"We should probably practice," he says, and there's the ghost of a joke in it, but underneath the joke his eyes are dead serious, searching mine for the door to close this out safely if I need it. "For the cameras. Make sure we're… convincing."
"Practice," I repeat, and I don't move away when he leans in, slow, giving me every chance to stop this before it starts.
I don't stop it.
His mouth meets mine carefully at first, the way someone approaches a line they’re not sure they’re allowed to cross. Soft. Testing. The kind of kiss that could still be explained away as practice if either of us pulled back in the next three seconds. I don’t. My hands find the open collar of his shirt instead, fingers sliding against the warm skin at the base of his throat, and something in him answers immediately… his hand comes up to cup the side of my face, thumb brushing the hinge of my jaw, and the carefulness cracks.
The second kiss is deeper. Hungrier. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him without thinking, a small sound catching in my throat that makes his breath hitch. He tastes like the red wine he poured earlier, dark and a little sharp, and underneath it the faint mint of whatever he used after the after party. I press closer on the couch, the silk of my dress sliding against his trousers, and his free hand finds my waist, then the small of my back, pulling me in until there’s almost no space left between us.
“This still practice?” I manage against his mouth, voice already unsteady.
He answers by kissing me harder, tilting my head just so, and the question dissolves. One of my legs ends up half draped over his, the green silk riding up my thigh, and his palm follows the movement like it was always meant to, warm and sure against bare skin. I can feel the tension in him… how carefully he’s still holding back even as the kiss turns open mouthed and wet and nothing like the cheek kisses Aurora mapped out on a spreadsheet. When we finally break for air it’s only long enough for him to look at me, really look, eyes dark and searching.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, low, almost rough. “If this is too far—”
“It’s not.” The words come out faster than I mean them to. “Don’t stop.”
Something shifts in his expression… relief, heat, maybe both… and then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, one hand sliding higher under the silk until his fingers brush the edge of the lace at my hip. I shiver. He notices. His mouth curves against mine for half a second before he nips lightly at my lower lip and soothes it with his tongue, and the small, deliberate tease sends a pulse of heat straight between my legs.
We shift without fully deciding to. I end up straddling his lap, dress bunched around my hips, his hands firm on my waist as I settle against him. I can feel how hard he is through the fabric of his trousers, the thick press of him right where I’m already aching, and the contact makes us both still for a second. His forehead rests against mine. We’re both breathing harder than the kiss alone should account for.
“Y/N,” he says, and my name in that voice does something dangerous to my chest. “If we keep going—”
“I know.” I roll my hips once, slow, experimental, and the sound he makes is quiet and wrecked. “I still don’t want to stop.”
His hands tighten. Then one of them slides up my back, finds the zipper of the dress, and draws it down in a single smooth pull. The silk loosens. I shrug one shoulder free, then the other, and the dress pools around my waist, leaving me in the thin black lace the stylist had insisted was “necessary architecture.” Heeseung’s gaze drops. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, just looks, throat working once.
“Christ,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his mouth is on my collarbone, open and warm, and I tip my head back to give him room. He works lower in slow, deliberate kisses, across the upper curve of one breast, then the other, while his hands slide the straps of the bra down my arms. The clasp gives under his fingers. The lace falls away. His mouth closes over one nipple and I gasp, fingers threading into his hair, the soft overgrown strands sliding between them as he sucks gently, then harder, tongue flicking in a way that makes my hips roll against him again without permission.
He takes his time. Switches to the other side. Uses his teeth just enough to make me arch. By the time he lifts his head again my skin is flushed and sensitive and the space between my legs is throbbing in time with my pulse. I tug at his shirt, impatient, and he helps me push it off his shoulders, the formal fabric landing somewhere on the floor behind the couch. Bare chest against bare chest is better and worse at the same time… warmer, closer, nothing left to hide behind. I trace the line of muscle down his stomach, feeling him tense under my touch, and when my fingers reach the waistband of his trousers he catches my wrist, not hard, just enough to still me.
Before I can ask what, he’s shifting us… turning, guiding me until I’m lying back against the arm of the couch, one of my legs still hooked around his hip. He kisses me once more, deep and thorough, then starts working his way down. Mouth on my throat. Between my breasts. Over the soft plane of my stomach. The dress is still tangled around my hips; he pushes it the rest of the way off and lets it drop, leaving me in nothing but the matching lace bottoms. His fingers hook into the sides. He looks up at me, waiting, and I lift my hips in silent answer. The lace slides down my legs and disappears.
He’s still mostly dressed from the waist down, bow tie long gone, trousers open but not off, and the contrast of it… me completely bare, him still half formal… makes the whole thing feel even more forbidden. He settles between my thighs, palms smoothing up the insides of them, spreading me open with a gentleness that doesn’t match the heat in his eyes. For a second he just looks, and I feel the flush climb from my chest to my face under the weight of that gaze.
“You’re already wet,” he says, quiet, almost worshipful. One thumb strokes lightly along the seam of me, collecting slick, and I jolt. “All from kissing me.”
“Don’t sound so smug.”
“I’m not smug.” His thumb circles my clit once, slow, and my breath stutters. “I’m starving.”
Then his mouth is on me.
The first long lick is deliberate, flat tongued, from entrance to clit, and the sound that leaves me is half gasp, half moan. He hums against me like he likes the taste, like he’s been thinking about this longer than either of us has admitted, and then he settles in properly lips sealing around my clit, tongue working in slow, focused strokes that make my thighs tremble on either side of his head. One of his hands holds me open, the other slides under my ass, tilting my hips up so he can get deeper, closer. I fist my hands in his hair and try not to pull too hard.
He’s good at this. Better than good. He pays attention… when I gasp he stays exactly there, when my hips twitch he adjusts the pressure, when I start to rock against his mouth he lets me, matching the rhythm instead of fighting it. Two fingers press inside me while his tongue keeps working, curling just right, and the dual sensation has me already climbing too fast. I try to warn him, voice broken.
“Heeseung… I’m—”
He doesn’t pull away. If anything he doubles down, sucking harder, fingers thrusting deeper, and the orgasm hits like a wave breaking. My back arches off the couch, thighs clamping around his head, a raw sound tearing out of my throat that I would be embarrassed about if I could think straight. He works me through it, gentling only when the pulses start to ease, then presses one last soft kiss to my oversensitive clit before lifting his head.
His mouth is shiny. His eyes are dark. He looks wrecked in the best possible way.
“Still with me?” he asks, voice low and rough.
I nod, still catching my breath. “Come here.”
He crawls up my body and I pull him into a kiss that tastes like me, messy and open. My hands go to his trousers, shoving them down along with the underwear beneath, and he helps kick them the rest of the way off. When I wrap my fingers around him he’s thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. He groans into my mouth at the contact, hips punching forward once like he can’t help it.
“My turn,” I murmur against his lips, and push at his shoulders until he understands and lets me guide him onto his back.
I straddle his thighs for a moment just to look… the long lines of him, the flush across his chest, the way his cock curves up against his stomach, flushed darker at the head. Then I slide down, settling between his legs, and take him in hand again. He watches me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. I lean in and drag my tongue up the underside in one slow, wet stripe, tasting skin, and the quiet curse that leaves him is the best sound I’ve heard all night.
I take him into my mouth properly after that… shallow at first, getting used to the weight and heat of him on my tongue, then deeper, letting saliva slick the way. One hand stays wrapped around the base, stroking what I can’t take yet, the other rests on his hip, feeling the muscle jump every time I hollow my cheeks and suck. Heeseung’s head drops back against the arm of the couch, one hand finding my hair, not pushing, just holding, fingers flexing every time I do something that lands especially well.
“Fuck… Y/N—” His voice is strained. “Your mouth… just like that—”
I hum around him and feel the vibration travel. His hips twitch, he forces them still. I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, and the broken sound he makes when the head of his cock brushes the back of it is pure heat. I pull off just long enough to catch my breath, spit slick and messy, then go back down, setting a rhythm that has him breathing hard and muttering things that sound like praise and curses mixed together. His hand tightens in my hair when I focus on the sensitive underside just below the head, tongue working in tight circles while I stroke the rest of him with a firm twist of my wrist.
“I’m close,” he warns, voice rough. “If you don’t want—”
I answer by taking him deeper again and sucking harder. His whole body tenses. The first pulse hits my tongue and I stay right there, swallowing what I can, working him through it until the last tremble fades and he collapses back against the couch, chest heaving. I ease off slowly, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, and look up at him.
He looks ruined. Beautiful. Completely undone.
For a long moment neither of us speaks. The only sounds are our breathing and the distant city noise filtering through the windows. Then he reaches for me, pulling me up until I’m draped over his chest, skin to skin, and kisses me slow and deep, tasting himself on my tongue the same way I tasted myself on his earlier. His arms wrap around me, holding tight, like he’s afraid the moment might evaporate if he lets go.
“That,” he says eventually against my temple, voice still rough, “was not in the contract.”
I huff a quiet laugh into his neck. “No. It really wasn’t.”
His hand strokes up and down my bare back, absent and soothing. “Are you okay?”
I lift my head enough to meet his eyes. “More than okay. You?”
“Yeah.” He studies my face for a second, something soft and a little stunned in his expression. “I just… didn’t expect it to feel like that.”
“Like what?”
“Real.” The word lands quiet between us. “I kept telling myself it was just proximity. Chemistry for the cameras. But that didn’t feel like anything I’ve ever done for a camera.”
I settle back against his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart under my ear. “Me neither.”
We stay like that for a while, tangled and quiet, the formalwear scattered across the suite floor, the half-empty wine glasses forgotten on the table. At some point he reaches down and pulls the throw blanket from the back of the couch over both of us. Neither of us suggests moving to one of the actual beds. The couch is where it started; it feels right to stay.
His fingers keep tracing slow patterns against my spine. Mine rest over his heartbeat. Outside, Milan keeps moving. Inside, the only rule either of us cared about tonight has already been broken, and neither of us seems interested in putting it back together.
Eventually the adrenaline fades into something softer. He presses a kiss to the top of my head. I press one to the center of his chest. Sleep starts to pull at the edges of the moment, warm and heavy.
I fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and the quiet certainty that whatever this was supposed to be… practice, performance, something only for the cameras… it stopped being that the second I didn’t pull away from the first real kiss.
And neither of us is pretending otherwise anymore.
…
I wake up to grey Milan light through a gap in the curtains and the unfamiliar, entirely welcome weight of Heeseung's arm slung over my waist. For a long moment I just lie there, registering it… the steady rhythm of his breathing against the back of my neck, the warmth of him along the length of my spine, the fact that neither of us made it to a proper bed and we're still tangled together on top of the covers in the wreckage of last night's formal wear.
He stirs when I shift, arm tightening reflexively before he's even awake, and then goes still in the specific way of someone remembering where they are and why.
"Morning," he says, voice rough with sleep, not moving his arm.
"Morning."
Neither of us says anything else for a while. I can feel him working out what to say, the same way I am, both of us circling the fact that last night broke something we'd agreed, in writing, not to break.
"That wasn't in the contract," he finally says, but there's no regret in it, just a kind of stunned, careful honesty.
"No," I agree. "It really wasn't."
"Do you want it to have not happened?"
I turn over to face him, close enough that I can count the small scar above his eyebrow I've never noticed before, close enough that pretending would be genuinely impossible now, even if either of us wanted to. "No," I say. "I don't."
He exhales like he's been holding it since the elevator, and pulls me in, forehead against mine, and for a few minutes neither of us mentions the contract, or the cameras, or the eight months of scheduled affection stretching out ahead of us, suddenly complicated in a way neither of us knows how to name yet.
We don't talk about what it means. Not that morning. We just lie there, in the quiet, pretending.. for once, and only to ourselves… that we have all the time in the world to figure it out.
CHAPTER 5: SEOUL SCHEDULES
We don't talk about Milan again once we're back to separate schedules, which is its own kind of answer… not because we've decided it didn't matter, but because neither of us has found the words yet for what it did mean, and the machine of the arrangement doesn't leave much room for figuring it out. Two weeks after Milan, Heeseung flies to Seoul for the start of principal photography on his next film, a period piece that's been generating awards buzz off nothing but the casting announcement. I fly out ten days later, apparently for a separate string of brand events… a beauty campaign, a department store appearance, a magazine gala… that Aurora has carefully scheduled to overlap with his shoot without technically requiring us to be photographed together the entire time.
"Organic overlap," she calls it, over the phone, while I'm packing. "You're both in the same city. People will notice. We don't need to force anything."
What she doesn't mention, and what I learn only once I land, jet lagged and disoriented at 11 p.m. local time, is that his co-star on this film is Sooha Park, an actress so famous in her home country that airport staff visibly reorganize themselves when she walks through, and that the two of them have years of on again off again press history dating back to a drama they did together as teenagers.
I don't think about it much until the third night, when Heeseung meets me for a late dinner after wrapping… the first time we've seen each other in ten days, both of us grinning like idiots when he walks into the restaurant, which I choose to find more embarrassing than I let on… and he mentions, almost as an aside, that there's a variety show appearance the next day, a promotional stop for the film, him and Sooha both, hosted by a show famous for its teasing chemistry testing games.
"It's just press," he says, catching something in my face I hadn't meant to show. "It's the same thing we do. Planned out moments for cameras."
"I know," I say, and I do know, logically, the way I know the sky is a certain color because of the way light scatters, a fact that does nothing to change how it looks.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand, thumb tracing slow over my knuckles, unhurried, unwatched… there are no cameras here, this gesture is entirely, privately for me. "Hey. There's nothing there. There hasn't been in years, and honestly, there wasn't much even then… press invented most of it."
"I believe you," I say, and mostly I do.
…
The variety show clip goes up online the next evening, and it is, in fairness, exactly the kind of planned out moment Heeseung warned me about… a segment where the hosts make him and Sooha do a blindfolded taste test, feed each other things, answer rapid fire questions about each other with exaggerated, performative flirtation, the whole studio audience shrieking with delighted laughter at every beat. Sooha, for her part, is clearly enjoying herself, leaning into him for the cameras with the easy, practiced physicality of someone who has done this exact bit a hundred times, hand on his arm, head tipped back laughing at something he says, at one point resting her forehead briefly against his shoulder during a game that requires "closeness" as a rule.
I watch it once, in my hotel room, alone, at midnight, because Lexi sends it to me with the caption you good? and I make the mistake of assuming I am. I am not.
It's not the segment itself. I know performance when I see it… I've built a career on it. It's the comment sections underneath, the fan edits already circulating with captions like the chemistry never left and this is what real feels like, unlike his 'girlfriend,' and a specific, viral tweet with forty thousand likes that just says, not to be dramatic but Sooha and Heeseung could cure my depression and Y/N could not cure a headache.
I know it's not fair to be upset by strangers online. I know it. I still am.
Heeseung calls, later, after the show airs, before I've said anything. "You watched it," he says, not a question.
"I watched it."
"It's nothing, Y/N. It's literally the exact thing we do at every event. Choreographed closeness for an audience."
"I know that. I just — " I stop, because I don't actually know how to finish the sentence without sounding like something I don't want to sound like, which is jealous, over an arrangement that isn't even supposed to be real.
"You just what."
"Nothing. I'm tired. It's late."
"Y/N."
"I'm fine, Heeseung. Go get some sleep, you have an early call tomorrow."
He's quiet for a moment, and I can hear, even over the phone, that he doesn't believe me, and that he's deciding whether to push. He doesn't. "Okay," he says finally, soft, unconvinced. "Goodnight."
I hang up and sit with the feeling for a long time, turning it over, trying to name it honestly for the first time, not jealousy of Sooha specifically, but a raw, unwelcome fear that whatever happened in Milan was smaller to him than it was to me… that he can slot easily back into practiced intimacy with someone else because that's simply what he does, professionally, and that maybe what happened between us wasn't the exception I thought it was, just another version of the same skill.
I don't sleep much that night. I tell myself it doesn't matter. It matters a great deal.
CHAPTER 6: WHAT THIS IS
The jealousy doesn't stay contained to Seoul. It follows us, quietly, for two more weeks… through a joint appearance at a department store opening where I catch myself watching him a beat too long every time he talks to another woman, through a video call where he mentions, offhand, that Sooha invited the whole cast to a wrap dinner and he's going, and I say sounds fun in a voice so tight he asks, twice, if I'm actually all right.
It comes to a head at my own event… a shoot, not his, a lingerie campaign I'd booked back in New York before any of this started, shot on location in a studio outside Seoul because the brand wanted an "East meets West" concept that nobody bothered to ask me about. My co-model for the campaign is a French model named Louis, a genuinely lovely, entirely harmless person I've worked with twice before, who happens to be extremely tactile in the specific, professional way models often are on set… hands at my waist for blocking, a hand under my jaw to adjust the angle of my face, nothing that means anything, all of it choreographed by a director shouting instructions in three languages.
Heeseung comes to pick me up after, a plan we'd made days earlier, something ordinary and sweet, dinner after my shoot before he has an early call tomorrow. He arrives twenty minutes before I'm done, which means he's in the studio, unannounced, for the last setup… the one where Louis has his hand splayed low on my bare back, our faces close, the photographer calling out "more intimate, give me tension" in a way that means nothing on set and looks like everything from across a room.
I don't see Heeseung's face when it happens. I only see it afterward, in the car, his jaw set in a way I've never seen on him, knuckles white around the seatbelt buckle, silent the entire ride back to the hotel in a way that is somehow louder than shouting.
"You're mad," I say, once we're in the elevator, alone.
"I'm not mad."
"You're doing the thing where your jaw goes hard and you stop making eye contact. That's your mad face. I've seen it in three separate press conferences."
"It's a job," he says, tight. "I know it's a job. I watched a professional shoot with a professional model and it's fine."
"But."
"But I spent two weeks watching you not sleep because of a variety show segment, and I told myself it was nothing, and then I walk into that studio and see another man's hands on you and I feel something I have absolutely no right to feel, because none of this is supposed to be real, and I can't tell anymore if I'm losing my mind or if you feel it too."
The elevator doors open onto our floor and neither of us moves for a second. "I feel it too," I say, quiet. "I've felt it since Seoul. I just didn't know how to say it without sounding insane over a fake relationship."
"It doesn't feel fake to me," he says, low, raw, following me out into the hallway. "Not since Milan. Maybe not before that, if I'm honest."
"Then why does it feel like you can just—" I gesture, helpless, angry in a way that surprises me with how much it wants out, "… slide back into it with someone else, easy, like it's nothing, like what happened between us was just another version of the job—"
"Is that what you think this is?" His voice cracks slightly, more hurt than angry now. "You think I don't think about that night constantly? You think I don't lie awake in Seoul running it back?"
"I don't know what to think, Heeseung, that's the problem—"
He crosses the hallway in two steps and kisses me before I finish the sentence, hard, frustrated, both of us pouring two weeks of unspoken jealousy and want into it, and I kiss him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in his shirt, backing him into the door of his room because it's closer than mine.
The door hits the wall hard enough to rattle. Heeseung kicks it shut behind us without breaking the kiss, one hand already fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. There’s nothing careful about it this time… no slow testing, no waiting for permission. It’s teeth and tongue and the sharp edge of everything we’ve been swallowing since Seoul. I shove at his jacket, he shrugs it off and lets it fall, then spins us so my back hits the wall next to the door. His mouth drops to my throat, biting, sucking hard enough that I know it’ll show tomorrow.
“You let him put his hands on you,” he growls against my skin, voice low and rough. “Right in front of me. His fucking hand low on your back like he had any right—”
“It was work,” I snap, even as my head tips back to give him more room. “You know it was work. Just like that variety show was work—”
“Don’t.” His teeth scrape the hinge of my jaw. “Don’t compare them."
"Watching her feed you, laugh with you, put her forehead on your shoulder—" Then he cuts me off.
"Then walking into that studio and seeing another man’s hands on what’s mine—”
“Yours?” The word comes out sharp, half challenge, half something hungrier. “Since when am I yours?”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and furious and hungry all at once. “Since Milan. Since the second you stopped pretending. Since I started lying awake thinking about the way you taste when you come on my tongue. You’re mine. Say it.”
I don’t answer with words. I drag him back into a kiss that’s all teeth, biting his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss, and the sound he makes is pure possession. His hands find the hem of my top and yank it up and over my head in one rough motion. The bra follows a second later, straps snapped down my arms, clasp yanked open. He doesn’t bother being gentle. His mouth closes over one nipple and sucks hard, teeth grazing, and I cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
“Heeseung—”
“Say it,” he demands against my skin, switching to the other side, biting down just enough to sting before soothing with his tongue. “Say you’re mine.”
“Make me.”
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. He drops to his knees right there against the wall, hands already shoving my skirt up around my waist. The underwear is gone in a single hard tug that nearly rips the lace. He doesn’t give me time to adjust… just hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, spreads me open with his thumbs, and buries his mouth between my thighs like he’s starving.
The first long, filthy lick makes my head thump back against the wall. He doesn’t ease into it. He eats me like he’s punishing both of us… tongue thrusting inside me, then dragging up to my clit and sucking hard, over and over, messy and relentless. The wet sounds fill the quiet hotel room, obscene and loud. I fist both hands in his hair and hold on as my hips jerk against his face.
“Fuck… Heeseung, your mouth—”
He pulls off just long enough to speak, lips already shiny, voice rough. “This is what I think about when I can’t sleep. Your cunt on my tongue. The way you get so wet for me. The sounds you make when I suck your clit just like this—” He demonstrates, sealing his mouth over the swollen bud and sucking hard while two fingers push inside me without warning. I moan, loud and broken. “Did he get to hear these sounds? That model with his hands on you… did he get to feel how tight you get when you’re close?”
“No—” The word comes out shaky. “No one else. Only you—”
“Good.” He curls his fingers and sucks harder at the same time. “Because this is mine. This pretty cunt is mine to eat whenever I want. You’re going to come on my tongue right now, and you’re going to say my name while you do it.”
He doesn’t give me a choice. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, finding that spot inside me and working it ruthlessly while his tongue lashes my clit in tight, focused circles. The orgasm hits hard and sudden, ripping through me so violently my knee buckles. He holds me up with one arm around my thigh, mouth still working me through every pulse, drinking every drop like he can’t get enough. I come with his name torn out of my throat, thighs shaking around his head.
He doesn’t stop when the waves ease. He keeps licking, slower now but still filthy, cleaning me up with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue until I’m oversensitive and whimpering. Only then does he pull back, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and stand. His eyes are almost black.
“On the bed,” he orders, voice low. “Now.”
I don’t argue. My legs are unsteady as I cross the room, he follows close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back. The second I turn toward the mattress he shoves me down onto it face first, then lifts my hips up until I’m on my knees, ass in the air, face pressed into the sheets. I hear the sound of his belt, the zipper, fabric hitting the floor. Then the blunt head of his cock drags through the mess he just made between my legs, coating himself in it.
“Look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Already soaked again. You like it when I’m jealous. You like knowing I want to ruin you for anyone else.”
He pushes in in one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burns in the best way, I cry out into the sheets. He doesn’t give me time to adjust, just starts fucking me in deep, punishing strokes, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to leave fingerprints. Every thrust forces a broken sound out of me. The headboard knocks against the wall in a steady, filthy rhythm.
“This is what I wanted to do the second I saw his hands on you,” he growls, leaning over my back so the words land hot against my ear. “Drag you into the nearest empty room and remind you who you belong to. Put my mouth on you until you couldn’t remember anyone else’s name. Fuck you so deep you’d still feel me tomorrow.”
“Then do it,” I manage, voice wrecked. “Stop talking and do it—”
He pulls out abruptly. Before I can protest he’s flipping me onto my back, shoving my thighs wide, and dropping between them again. His mouth is back on me instantly… rougher this time, hungrier, tongue fucking into me while he holds my hips down so I can’t escape the intensity. I thrash, he just pins me harder and keeps going, eating me like he’s trying to crawl inside.
“Fuck, the way you taste when you’re this worked up—” he mutters against my cunt between licks. “Sweet and messy and all mine. I could stay down here for hours. Make you come on my tongue until you beg me to stop.”
“Heeseung… please—”
He sucks my clit hard and I shatter again, thighs clamping around his head, a broken sob tearing out of me. He rides it out with his mouth, then crawls up my body and kisses me deep, forcing me to taste myself on his tongue. I can feel how hard he still is, thick and leaking against my thigh.
“My turn,” I rasp, and shove at his shoulders until he lets me push him onto his back.
I straddle his chest for half a second, then slide down, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and taking him into my mouth in one smooth motion. He curses, hips jerking. I don’t ease in… I take him deep, letting him hit the back of my throat, eyes watering, and hold there until he groans like he’s dying. When I pull off it’s messy, spit trailing from my lips to the head of his cock.
“This is what you get when you’re jealous,” I tell him, voice hoarse, before sinking back down. “My mouth. My throat. You want to claim me? Then watch me choke on it.”
I set a relentless pace… deep, wet, filthy… one hand stroking what I can’t take, the other cupping his balls and rolling them gently. Heeseung’s hands fist in the sheets, then in my hair, not forcing but holding tight as I work him. Every time I hollow my cheeks and suck hard on the way up he makes a punched out sound that goes straight between my legs again.
“Fuck… look at you,” he rasps. “Taking me so deep. Your pretty mouth stretched around my cock like you were made for it. You gonna let me come down your throat? Gonna swallow every drop like the good girl you are when you’re not driving me insane with jealousy?”
I answer by taking him deeper and humming. His hips stutter. I pull off just long enough to say, “Come in my mouth. I want to taste it,” before going back down and sucking hard.
He comes with a broken groan, pulsing hot across my tongue. I stay right there and swallow, working him through every spurt until he’s spent and trembling. When I finally lift my head he’s staring at me like he’s never seen anything more filthy or perfect in his life.
I’m not done. I crawl up his body and straddle his hips again. He’s still half hard, I reach down, stroke him back to full, and sink onto him in one smooth motion. We both groan. His hands find my waist immediately, gripping hard as I start to ride him… not gentle, not careful. Hard and deep, chasing another orgasm while he thrusts up to meet me.
“That’s it,” he growls, eyes locked on where we’re joined. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how much you need it. No one else gets this. No one else gets to feel how tight you are when you’re close—”
I lean down and kiss him, messy and open, tasting both of us on our tongues. His hand slides between us and finds my clit, rubbing tight circles in time with my rhythm. The third orgasm builds fast and mean, when it hits I bury my face in his neck and come hard around him, pulsing, shaking. He follows a few thrusts later, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a low, guttural sound that vibrates against my skin.
We stay locked together for a long time after, both of us breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. His arms wrap around me tight, possessive even in the aftermath. One hand strokes up and down my spine, the other stays splayed low on my back like he’s still claiming the place someone else’s hand had been earlier.
Eventually he rolls us onto our sides without pulling out, keeping me close. The room is dark except for the city lights leaking through the curtains. His voice, when it comes, is quieter, but the edge is still there.
“That wasn’t just tension breaking.”
“No,” I agree, still catching my breath. “It wasn’t.”
His fingers tighten on my hip. “I meant what I said. You’re mine. Not for the cameras. Not for the contract. Mine.”
I press closer, forehead against his, and let the truth sit between us in the dark, raw and unfinished and real.
“Yours,” I whisper back.
Neither of us says the rest out loud. Not yet. But the silence that follows is heavier than any argument, and neither of us reaches for the light.
…
Afterward, we lie tangled in the dark, both of us quiet in a way that feels heavier than the silence after Milan. That morning had been soft, unsure, new. This is different… this has teeth in it, an admission neither of us quite meant to make out loud.
"That wasn't just practice," he says eventually, into the dark.
"No," I agree. "It wasn't."
Neither of us says the next thing, the thing that's sitting right there, obvious and enormous. I'm not ready to say it. I don't think he is either. So instead we lie there, his hand tracing slow, absent patterns against my spine, and let the unspoken thing exist in the room with us, unnamed, for one more night.
In the morning, we don't talk about it. We go back to schedules, to Aurora's itinerary, to the next city on the list… Cannes, and the film premiere that's supposed to be the biggest public moment of the whole campaign. We pretend, both of us, that last night was just tension finally breaking, nothing more.
We both know that's a lie. Neither of us says so.
CHAPTER 7: CANNES FILM PREMIERE
Cannes in May is a different animal from Paris or Milan… hotter, louder, more relentless, the whole town narrowed down to a single strip of coastline crawling with photographers and yachts and a permanent, low hum of expectation. Heeseung's film premieres here, the one he shot half of in Seoul, and this is, by Aurora's own admission, "the single most important appearance of the entire campaign."
"No pressure," Heeseung mutters, tugging at his cuffs backstage at the hotel before the carpet, the two of us standing in front of a mirror while stylists circle us like satellites. "Just the biggest premiere of my career, my film's entire box office future, and eight months of planned out romance riding on one red carpet walk."
"When you put it that way, I feel great about tonight."
"I need you to know that if I trip on the steps, it's not because of you, it's because these shoes are actively trying to kill me."
"Noted. I'll tell the paparazzi it was the shoes."
He catches my eye in the mirror, and for a second the joking drops away and there's just him, looking at me with an intensity that's become familiar over the past week, ever since that hotel hallway… something unguarded, something he's stopped trying quite as hard to hide.
Since Seoul, since that night, something has shifted between us that neither of us has named out loud, but that shows in a hundred small ways: the way he reaches for my hand now even when no camera is around, the way I've started sleeping better with his arm around me than I ever did alone, the way we've both quietly stopped correcting people who refer to us as a real couple in front of us. We are, by any honest measure, no longer pretending. We just haven't said the actual words yet, and the not saying has become its own kind of tension, humming under everything.
…
The carpet is chaos, even by Cannes standards… the steps of the Palais packed three photographers deep, a roar of shouted names that blurs into white noise, the heat pressing down through the formal wear. Heeseung keeps his hand at the small of my back the whole way up, steady, grounding, and at the midpoint of the steps, where tradition dictates couples pause for photos, he turns to me instead of to the cameras.
"Ready?" he asks, quiet, just for me.
"For what?"
"This," he says, and kisses me.
It's not the choreographed cheek kiss Aurora mapped out in the itinerary, the one specifically noted as appropriate carpet PDA, tasteful. It's a real kiss, unplanned, his hand coming up to cradle my jaw, mine fisting lightly in the lapel of his jacket, and the roar of the crowd goes, for one suspended second, into a kind of collective gasp before erupting even louder. It's the first time we've kissed anywhere a camera could see, the first genuinely public confirmation of everything the internet has spent two months speculating about, and it happens because neither of us can pretend it isn't real anymore, not even for the thirty seconds it would take to fake something smaller.
"That wasn't in the itinerary," I murmur against his mouth, when we finally break apart to the sound of a hundred shutters going off at once.
"No," he agrees, breathless, something like wonder on his face. "It really wasn't."
…
The clip is everywhere within the hour… the Cannes kiss, they're already calling it, dissected frame by frame by entertainment outlets that spent two months debating whether our relationship was real. For once, nobody's arguing about the choreography. Even the most suspicious commentary seems to admit that whatever that was, it wasn't staged.
At the after party, on a terrace overlooking the water, string lights and champagne and the low murmur of two hundred conversations happening around us, Heeseung pulls me toward the railing, away from the thickest part of the crowd, and for a moment we just stand there, looking out at the black water, his arm around my waist, mine around his.
"I need to tell you something," he says, and his voice has none of its usual ease in it… it's careful, deliberate, the voice of someone who's rehearsed this and is still scared to say it. "And I need you to know I'm not saying it because of tonight, or the kiss, or the champagne. I've wanted to say it since Milan and I've been a coward about it since."
My heart is doing something enormous and unhelpful in my chest. "Okay," I say, barely above a whisper.
"I don't think I'm faking anything anymore. I don't think I have been in weeks. I think—" He stops, jaw working, and I watch him decide, finally, to just say the thing. "I think I'm falling in love with you, Y/N. For real. Not for the cameras, not for the contract. And I don't know what we're supposed to do with that, because we signed our names to something that was never supposed to become this—"
A photographer, thirty feet away, calls his name… not maliciously, just doing a job, wanting one more shot of the night's most photographed couple… and the moment shatters before I can answer him, before I can say the thing sitting right behind my teeth, ready. Heeseung's publicist appears at his elbow a second later, murmuring something about one more round of photos before the terrace closes to press, and the machine of the whole arrangement swallows the moment whole, the way it always does, the way it's swallowed every real thing that's tried to happen between us since the beginning.
He looks at me, apologetic, frustrated, as he's pulled away toward the photographers. Later, he mouths.
I nod, and smile for the cameras when they turn to me too, and underneath the smile, my whole chest aches with three words I didn't get to say back.
We don't get later that night. By the time the party winds down, it's nearly dawn, and we're both tired out, and the words sit between us unspoken as we fall asleep tangled together in the hotel room, his almost confession and my un-given answer hanging in the air like something unfinished.
Neither of us knows yet that we're about to run out of time to finish it the easy way.
CHAPTER 8: LEAKED
It happens four days after Cannes, while we're both still riding the strange, unfinished high of an almost confession neither of us has picked back up… partly because the schedule doesn't slow down long enough to let us, partly, I think, because some part of both of us is scared of what happens once the sentence actually gets finished.
Lexi calls me at 6 a.m., which by now I understand as a universal signal for disaster.
"Someone leaked the contract," she says, no introduction, voice tight in a way I've never heard from her. "The actual document. Terms, itinerary, the clause about required PR appearances, all of it. It's on three different entertainment sites already and it's spreading."
I sit up so fast the room spins. "How."
"Doesn't matter right now. What matters is the headlines. 'HeeseungandY/N Relationship Was Entirely Fabricated, Leaked Contract Reveals.' They've got screenshots of the actual paperwork, Y/N. The affection clauses. The itinerary matching our exact schedule city for city. It's not speculation anymore, it's documented."
I feel sick in a way that has nothing to do with the early hour. "What does Prada want to do?"
"Damage control. There's a call in an hour with their crisis team, Heeseung's team, everyone. They're going to want a statement, and I need you to think very carefully about what you actually want that statement to say, because whatever we put out now is going to define the narrative for months."
I hang up and sit in the grey pre-dawn light of the hotel room, staring at my phone, watching the story metastasize in real time… quote tweets, reaction videos already being filmed, a trending topic that started as #HeeseungAndYNIsFake and is already curdling into something crueler, comment sections calling me a liar, calling him a liar, dissecting every photo of the last two months for evidence of the con, including the Cannes kiss, which several outlets are now describing as "the most convincing performance of the entire manufactured relationship"… and something in my chest goes cold and small, because they're not wrong about the contract. They just don't know it stopped mattering somewhere around Milan.
Heeseung knocks on my door twenty minutes later, phone in hand, expression somewhere between fury and panic. "You've seen it."
"I've seen it."
"I don't know how this happened. Aurora thinks it's someone on the Prada PR team, an intern with access to the shared drive, but it doesn't matter who, the damage is—" He stops, drags a hand through his hair. "The damage is done."
"What's the plan?"
"That's the thing. There isn't one yet, and everyone's going to want to make one in an hour, and I need to know what you want before that happens, because I'm not going to let a room full of publicists decide what we are."
"What do you mean, what I want."
"I mean—" He crosses the room, takes both my hands, his own shaking slightly, adrenaline or fear or both. "The easy version of damage control is we lean into the story. We say it started as a business arrangement and evolved into something real, and honestly? That's true, and it's a good story, and it probably plays well. But the crisis team is going to want us to control it carefully, manage every word, and I don't want to manage this anymore. I'm so tired of managing this."
"So what do you want instead?"
"I want to tell the truth," he says. "All of it. Not a created version. I want to say it started as a contract and turned into the realest thing I've ever felt, and I want to say the thing I didn't get to finish saying in Cannes, and I don't care if it's messy, because the alternative is spending the rest of this relationship… if we still have one after today… performing an approved narrative about ourselves."
My throat is tight. "Heeseung—"
The call comes in on his phone, buzzing insistently between us. Aurora's name on the screen, then a text half a second later … URGENT, need you both on the line NOW, this is escalating, we need a controlled statement within the hour or the story runs away from us.
He looks at the phone, then at me, torn between the machine that's been running our lives for two months and the thing he actually wants to say, and for a second I think he's going to answer it, going to let the crisis team script the next part of this the way they scripted every carpet, every kiss placement, every itinerary stop.
Instead he silences it.
"Heeseung, they're going to lose it—"
"Let them," he says. "Tell me what happened in Cannes doesn't matter more than a phone call right now, and I'll answer it."
I can't tell him that. I don't want to.
But before I can say anything else, my own phone starts buzzing… Lexi this time, and behind her name, a headline notification already sliding across the top of the screen, one that makes my stomach drop clean through the floor: an "insider" quote, unattributed, claiming that I'd pushed for the arrangement to become public specifically to boost my modeling profile, that Heeseung had been privately complaining to friends about feeling "trapped" by the contract's terms.
None of it is true. All of it is designed to hurt, and it does.
"They're going to keep making up versions of us," I say, quiet, staring at the screen, "until we tell them what actually happened."
"Then let's tell them," Heeseung says. "Together. Not a statement some publicist writes for us. Us."
I want to say yes. I want to, so badly, and for one suspended second I almost do… and then the doubt creeps in, ugly and fast, what if this is just the adrenaline talking, what if the crisis team is right and the smart move is distance, what if going all in on "it's real" in the middle of a scandal is exactly the kind of impulsive mistake that ends both our careers instead of just complicating them.
"I need to think," I say, and I watch something in his face fall, just slightly, at the hesitation.
"Okay," he says, quiet, careful. "Think."
He leaves to take the call from Aurora, because someone has to, and I sit alone in the wreckage of a morning that started with an almost confession and is ending, four days later, in a scandal neither of us asked for… and somewhere in the next forty eight hours, in a series of miscommunications, rushed statements, and a public relations decision I don't fully agree to but don't stop either, Prada's crisis team puts out a carefully worded statement announcing that Heeseung Lee and I have "amicably decided to keep our respective personal and professional lives separate going forward."
It is, by any measure, a breakup. It happens without either of us saying the word to each other first. By the time I see the statement, it's already live, already trending, already being treated as fact… and Heeseung doesn't call, and I don't call him, both of us too proud and too hurt and too confused about what just happened to be the one who reaches out first.
The internet asks, in a thousand different ways, the same question: was any of it real?
I don't know how to answer that anymore. I'm not even sure I know the truth myself, not with the ache in my chest telling me one thing and the silence from his side of things telling me another.
CHAPTER 9: LOS ANGELES
Three weeks pass. Three weeks of not speaking, not because either of us decided to stop, exactly, but because the silence built its own momentum, each day of not calling making the next day of not calling easier, until three weeks becomes a wall neither of us knows how to climb back over.
I go back to New York first, then out to Los Angeles for a job that has nothing to do with Prada or the arrangement… my own booking, a campaign I landed on my own quality, months ago, before any of this started. It feels strange to be in LA on my own terms, no itinerary, no Aurora, no schedule planned around another person's premieres.
Except Heeseung's premiere season is happening in LA too, the last major stop of the entire eight month arrangement, the "milestone beat" Aurora had once teased so coyly. His film… the Seoul one, the Cannes one, the one that started with an almost confession on a terrace… is up for an award now, buzz building fast, and the industry trades are full of his name every week I'm in the city, impossible to avoid even when I try.
I see a paparazzi photo of him outside a restaurant, alone, jaw tight, sunglasses on even though it's evening, looking, in a way that makes my chest hurt, exactly as unhappy as I feel. I don't reach out. He doesn't either.
…
It's Lexi who finally forces the issue, a week before the ceremony, sliding an invitation across a lunch table with the specific expression of someone delivering news she knows I don't want.
"You're both nominated for the same magazine's 'Ones to Watch' dinner," she says. "Separate categories… his for the film, yours for the Prada campaign, which, incidentally, is still performing insanely well, contract chaos notwithstanding. You don't have to go. But it's a good look if you do, and I think—" she hesitates, softer than her usual brisk delivery, "… I think you might actually want to see him. I've watched you not talk about him for three weeks. It's exhausting to witness."
"I don't know what I'd even say."
"You could start with whatever you were too scared to say in Cannes."
I don't answer that, but I go to the dinner.
He's already there when I arrive, in a dark suit, standing near the bar with the specific stillness I remember from that very first meeting eight months ago, the one where he'd made himself smaller in a room full of people who wanted pieces of him. He looks thinner than I remember. Tired in a way that has nothing to do with jet lag.
He sees me the second I walk in. Neither of us moves for a long moment.
I cross the room first.
"Hi," I say, and it comes out smaller than I mean it to.
"Hi." His voice is careful, like he's not sure yet how this conversation is allowed to go. "You look… good. You look good."
"You look tired."
"Haven't been sleeping much." A pause. "You?"
"Same."
We stand there, awkward, surrounded by a room full of people who all seem to know exactly what happened between us and are all very studiously pretending not to watch. "Can we talk," he says finally. "Actually talk. Not at a dinner with two hundred people who'll be reading our lips."
"Yeah," I say. "I'd like that."
…
We end up on the hotel's rooftop terrace, twenty minutes later, having slipped out separately to avoid being photographed leaving together… an old habit, muscle memory from months of managed optics, that neither of us questions until we're both standing there, alone, under the same LA sky that's been backdrop to a hundred other premieres.
"I need to say the thing I didn't get to say in Cannes," I start, before he can, because if I don't say it now I'm scared I'll talk myself out of it again. "You told me you were falling in love with me, for real, and then the photographer called your name, and I never got to say it back, and then everything fell apart before I got another chance, and I have spent three weeks regretting that more than almost anything else in my life."
He goes very still. "Y/N—"
"I love you too," I say, before he can respond, because I need it out, all of it, before the machine of publicists and cameras and crisis statements finds some new way to interrupt us. "I loved you in Milan, and I was too scared to say it, and I loved you in Seoul when I was jealous over a variety show clip, and I loved you at Cannes when you kissed me on those steps like you meant it… because you did mean it, I know you did… and I love you right now, standing on this stupid rooftop, and I don't care anymore whether that started in a contract, because it didn't stay in one."
"Then why," he says, voice rough, "did you hesitate. When I asked you to trust me instead of the crisis team. Why didn't you say yes right then."
"Because I was scared," I say, honest, finally, all the way honest. "Not of you. Of how much it would hurt if I said yes to something real and then lost it anyway. I've spent my whole career being looked at and picked apart by strangers, and it never mattered before because none of it was real enough to actually break me. You are. You're the first thing that's ever been real enough to actually break me, and that terrified me so much I froze at the exact moment you needed me not to."
"Was any of it real," he says, quiet, echoing the question that's been trending under both our names for three weeks, except when he asks it, it's not pompous, it's genuinely him asking, needing to hear it from me instead of from a headline. "Tell me honestly. Was any of it real, for you?"
"All of it," I say. "Every single part that mattered. The parts that didn't were the contract, the itinerary, the staged carpet poses. Everything else… Milan, Seoul, Cannes, this… all of it was real. It's the realest thing I've ever felt."
He crosses the space between us and kisses me, slow this time, none of Cannes's desperate urgency or Seoul's raw jealousy in it… just certainty, finally, both of us choosing it with nothing left to prove to anyone watching, because for once, nobody is.
"I'm sorry I let the statement go out without fighting harder," he murmurs against my mouth. "I should have shown up at your door instead of taking that call."
"I'm sorry I let three weeks of silence build a wall neither of us knew how to climb," I say. "I should have called first."
"So call now," he says, pulling back just enough to look at me, something hopeful and unguarded in his face that I haven't seen since before the leak. "Not a statement. Not a contract renewal. Just… us, deciding what we actually want, without anyone else in the room."
"What do you want," I ask.
"You," he says, simple, certain. "For real. No cameras required."
CHAPTER 10: NO MORE PRETENDING
We don't go back down to the dinner. Somewhere between the rooftop and the elevator, the last three weeks of careful distance dissolve completely, and by the time the doors open onto his floor, neither of us is pretending anything anymore… not for cameras, not for a crisis team, not even for ourselves.
His room is quiet, city lights spread out below the window in a soft orange haze, and for a moment we just stand there in the doorway, looking at each other, both of us aware that whatever happens next is the first thing either of us has done in eight months with absolutely no audience, no contract, no clause dictating what's allowed.
"No more pretending," he says, low, framing it half as a promise, half as a question, his hand coming up to cup my jaw the way it had on the Cannes steps, except gentler now, surer.
"No more pretending," I echo, and pull him down to meet me.
The kiss is slow this time. Unhurried. There’s no urgency born of jealousy or secrecy or the ticking clock of an itinerary. Just the quiet certainty of two people who have finally stopped running from the truth. His mouth moves against mine with a tenderness that makes my chest ache, lips soft, tongue tracing the seam of my mouth only when I open for him. I taste the faint residual mint of whatever he drank earlier, and underneath it the familiar warmth that has become home over the last eight months.
We stay like that for a long time in the doorway, kissing without rush, hands exploring with a new kind of freedom. His fingers slide into my hair, cradling the back of my head. Mine rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under the fabric of his shirt. When we finally break apart it’s only far enough for him to rest his forehead against mine.
“I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs. “Just this. No one watching. No one deciding what we’re allowed to feel.”
“Me too.” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “For longer than I admitted.”
He smiles… small, real, the one that never quite makes it into photographs… and takes my hand, leading me further into the room. The city lights paint everything in soft orange and gold. He doesn’t turn on any lamps. We don’t need them.
We undress each other slowly. There’s no tearing, no urgency. Just the quiet sound of buttons slipping free, the soft rasp of a zipper, the gentle tug of fabric sliding over skin. He peels my top upward and I lift my arms, letting him draw it over my head. His fingers find the clasp of my bra next, easing it open, and when the lace falls away he simply looks at me for a moment, eyes warm and open.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, quiet, like it’s a fact he’s been carrying for months and only now gets to say out loud without an audience. “Every version of you. The one in the green silk at Cannes. The one in sweatpants at the diner. This one, right now, with nothing between us.”
I reach for his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, then work open his belt and trousers with the same unhurried care. When we’re both bare he draws me in again, skin to skin, and the simple contact… chest against chest, the warmth of him seeping into me… feels more intimate than anything we’ve done before. His arms wrap around me, one hand spread out low on my back, the other cradling the nape of my neck. I press my face into the curve of his shoulder and breathe him in.
We move to the bed without speaking. He sits first, then guides me to straddle his lap, the soft mattress dipping under our weight. For a while we just kiss like that… slow, deep, unhurried…his hands roaming the length of my spine, my thighs, the curve of my waist, mapping me like he’s learning me for the first time without any performance attached. I do the same, tracing the line of his collarbone, the soft place under his jaw, the small scar above his eyebrow I first noticed in Milan.
When his mouth drifts lower I tip my head back, giving him room. He kisses the column of my throat, the hollow at the base, the upper curve of one breast, then the other. There’s no hurry. He takes his time, lips and tongue and the lightest graze of teeth, until my breathing has gone shallow and my fingers are threaded through his hair. Only then does he lift his head and look at me.
“Can I taste you?” he asks, voice low, almost reverent. “Properly. Not like before. Not because we’re angry or scared or trying to prove something. Just because I want to.”
The question undoes me more than any demand ever could. I nod, and he eases me onto my back against the pillows. He settles between my thighs with the same careful attention, palms smoothing up the insides of my legs, spreading me open. For a moment he simply looks, then leans in and presses a soft kiss to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Another, higher. Another. By the time his mouth finally reaches me I’m already trembling.
The first long, slow lick is almost gentle. He hums quietly, like the taste of me is something he’s missed, and then settles in with a patience that feels like worship. There’s no roughness this time, no frantic hunger. Just the steady, focused drag of his tongue, the soft suction around my clit, the occasional slow thrust of two fingers that curl just right. He watches my face the whole time, adjusting when my breath catches, slowing when I get too close, building me with a care that makes my eyes sting.
“You’re so soft here,” he murmurs against me between strokes, voice muffled and warm. “So responsive. I love the way you move when I do this—” He demonstrates with a slow circle of his tongue that makes my hips lift. “I love the sounds you make when it’s just us. No cameras. No one else to hear.”
I reach down and brush the hair back from his forehead, needing the contact. “Heeseung…”
“I’ve got you,” he says, and seals his mouth over me again, sucking gently while his fingers work deeper. The orgasm builds slow and inevitable, rolling through me in long, warm waves that leave me gasping his name. He stays with me through every pulse, gentling only when the last tremor fades, then presses a final soft kiss to my oversensitive skin before crawling up my body.
He kisses me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue, and I wrap my arms around him, holding tight. When we break apart I roll us carefully so that he’s on his back and I’m hovering over him. His eyes are dark and soft at once, watching me with complete trust.
“My turn,” I whisper, and slide down his body.
I take him into my mouth the same way he took me… slowly, with attention, with no agenda beyond wanting to make him feel loved. I map every inch with my tongue first, learning the places that make his breath hitch, the sensitive spot just under the head that pulls a quiet groan from his chest. When I finally sink down around him I do it carefully, taking him deep but never rushing, one hand stroking the base while the other rests on his thigh, feeling the muscle jump under my palm.
“Y/N—” His voice cracks on my name. One hand finds my hair, not guiding, just resting there, fingers carding gently through the strands. “That feels… God, the way you look when you’re doing this. Like you’re not performing for anyone. Like it’s just for me.”
I hum around him in answer and feel the vibration travel. His hips stay carefully still, letting me set the pace. I take my time, alternating deep, slow pulls with soft licks along the underside, occasionally pulling off just far enough to speak against the slick head of him.
“I love the way you taste,” I tell him, quiet and honest. “I love knowing this is only for us now. No one else gets this version of you.”
His answering sound is half groan, half broken laugh. “Keep talking like that and I won’t last.”
I take him back into my mouth and work him with steady, loving attention until his breathing turns unsteady and his hand tightens in my hair. When I feel him getting close I ease off and crawl back up his body, straddling his hips. He watches me with complete openness as I reach down, guide him to my entrance, and sink down slowly, taking him inch by careful inch until he’s buried completely inside me.
We both go still. The feeling of him… thick, warm, perfectly filling… combined with the look in his eyes is almost too much. I lean down and kiss him, soft and deep, while my body adjusts around him.
“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth. “Not the version they photographed. This one. The real one.”
“I love you too.” His hands slide up my back, holding me close. “I’ve loved you since Paris, even if I was too much of a coward to say it. Every unscripted second. Every quiet morning. This.”
I start to move, slow and deep, rolling my hips in a rhythm that has nothing to do with performance and everything to do with wanting to stay connected as long as possible. He meets me halfway, thrusting up in the same unhurried rhythm, eyes never leaving mine. One of his hands finds mine and laces our fingers together against the pillow. The other stays low on my back, guiding, grounding.
There’s no dirty talk this time. No urgency. Just the quiet sounds of our breathing, the soft slide of skin against skin, the occasional whispered “I love you” that lands between kisses. When the pleasure builds again it’s gradual, a warm tide rather than a breaking wave. He reaches between us and strokes my clit with the same gentle attention, and I come with his name on my lips and my forehead pressed to his, shaking through it while he holds me.
He follows soon after, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a quiet, broken sound that feels like surrender. We stay locked together afterward, neither of us in any hurry to separate. His arms wrap around me fully. I rest my head on his chest and listen to the gradual slowing of his heartbeat under my ear.
For a long time the only sound is the distant city and our breathing. His fingers trace absent patterns along my spine. Mine rest over his heart.
“No more pretending,” he says eventually, voice soft against my hair. “No more contracts. No more waiting for someone else to decide what we are.”
“Just us,” I answer.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, lingering there. “Just us. For real. For as long as you’ll have me.”
I lift my head enough to meet his eyes. In the soft orange glow of the city lights he looks younger somehow, unguarded, completely present. I brush a strand of hair from his forehead and lean in to kiss him once more… slow, certain, full of every quiet promise neither of us needs a camera to witness.
“I’ve never wanted anything more,” I tell him, and mean it with everything I am.
We stay tangled together in the dark, skin against skin, no audience, no itinerary, no rules left to break. For the first time since that conference room on the thirty first floor, neither of us is performing. We are simply here, choosing each other, and it is enough.
It is everything.
…
Afterward, tangled together in the dark, his heartbeat slow and steady under my ear, neither of us in any hurry to move or speak or let the moment end, he presses a kiss to the top of my head and says, quiet, "I meant what I said on the terrace. This is the realest thing I've ever felt too."
"Even with the whole disaster of the last month?"
"Especially with the disaster of the last month," he says. "Because we survived it. A fake contract could've fallen apart under a leak like that and nobody would've blinked. This didn't. Whatever this is, it's not fake. It never really was, not since Milan, and I think some part of both of us knew that even when we were too scared to say so."
I trace an absent pattern against his chest, thinking about the eight months behind us… Paris and its careful proximity, Milan and its accidental honesty, Seoul and its jealousy, Cannes and its almost confession, the leak, the silence, and now this. "What happens now," I ask. "Practically, I mean. The contract's basically dead. Prada's crisis team thinks we broke up. The whole narrative machine thinks the story's over."
"Then we tell them it's not," he says. "On our own terms this time. No Aurora, no itinerary, no 'organic reveal rhythm.' Just us, deciding how public we want to be, when we're ready, and not a moment before."
"I like that," I say. "I like that a lot."
"There's one thing I need to know first, though," he says, tipping my chin up so I'm looking at him. "Not for a statement. Just for me."
"What."
"Are you in this for real? All the way? Because I don't want eight more months of performing a relationship, even a real one. I want the actual, unglamorous, no cameras version. Grocery runs. Bad days. All of it."
"I've never wanted anything more in my life," I say, and mean it completely, and he smiles… not the careful, camera ready smile I first met eight months ago in a conference room full of strategists, but something real, something just for me, something no headline will ever get quite right, because it was never really theirs to have in the first place.
CHAPTER 11: ON OUR OWN TERMS
The awards ceremony is three days later, and by then, word has already started to spread that something's different… a paparazzi photo of us leaving a diner together at 1 a.m., unglamorous, unstaged, him in a hoodie and me in sweats with my hair in a bun, both of us laughing at something off camera, goes mildly viral not because it's dramatic but because it so obviously isn't. No stylists. No itinerary. Just two people who clearly like being around each other.
Aurora calls, predictably, the morning after the diner photo surfaces, already talking fast about "reclaiming the narrative" and "a controlled re-reveal," and I let her get about a minute into the pitch before I stop her.
"We're not doing a controlled anything," I say. "If people want to know what's actually going on, we'll tell them ourselves, when we're ready, and it won't be a press strategy. It'll just be true."
There's a long pause on the line. "Prada's not going to love that."
"Prada got eight months of a genuinely record breaking campaign out of us," I say. "I think they'll survive not scripting the epilogue."
Heeseung, sitting across the hotel room with his own phone pressed to his ear… his agent, presumably delivering a similar pitch from his team… catches my eye and grins, the kind of unguarded, delighted grin that used to be rare and is starting, slowly, to become his default expression around me.
"Tell them," he says into his phone, "that we appreciate the eight months. And that whatever happens next is between us."
…
We do, eventually, confirm it publicly… not through Prada's PR machine, not through a "controlled statement," but through the simplest, least strategic method either of our teams could imagine, I post a photo from the diner, the real one, no filter, no caption beyond a single sentence… turns out the contract ran out, but we didn't… and Heeseung comments under it, publicly, for the first time ever, something short and unguarded and entirely, embarrassingly sincere.
The internet, predictably, combusts. But it's a different kind of combustion than the leak… less scandal, more collective relief, headlines shifting overnight from was any of it real to the fake dating story that became real love, an oral history, outlets scrambling to interview anyone tangentially connected to the eight month arrangement, Aurora included, who gives a quote so glowing about "always believing in the authentic connection" that Heeseung nearly chokes on his coffee reading it.
"She tried to script our breakup two weeks ago," he says, incredulous, "and now she's taking credit for the reunion."
"That's PR for you," I say. "No shame, impeccable timing."
At the ceremony that night, we walk the carpet together… not because a contract requires it, not because Aurora mapped out a pause point for photos, but because we both, independently, without discussing it, reach for each other's hand the second we step out of the car. There's no choreography to it. When a photographer calls out asking for "the kiss, one more time, like Cannes," Heeseung looks at me first, silently asking, and I'm the one who closes the distance this time, on my own terms, because I want to, not because anyone's watching.
His film wins. He thanks, in his speech, "the person who taught me that the realest things rarely start out looking real," and doesn't say my name, doesn't have to, because the whole room turns to look at me anyway, and I sit there with tears in my eyes that have nothing to do with performance and everything to do with eight months finally, quietly, resolving into something neither of us has to pretend about anymore.
CHAPTER 12: THE UNGLAMOROUS VERSION
Nobody warns you that the hardest part of a fake relationship becoming real isn't the cameras, or the contract, or even the leak… it's the small, unglamorous logistics of building an actual life with someone whose entire career runs on a different clock than yours.
We fly back to New York together a week after the ceremony, and the adjustment is stranger than either of us expects. For eight months, every interaction we'd had was, in some sense, scheduled… an itinerary telling us when to be in the same city, a publicist telling us when to hold hands, a stylist telling us what to wear while we did it. Now there's nothing telling us anything, and it turns out neither of us has practiced simply being together without an occasion attached.
"This is weird," Heeseung admits, the first Sunday we spend in my actual apartment, the one with the air shaft view and the mannequin still holding the coat I still owe on. He's sitting on my extremely mediocre couch, in sweatpants, eating cereal straight from the box, looking more relaxed than I've ever seen him on any red carpet. "I don't know what we're supposed to do. There's no event."
"We're supposed to just exist," I say, dropping down beside him and stealing a handful of his cereal. "It's called a Sunday. People do this."
"I haven't had an unscheduled Sunday in four years."
"Welcome to civilian life. It's mostly laundry and bad television."
He looks almost moved by this, in a way that's more revealing than he probably means it to be, and it hits me, watching him, that under the polish and the premieres, this is a man who has spent the better part of a decade with every hour of his life mapped out by other people, and that an ordinary, unscripted Sunday might genuinely be one of the more romantic things anyone's ever given him.
…
We tell our families separately, in the weeks that follow… awkward, funny, entirely real conversations that no press release could have prepared either of us for. My mother, predictably, wants to know if this means I'll finally bring someone to Thanksgiving who isn't "one of your work friends pretending to be a boyfriend for the pictures," and I have to explain, with some difficulty, that the actual truth is even stranger than that joke. Heeseung's parents, the cardiologist and the violinist who still don't fully understand his job, ask fewer questions about fame and more about whether I'm kind to him, whether I make him laugh, whether… his mother's actual words, passed on to me later with visible embarrassment… "he still gets that awful stiff voice he uses in interviews, or if he's finally loosened up."
"Have I loosened up?" he asks me later, genuinely anxious about the answer.
"You ate cereal out of the box on my couch in sweatpants an hour ago," I say. "I think you've loosened up."
There are hard days too… a stretch in July when he's away for reshoots and I'm on a six city booking run and we go nine days only managing a handful of late night calls, both of us exhausted, both of us learning that love surviving a fake dating scandal doesn't automatically mean it survives ordinary distance without effort. We fight, once, over nothing important… a missed call, a misread text, the specific brittle exhaustion of two people whose jobs both require them to perform warmth all day and then have none left over for each other by nightfall… and it scares me, briefly, how easily the old instinct to manage the narrative instead of just talk to him creeps back in.
"We don't have a crisis team anymore," he reminds me gently, after the fight, once we've both cooled down enough to actually talk instead of spar. "It's just us. We have to actually say things now, not wait for someone else to write a statement explaining what we meant."
"I know. I'm still learning how to do that without a script."
"Me too," he says. "We'll figure it out. We've survived worse than a bad week."
He's right. We have.
CHAPTER 13: EVERYTHING WE DIDN'T PLAN
Autumn in New York settles into a rhythm neither of us expected to want this badly. Heeseung wraps his reshoots in September and comes home… home, now, meaning the apartment we've started, tentatively, to share, a bigger place than my old one, still with exposed brick, but no airshaft view this time, a real window that looks out over a real street, the kind of ordinary home detail that would have seemed impossibly boring to me eight months ago and now feels like the whole point of everything.
We fall into small rituals that no itinerary ever mapped for us. Sunday mornings at the same tiny bakery two blocks from the new place, where he still orders the same thing every time and I still order something different, and he still calls it chaotic, and I still call his order sad, and neither of us means it as anything but affection now. Tuesday nights, when both our schedules allow, we cook together… badly, mostly, his cardiologist father having apparently passed on excellent bedside manner and absolutely no cooking instincts… and eat on the floor of the living room because we still haven't bought a dining table, both of us too busy actually living to get around to furniture shopping.
He starts turning down projects that would take him away for months at a stretch, not all of them, not enough to derail a career he's worked a decade to build, but enough that Lexi starts joking that I've "domesticated the most elusive man in Hollywood," which he finds both hilarious and, quietly, a little bit true.
"I used to take everything," he admits one night, both of us tangled on the couch we finally bought, an actual grown up piece of furniture that isn't secondhand or borrowed. "Every project, every job, because saying yes felt like the only way to prove I deserved to still be doing this. I didn't used to have a reason to say no to anything."
"And now?"
"Now I have a reason to come home," he says, simple, and kisses the top of my head, and I feel it land somewhere deep and unguarded, a version of him nobody else ever gets to see, the one who exists entirely outside the contract, outside the cameras, outside the eight months that started this whole complicated, beautiful mess.
…
I get my own version of that lesson, slower, harder won. I've spent my whole adult life defining myself by whether strangers found my face useful… booked or not booked, chosen or passed over, worth photographing or not… and it takes months, longer than it takes Heeseung, honestly, to unlearn the instinct to perform even in the moments that don't require it. He notices before I do, the way he notices most things about me now, quietly, patiently, without making a production of it.
"You don't have to smile like that when it's just us," he tells me one evening, gentle, no judgment in it, just an observation. "The camera ready one. I know the difference now."
I hadn't realized I was doing it… some old reflex, some years deep habit of arranging my face for an audience even when the only audience is a man who's already seen every real version of me there is.
"Old habit," I say.
"I know," he says. "Take your time unlearning it. I'm not going anywhere."
It's such a small thing, and it undoes me more than any grand declaration could, because it's not performed, it's not for cameras, it's not scheduled by anyone's itinerary. It's just true, quiet, ordinary, the exact thing neither of us knew we were signing up for eight months ago in a conference room that smelled like eucalyptus diffuser and a hundred careful strategies for making something fake look real.
We never needed the strategies. We just didn't know that yet.
CHAPTER 14: WHAT NOBODY PHOTOGRAPHED
There's a version of this story that exists only in photographs… the Paris golden hour walk, the Milan magazine cover, the Cannes kiss frozen in a thousand identical frames, the diner photo that finally told the truth without meaning to. That version is the one strangers know, the one that got dissected in comment sections and think pieces and a single viral tweet about headaches that I still, embarrassingly, think about sometimes.
But there's another version, the one nobody photographed, and it's the one that actually mattered.
Nobody photographed the night in Seoul when Heeseung, three days into a brutal shoot schedule, called me at 2 a.m. his time just to hear my voice, too tired to say much of anything, and fell asleep on the phone mid sentence while I listened to him breathe for twenty minutes before hanging up, careful not to wake him. Nobody photographed the morning after Milan when neither of us said the word love but both of us understood, somehow, that the ground had shifted permanently under two people who'd started this as a business arrangement. Nobody photographed the three weeks of silence after the leak, the worst weeks of the whole eight months, both of us lying awake in different cities, too proud and too scared to be the first to call, learning the hard way that real feelings don't come with a crisis team to manage the fallout when they go wrong.
Nobody photographed the diner, actually… not until the very end, not until it had already happened a dozen quiet times before that one got caught on someone's phone. We'd been going there for weeks by then, unnoticed, unremarkable, just two people who liked pancakes at 1 a.m. and each other's company more than either of us liked being seen.
I think about that a lot, now… how the realest parts of the whole story happened in the gaps the itinerary never accounted for. Aurora's careful choreography got us the golden hour walk, the magazine cover, the manufactured "organic overlap" in Seoul. But none of that made us fall for each other. What made us fall for each other was everything in between the appointments… the croissant arguments, the stolen risotto, the 2 a.m. phone calls neither of us needed to make, the small unscripted moments a contract could never have written into being no matter how good its clauses were.
I tell Heeseung this once, months later, curled against him on the actual grown up couch in our actual shared apartment, and he's quiet for a moment before he answers.
"Aurora would probably say that's exactly the plan working," he says, dry. "'Authenticity architecture.' She'd take credit for the pancakes too, given the chance."
"She absolutely would."
"But you're right," he says, more serious now, pulling me closer. "The itinerary got us in the same room enough times for something real to have a chance to happen. It didn't make the real thing happen. That part was just… us. Nobody's strategy. Just two people who kept choosing each other in the gaps nobody was watching."
"I like that better than the version with the contract in it."
"Me too," he says. "I like our version best."
CHAPTER 15: THE ANNIVERSARY BEAT
A year to the day after that first meeting in the conference room on the thirty first floor, Prada throws a party. Not for us, exactly… for the campaign, which is wrapping its final run, the last of the billboards coming down, the last of the print ads rotating out of magazines. Aurora calls it "a celebration of a landmark partnership." Heeseung calls it, privately, to me, "the world's strangest work anniversary."
We go anyway, because Aurora, despite everything, has become something oddly like a friend over the past year… the kind of friend forged in crisis, the way people who survive a disaster together end up bonded whether they like each other or not… and because the campaign, whatever its origins, genuinely changed both our careers. I'm the face of a house I used to walk in the back third of. He's had three offers in the last six months for the kind of role he used to have to fight for.
The party is at the same townhouse garden in Paris where we had our very first public appearance, flown in guests and repurposed string lights and a specific, deliberate nostalgia to the whole evening that Aurora has clearly engineered on purpose. There's a slideshow… actual footage from the whole eight months, Paris to Milan to Seoul to Cannes to the leak to the diner photo to tonight… projected onto the side of the building while people mill around with champagne, and watching a year of my own life condensed into a five minute reel is stranger than I expect it to be.
"Look at us," Heeseung murmurs, arm around my waist, watching the Cannes kiss flash up on the wall to a small ripple of applause from the crowd. "We look so surprised in that one."
"We were surprised. Neither of us planned that."
"Best unplanned thing that ever happened to me," he says, and kisses my temple, easy, unbothered by the fact that half the party is watching us do it… a difference from a year ago that neither of us takes for granted anymore, the ease of it, the fact that it no longer matters whether anyone's watching, because we're not performing for them. We just are what we are, and it happens, sometimes, to be photogenic.
Aurora finds us near the end of the night, glass in hand, uncharacteristically sentimental. "I want it on record," she says, "that I called it. Day one. I told the room this had real potential."
"You told the room it had narrative potential," Heeseung says. "There's a difference."
"Same thing, different vocabulary," she says, unbothered, and clinks her glass against both of ours. "Congratulations, you two. Genuinely. I've run a hundred of these arrangements. This is the first one that actually became what we were selling."
She wanders off to find the next conversation, and Heeseung and I stand there a moment, looking out over the garden, the same garden, a year later, neither of us the same people who stood here that first night, careful and staged and deliberately not looking too closely at whatever was starting between us.
"Can I ask you something," he says, echoing, deliberately, the exact words from that hotel suite in Milan a year ago.
"You can ask."
He reaches into his jacket pocket, and I understand, with a jolt that goes straight through my chest, exactly what's about to happen before he even gets the box fully out.
"I know we said no more scripted moments," he says, a little unsteady for the first time in months, kneeling right there in the garden where this whole story technically started, cameras from the party's official photographer swinging toward us with the practiced speed of professionals who know a moment when they see one. "But I promise this one isn't for anyone but you. I've been carrying this around for three weeks trying to find the right unplanned moment, and I don't think there's ever going to be a perfect one, so I'm just going to ask. Y/N. Will you marry me? For real. No contract. No itinerary. Just you and me, choosing this, for the rest of our lives."
I'm crying before I even get the word out, the good kind, the kind that has nothing to do with performance and everything to do with a year that started as a business arrangement and became, somewhere in the gaps nobody photographed, the realest thing either of us has ever had.
"Yes," I say. "Yes, obviously, yes."
The photographers get the shot. Of course they do. It ends up everywhere within the hour, the same way everything about us always has… except this time, for the first time in the whole complicated year, neither of us minds even a little bit that the world gets to see it too.
CHAPTER 16: THE WEDDING
We get married eleven months later, in June, in a backyard in upstate New York that belongs to nobody's brand and nobody's PR strategy… a friend of Heeseung's mother's, an old farmhouse with a garden gone slightly wild in the best way, string lights that nobody hired a stylist to hang, a guest list of forty people instead of the four hundred Prada's events team half jokingly offered to coordinate "at cost."
"Absolutely not," Heeseung told Aurora, when she pitched it, gentle but immovable in a way that still surprises people who only know the polished, camera ready version of him. "This one's not for anyone but us."
She'd looked almost proud of him for saying it, which is its own strange full circle moment, the woman who once mapped our whole relationship onto a slide deck now nodding along to the idea of a wedding with no slide deck at all.
There are no professional photographers, which feels, after a year and a half of being documented by strangers for a living, like the most radical thing either of us has done. Heeseung's cousin brings a decent camera and takes maybe two hundred photos over the course of the day, most of them blurry, none of them lit correctly, all of them somehow more precious to me than every polished frame from the campaign combined.
My mother cries during the vows, loudly, unapologetically, the same woman who used to introduce me at parties as "my daughter, she does the pictures," now sitting in the second row watching me marry a man she'd initially, privately, worried was "too handsome to be trustworthy," a theory she abandoned somewhere around the third time she watched him do dishes at our apartment without being asked.
Heeseung's parents… the cardiologist and the violinist who still don't fully understand what either of us does for a living… sit in the front row holding hands, and his mother, when it's her turn to be walked down for the processional seating, whispers something to him that makes him laugh right before the ceremony starts, something I only learn later was "no stiff interview voice today, please," a joke that's followed him the whole eighteen months since I first heard about it secondhand.
The vows themselves are simple, unpolished, nothing either of us rehearsed with a coach or ran past a publicist. I tell him about the croissant argument in Paris, about how I knew somewhere around day three that I was in more trouble than the contract accounted for, and never said so out loud for months because I was too scared of what it would mean if I was wrong. He tells me about the hotel hallway in Seoul, about jealousy he had no right to feel over a fake relationship, and how it was the first honest thing either of us had said to each other in weeks, and how it terrified him and relieved him in equal, confusing measure.
"I fell for you somewhere in a conference room that smelled like a candle store," he says, and the small crowd laughs, and I laugh too, because it's true, absurdly, embarrassingly true… that this whole enormous, complicated, beautiful thing started with a strategy deck and a phrase like "organic reveal rhythm," and became, against every reasonable expectation either of us walked in with, the realest love either of us has ever known.
"I love you," I tell him, when it's my turn, "not the version they photographed. The one nobody did. The 2 a.m. phone calls and the bad cooking and the way you still order the same boring croissant every single morning like it's a personality trait worth defending. That's the version I married. That's the only version that was ever real."
We kiss… no photographer counting down, no red carpet steps, no crowd of strangers with cameras raised, just forty people who actually know us clapping in a backyard that smells like cut grass and roses gone slightly wild… and it is, without question, the best kiss of either of our lives, better than Cannes, better than Milan, better than any of the manufactured moments that started this whole story, because for the first time, absolutely nobody had to be convinced it was real.
…
At the reception, under the same string lights, Lexi finds me by the dessert table, glass raised. "I have to say," she says, "when I called you at 6:47 in the morning about a Prada deal, I did not expect this to be the outcome."
"Neither did I."
"For the record," she adds, "I did tell you not to say no before you heard the pitch. I stand by that advice."
"Best advice you ever gave me."
Heeseung finds me a few minutes later, tie loosened, jacket already abandoned somewhere over the back of a chair, looking more relaxed and more genuinely happy than I've ever seen him in front of any camera, real or imagined. "Mrs. Lee," he says, testing the words out for the first time, grinning like an idiot.
"That's not legally my name yet."
"Give it a minute. I'm feeling it."
"Feel it on the dance floor," I say, and pull him out among the string lights, and we dance, badly, to a song nobody chose, surrounded by forty people who love us for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with a contract, an itinerary, or eight months of carefully engineered proximity that somehow, against every reasonable expectation, turned into the truest thing either of us has ever had.
CHAPTER 17: THE INTERVIEW
Two years after the leak, a journalist from a major magazine… the kind of outlet that once ran the "was any of it real?" headline that haunted us for weeks… reaches out for a joint interview. Not a strategic one this time. Not something Aurora architects with a slide deck full of approved talking points. A real one, her own idea, pitched directly to us with an apology attached for the outlet's role in the original scandal cycle.
We say yes, mostly because Heeseung's been wanting, for a while now, to set the record straight in our own words instead of letting two year old speculation calcify into permanent public record.
The interviewer, a woman named Mina with a gentler manner than either of us expected, sits us down in our own living room… the real one, the one with the couch we actually bought together and the dining table we finally got around to… and asks, gently, the question everyone's been asking since the leak first broke.
"So," she says. "Was any of it real?"
Heeseung looks at me before he answers, the same look he gave me on that terrace in Cannes, the one that says you first, or me first, doesn't matter, we're in this together.
"Almost none of it, at the start," I say honestly. "The itinerary was real. The clauses were real. The 'organic overlap' and the 'authenticity architecture' and all of Aurora's terrifying vocabulary… all real, all completely manufactured. But somewhere around Milan, it stopped being any of that."
"What changed in Milan?"
"I stopped pretending I wasn't falling for him," I say. "Which, in hindsight, is the least professional sentence I've ever said in an interview, but it's the truth."
Mina smiles, writes something down. "And for you, Heeseung?"
"Honestly? Probably before Milan," he admits, which is new information even to me, two years married, and I turn to look at him, surprised. "Paris. The croissant thing. I remember thinking, this is the most annoying, most charming person I've ever had breakfast with, and being genuinely alarmed by how much I looked forward to seeing her every morning after that. I didn't say anything because I figured it was a terrible idea to fall for someone I was contractually obligated to fake date. Turns out it was actually a great idea. Just badly timed."
"There was a lot of public speculation," Mina says, careful now, approaching the harder part of the conversation, "after the contract leaked, about whether the relationship had been, in the words of one particularly viral tweet, 'a con.' How do you both feel about that period now, looking back?"
I think about it honestly before answering. "It was the worst few weeks of my life," I say. "Not because strangers had opinions… I'd made peace with that a long time before any of this started. It was because for a moment, I genuinely didn't know if the person I loved and I were going to survive it, and that's a specific kind of terrifying that has nothing to do with public opinion and everything to do with two people who'd never had to communicate without a script suddenly needing to, in the middle of a crisis, with no practice."
"We got better at it," Heeseung adds. "Slowly. Badly, at first. But we did. And honestly, I think surviving that period is part of why the rest of it worked… we learned, the hard way, how to actually talk to each other instead of letting someone else manage the narrative for us."
Mina asks a few more questions… about the wedding, about the Prada campaign's legacy, about whether either of us would ever consider a real fake dating arrangement again for a project, a question Heeseung answers with an immediate, emphatic "absolutely not" that makes me laugh hard enough that the recording catches it… and then, near the end, she asks the question I suspect she'd been building the whole interview toward.
"If you could go back," she says, "to that first conference room meeting, knowing everything that would happen… the falling in love, the leak, the breakup, the getting back together, all of it… would you sign the contract again?"
Heeseung doesn't even pause. "In a heartbeat."
"Me too," I say. "Every single complicated, ridiculous, occasionally humiliating minute of it. I'd sign it again tomorrow."
The article runs two weeks later under the headline "We'd Sign It Again": Heeseung Lee and Y/N on Love, Leaks, and Learning to Stop Performing. It's the first piece of press about us either of us actually likes, mostly because for once, it's just the truth, told in our own words, with nobody else's strategy attached to it.
EPILOGUE: HOME
Three years after a 6:47 a.m. email that started all of it, home is a brownstone in Brooklyn with a real yard, small and slightly overgrown the way we both secretly prefer it, a mannequin retired permanently to the basement, and a running joke about croissants that neither of us has ever gotten tired of.
Heeseung's between projects… the good kind of between, the kind he chooses now instead of the kind that used to be forced on him by fear of saying no… and I'm three weeks off a campaign that had nothing to do with Prada, my own booking, my own name on the contract, no manufactured narrative required, though Prada still sends a card every year on the anniversary of that first thirty first-floor meeting, a running bit Aurora started that neither side has ever bothered to end.
It's a Sunday. There's no itinerary. There hasn't been one in years, not really, not since the day we decided we'd rather build an ordinary life together than perform an extraordinary one for an audience.
We go to the same bakery, the Brooklyn version of the one in Paris we found on accident that first week, and he orders the same thing he's ordered every single time in six years, and I order something different, and he calls me chaotic, and I call his order sad, and it is, at this point, less a joke than a small, permanent ritual that belongs to nobody but us.
"You know," he says, over coffee, watching me steal half his croissant without asking, an old habit that survives every anniversary, "Mina called last week. Wants to do a follow-up piece. Five-year mark on the campaign. 'Where are they now.'"
"What'd you tell her?"
"I told her we're exactly where we always wanted to be. Just without the cameras this time."
I think about the conference room on the thirty first floor, the eucalyptus diffuser, the phrase organic reveal cadence that used to make us both roll our eyes and now makes us laugh outright, fond, at the sheer, absurd distance between where this started and where it landed. I think about Paris and the croissant war, about Milan and the fake couch that felt more real than my actual apartment, about the hotel suite where "practice" stopped being a alternative for anything but honesty, about Seoul and the jealousy that scared us both into finally saying something true, about Cannes and the kiss that wasn't in the itinerary, about the leak, and the three weeks of silence, and the rooftop in LA where we finally, finally said the things we'd been too scared to say on a terrace in France. I think about the wedding in the backyard that smelled like cut grass and roses gone slightly wild, about the interview where we told the truth for the first time in our own words, about every single unglamorous Sunday since.
None of it was in the original clause list. None of it was scheduled, or strategized, or run past a room full of people whose job titles were some configuration of strategy, brand, and talent. The parts that actually mattered never were.
"Hey," Heeseung says, catching me staring, reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, an old, easy, entirely unstaged gesture that no camera has ever once caught. "Where'd you go?"
"Just thinking about how none of this was supposed to happen. Not really. We were only ever supposed to fake it for the cameras."
"Best contract I ever failed to honor," he says, grinning, and kisses me… no photographer, no crowd, no headline waiting to dissect it, just two people who started this as a strategy and ended up, against every reasonable expectation, exactly where they were always going to end up anyway.
Only for the cameras, the contract said, once, a lifetime ago.
Neither of us ever needed the cameras. We just hadn't figured that out yet.
…
10 years later
Our daughter is four the year Prada asks us back for a tenth-anniversary retrospective of the campaign that started everything… a small event this time, low key by the label's standards, more nostalgia than strategy, no slide decks, no itinerary spreadsheets, just old friends and older photographs projected onto a wall in a much smaller room than the garden in Paris where Heeseung proposed.
She comes with us, small and serious in a tiny dress Heeseung's mother insisted on, staring up at a wall sized version of the Cannes kiss with the frank, unimpressed curiosity of a four year old encountering her own parents as strangers.
"That's you and Daddy," she says, pointing.
"That's us," I agree.
"You look weird."
"We were performing," Heeseung tells her, crouching down to her eye level, entirely serious, the way he's serious about everything that matters to her. "Pretending, for work. Grown ups do that sometimes."
"Were you pretending to like each other?"
"At first," he says. "Just at first. Then we stopped pretending, and it turned out we actually did."
She considers this with the enormous gravity small children apply to things adults consider trivial, then loses interest entirely and wanders off toward the dessert table, and Heeseung and I stand there together, looking up at a decade old photograph of two people who had absolutely no idea, in that frozen, camera ready second, what they were actually building.
"Ten years," he says, arm around my waist, the same gesture, worn soft and easy now, that started as choreography in a Paris garden a decade ago.
"Ten years," I agree. "Best contract I ever signed."
"Best contract we both eventually broke," he corrects, and I laugh, and somewhere across the room our daughter is negotiating with a caterer for a second dessert, and Aurora… retired now, mostly, but still occasionally unable to resist a good anniversary event… catches my eye from across the room and raises her glass, and I think, not for the first time, about the strange, improbable adding together of it all, a contract, an itinerary, a spreadsheet full of planned out intimacy, and somewhere underneath all of it, entirely unplanned, the realest thing either of us has ever had.
Only for the cameras, the paperwork said, once, in a conference room that smelled faintly of eucalyptus.
We broke that particular clause in Milan, and neither of us has regretted it for a single day since.
THE END
Hope you guys enjoyed it! I'd love to hear your guys' feedback in the comments! Also, comment on who or what trope I should do next!
↪synopsis: you develop a crush on jay the moment your eyes land on him and you immediately decide this is a problem because he's too pretty. unfortunately, chaewon tells you that he has been in a long-term relationship for years. which means your crush is doomed before it even starts. still, having a tiny harmless crush on someone unavailable has never killed anybody...right? are you doomed? yes, no, maybe?
↪ pairing: park jongseong x fem!reader | ↪ genre: university au, strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, slight angst | ↪ type: SMAU | ↪ status: ongoing | ↪warning: slow-burn, jay is quiet and reserved, a bit of toxic friendship dynamic.
ex for a reason : 25 JAKE vs JAY: who wore the tweet better?
previous masterlist next
𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : jealous jakey who also finally gets to experience his submissive fantasies 🥹🥹 it’s honestly really comedic to write jake feeling threatened by jay all the time when his biggest opp is hoon.
best friend!jungwon x best friend!reader ⸝⸝ female reader ⸝⸝ boxing au ⸝⸝ university au ⸝⸝ 26.7k words ⸝⸝ mystery ⸝⸝ angst ⸝⸝ hurt/comfort ⸝⸝ smart!reader ⸝⸝ yearner!jungwon ⸝⸝ detailed fighting ⸝⸝ illegal fighting ⸝⸝ do not try this at home ⸝⸝ mentions of harmful substances to consume (not drugs) ⸝⸝ kisses
ⓘ :: i did not think that this would take a month to write but here we are. i really hope you all enjoy. this fic has elements of hard-boiled detective fiction and romance. please ignore any mistakes that i wasn't able to catch. i love reading comments and feedback so please feel free!
The light chatter in the White Fang Cafe competed with the lowered sound of Instagram Reels emitting from the phone across from you. He sits with his laptop closed, his phone in his right hand, and his iced americano held up to his lips with his left.
“Are you going to get any work done at all?”
He turned his cat-like gaze up to your own, his dark brown eyes contrasting his recently dyed blond hair.
“Don’t need to,” He shrugged, “And before you say it: no, I can’t get ahead because I already am.”
“How are you already ahead?” You exclaimed more than asked.
“I don’t know, it’s just easy.”
You sighed and playfully rolled your eyes, mumbling “business majors” in an exasperated voice.
Jungwon let out a light chuckle and looked back down at his phone — jumping like a scared cat when he caught a glimpse of the time. You watched confusedly as he shoved his laptop into his bag and his phone in his back pocket.
“I gotta go,” He informed in a rush, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get home safe!”
“Wait, Jungwon!” He turned around at your words, “Where in the world are you going that’s so important on a Friday night?” You raised a brow and kept a suggestive lilt in your voice
He laughed awkwardly — you could tell by the breathiness and the slight reddening of his ears.
“Uh, I’m going to the gym with the guys,” He slung his backpack onto his shoulder, “You know, gotta get them gains or whatever.”
“Right…”
“Night, Y/N.” He flashed you a smile and ran out the cafe’s side door. Out the window you could just barely see him reach his dingy old car and drive onto the road.
You rolled your eyes. Jungwon was a horrible liar. There’s no way he was going to the gym and judging by the flush on his ears: he was probably going on a date or to a party and was too embarrassed to tell you.
Then again, this wasn’t abnormal for Jungwon. He was extremely self disciplined and has been the biggest gym rat since you’d met him in freshman year. And if the way his biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirts was any indication: his diligence was paying off. But you can’t recall Jungwon going to the gym at 8 on a Friday night….
Your brows furrowed in thought. Yes, you have.
Well, not exactly but last Friday you asked if he was going to his dorm hall’s floor event — you’d been invited by some other dude on his floor but said you’d only go if he did — Jungwon had texted back that he was busy on Friday. And three weeks ago there was the release of the Michael Jackson movie in which you’d gotten tickets for the two of you on opening night. You ended up taking your roommate Yuna instead.
You pressed your lips together as you considered the information. Either Jungwon has a girlfriend he never told you about, has become a Friday night party animal, or just really loves gymming with the guys on Friday nights. The easiest way, you supposed, to find out was to show up at the gym and see if you could spot all 175 centimeters of lean muscle.
After opening Maps to put in the address, you realized you have no idea what gym he goes to. You could’ve sworn you’d asked him before. For the life of you, you couldn’t remember his answer. You narrowed your eyes on the iMessage contact. Jungwon had a knack for sending you a selfie almost every time he found himself in front of his gym mirror — sometimes the mirror wasn’t even necessary. Just a selfie of him next to some equipment you wouldn’t even be able to name if you were held at gunpoint.
You’d never looked anywhere else but him and his toned body whenever he sent you pictures but now with fresh eyes you checked the backgrounds for any hint of a logo or calling card. You flicked between two pictures — ones where he was sitting at the same machine — backwards letters stood proudly on the back wall above his right shoulder. An E and the half of a B.
wonie: Fight broke out in the gym lol
Your teeth plunged into your lips as you bit back a smile at the message Jungwon had sent with a nonchalant selfie two months ago.
You: why’d you say that so nonchalantly
wonie: Eh it’s not that big of a deal
wonie: Wyd?
You: finishing up my reading for my next journalism lec ugh
You: free me from this prison
wonie: LOL
An uncontrollable smile had drawn onto your lips and for a few solid moments you lived in blissful reminiscence. Until you remembered that you were stalking Jungwon for a reason.
You flipped through more gym selfies, forcing your eyes to not look at the person in the foreground. Of all the selfies he sent, there was only one more that showed a sliver of the gym’s name: E, B, and Y — that should be enough to search with.
Your fingers across your keyboard wrote “YBE gym” in the Google search bar and watched the list of gyms load onto the screen. The first option caught your eye.
HYBE Gym 5★ 12 mins Write a review
Clicking the link to the directions, you packed up your bag, thanked the barista, and got in your car; silently praying that Jungwon wouldn’t think you were a freak for analyzing his photos just to find him at the gym. But then again, was he even going to be there?
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You pulled into the decently large parking lot of the Hybe gym. The exterior was boxy and large windows adorned the grey walls. Those same windows made it incredibly clear that the gym was emptied out of all its patrons. It would’ve been easy to shift into reverse and tease Jungwon for lying to you about his whereabouts but something about the way that the fluorescent lights remained on had you killing the engine instead.
Your eyes moved to the reception desk as you walked in — surely, there would be someone waiting there to scan your card or check your gym membership — no one sat in the black spinning chair. An uncanny feeling fell over you as you walked deeper into the gym, viewing the various large machines, the racks of weights, and the letters that you’d seen in his pictures just a few minutes before. You faced the mirror out of curiosity for what he sees when he sends you his selfies, your last look before exiting the strangely abandoned gym, until a familiar dark blue water bottle caught your eye.
If it were a Hydroflask or an Owala, you’d disregard it entirely, but this wasn’t a normal trendy water bottle — it was the dingy, plastic one every freshman received as a welcome package into the baccalaureate program. And unless there was another Decelis University student in the graduating class of 2027 that happened to go to an insanely modernized gym, Jungwon was telling the truth. He was here. Somewhere.
Fumbling in your purse for your phone, you called Jungwon’s number, hoping that he was just in the doorway marked “Men’s Locker Room”. And when you heard the faint ringing on the other side of the door, you were certain that he was there. Only ignoring your call. Brows pinched together in confusion, why would he not pick up your call?
The persistent feeling of uncanniness crawling up your spine and the prodding of school deadline anxiety in the back of your skull had you losing patience quickly. You ended the call and knocked on the locker room door.
“Jungwon?” You called out, “Are you in there?”
You gave him a generous three seconds to respond.
“Jungwon? Hello?”
After another short moment you pushed the door ajar and asked, “Is anyone even in here?”
You were met with nothing but silence. You closed your eyes and exhaled exasperatedly. Peeking around in the gym and finding it as vacant as you found it, you called out:
“Jungwon, if you don’t come out, I’m going in.”
At first, it was an empty threat — why would you willingly walk into the men’s locker room — but the lack of response fueled the strange feeling swarming the place. And maybe, a part of you wanted to prove that Jungwon wouldn’t lie to you. You didn’t care if he had a secret girlfriend or had an unquenchable love for frat parties but you wanted to know if and why he would keep it from you.
So, you took slow small steps into the locker room, making sure to put more force into them than necessary — just to make sure he would stop you before you committed fully and turned to see half a dozen nigh naked men. But as you rounded the small corridor, it was blatantly clear you had been talking to yourself for the past five minutes.
The locker room was shrouded in darkness, grey lockers lined the walls, and one long bench ran in the middle til it met the section of showers. You turned on the flashlight on your phone and looked closer. The lockers were labeled with numbers but some had small plaques with initials on them. Locker 5 caught your eye: partly because it was slightly ajar, partly because it had the initials “YJW” on a small metal plaque.
Flipping the locker door open, you saw Jungwon’s worn-in blue backpack shoved into the small space — obviously in a rush, since he didn’t see the strap of the bag sticking out of his locker and preventing it from being shut. His phone also sat in the locker, at an awkward angle as well, contributing to the theory that he rushed to put his stuff down. But if the rest of his stuff is here, why is his water bottle in the main part of the gym?
And where was Jungwon?
Your eyes glanced at the only part of the gym you hadn’t gone to yet — besides the girl’s locker room but you had more faith in Jungwon than that, which is ironic considering the room you were in currently — the showers. Although, you considered, no one seemed to be in here anyway. With the small encouragement, you walked over to the shower section: seven uniform showers lined the walls, all but one with the curtains left open.
Upon seeing the drawn shower curtain, you should have left. You shouldn’t have gotten closer. But you did. And with the way that the curtain sat, with one side over-drawn, leaving a sliver of space slightly open to view — you could imagine the events that occurred to have left the scene like that. Someone rushed into the shower, but if the lack of running water and indication that someone — anyone at all — was in this locker room, no one was in the shower anymore. So, with small steps, shaky hands, and held breath, you peeked past the shower curtain to find that your suspicions were right. No one was there. But something strange was.
The tile on the side with the shower head and knobs was tilted and coming off the wall in one piece. You would’ve supposed that that was why the shower curtain was closed. The shower was broken, it was under construction, it needed to be fixed, so they closed it off. But you couldn’t accept that to be true when just beyond the tilted back wall, muffled yelling emitted through the crack.
Stepping into the shower and taking a closer look at the wall, you realized that the titled tiles were not broken or falling apart, they were attached to a door disguised as the back of a shower. Someone forgot to ensure the secret door remained secret. As you stood with the door swung open, looking into a corridor with a staircase that ran down into a lower level, you contemplated counting your blessings, driving back to your apartment, and worrying about your homework in the morning.
But this is what you lived for, right? The drama, the thrill, the investigation. Now the opportunity to explore was right in front of your face — who were you to deny yourself of that adventure? And Jungwon was probably down there. It’s probably just some rich frat house’s party venue because they don’t want to piss their parents off.
You shook your head in disbelief, no way Yang “I get my work done two weeks in advance” Jungwon was a party animal.
You shut the door behind you and trod down the stairs in a liminal space between caution and confidence.
The staircase turned right and climbed down a few more steps before the room came into view. It was shaped like a stadium — bleachers around the walls with every seat filled with cheering fans. The lights were dimmed all around except for the center where everyone’s eyes were glued. And for good reason. The center showcased an elevated boxing ring that was adorned with visible wear and tear. An announcer’s voice boomed the play by play happening in the ring, taking care to note the names of the fighters as they threw their punches.
It was useless. You’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere.
You’d also recognize that mess of floppy blond-dyed hair, that enviously tiny waist, dark cat-like eyes, and toned biceps anywhere — which is why it was a little strange that it took you a good seven seconds to compute the scene unfolding before you.
Yang Jungwon, shifting and keeping light on his feet in the middle of that elevated boxing ring. Yang Jungwon, with bloodied bandages wrapped around his fists, throwing a clean jab into the jaw of his opponent. Yang Jungwon, continuing to advance and throw punches that didn’t quite make an impact before putting all his force in one that did.
“And Jakah lands his attack knocking his opponent to the floor! Yikes! That puts BigHit in a real tight spot!”
Your head filled with a million questions: who is Jakah? What is BigHit? What is happening?
The two fighters went back to their corners, their coaches handing them water bottles and wiping the sweat off their brows. From this angle, you could see Jungwon more clearly. His flushed skin, his big muscles, and the inception of a bruise on the left side of his jaw.
“Jakah continues to show his ferocity and tenacity in the ring.” The announcer informed.
“Maybe he’s trying to compensate for his performance last week?” Another announcer theorized.
“I don’t know but what I can say is that he is relentless tonight. It seems like we might be getting our beloved champion back, what do you say folks?”
The crowd erupted in roars. It was hard to make out at first, everyone yelling out of unison but half the crowd boo’d like their life depended on it and the rest cheered with every ounce of breath in their lungs. You watched Jungwon shake his head and push his water bottle away, shaking his right wrist, and waiting patiently before he could lunge at the other guy again.
This was a side of Jungwon you’d never seen before; he was so sweet, and gentle, and caring, it was hard to think of him as someone who spent his Friday nights beating the daylight out of other people. You recalled what the announcers had said just a few moments before. If Jungwon is this “Jakah” guy then what happened last week? And what did they mean by “champion”?
Jungwon turned to scan his eyes over the stands and an awareness fell on you like an avalanche. You were the only person standing in this entire underground stadium. Crouching immediately, you hoped that he hadn’t caught sight of you yet. What would happen if he did? Would he get nervous and be thrown off? That would likely cost him his victory and part of his physical condition. Your heart started aching at the mere sight of a bruise under his jaw, you couldn’t stomach watching him get pummeled. You also hadn’t decided what to say to him or how to say it. You couldn’t even grasp your emotions under the dazedness of shock — it’d be better to talk to him later when you could think clearly.
A loud buzzer blared and the fighters took to the center of the ring. Their hands fisted up to their face — their guards up — and their feet inching increasingly closer to one another. Jungwon’s opponent started with a barrage of light jabs, causing Jungwon to pull his guard higher up. It took about five seconds to realize why this useless move was continuing on: he was pursuing Jungwon toward the edges of the ring. But Jungwon quickly found his footing and dropped into a crouch before sending a hard punch to his assailant's ribs. The crowd erupted in a collective grimace but Jungwon didn’t stop, instead he cracked his fist against the guys jaw with so much force that the sound traveled toward the stands.
His opponent fell limp on the floor, blood dripping from his face, and a referee running up to check his condition. The stadium didn’t wait in bated breath, no it roared in controversy — even as the referee stood up and held Jungwon’s hand high in victory.
It was hard to catch the crowds sentiment when they all had something to say:
“There goes my 75K won!” Someone grumbled.
“75? I put down a clean 150!”
“And that 225K is all mine now boys.” A person from the row behind them gloated.
“Yeah right, I bet 60% of the stadium also put their money down on Goldilocks.”
“60%? Not after last week.”
Your brows furrowed in deeply, what do they mean “put their money down”? Is Jungwon the prospect of illegal gambling?
Your head swam in a million different directions before you realized that the stands were being vacated deeper into the basement. Suddenly, the shock seemed to dissipate and the temperature in the room felt utterly too warm. You stood back up, legs as strong as under-chilled jello, and saw the stands slowly become deserted. Your eyes glanced toward the center-ring where Jungwon had been only moments before but had vacated as well. It was time you left too.
Before someone found you here.
You ran up the steps and out of the shower, through the thankfully still empty locker room, out of the overly modern gym. You passed through rows of equipment, spotting Jungwon’s abandoned water bottle and picking it up off the ground. You didn’t even know why you picked it up, you just did it on instinct and rushed out to your car.
And all you could think about on the drive to your apartment was: is Jungwon okay?
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The screen of your phone on the darkest setting was still too bright as it shone in your face. The cursor blinked in its home on the message bar. A bar devoid of text.
You didn’t know what to tell him. What to say. What to ask. It was all amiss to you. You’d known Jungwon since freshman year and never in those three years did you think of him as a guy that would knock a guy out so hard that blood pooled out of his mouth. So, what on Earth were you supposed to text him?
“Hi I followed you to the gym and saw you turn some guy into a pulp! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Hi do you know that fighting people, especially in an underground fighting ring where people bid on your success/failure, is super dangerous in multiple ways??”
You sighed and threw your phone to the other side of the bed. He’d probably text you tomorrow, you’d figure out what to say. Hopefully.
Because if Jungwon was involved in illegal gambling and fighting — he was putting himself in so much risk. You couldn’t freak out, couldn’t go around accusing him. You needed to stay level headed.
Jungwon didn’t text you the next day but he did text you the day after. Sometime around noon your phone pinged and Jungwon’s name lit up on your screen.
wonie: Hey wyd rn?
You hesitated at first. You tried to convince yourself that you just needed more time to think about what to say to him but you knew that you were just dreading a conversation that was inevitable.
You: not much, u?
wonie: Bored
wonie: And my roommate brought his friends over and they’re loud asf
You: LOL
You: just come over! we can watch a movie or smth
wonie: Want me to pick up snacks?
You: nah i have some from last time!!
He wasn’t what you expected when you opened the door. Maybe it was because the Jungwon you’d seen that night was stuck in your head: the way his sweaty muscles reflected the light, the way his chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, the way the ends of his hair were slightly wet, the blooming bruise under his clenched jaw — it wouldn’t leave your mind.
But now he stood in front of you in his classic GAP grey hoodie, wispy bangs falling into his eyes, bright smile on his lips, and a jaw devoid of any discoloration.
“Hey,” His eyes lit up as soon as he saw you and he wasted no time at the door. Just strutted in like he was your roommate, taking his shoes off and walking to the kitchen, “Do you still have that apple flavored green tea?”
You raised your brow at him, “Bro, do you know how hard it was to find those again? I had to go to a Chinese grocery store just to find them.”
Jungwon held up the last bottle, the red and gold label almost completely hidden in his large hand. He shook it slightly as he spoke:
“Wanna split it with me?”
You looked at him with a flat face and crossed arms, “Fine.” How were you supposed to say no to that charming smile he shot you?
That charming smile turned into a victorious one that he didn’t even try to hide. It stayed plastered on his face as his hand reached up to your cabinet, grabbed too small glasses, filled them with ice, and then poured the tea equally into each glass. Your body slid past his as you reached up into the cabinet as well, picking up a bowl and pour out some chili-lime rolled tortilla chips. He took the empty packet from your hands and tossed it in the trash.
“So, what movie do you wanna watch?” He asked, making his way over to your couch.
“Mm,” You hummed in thought, “I’m not sure, what are you in the mood for?”
“Not a rom-com. So, don’t ask.”
“Yeesh, what’s wrong with rom-coms?”
“They’re cringey, predictable, and boring.”
“I thought you loved Your Eyes Only!”
He gave you an intentionally nervous smile.
“Wow. Okay.”
“Sorry,” He laughed softly and curled up on your couch, shoving the decorative pillow away with his leg.
You sat next to him, taking the glass he handed you and setting it on the coffee table. Jungwon never used the coffee table. He’d just hold the drink in his hand, taking big sips of his drink and finishing it within the first ten minutes. He’d also pick up your drink and set it on a coaster because he knew you wouldn’t finish it before the condensation began to drip onto the table.
“Hey, I think that new short series came out on Netflix.”
“Which series?” You clicked on the Netflix account and picked your profile.
“It’s called ‘Manifesto: Day 1’.”
“Oh the alien one?”
“Yeah!” He watched you search it up, “The fighting in it looks sick.”
Jungwon’s brow raised slightly as he watched your body stiffen at the word “fighting”. The sip he took from the glass was audible but he laid his suspicion to rest as you fumblingly turned on the show. The list of episodes appeared, including Walk the Line the first episode which was an hour and 12 minutes long.
“Each episode is an hour?!” You exclaimed only for Jungwon to laugh in return.
“It’ll be good, don't worry.”
“Yeah okay.” You leaned back into the couch as the show began to play.
The episode was apparently over an hour long but it didn’t feel that way — and not for any good reason. The show in its violence and action drew your focus on sweatstained memories and whims of concern.
One of the characters had strapped someone to a chair and proceeded to yell at him with all the grace of a grizzly bear. Upon not receiving the answer he was looking for, he gave the tied man a swift punch across the face. It hit you hard — metaphorically — the memory of Jungwon’s bandaged fist pounding across his opponent’s face so hard that it left a sound reverberating in the small stadium.
You weren’t sure if you’d flinched or not but Jungwon’s hand had instinctively moved closer to you. Perhaps in comfort. But you just stared at those knuckles — those slightly reddened knuckles — knowing exactly what they were used for just a couple nights ago. It sent a shiver down your spine.
The bruises the characters wore, the ones they tried to hide, filled your mind with potent worry of all the injuries Jungwon had had to hide. Did he have his ribs wrapped under his big hoodies? Did he buy concealer to hide the bruising to his jaw? Has he ever gone to the ER not knowing how to explain his injuries? Has he laid awake at night in pain and had no one to talk to?
Your shoulders tensed involuntarily but unnoticeably — unnoticeably to anyone but Jungwon that is.
Unfortunately, that very man was sitting next to you, dragging his eyes across your tense body.
“Y/N.”
You jumped at the sound of your name falling from his lips. The flinch had him sitting up and staring at you intensely, eyebrows furrowed and all. Your shaky gaze met his steady one and it incited you with the most gnawing anxiety you’d ever experienced. You begged him in your mind not to ask. Of course, he did.
“Did something happen?”
Your heart stuttered out of beat and your voice was a bit too sanitized as you spoke, “What? No! Nothing happened!”
Jungwon’s face fell into an incredulous expression. His hand grabbed the remote and paused the episode before looking back at you. Staring as if the answer would appear on your forehead if he waited long enough.
“Y/N, I’ve known you for long enough to know when you’re lying to me.”
Your voice filled with bittersweet laughter, “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What doesn’t mean anything.” His brows creased impossibly more.
“I mean, it doesn’t matter how long you know someone. You never really know if they’re lying to you or not.”
Jungwon straightened and sharpened his gaze, “What does that mean?” He pressed.
You wracked your brain for an answer it didn’t have.
“Nothing. It means nothing, forget about it.”
“No, tell me. It’s obviously bothering you.”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it, Wonie.”
“Woah, hey,” He held up his hands in surrender, “I’m just trying to communicate with you. I want to know what’s wrong because I care about you.”
“You should worry more about yourself, don’t you think?” You laughed as if it would lighten the thick tension building between you.
“What do you mean by that?” He had this half smile on his face as if he was prepared to turn sweet or sour depending on your response.
A cold sweat ran across your forehead, “I mean you should really care more about yourself.”
“I take care of myself just fine.”
“Yeah… right. Sure.”
“What is wrong with you? You’re acting weird? You know I can tell when something’s wrong, we’ve been best friends long enough for that.”
“No, you can’t.” You argued, your voice starting to rise along with your body as you stood up, “I just told you it doesn’t matter how long you know someone. One day you can wake up and find out that they’ve been lying to you for years before you even close your eyes for the night!”
Something about the way he stayed completely silent with his dark eyes boring into your own had your heart falling to the floor.
“What did you find out?” He asked carefully, standing up slowly.
It was in this silence that you realized that he was waiting for your answer with a held breath, you were waiting for your answer with shallow rapid ones. Seeing him from this angle — him standing right in front of you with his broad shoulders and his big hoodie hiding his disciplined body — being hyper-aware of how aggressive Jungwon could be if he wanted to, it was a sobering thought. One that incited more fear than necessary. Jungwon was your sweet and selfless best friend: he’d never hurt you.
You swallowed thickly despite the fact.
“Nothi–”
“Tell me.”
“Jungwon…” The name was shrouded in tones of concern, fear, and disappointment.
You could see it in the gleam of his eye: the last bit of hope that you hadn’t found out dimming. You took such a deep breath your lungs stretched to its fullest capacity. You were annoyed at Jungwon for not telling you his Friday itinerary, you can’t be hypocritical and refuse to tell him you know. So, you released your breath of air and braced for impact.
“Jungwon, I followed you to the gym on Friday,” You watched his face pale and his eyes widen, “And I know that’s weird and kind of stalker-ish and part of me felt bad at first. But we have bigger fish to fry because why are you in some sort of secret, underground, WWE, fight club? And if that wasn’t illegal enough, why are there people betting on your victory?”
None of your questions were answered, “How did you get down there?” His hands came to rest on your upper arms. His touch stiffened your body into a board.
“What?” You spoke again before he could repeat the question: “How else? I went in through the shower.”
“You went into the men’s locker room?” His face conveyed just how appalled he felt.
“Ok, if we’re counting cardinal sins, I think being a part of an illegal underground boxing ring and enabling illegal gambling takes the cake here.”
Jungwon closed his eyes and sighed, attempting to push your response from his mind.
“Did anybody see you?”
“Uh,” You shrunk from the intensity of his gaze, “Well, I mean I’m sure someone did but like I couldn’t name someone off the top of my head.”
Jungwon moved his hands to drag them against his face.
“Y/N, what were you doing there?! Why did you follow me?!”
“To see if you were telling the truth about going to the gym! I mean, Jungwon you’re always unavailable on Fridays and you left our study session so fast you might qualify as having superspeed! God forbid I’m a little curious to see where you go on Fridays!”
“And?” He threw his hands up in the air, “I was at the gym. Like I said.”
Your brows furrowed in offense, “No, you weren’t? The gym is the upper floor, you were playing Rocky down in the basement with some poor guy — that you absolutely smoked, by the way — but that is not the gym!”
Jungwon looked at you as if you’d grown three heads. You felt like maybe you had.
Jungwon licked his lips once he’d arranged his thoughts, “Okay, first of all: it's not wrestling and it's not boxing. Which means WWE and Rocky do not work as analogies.” You shook your head and rolled your eyes, “Second of all, I don’t really give a damn, Y/N. You put yourself in so much danger just by being at that gym and you have no idea.”
He ran a hand through his blond hair and you caught the way he winced when he tightened his jaw.
“Jungwon,” You spoke in a grave tone.
“No, you listen to me.” He demanded in seriousness you’d never heard from him before, “You are so lucky that nobody saw you. I don’t want to see you there, I don’t want to hear about you being there, ever again. The people there are dangerous—”
“What like you?” You asked before you could stop yourself and the question hit him like a truck, “You go there. I saw what you did— What you can do.” Pure, unadulterated fear flashed in those deep browns. “It’s literally a fight club, Jungwon. Obviously it's dangerous. There are people beating up others for fun… and money.”
Jungwon huffed out a disbelieving smile, “You have no idea.”
“Then how about you tell me instead of being cryptic. But that’s what you do, isn’t it?” The words were pulled from somewhere deep in your heart, “You make a life-threatening decision and then you don’t tell anyone because you don’t think it's that big of a deal. Or am I the only one who doesn’t know?”
“Y/N, the fight club is run by crime syndicates.”
You looked like the image of stupid with the way your eyes widened and mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“What?”
“Yeah,” He spoke overwhelmingly calmly, “So, when I tell you that it’s dangerous and you should never go there again, you will listen to me.” His voice left no room for negotiation.
“And what about you? Why are you going to a fight club run by the South Korean mafia? I can’t let you go back there either.”
“I have to.”
“Oh, what a load of bull,” You rolled your eyes, “You have free will, Jungwon. Please use it to value your life.”
“Y/N, I can’t.” You knew what he would say before he said it, “I’m contracted under one of the syndicates as a fighter.”
“And you can’t get out?”
“The only way is if I bought myself out.”
“Okay,” You spoke like it was the simplest thing in the world, “Then buy yourself out.”
It only made him laugh.
Like really laugh. An uncontrollable, unceasing laugh that was tinged with something akin to bitterness.
“Why are you laughing?” You asked exhausted and beyond annoyed.
“Do you seriously think it's that easy?”
“I don’t know, Jungwon.” You were finally yelling. Your voice had been rising throughout the argument but seeing Jungwon’s lack of self-preservation sent you over the edge. “Maybe I’d understand if you actually responded to me instead of tossing me bread crumbs and hoping I’ve had my fill.”
Jungwon’s expression was so flat that it was difficult to imagine that he was laughing mere moments ago.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes!” You exclaimed, “God, yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to get for the past ten minutes.”
“I can’t buy myself out because I can’t afford to.” His eyes had never looked as dark as they did now, “I have too large of a debt to buy myself out.”
“How much?” You sighed.
Jungwon looked at something — nothing in specific — just so he wouldn’t have to look you in the eyes.
“Well, the whole reason I joined is because they said that they’d pay my tuition if I joined their fight club team.”
“Who?” Eyebrows creased as you pressed for information.
“Belift.” He took your silence as a cue to keep going. “You know I’m a black belt in taekwondo, right? When I was searching for scholarships to pay for tuition, I saw one that required a black belt in a martial art. The scholarship said that if you could prove it with pictures of your accolades or with videos then you’d receive at least five-million South Korean Won.”
“Five-million? Just for proving you had a black belt?”
“No.” Jungwon answered, his tone wrapping the word in gravity, “The scholarship was something that had to be continuously earned. The scholarship is employment-based.” He sighed and closed his eyes, when they opened they were filled with newfound focus, “Okay, basically, the scholarship functions as a job. Once you’re accepted, you join their ‘staff’ or their ‘team’ and you compete against other candidates who received scholarships. You get five-million if you win the mini tournament they have. Then you get an opportunity to fight against another opponent for seven-hundred-fifty-thousand. And it keeps going on: you fight, you win, you get paid. They pay your monthly installment for tuition using your balance and you keep fighting for them.”
Your mind stalled as you tried to wrap your head around the specifics of the deal. As you were processing, a memory washed itself to the surface of your brain. The announcers talking about Jakah’s performance last week.
“Wait so then, what happens if you lose?”
He took a deep breath, “Then the amount of money you would have won from the fight is subtracted from your balance.”
You nodded. You expected that.
“So, let me get this straight,” You began to clarify, “You joined this fight club. You won the beginning tournament against other scholarship applicants and won five-million. Then you were offered to fight again with a bag of seven-hundred-fifty-thousand each win. But if you’re in debt with the syndicate — Belift — then how many times did you lose? Because if it's just a couple million then I have some savings.” His eyes filled with a poisonous mix of adoration and shame. “I can buy you out, Wonie.”
“Seventy.”
“Pardon?”
“My debt is seventy-million.”
The air felt too thin to stay in your lungs. Your brain felt too small to carry all your thoughts.
“God, Jungwon, how many times did you lose?!”
Jungwon’s eyes became unfocused — as if he suddenly became detached from the conversation, or perhaps the topic of conversation.
“After you win five times, you enter into a different level and the price of victory becomes higher. I won five times so the victory pay-out became one-and-a-half-million. Then after you win another ten times, the pay-out is two-million. And of course, as you progress to higher levels, you fight stronger opponents.”
“Ok so at what level did you start losing?”
“Seven-million.” He informed but was quick to add, “I lost a lot but not as much as you think.”
“You lost ten times?”
“No.”
You raised a brow, encouraging him to continue.
“I lost more than that but I’ve won some back,” He ran a hand through his hair, “Then lost it again, then won it back.” His his locked onto yours, “But it’s not because I’m a bad fighter.”
You furrowed your brows, “Jungwon, I was there on Friday night. I know you’re not a bad fighter.”
“No, no, listen to me,” He placed his strong hands on your upper arms again, “Before I made it into the seven-million bracket, I was undefeated. I was on track to winning against everyone on every syndicate's roster. After I made it into that final bracket, I started losing.”
“Because your opponents got stronger?”
“No,” Jungwon’s head fell but his hands remained steady on your arms, “Every Friday it’s something new. This Friday wasn’t so bad… but it still sucked.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pulled his head up to look you in the eye, “Someone filled my water bottle with vinegar.”
“What?!”
“I found out after the first round after chugging it.”
“Ugh, gross.”
“That’s why I went so hard yesterday. I needed to end the match quickly because I was getting dehydrated.”
Your lips downturned in concern.
He paused for a moment before continuing, “And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t mad. Last week it was laxatives.”
“It was what?!” Your hand flew to your mouth to hold back your laugh.
Jungwon sighed, “Yes. My only options were to run out of the ring like a sissy or crap my pants in front of a thousand or more people.”
Your eyes stared at him wide but blank — unassuming.
“Obviously, I ran out of the ring, Y/N.” He tried to school his face into annoyance amid your outburst of laughter. “Yeah well, there have been other things too: stealing my mouth guard, blaring noises in my ears to throw off my balance, sanding the soles of my shoes flat, stealing my clothes. Everything you could think of.”
He took in the soft expression you gave him: eyebrows pulled, lips marked downward, eyes glimmering in empathy. He hated seeing it. He didn’t want you to feel pity for him or think of him as weak. That’s the last thing he wanted.
“Yeah well, I’ll let you know what happens next week.”
“No, what? Jungwon, who is doing this?” You asked him, “The sabotage is literally so unfair, get them to stop.”
“I would if I could. But I don’t know who’s doing it and I don’t think the staff would do anything about it.”
“Why not?”
“One of the rules is: in the ring anything goes. That's why I said that it’s neither wrestling or boxing. You can use any fight style, you can do anything, as long as you don’t bring a weapon and you look out for the tap-outs.”
“So, you can pretty much beat the demons out of a man until he taps-out? That’s so stupid… you’re gonna get yourself killed, Wonie.”
“Yeah but I haven’t yet.”
“Wait, but I have a question.” You watched Jungwon give you a nod with expectant eyes, “If the rule is that anything goes in the ring then all of the sabotage that happens outside of the ring is punishable, right?”
He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly, “Honestly, I don’t know. My manager and the rest of the fighters for Belift know about the sabotage but no one knows who’s doing it or how to stop it. They usually don’t target the same thing twice. I think they stole my water bottle twice because the laxatives worked so well.”
He spoke in a joking manner but his words tinged the air with salt. It caused your heart to ache for him — he wasn’t safe, he was being sabotaged, and he couldn’t escape. Before you could overthink it, you wrapped your arms around his middle and held him tightly. As if your arms were strong enough to keep him safe. As if your head pressed against his chest did anything to alleviate the ache in his heart.
His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he dipped his head to rest on yours, “I’m sorry I kept this from you but you have to understand. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get wrapped up in this mess…” He paused, his chest rose and fell as his heart picked up, “I wanted to protect you. I want to keep you safe. So please, don’t go to the gym again.”
A wave of helplessness washed you onto the shore of reality. You wanted to help Jungwon but what could you do? You can’t fight. You can’t pay his debt.
“Wait here.” You commanded before running into your room and grabbing that dark blue plastic bottle. “Here,” You held the water bottle out to him, “I grabbed this on the way out of the gym last night.”
Jungwon furrowed his brows before walking to your door and grabbing his blue backpack. Zipping it open, he pulled out the same blue water bottle: Decilis University Class of 2027.
Your faces mirrored each other — eyebrows creased and eyes full of suspicion. Jungwon flipped the bottle to see the bottom of it, he turned it toward you so you could see. You mirrored his actions and showed him the bottom of the bottle you held.
Even though the rest of the bottles were identical, only the bottom of one of them claimed in plain letters: Yang Jungwon.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
“I’ve never used a different water bottle.” He glanced down at you with your eyes glued to the bottles.
“I know you haven’t. Which is why I wanna know how you suddenly acquired a second one.”
“I really don’t know. I took my water bottle downstairs.”
You turned to stare at him, “Wonie, if you didn’t leave this water bottle upstairs and you know for a fact that you brought it down to the basement then that means someone switched the water bottles.”
Jungwon furrowed his brows and then sat next to you on the couch, “Wait, what do you mean?”
“The water bottle I took home on Friday is Water Bottle A and the bottle that you took home on Friday is Water Bottle B.” Jungwon nodded his head, “You took Water Bottle A from the cafe, to the gym, and to the basement, but when you drank from it there was no longer water in it it but vinegar. And you came home with Water Bottle B and I found Water Bottle A on the floor of the gym. That means that somewhere between your arrival in the basement and the moment you drank from it in your fight, someone switched the bottles.”
Jungwon paused to compute the theory, “Okay, but that’s assuming I had Water Bottle A when I walked into the gym. And assuming someone bought our university’s water bottle just to trick me.”
“True…” You frowned, “But how would you even get a second water bottle? And how would you not realize that you were using two?”
Jungwon shrugged.
“Also, if they did switch your bottles on Friday, they probably did it last Friday too. Just, you know, with laxatives instead of vinegar.”
“Can we please not talk about that?” Jungwon dropped his head, his reddened ears hidden behind tuffs of blond hair.
You giggled at his embarrassment which caused his face to get even redder — just not for the reason you thought.
With his elbows on his knees, he turned his head to look at you, “So, how do we prove that they’ve been switching my water bottle?”
“Easy,” You smiled cunningly. “Go to the gym and make sure to leave Water Bottle B there and keep Water Bottle A with you. Then on Friday, take Water Bottle A with you to the basement, then when you go home that night see if you have Water Bottle A or B.”
He nodded, “But that won’t tell us who’s switching the bottles.”
“No, it won’t, unless…” You refrained from finishing the thought.
“No.”
“Jungwon—”
“I said ‘no’.”
“It’d be the easiest way to see who’s sabotaging you!”
“It’d also be the easiest way to put you in danger.” His gaze held you in a firm grip, “We don’t know when this person is switching the bottles and if the other fighters see that you’re coming in with me?” He let out a huff, “You were never safe there to begin with but if you come in with me then you’ll have a bright red target painted on your back.”
“You’re being dramatic, Jungwon.”
For a moment he just stared at you like you as if you’d started speaking another language. It made you feel dumb, like you were missing something.
“Y/N, there are people that owe these crime syndicates more money than I do. Some of them get off to beating up other people, some get off to watching others get their ass handed to them. Most of the people there lost in fights to me. Most of them hate me.” He paused and his gaze softened, “They will use any opportunity to get at me including hurting those I care about… I will not let you get hurt.”
You nodded because you did understand him, but he wasn’t seeing things from your perspective.
“Jungwon, I get that. I get that you want to keep me safe but I also want to keep you safe. I don’t want you to be stuck in this cycle of fighting for these syndicates and getting deeper in debt while they keep exploiting you for money.” You hoped your eyes conveyed all your desperation, in case your words failed you, “I don’t want to lay in bed every Friday night not knowing whether or not you’ll be going home to your seven centimeter dorm mattress or a hospital bed.”
Jungwon set his hand on the space between your kneecap and thigh — a safe space, close enough to be intimate, far enough to be platonic — his thumb stoked your skin only once but it was enough for a shiver to run up your spine. His eyes were filled with the pain you only get from restraint.
“I know you’re worried, but please let me handle this.”
His hand felt heavy on your knee, like he was grounding you — or maybe himself — before he took the bottles and shoved them in his backpack. Stepping into his shoes and turning to look at you for a breath of a moment. Then he stepped out the door, locking it before he left.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
It would be advantageous to say that you and Jungwon acted like nothing happened. Like you went about the next week as you always had: giggling in lectures, eating underwhelming cafeteria food, sending Instagram Reels at stupidly late hours into the night, “wya” and “wyd” texts, impromptu hang outs at your dorm, and cafe study dates at your part-time job. But none of this happened this week albeit for a text or two and one Reel you hadn’t even opened yet. The week was categorized in unsent messages, stolen glances, and hearts full of unspoken words.
Friday wasn’t as mundane as the days before, not with the whirlwind of anxiety trapping itself in your body. Your leg bounced rapidly where you sat before you got up and paced then sat back down again. Restless and repetitive. Your whole body felt unbearably hot though your air conditioner was blowing enough cold air to give goosebumps. Your mind shuffled through thoughts, theories, and hypotheticals like the flash cards you helped Jungwon study for economics. Your car keys glimmered at you like a precious diamond at the feet of a burglar.
It was only natural that you’d find yourself parked on the side of the street by the gym.
Close enough to get there quickly, far enough to not attract suspicion. You’d seen enough movies.
You dressed in a pair of jeans, a plain shirt, a baseball cap, and a black face mask. Something simple and inconspicuous — something forgettable. You peeked into the windows of the gym which framed the empty gym. The attendant at the desk got up spinned in his chair absent-mindedly with his AirPods in and his thumb scrolling through videos. You took the chance to crack the door open, slide through, and sneak past him and behind the large equipment. He didn’t look over once.
You checked the spot where Water Bottle A had been last week, with the spot being empty, you turned your sight on the locker rooms. Since you were here, three hours earlier than you had been last week, you figured a couple things would be different.
In fact, there were a lot of factors you were working with that were based off of assumptions. The first being, since Jungwon is in the highest fighting bracket and people started leaving after his match — the other brackets likely had their matches before him. The second being, since he never mentioned the scholarship having a gender requirement, there are likely women fighters as well. Which means the women’s locker room would have a door — or shower — to the basement too.
The only problem was getting down there without being seen. You walked into the locker room seeing it mostly empty and walked up to locker that was available. You glanced at the two girls who were in there, who were busy lacing up their shoes or braiding their hair out of their face. Your eyes glanced at their lockers to see two silver name plates: Huh Yunjin and Kim Chaewon. They were fighters in the basement.
With your locker door swung out, it hid your face from view and you used the opportunity to removed the jeans and shirt, revealing a workout set underneath — as if you were about to ‘hit the gym’ or whatever Jungwon usually says. You thought this might happen. The girls would be waiting for you to leave so that they could get down to the basement; you needed them to think you were just here to workout so that you could follow them without being on their radar.
So, you stepped out into the gym, walked to a machine, pretended to look for your headphones, and then walked back into the locker room. To find it perfectly empty. You threw on the jeans and tshirt and rushed to the back. And of course, the seventh shower was closed off only this time you had to figure out how to open it. You twisted and pulled the knobs but neither of them did anything. You grabbed the showerhead, examined it, pulled at it — nothing. You pressed on every tile all the way to the floor — again, nothing. You grabbed the hot handle again and pushed in and then twisted it like a normal doorknob — effectively opening the door.
A strikingly similar staircase to the one in the men’s locker room opened up and you walked down with all the confidence of familiarity. The stands were packed but they were’t quite full yet. You looked to the direction the betters had gone after Jungwon’s match — on the ground floor there was an opening which led to a long counter with recpetionist and lines of people waiting to place their bets. You walked in and watched what the people did: how and in what order. Then you repeated.
First, stop at the ATM and draw some cash.
Second, check the roster and their percentage of winning:
Bracket 1 Male — KEONHO | 57.84% vs WOONHAK | 42.16%
Female — YOONCHAE | 48.61 % vs IROHA | 51.39%
Bracket 2 Male — YUMA | 48.12% vs SUNGHO | 51.88%
JUHOON | 47.46% vs RIWOO | 52.54%
MARTIN | 46.88% vs JO | 53.22%
Female — EUNCHAE | 63.25% vs HAERIN | 36.75%
Bracket 3 Male — MAKI | 50.00% vs JAMES | 50.00%
SUNOO | 78.88% vs TAKI | 21.12%
NI-KI | 80.58% vs BAMKYU 20.42%
Female — HYEIN | 78.62 vs MINJU | 21.38%
MANON | 49.99% vs DANIELLE | 50.01%
Bracket 4 Male — HYUKA | 22.23% vs JAY | 77.77%
SUNGHOON 63.25% vs NICHOLAS | 46.75%
EJ | 43.97% vs JAKE | 56.03%
Female — YUNJIN | 65.00% vs LARA | 35.00%
HANNI | 67.36% vs MEGAN | 32.74%
KAZUHA | 57.82% vs WONHEE 42.28%
Bracket 5 Male — YEONJUN | 48.33% vs EVAN | 51.77%
SOOBIN | 13.44% vs K | 86.56%
TYUN | 42.98% vs JAKAH | 57.02%
Female — SAKURA 79.00% vs DANIELA | 21.00%
CHAEWON | 55.39% vs YUNAH | 44.61%
MINJI | 55.55% vs SOPHIA | 44.45%
Third, place bets at the counter — with the most strategic and thorough consideration in order to make the most money possible.
Of course, you would not be making any bets today. Or ever. Because it’s illegal — then again, being here probably is too, but you’re not really itching to add to your crimes. So you backed out and found a seat high up in the stands, out of view from most of the crowd, near the passage to the women's locker room. And you waited. Through 18 long matches before you saw him.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him like this before, you’d seen him like this a week ago. Dark blue shorts and a simple black tank that hugged his frame deliciously. His thick biceps on full display and his broad shoulder wider with his chest puffed slightly. You watched him set down his water bottle on a stool at the corner that he would enter the ring on. The answer to whether or not that bottle was the one he’d entered with, whether it actually held water, or if someone had yet to tamper with it, could only be answered in time.
Tyun was the opponent on the other side. He stood at around the same height as Jungwon and looked to be similarly muscular. Your eyes squinted as you watched Jungwon take in the sight of his opponent. He looked stiff and on edge. Had the sabotage already happened? Did it have anything to do with the water bottle at all or had they moved onto a different tactic. Your leg bounced slightly in your seat before you realized that the rapid motion would draw unwanted attention. You sat as inconspicuously as you could and kept your gaze on the dark blue water bottle resting on the stool. The announcers began their opening statements.
“Well, I don’t know about you Dino but I, for one, am beyond excited to see this match play out.”
“You’re not the only one S.Coups. You, me, and the rest of this crowd are ready to see this match between two of the best fighters we have in the club.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Today, in the orange shorts, we have BigHit's TYUN, who specializes in traditional boxing. We expect to see a lot of feints, well-timed strikes, and strong follow through on those punches.”
“He’s also impeccable at blocking, don’t forget S.Coups.”
“Right, of course.”
You took in the information and attempted to cross reference it with Jungwon’s fighting style but it hit you — you don’t know what his fighting style is. The only time you have ever seen Jungwon fight was last week. A fight which he said that he had been intentionally more aggressive in, in order to end the fight quickly. His default fighting style is an enigma to you.
“In the blue shorts we have Belift’s JAKAH, who specializes in taekwondo. Tonight, you’ll see from him more leg work: kicks, dodges, body-locks and things of that sort. The kid is quick on his feet, let me tell you.”
“And aggressive too! Last week was abnormal for JAKAH — throwing mean punches and taking hits head on instead of dodging and assessing how best to attack.”
“That’s true, Dino, we did see a different side to JAKAH last week. Perhaps, we’ll see a different side to him today.”
“You think he’ll recover from his losing streak? Or was last week just a stroke of luck?”
You held back a huff of annoyance. Jungwon didn’t believe in luck. He believed in hard work and maybe the tiniest bit of Fate — but not luck.
“I’m not sure but seeing as TYUN is a reigning champion in the ring… Well, let’s just say I have my money on the safer side.”
Half the group erupted in boastful laughs and presumptuous whoops. You watched Jungwon shake his head before he pointed at a roll of bandages on the ground. A guy around the same age as him handed it to him. It was then that you realized a bit of a crowd had gathered in Jungwon’s corner: some dressed like coaches or managers, some dressed like fighters. Jungwon seemed familiar with all of them or if he wasn’t, it didn’t show. It was his lack of concern that had you not blinking your eye twice at them — until their bodies began to obstruct the view of the water bottle.
“I don’t know about that, Dino, JAKAH has the better odds today with over 57 percent.”
“Yeah, but TYUN has stayed consistent in his wins and losses.” Dino argued and you watched a tall, slightly pale, incredibly buff man with nice brows call Jungwon and say something that looked along the lines of “this announcer can shove it”. “JAKAH was undefeated until about three matches into the fifth bracket. Then he went on this massive losing streak which he had yet to fully recover from.”
“Top ten mysteries of the world, huh?”
Jungwon’s coach began to advise him, using punching and blocking gestures to demonstrate his points. The blond man nodded and began to jump slightly, shuffling his feet and lightening his steps. A woman — manager, maybe — handed him his mouth guard and offered him a towel which he rejected. The crowd, which had entertained itself with side-chatter, had begun to dwindle in volume and shift their attention to the ring in the center.
You glanced over at Jungwon’s opponent and felt a wave of anxious heat flood through your veins. They did look evenly matched. Too even. But from the sounds of it, their fighting styles seemed contrasting. Like rocks versus water. Your head filled with silent prayers of victory as the buzzer sounded.
Jungwon continued to bounce between feet, keeping himself between groundedness and charge. Tyun seemed entirely more relaxed. He shuffled around Jungwon — the two of them in a dance with their steps on different beats — before Tyun advanced with jabs that were made for nothing but distraction. To pull his focus on his hands. Left. Right. Left Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. Right. Right. And then knee up to Jungwon’s abdomen — which thankfully, the blond managed to dodge. Jungwon advanced this time, just as quickly as he dodged, he swept his feet under Tyun’s causing him to jump back.
You chanced a look toward Jungwon’s team who crowded around his corner, yelling cheers and suggestions that sounded more like commands. Jungwon ignored all of them, bringing his fists up to his face and exchanging them with Tyun. Firsts knock into fists, knuckles digging into forearms, legs in constant limbo between pursuit and retreat.
“JAKAH throws a steady one! And TYUN takes the opening! His fist just reaches his nose! Another light jab — it looks like he’s stunned! And a full-force punch blocked by JAKAH’s arms!”
“I don’t know S.Coups, that looks like it hurts. Hey, have you ever broken your forearm while blocking?”
“Hah! Not me personally, but there have been stranger things when it comes to JAKAH.”
You exhaled steadily as the crowd roared in laughter. Jungwon was backing up in light bounces and shaking his arms out. You weren’t a fighter but it was a telltale sign that the punch had left bruises that would soon start blooming.
Jungwon rolled his shoulders and took the same stance as before: fists up to his face with his fingers facing him. Tyun had a mirroring stance. Then in the blink of an eye, Jungwon rushed toward him and sent a kick low on the man’s stomach, too fast for him to block completely, which caused his hand to get wedge between his stomach and Jungwon's foot. With the momentum garnered, Jungwon used the foot he had on the ground to jump closer and folded his raised leg back in toward his chest before launching it up at Tyun’s face. Still stunned from the sudden kick to his gut, Tyun fails to dodge the attack fully and is left with a bloody nose. On instinct, Tyun jumps out of Jungwon’s area of attack and keeps his legs bent and his body small and defensive.
“Whew, that’s the champion I remember! And it seems like the crowd remembers him too if the jeers are any indication, huh, Dino?”
“Yeah, what a flawless double-kick from JAKAH. The change in strategy from a boxing style to his familiar taekwondo was the perfect ruse and surprise to knock Tyun off his balance.”
You released a breath that had caught itself unknowingly in your lungs. The team in Jungwon’s corner was going wild — all nine of them, still there and still cheering. You noticed that six of them were in simple tanks and shorts, much like the outfit Jungwon was wearing to fight in. The other three were in black, one of them with white lettering that read: COACH.
“And he caught him!” The announcer’s voice rang in the room, pulling your gaze from the sidelines to the center ring. “TYUN’s got a hold of JAKAH’s leg, mid-kick. Now pulling him to the mat!”
Your heart raced, pulse pounding so loud in your ears that it drowned the announcer out. You watched Tyun straddle a fallen Jungwon, landing an immediate punch across his jaw. The jaw that had been hit only a week prior. Jungwon moved his hands to push him off but another punch landed across his nose — it had you wondering if that spot was chosen because of convenience or personal vendetta. Jungwon moved his hands to his face, blocking the onslaught of punches but TYUN didn’t let up, instead standing up and readying his elbow to dig into Jungwon’s ribs as he fell on them.
Your hand flew over your mouth, leg bouncing uncontrollably, as Jungwon rolled over just in time. But as he scrambled to get back up amid the blood rushing out of his nose, Tyun grabbed his left shoulder and his waist and pulled him back before sliding his left hand over Jungwon’s neck and placing him in a headlock.
“Oh! The tide turns quickly with TYUN in the ring!”
“Oh yeah. I heard some of the betters have started calling him ‘The Magician’.”
Jungwon's hands tugged at Tyun’s arms in a vain attempt to get free. You watched his legs flail to find a grip — anything, any advantage to free himself. His face got redder, his hands more desperate, his legs more erratic. The air felt unbearable. Like you were sitting in a furnace with freshly chopped wood. The sight of him struggling, the sight of his body thrashing in desperation, the sight of his eyes closing and opening erratically, it pulled your stomach in knots and drew sweat onto your brow.
Then his hand tapped repeatedly on the other man’s bicep and without hesitation the vice he had on Jungwon was released. Jungwon coughed so loudly it reached all the way up to your seat in the makeshift stadium. His coughs were scratchy like they came from the depths of his lungs and gasped for air greedily and hungrily. His feet caught on each other as he crawled and stumbled toward his corner. Hand convulsing in a “give me” motion until his blue bottle met his hand.
His back fell on the ropes of the ring, his whole body weight supported as he leaned on them. His fingers fumbled the open the cap, coughs still falling from his chapped lips, and when he pulled the cap off, those same lips found the mouth of the bottle. He tilted it up and drank ravenously from it. His throat worked around two big gulps before he spat out a fountain of clear liquid.
“Yikes… didn’t this happen last week? I’m starting to think JAKAH doesn’t wash his water bottles….”
The rage you felt from the crowd's easygoing laughter and gossip nearly overtook the worry swelling in your heart. Your eyes took in the way Jungwon’s face scrunched up, the way his coughs became more frequent, the way the bottle slipped from his hands, and his knees inched closer to the floor. As if he’d already accepted his defeat, he just wasn’t ready to let go yet.
His team rapped their hands on the floor, yelling at him, trying to get his attention but he didn’t listen. Didn’t spare them a glance. Just swiped a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and tried to find solidity in his body again. You imagined it must have been hard. He had just been choked of all the breath in his lungs and missed out on over a minute of fresh oxygen to his blood. He almost passed out, his limbs must still be recovering, his throat must feel ornamented in glass shards, and his brain must be all fogged up without the oxygen to help him think. Then add on whatever mystery liquid had found itself in his bottle that night.
How come you didn’t see who switched the bottles?
The buzzer sounded before you could answer that question. This time, Jungwon didn’t bounce between his feet, he barely kept them steady on the ground. He was leaning to his right, like his axis had tilted and his chest rose and fell in a strange pattern. Tyun took the opportunity in stride, a quick feint with his right which Jungwon blocked. A feint with his left, then with his right. Then he grabbed Jungwon’s biceps and slammed his knee into his torso. Then he pushed him back and twisted his hips to send a deathly punch to Jungwon’s face.
Your body begged you to look away, your heart begged you to watch. It was the least you could do. The least to share in his pain.
Thankfully, he side-stepped out of the way; unluckily, his balance caused him to stumble halfway to the ground. He pushed up, eyes always on his opponent. Tyun rushed him, throwing firm cuts and landing them anywhere he could. Jungwon’s reaction time was a fraction of what it had been before and his strength looked to be significantly minimized as well. After a moment, he held his head completely, suffering through the barrage of punches. He wobbled and fell to his knees, his body teetering like it was about to fall off the edge. Tyun stepped back, confident and in no rush, before sending a kick that tipped Jungwon over and onto his back.
It was like he became a fraction of the fighter he was before. It was easy to see — you didn’t need to be his best friend to see that — not when everyone else was aware of it too. Angry yells and strings of curses protruding from the betters in the stands. People began to stand and scream insults and mockeries at the fallen man below. Jungwon’s head lolled to the side, as if his neck had no strength to support it. His arms twitched and his body tensed but he couldn’t get it to do anything beyond bracing for the incoming impact.
A kick to the ribs. A strong hand that pulled at the fabric of the black tank. A fist to the eye. Then again to the jaw. And a slam back down onto the mat for good measure. Tyun stepped back, body lax, as the referee counted from one to five in a booming voice. Jungwon’s eyes didn’t flutter open, he didn’t tap into some untouched strength. He just laid there on the ground. Unmoving. Soundless. Bloodied.
The picture of defeat.
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Pushing through the crowd was not easy. Not when hundreds of bodies were pushing and shoving in either eagerness or bitterness. You happened to fall in the former as you rushed to follow where the team was taking Jungwon. Unease swam through your mind like a rushing river. Was he okay? What happened? He was doing fine and then suddenly he wasn’t. Was the lack of oxygen too much? Were the hits to his head too hard? Does he have a concussion? Should he go to the doctor? How would he get there? Who will take him home in this condition?
The fear settling right onto your shoulders had you moving faster than before. Rushing past the center ring and to the wall at the back under some bleachers. You pushed through a set of matte black painted doors that you had seen Jungwon and his team go through. It opened into a hallway with slightly yellow, slightly dim overhead lights.
“Make sure he’s not dying on me, alright? I got other people to worry about, right now.” A man grumbled before opening and walking through another door deeper into the hallway.
You walked to the door, barely registered the bickering behind the thin wood, until a familiar voice punctured through.
“I couldn’t breathe, Riki.” Jungwon yelled, his voice scratchy and unusually deep.
“All I’m saying,” Another deep voice with a slight Japanese accent said slowly, “Is that you know that bottle is a risk and you still chose to drink from it.”
“You’ve never been choked have you?” A softer voice asked, likely directed at the boy with the Japanese accent.
“Riki,” Jungwon said after a sigh, “There’s nothing I can do to stop the sabotage unless I know who’s behind it. It was a calculated risk.”
Your brows furrowed in concern. Jungwon’s words were slurring slightly, his intonation was off kilter, and his volume was somewhere between too loud and too mumbly.
“Yeah, a risk that caused you twenty blows to the head.” A different voice spoke flatly.
“Everclear.” This voice came out in a perfect American accent before returning to Seoul Korean, “They put everclear in your bottle and you chugged it.”
“Genuinely, how can you tell that that’s everclear just by smelling.” An Australian man asked in English.
“I know my alcohol.” The American responded before returning to Korean, “Anyway, this is ninety-five percent, high proof alcohol, and he chugged it. If he didn’t lose equilibrium from getting choked, he lost it about five minutes after drinking this.”
“Yeah, his reaction time slowed significantly.” A sweet voice spoke next.
“And there’s no point in talking to him right now because he genuinely looks on the verge of passing out. Great.” The first guy — Riki — said.
It was at this remark that you opened the door, immediately locking eyes with a red-flushed Jungwon, who stood up straight at the sight of you.
“Y/N?!”
“Jungwon!” You grabbed his head, ignoring the simmering confusion gracing the room, and checked his eyes for any abnormality. “How’s your head?”
“Y/N, what are you doing here?” His eyes were wide in shock. From the closeness, you could see his face already beginning to swell, the dried blood crusted on the edges of his nostrils, and a split on his bottom lip.
“Oh God, Jungwon!” You exclaimed, “Do you need to go to the hospital? I’ll drive you. Can you walk? Where are your other injuries?” Your hands fumbled to the hem of his tank top, about to pull it up to assess the injuries to his abdomen, when Jungwon’s firm hand caught your wrists.
His body swayed unsteadily for a moment, he blinked harshly at you, as if he was forcing his eyes to focus on your face and begging his brain to produce a worthwhile thought.
“I told you not to come here again.” His voice teetered on the edge of passion and breathlessness, “I thought I made that clear.”
His voice held a harshness he had never before taken with you.
“Yes, I know that but—”
“But what?!” He nearly yelled, the force behind his voice causing him to shuffle his feet to find his balance. “There’s nothing — nothing! — you can tell me that would convince me that you being here was a good idea!”
“Not even—”
“Nothing!” He slid his hands to your shoulders but for what reason, it was harder to tell. To maximize the intensity of his words or to keep him balanced via your support. “How long have you been here? Who saw you? Damn it, Y/N.” His fingers squeezed your shoulders as he dropped his head.
You assumed he did it to hide his face. Too ashamed to grimace in front of you or show any sign of pain, fragility, or weakness.
“Jungwon, I’m just trying to help you.”
“Helping me would be staying away.” He grumbled, blinking his eyes back in focus to you. “Not intentionally disobeying me when I specifically asked you not to come here. What were you going to do?”
“I couldn’t sit at home knowing that you were going to fight someone and unfairly at that!” You argued back, hands coming up and taking hold of his forearms. Gently, knowing all that they’ve been through tonight alone. “I couldn’t sit back while you were here, alone, facing unknown threats from unknown people.”
“I’ve been doing that for the better part of a year, Y/N, I don’t need you here, risking your safety, attracting unwanted attention, worrying me, and distracting me from my job.”
“This is not a job.”
Jungwon brought a hand to his head and stumbled back slightly. He stood frozen for a moment before shaking his head and turning his tired, fuzzy vision onto you.
“You’re here because you want to protect me from liabilities?” He asked rhetorically, “You are a liability.”
You took a deep breath, expecting this outcome but bursting at the seams with annoyance all the same, “You’re saying I’ve made things worse by being here?”
“Yes!” His voice hit your ears sharply.
“Fine.” You nodded and turned to leave. Footsteps fast and gaze anywhere but the seven pairs of eyes in the room. Jungwon’s hand grabbed your upper arm sloppily and his gaze met yours flat, exhausted, and disappointed.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Back into the arena? Back into the gym? Then out to your car? In the dark? With dozens of fighters pent up from losses or high on victory adrenaline? With hundreds of angry betters and happy ones who think they can double their luck?” He didn’t even stop to laugh, “You think I’m gonna let you go out there and put yourself in more danger than you already are?”
“And what are you going to do?” You asked angrily, the words highlighting the way his eyes blurred in and out of focus, the way his body leaned too far to the right, the way his body was perpetually stiffened — as if the injuries increased in pain when he let loose.
And even with the drunken daze hindering his abilities to stand, talk, see, and think, it was obvious, his desperation. Your shirt clenched slightly in his fist, the furrow in his brows, and the helplessness veiling his dark brown eyes. Desperation was evident in the small details of Jungwon’s being.
His devotion to keeping you safe was no longer enough.
You watched the thought conceptualize as his grip tightened fractionally.
“I’ll make sure she gets out,” A tall man placed his strong hand on the blond’s shoulder. He had a small cut on his right cheek and a gaze soft enough to cover the room in confident peace. “There’s nothing you can do in this state, so let me take her home.”
Jungwon’s shoulders released their tension before tensing up again. If he tried to bite back a grimace, he failed.
“And I,” A man, with angular eyes and the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen, walked toward you, stopping a safe distance away, “Will make sure he’s okay and taken care of.” Something about the way he stared at you as he spoke gave you the impression that he was a man of his word. And you nodded slightly and mumbled a thank you.
And with one last look at Jungwon — or the wreck of him that Tyun left behind — you walked off with his friend. Hat pulled down and mask pulled up, the other boy dressed in a black hoodie and sweats. He led you down the hallway, around various corners, through an exit door, and up a staircase.
The night air was cold and crisp as you led him to your car a few streets out, pleading with him to just let you drive yourself home, promising to text him when you did, and thanking him before driving away. The air of your apartment wasn’t any warmer, not even after a mindless shower, not even after you threw your duvet over your body and snuggled into the sheets.
It was then that you thought: maybe the chill had nothing to do with the temperature in the air but everything to do with the warmth of Jungwon’s words.
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If the week prior had been isolating and strenuous on your relationship with Jungwon, the next week was infinitely worse. You had texted Jungwon’s friend — Heeseung, the one who offered to take you home — that you had gotten there safely. That being his only condition in letting you drive off alone. You had contemplated texting Jungwon too but the cursor blinked on the message bar continuously for minutes. You hadn’t typed a thing.
Instead, you messaged Heeseung. You asked how Jungwon was, if he had any severe injuries, if he had gone to the hospital, if he was at home recovering, and similar things of that nature. Heeseung responded quickly, said he was at Jay’s apartment. Jay, being the man with the sharp jawline. He informed that Jungwon was recovering but he was resting after the harsh beating. Told you that Jungwon wouldn’t be attending any of his lectures this week.
You had swallowed thickly and said thank you. Then went about your week as normally as you possibly could without your twin flame by your side. You attended your own lectures with disinterest but you eagerly met with Jungwon’s professors to get notes for the lectures that he missed. You went to the cafeteria, walking in with no appetite and leaving with even less of one. You skipped out on library study sessions, cafe study sessions, and you picked up extra shifts at the cafe you worked at. Pouring the espresso shot and steaming the milk had been something you’d intentionally been precise with, but you found yourself calling the customer’s name before you even realized you’d finished the drink.
As the days neared closer and closer to Friday, you itched to know. To know if Jungwon had recovered. To know if he was fighting again on Friday. To know if you should tell him what you saw or didn’t see. To know which bottle he had come home with. To know if he was still mad at you.
You: hey heeseung! i was just wondering if there was an update on jungwon’s condition?
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Hey yeah he’s ok
You: is he back at his dorm or is he still at jay’s
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Uhh I think he should be back at his dorm tonight but he’s not rn
You: oh is he at jay’s
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Yes
You: can i come see him?
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Uhhh no I don’t think so
You: why not?
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Because he’s napping rn
You: he’s not there is he? jungwon hates taking naps
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Yeah no he’s not there. Sorry
You: is he at the gym?
You: will he be there on friday?
The bold “read” timestamp mocked you for a good 15 minutes before you got up. Changing into workout clothes and grabbing your things. Pulling up to the gym, you noted that it didn’t have that uncanny feeling anymore. Perhaps it was because of the time of day, perhaps it was because you were familiar with a different feeling that it brought you: worry.
You saw him much before he saw you, though it took you a minute to find him. The gym was much larger than you thought and had an annex which led to a room with two small dingy boxing rings and a couple of punching bags. The bruises on his face were turning a sickly yellow, indicating the nearness of a full recovery. The split on his lip was scabbed over and healing nicely — you assumed that was largely due to the immediate dousing of alcohol it got, thanks to the everclear. The rest of his injuries were hidden beneath his clothing. The strength of his punches against the heavy bag and the lightness of his feet as he kept them moving proved the after effects of low oxygen and everclear had long filtered out of his body.
He looked good. Strong. Determined. Healthy. Glowy. Handsome.
It almost drew you into your cowardice. To flee from him before your boldness made you even more of a liability than you already were. But by that point he had already turned his gaze up to see you. And stopped the rocking of the punching bag. His heavy breaths were the only sound that traveled between you two and it made your mind race. What was he thinking? Was he mad? Why wasn’t he saying anything?
He closed his eyes and released a deep sigh.
“I just came to give you this.” You announced, holding up your duffel bag with two hands.
“Your bag?” He asked with his brows drawn upward. His voice had returned to normal: no longer deep, scratchy, and cold. Just sweet, gentle, and warm. Just Jungwon.
“Well, no,” You unzipped it, “What’s in it.” You clarified and subconsciously registered his slow approach to you. You turned your gaze up to see him fully. He wore a black compression shirt and a pair of black sweats — the dark colors contrasting the lightness of his hair. “Here.”
His face was framed in incredulity as he took the rectangular box from your hand, “What is this?”
“Open it.”
At your command, his fingers made quick work and freed the product from the box. A 40oz, dark blue, steel water bottle — one of the trendy ones.
“I know you loved your old one,” You started, “But I think this one would be safer.”
He flipped the bottle over to see the bottom and smiled slightly at the neatly written letters of his name. Letters written by you.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” You agreed, an ocean of words held behind the floodgates of your sudden anxiety. “I know you probably don’t want to know but I didn’t see it happen.”
He raised a brow at your vagueness, “I’m gonna need a little more than that.”
“The water bottle, I didn’t see anyone take it or change it. So, it must’ve happened before I got there or maybe when I wasn’t paying attention.”
Jungwon twisted the steel bottle in his hands, his mind chewing on the new information, “Yeah, I made sure that I had Water Bottle A before I set it down on that stool.”
You furrowed your brows slightly, “So then, sometime during the match? Someone switched it?”
Jungwon nodded, pressing his lips together, and staring at the bottle in his hands, “Yeah…”
“But the only people in that corner the whole match were…”
“My friends, my coach, and my managers,” He finished for you, “Yeah, I know.”
“And no one saw who did it?”
Jungwon shook his head before setting the bottle down. And stepping closer to you.
“Thank you… for the bottle,” His tone betrayed the next word that would come out of his mouth before he even formed the next sound, “But, you know I can’t have you here.”
You turned your eyes downcast and tried to pretend like dejection wasn’t seeping into skin like a soft but consistent rain. His hand found a vacancy on your shoulder and took it — another liminal space between intimacy and platonicity — which caused you to shift your gaze to him.
“These past two weeks… I’ve felt more estranged from you than I ever have and I’ve hated every minute of it.” He sighed as if it would alleviate any of the ache in his heart, “I care about you too much to keep going like that.” This thumb brushed softly on your shoulder, “I want us to go back to normal. The way we were before you found out about all of this.”
You knew exactly what that meant, exactly what he was asking you to do. Forget all you ever saw, all he ever told you. Pretend none of it happened. Tell your heart to not care so much.
“I’ll handle it, alright?” His voice warm enough to smooth the wrinkles on your forehead, “Don’t worry about me.”
“You know I can’t do that.” You whispered.
His eyes shifted between yours and his finger traced the strap of your workout tank top, “Yeah but I’d like it if you’d try.”
As you took in his pleading eyes and felt the worry of his fidgeting hand, you supposed, it was the least you could do. For him. To pretend like everything was normal. To not add to his stress. To not make things worse for him.
You broke eye contact, “Only if you come over and finish watching Manifesto: Day 1 with me.”
His soft laugh drew a smile to your lips.
“Want me to bring snacks?”
You shook your head, “No, me and the apple green tea will be waiting for you Saturday night.” You told him, choosing Saturday since you knew he wouldn’t be able to attend on Friday. You hesitated to step back — to leave the warmth that his nearness radiated.
“Good.” He returned, his eyes had never left your face, fingers never stopped fiddling with your top, and his voice gave the impression that his mind wasn’t thinking about the current conversation at all. Not with a sight so beautiful in front of him.
But all things must come to an end, as you stepped away from his touch and pulled your gaze from him. Increasing the distance between your bodies but somehow feeling less estranged than you had in weeks. You passed through the front door and into the parking lot, driving off with more of a day in mind than a destination.
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It would be a lie to say that you were calm on Friday. No, you were anything but. You knew you’d be jittery and anxious from the start so you called the White Fang Cafe, asked if you could take another shift, desperate to distract yourself. You even pulled a double but your hopes fell flat as you found your mind embracing the thought of him only seconds after you’d promised not to think of him again.
Everything brought your thoughts back to him. The iced americano you made for a customer named Harua reminded you of the cafe study dates that Jungwon and you would always do — ones where he’d always get an iced americano even if he said he’d try something new. The chocolate croissant you warmed up reminded you of the time he had argued that a chocolate strawberry croissant should be invented and not taking your word for it that it definitely already had been. The order of a lemon, ginger, honey tea reminded you of when he showed up to your apartment the week you caught a bad cold — you riddled off the recipe from the cafe and watched him follow your words perfectly from the domestic lighting of your kitchen.
For twelve long hours, your thoughts branched in every direction and yet they were all rooted in one thing: Jungwon. Not even the comfort of your bed could dispel your mind from thoughts of Jungwon. Not when your mind depicted his strong arms wrapped around you and the warmth of his body sheltering you from every threat — even the cold. You only wished you could’ve done the same for him.
As promised, a little after five, you heard a few soft knocks emanating from the front door. Your feet rushed there like a kid to a tree on Christmas morning. You swung the door open excitedly, nearly knocking a picture frame off the wall as it slammed slightly into it. Just beyond the threshold of your apartment stood your best friend in all his glory. Freshly washed hair, a black shirt that clung to his chest and arms as if it were slightly too small, and a pair of grey sweatpants that you forced your eyes to look away from.
You were expecting a face slightly more beaten than what he had. His jaw was starting to paint on the purple of a bruise and his lip definitely tore open again but other than that. He seemed fine. Perhaps his fight with Tyun was uncharacteristically brutal. Or maybe Jungwon had won his last fight.
“Hi,” He licked his dried lips, taking in your appearance as if it were something to admire. Though you were only in a tank top and simple pajama shorts.
“Hi,” You returned the greeting and stepped out of his way.
His eyes swept across your apartment, taking in the coffee table which was arranged with chili lime chips, buttered popcorn, and his favorite jelly candies. Alongside two bottles of apple green tea and two cups with ice. The TV displayed the next episode on the screen, titled TFW (That Feeling When).
“That eager to see me, huh?” He teased as he kicked off his shoes and took his seat on your couch. The same spot he always sat in. Grabbing his bottle of apple green tea and pouring it into the glass.
Your laugh came out slightly unnaturally. Any normal person wouldn’t be able to tell but Jungwon was not just any normal person. You curled up on your side of the small couch and pressed play. Reaching over and grabbing the tea bottle, struggling slightly to break the seal. You switched hands and tried to recover your pride but before you could give a second attempt, Jungwon held his hand open, offering his help. You placed the bottle in his hands and watched them make quick work of the seal before pouring the golden liquid into your cup and twisting the cap back on.
Wordlessly, he sat back and returned his attention to the show. Yet your eyes stayed glued to him. Him and the small curve of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the glimmer of his blond strands as the setting sun hit them, the light reflecting his dark brown eyes, and the dimple forming on his cheek as he fought back a sly smile.
Manifesto: Day 1 was primarily an action show — it’s why Jungwon chose it — but the episode you were on had quite a large subplot of romance. The main characters out on the sands of a beach, the summer sun setting sipping behind the waves. It was ideal. Serene. Perfect, almost. An image of peace amid chaos. It was these scenes that had Jungwon pulling his brows together and letting the edges of his lips downturn.
The end credits of the episode began to roll and the soft music did nothing to hide the tension that had suddenly grown. You took a small sip of your drink and then turned to blond only to find him staring out into space. The second to last episode began to play, dark and action-packed, and fitting for the mood that had settled in the room like a thick autumn fog.
The sun dipped behind the horizon and the frames of the show flashed by before you could register that you had made it to the final episode. Vaguely, you remembered the scenes but they felt more like apparitions than anything real — or as real as a television show could feel — and while the final words were spoken by the characters, their voices were drowned out by the weight of Jungwon’s stare.
His eyes seemed darker than usual, they seemed to carry more pain than they ever had before. The way his eyes bore into yours told a thousand words, ones you weren’t quite ready to see fall from his pretty lips.
Jungwon wasn’t the type of person to give you the outline and have you color it in. He doesn’t like small talk, or beating around the bush, or making someone read between the lines. He doesn’t speak with fine print in the footnotes of his sentences and he hated peeling bandaids off.
“Y/N, I think we need to talk.”
Avoiding it was pointless. When Jungwon made his mind up about something, that was it. There was no negotiation. And yet somehow, you found yourself shaking your head.
“No…” You stood up, shaking your head as you looked down at him.
He averted his eyes from you and released a deep sigh, “I got a message last night. A picture of you and I at the gym.” He paused, “There was no caption, no number attached, but the message was clear.” He turned to look into your eyes. “You aren’t safe.”
Your brows creased, “Okay but that’s fine, right? We agreed that I’d never go to the gym again.” Your heart thumped erratically as if it knew something your brain hadn’t found out yet.
Jungwon bowed his head and then shook it slightly, standing up from his spot on the couch and turning to pour every emotion held within his dark eyes into yours. You could barely hear him over the rush of blood in your veins.
“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long.” He whispered, placing his hands on your biceps. “I’ve put you in more and more danger and I was careless.” His thumbs brushed your skin. He swallowed painfully, eyebrows creasing as he desperately searched for the right words. “I know I told you that staying away from the gym was enough, but it’s far too late for that now.” Hesitance chased the path of his eyes as he looked back at yours, “Your life has been put at risk because of me and I—” He ripped his head to the side, pressing his lips together.
He slid his hands across your shoulders and up your neck, before cupping your cheeks — entirely intimate, barely if at all platonic — and holding your gaze all the same. There was no room for argument in his words. The hot press of fear crawled up the back of your neck: everpresent, ever-unwelcome.
“Y/N, I love you more than I could ever express. Which is why I refuse to put you in danger any longer.” His voice was gruff and his eyes shone glossy. “Please don’t misunderstand me when I tell you that I would give everything just to have you… but I can’t — I won’t — be the reason that someone hurts you.”
You shook your head and swallowed, eyes stinging and filling with bitter tears, “So what does that mean? What are you saying?” His eyebrows furrowed deeper at the way your voice restrained the emotion bursting within your heart. A biohazardous concoction of emotions: fear, sadness, frustration, disappointment, embarrassment, longing, dread, love. All in a vile poison seeping through your veins.
Jungwon licked his drying lips, “I’m saying this is it for us. Being around me puts you in too much danger. I’m not willing to risk your life just because I love you.” His voice faltered at the end of his sentence.
“But that’s not your choice to make, Jungwon!” Your voice was brittle and you tried to ignore how comforting his hands felt as he swiped your tears away. “You don’t get to decide whether I can stop being around you or not.”
“This is the only way to protect you. This is the only solution. There’s no other choice.”
He chewed slightly on his bottom lip. Your lips shivered as you tried to form words but your voice had been robbed from you. There was everything to say and no way to put it — not in a way that Jungwon would ever agree with. He cared for you too dearly to stand idle in the face of what could hurt you. Even if the thing that could hurt you is himself.
Jungwon’s dark eyes dragged from your equally intensive gaze, down your tear stained cheeks, and landed on your quivering lips. He stared at them with the utmost of longing, as if he was grieving something within reach that was never to be had. Your eyes followed suit.
Breaths mixed with essays of unspoken words amid love confession tainted with dreadful farewells. You almost despised how easy it was for him to cause butterflies to invade your stomach despite the ever-growing pit.
He was utterly selfish. At least that’s what he told himself as he closed the distance between the two of you. Stopping only centimeters away from your face.
“God, I love you more than you will ever know.” He whispered, waiting for a rebuttal or a rejection. The silence encouraged his eyes to close and his lips to brush yours like a feather. Like you were delicate. Like he wasn’t allowing himself to commit.
He heaved a breath onto your lips and pressed your foreheads together. With his eyes closed, he couldn’t see the tears flowing from your eyes or the way your face contorted as you spoke.
“You’re saying that you’re leaving me because you love me…” You paused to renew your fading voice, “If that’s true then… I really wish you loved me less.”
Your vision took in the way his screwed shut — big tears dropping from the sides of his pretty eyes. And as if he couldn’t endure the sight of your grief caused at his hand, he moved his lips up to your forehead and pressed a soft kiss.
Then he ripped his hands from you as if he knew that if he kept holding onto you, he would never let you go.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
“Okay,” You breathed out and set down the iced vanilla latte on the table, “I’m really glad you agreed to come see me.” You slid into the seat across from your guest. He looked much different in the lighting of the cafe — not necessarily because of the lighting but because he forwent the boxing shorts and compression shirts.
“Yeah, no problem.” He gave you a small smile, “And thanks for the free latte.”
“Of course! It’s the least I could do to repay this favor.” He nodded and took a sip of the latte, “Also technically, I got it for free too, since I work here.”
At his nod, you felt maybe you had invalidated his gratefulness at your gesture. You frowned slightly and pulled out your notebook and pen before you began to speak.
“Alright, so, like I said on the phone, I had a few questions about the whole uh… gym thing,” You introduced, “And I was wondering if you’d be able to give me some answers.”
“Yeah, I actually had a question about that.” He continued at your nod, “Why don’t you just ask Jungwon?”
It was incredibly difficult to ignore the way your heart ached at the sound of his name, “Oh, you know him. He doesn’t like to talk about it.” After a sip of your own drink, you asked your first question. “So, let’s start with the basics: how does the betting system actually work?”
Heeseung sighed as he gathered his thoughts, “Well, I’ve never actually placed a bet there but I know the basic procedure. You first draw cash from the ATM.” He paused, considering what he just said, before adding to it, “All bets must be paid in cash because they want the littlest paper or digital trail possible. After they draw the money, they check the scoreboard and the percentage chance of winning that each fighter has in their respective matches. After they decide who to vote for, they bring their bets to the front desks, fill out a piece of paper with their betting information, and give it to the attendants.”
You nodded. Everything that he informed you of was what you had already seen when you were last there. You saw the ATMs, you saw the scoreboard, you saw the three attendants at their desks handing slips of betting information. Since he wasn’t offering information beyond that, you had to pry it out yourself.
“So, what happens to the betting money and how do people get paid?”
Heeseung didn’t miss a beat, “The attendants collect the money into pools: one for each fighter. The pools’ amount is based on the amount collected from those voting for them. The pool of whoever wins the fight, keeps its money and adds on the pool from the loser. The money is then distributed from the joined pool but it's all based on percentages.”
Both yours and Heeseung’s attention was drawn at the booming voice from behind the counter. Your heart dropped to the floor as your coworker called some customer’s name to pick up their drink. It was unfortunate that the name “Jungyeon” sounded a bit too much like “Jungwon”. You shook your head to rid your body of the sudden adrenaline and to regain focus. “Uh… wait I’m confused, what do you mean?” You asked him to clarify.
Heeseung sighed, “You should really just get Jungwon to tell you, he’s a business major and knows how to talk about money in a way that’s more… understandable.”
“No, no,” You waved your hands, “You’re doing just fine! Maybe just an example would help me understand it more!”
He took a moment to consider before nodding his head, “Alright, let’s say Jungwon and I are in a match together. The odds of me winning are higher than Jungwon by a sixty-eight percent to thirty-two percent split… don’t look at me like that.”
You dropped your raised brow and stifled a laugh, “Sorry, continue.”
“More people are willing to bet on me than Jungwon because I’m more likely to win. However their payout is smaller. For example, if you were to bet fifteen-thousand on me then you’d only receive eighteen-thousand if I won. But if you put fifteen-thousand on Jungwon then you’d get twenty-two-thousand if he won, because he had worse odds.”
“Oh,” You dragged the sound out, “Okay, I get it. The reward you get from betting is bigger when you bet on the underdog because it's more risky!”
“Yeah, exactly. But that’s just one layer of many. The next thing you have to understand is what happens to the money after one of us wins. If my betting pool is one-million and Jungwon’s is five-hundred-thousand, the pool of the loser is allocated to the pool of the winner. Meaning, if I won, then that five-hundred-thousand from Jungwon’s pool would be allocated to mine.”
“Got it. The winner gets all the money.”
“Well, not really.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink, his furrowed brows a clear sign of his deliberation in how to explain, “That one-point-five-million would then be distributed among the betters and to the syndicate of the champion. The syndicate always places a bet on their fighter, so if their fighter wins then they receive their payout. But normal betters also receive theirs.”
“Wait, so the winner of the fight doesn’t get any money?”
“Uh…” He thought for a moment, looking off to the other side of the cafe and then back toward you, “I’m not sure how other syndicates do it but in BE:LIFT, they give a set price per match. At the level Jungwon and I fight at, we receive seven-million per win. Jungwon, I believe, has his winnings deposited directly toward his tuition but I have mine deposited to my bank account.”
You nodded, scribbling down a note that was just out of Heeseung’s view, “Alright so just to recap: the more the odds are in favor of a person, the less the payout will be if you bet on that fighter and both pools of bets are collected to be distributed to the betters of the champion?”
“Correct.”
“Okay, great.” You furrowed your brows and began bouncing your leg. You were unsure how Heeseung would take the next topic and if he’d refuse to answer. You needed to broach the subject very carefully in order to get the information you wanted.
Where Jungwon was a guy that struggled to beat around the bush, you could do it all day long. Jungwon was direct, straightforward, and blunt to a fault, but you could play between the lines, skid along the edge, and walk gracefully across eggshells — getting the answer you wanted without having the person know that they’d given it to you.
“Actually, Heeseung, I was wondering,” You took a sip of your drink to feign nonchalance, “Jungwon mentioned that anything goes in the ring but how does that pertain to sabotage?”
Heeseung sat back in his seat, visually and literally taken aback, “Wow, um… I guess, sabotage isn’t really allowed. I mean, Jungwon is really the first person that I’ve seen get sabotaged but even then, I only know he gets sabotaged because I’m his friend. I don’t think others know.”
“Okay…” Your heart began to speed up a little at the prospect of having to prod for more information, “But I thought the sabotage had been going on for a while? You’re saying that no one but you, Jungwon, and the other five have noticed?”
The man chewed slightly on the straw of his drink, “I guess it has been a while hasn’t it? Jungwon doesn’t like to talk about it much.” He took a breath before continuing, “The sabotage that they put Jungwon through has been pretty undercover. Not only how they pull it off but the actual things themselves. Like, one time they stole Jungwon’s mouthguard, which meant the whole game he had to be extra careful not to get hit in the face. Which slows you down more than you’d realize.”
“Yeah, I bet…” You frowned. You’d seen Jungwon get hit in the face more times than you liked, but you never realized how much worse it could have been if he didn’t have something as simple as a mouthguard.
Snapshots of Jungwon flashed through your mind: one where leaned against the bars of the boxing ring, skin glistening with sweat, and his eyes glancing toward the crowd; one where he sat in your living room, face petrified with fear, and his voice tense in worry; another where his body convulsed, his feet scrambled to purchase solid ground, and his hands clawing desperately at another man's arm around his neck; another where he brings his lips so close to yours they barely brush, and you know he wants more, you know you want more, but he rips his hands away and calls it noble, even as he leaves with two bloodied hearts in his wake.
You pressed your eyes together to rid yourself of the thoughts — the memories — and instead bring your attention to the task at hand.
You knew what you wanted to ask — you’d been wanting to ask it since Jungwon told you that the people who could have sabotaged him on the night you were there were the nine people in his corner. You figured that it wasn’t the other six fighters because they had no reason to sabotage Jungwon who was, not only their friend, but also not their opponent. Fighters from the syndicates did not fight each other. Therefore, the only other suspects are the managers and the coach. Who almost equally didn’t have a reason to sabotage Jungwon.
You tread carefully with your next question, “Aren’t the managers or the coach supposed to make sure that you guys have all the things you need to fight, though?”
“Yeah, and they usually do.” Heeseung sighed, “I don’t know, maybe… no, that can’t be it.”
“What?”
“Well, our managers are relatively new.” He shrugged, “One of them was hired four months ago and the other was hired maybe two weeks later? I was gonna say that it might be that they forgot to make sure he had his mouthguard because they were new. But they had been working for about two months at the time of this incident.”
You nodded, the scratch of your pen against paper drowning in the sound of the collective chatter in the cafe. “Is anyone figuring it out?” You asked next, your eyes glancing at him while you continued to write, “Shouldn’t the coach or someone do something about this ongoing sabotage?”
Heeseung scratched his forehead, “He really should be but… I’m not sure if he is.” Heesueng tapped his fingers rhythmically on the surface of the table, “I think he mentioned it to Kim Taeho once but nothing has happened to stop it.”
“Who’s Kim Taeho?”
“The big boss…” He said with his eyes pointed, “The man at the top.”
“Right, so shouldn’t he want Jungwon to win all of his fights? Isn’t he forced to bet on all his fighters? Why hasn’t he done anything to stop this?”
“I’m not sure,” His face was downcast, “And yeah, he is forced to bet for all his fighters. It's a rule all the syndicates have. Even if the odds aren’t in their favor at all, they still have to put an equal wager on their fighter.”
“An equal wager to the other syndic—”
“Y/N.” A voice next to you spoke flatly. You turned to see your manager's unamused face, “Your shift started ten minutes ago.”
Both you and Heeseung stared at her like deers in headlights.
“Oh.”
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
You had officially met all the prerequisites to be instated in a mental asylum. On the blank part of your wall, next to your window and parallel to your bed, you had sticky notes and thin red washi-tape to mimic those detective boards in all the movies. Among an array of sticky notes were three that were all in a row, they read: The Coach, Manager 1, and Manager 2. Both managers had been crossed out leaving just the coach, you had asked Heeseung for the coach’s name before you had left for your shift. His name, in fine print on the sticky note, was Park Hyun.
Your conversation with Heeseung had turned out to be more fruitful than you had ever anticipated it to be. You were able to remove the two managers from your small list of suspects based on two conversations you had: one with Jungwon and one with Heeseung. From your conversation with Jungwon, a few weeks ago, you had learnt that the sabotage had been happening for the better part of a year. In your conversation with Heeseung, you had learnt that the managers had only been working there for about four months — making it impossible for them to have been pulling off the sabotage. This left only one suspect: the coach.
The next thing to do was to answer why the coach was sabotaging his own fighter. Though the answer was obvious, right? You would only sabotage someone if you were betting for the other side. The coach must be sabotaging Jungwon to ensure that he loses in order to win his bets every time, instead of helping him become an unbeatable opponent. Therefore, the only thing you had left to do was prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the coach was sabotaging Jungwon because he was betting against him. Once you did that, you could send off your evidence to this Kim Taeho guy and get Jungwon fair chances to dig himself out of his own grave.
The only issue was: how were you going to prove the coach was sabotaging and betting against Jungwon? And how would you get the leader of a crime syndicate to look or care about the evidence — if you could even get his contact information in the first place. You ripped your gaze from the mess of sticky notes and red washi-tape, pacing around your room, and fidgeting with the rings on your fingers.
Your eyes glanced at the phone tossed haphazardly on your bed. A slightly worn polaroid of you and Jungwon, with big smiles and frosting smeared over your faces at Jungwon’s birthday last year, laid sandwiched between your phone and its clear case. Your eyes stung at the sight and a panging pain entered your wounded heart. You hadn’t spoken to him in days and you had discovered that the absence of his words hurt more than his goodbye ever did.
Under normal circumstances, you could have asked Jungwon for help and he would’ve been at your side before you could even finish the ask. Because that was Jungwon. He stole your bottle straight from your hands, wordlessly, to help you open the cap. He walked into your apartment like he owned it and he took care of it like he lived there. Dinners where he’d do all your dishes, not just the ones he dirtied. Without asking, he’d take your trash out, giving you a small smile when he’d come back to find the bag already replaced. Like teamwork came just as naturally to the two of you as acts of service came to him.
You wondered whether he’d even pick up if you called. This was Jungwon, he’d always pick up as soon as he saw the flash of your face and name light up his screen. Then again, this was Jungwon, who would do anything and everything in his power to keep you safe, even if it cost him everything.
Taking a deep breath, you opted for the next best solution to get the evidence you needed. Coming to terms with the fact that if Jungwon ever found out, he would blow a fuse. But the mission was to not be caught, anyway.
At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you stepped off the bus and walked the two blocks to the parking lot of the HYBE gym. Cap securely over the wig that you had purchased just a few days before; glasses pushed up over your eyes and mask pulled over your nose. You’d seen many girls wearing the same set of leggings and a tight fit jacket in their gym vlogs, taking inspiration, you had purchased them as well.
The gym was in a weird limbo between busy and empty. At five on a Wednesday morning, only the true early birds and unfortunate employees were gracing the walls with their presence. And you, of course, as you deliberately chose to come in right as the doors opened, when the sleep deprived teenage employees would be too busy fighting to stay awake than pay attention to whoever was walking through the doors.
You entered as the employee turned around in his chair and headed toward the women’s locker room. Thankfully, you traversed the labyrinth of gym machines without being stopped and walked into the locker room uninterrupted. The room was a ghost town, silent except for the rapid beating of your heart. This being the second time you’d done this, you opened the secret shower door with ease and shut it softly behind you. Your steps against the stairs were feather-light, ensuring that if anyone was in the basement, they wouldn’t be notified of your presence.
The basement looked completely different than it did on Friday nights. The lights were off, albeit for a few that stayed lit no matter what per safety policies. You stopped on the end of the staircase, listening for any sounds of life, searching for any movement. Upon finding none, you moved lightly and quickly toward the stairs that run down the bleachers. Only two steps in and you realized that the bleachers squeak as you move. You ducked down, hiding in case someone were around, before slowly crawling to the edge of the bleachers. Grabbing a hold of the railing, you climbed down the support beams at the back and landed softly on the concrete ground below. Flushed between the wall and the bleachers, you slid through the small alleyway and made your way toward the reception desks. Glancing all the while, conscious of the danger with the hairs on your arm standing up and the erratic thumping in your ribcage.
As you rounded the desk to sit before the computer screen, you realized that the brightness of the screen would attract too much attention — as well as any sounds. The need for the password was also prevalent in your mind. You made quick work of your black jacket, covering the monitor with it after you pressed the mute button on the keyboard. The screen was dulled by the jacket before you got the brightness to turn down completely.
Remembering the password problem, you put to use the hours of hacking practice you’d picked up solely for this moment. It was one thing practicing on your own laptop when if all went wrong, you knew the password. Even though you’d hacked into your own computer at least seven times and had watched a plethora of different hacking tutorials on YouTube for hours beforehand. There was an itching thought in your head of: what if it didn’t work.
The bright green letters against the black background did nothing to quell your anxiety but as the log in page was overridden and you were let into the HYBE USER’s desktop, you thanked the you of the past for burning her eyes out with hacking videos for days on end. If only you would let yourself do this to fix your grades over the past few weeks.
Your eyes scanned quickly over the desk top when you spotted a flash of light out of your peripheral. Light in a concentrated beam that could only be a flashlight. Faintly, you could hear footsteps from the flashlight’s owner — far enough to be distant, close enough to compromise you — and that flew you into faster action. You pulled the thumb drive from your pocket and quietly shoved it into the monitor's USB port. You clicked on an Excel sheet titled “POBs 2026” and saw a list of names and numbers. Downloading the file to the thumb drive, you glanced for any other documents that might have been worthy of your attention. Conscious of the ever-growing footsteps.
“Huegh!”
Your head whipped toward the sound.
“Heugh, Heugh!”
Your eyes took in the beam of light and sudden movements, as if the hand that held it was sending jabs. With a closer ear, you listen to the sounds of his footsteps amid the array of “heughs” he was heaving. The sound of his shoes on the ground was not indicative of hard concrete but something lighter. Something that only the boxing ring would have been able to produce.
Thankful for the extra time, you pulled the thumb drive out.
“Man what are you doing?” Another voice rang out in the basement.
“Oh c’mon,” The heugh guy responded, “We got nothing to do and there's a boxing ring in the middle of the room.”
You clicked the “log out” button on the computer and turned the monitor off as the men conversed. Carefully sliding out of the seat since the speaking had ceased, you were waiting and listening for any clue of what the men were to do next. Then the fan in computer began to whir.
“What’s that?”
“It’s coming from over there.”
As swiftly as you could, you ducked under the desk and tucked your body as small as possible. You heard their footsteps approach amid the whirring of the fan and the steady beams of the flashlights. Your lungs begged for you to breathe and the back of your neck began to overheat.
“Oh, y’know what?” One of the men let his arm fall to his side, “It’s probably just the computers.”
“Have they ever done that before?”
“Uh… yeah, I’m sure they have.” Said the one and you were sure that he had some Know It All complex.
“Alright then,” The sound of a hand hitting a person’s back emitted from behind the desk, “What do you say we have a little spar in the ring, huh?”
The other man made a sound of indecision, “Ah, sure, why not?”
You waited until they invaded the ring and the sounds of their fists knocking into the other’s palms filled the room before you evacuated. Out from under the desk, carefully stepping under the row of bleachers and heading for the opposite end of the locker room entrance. You took measured steps until you got close to the door and gathered all your bravery.
Only twenty feet to your left was the ring, and eight feet in front of you was the door to the back hallways where you had argued with Jungwon after his match. You had the cover of darkness on your side and the attention drawn away from you — you just had to commit. You’d come so far already. But the heat at the back of your neck, sweat on your brow, and chill in your bones had you rethinking.
What would happen if you got caught? Your need for adventure, need for a story, need for a mystery, is what got you in this situation in the first place. But now, you’re face to face with circumstances that you’re not fully certain of the consequences for.
What if they caught you down here? What if they found the flash drive in the pocket of your black leggings? These aren’t mall cops, these are people who are hired by South Korean crime syndicates whether they know it or not. Would they drag you to their bosses? Would they take their anger out on you? Would they pull off your disguise and recognize your face and punish Jungwon for your trespassing and burglary?
What would Jungwon say if he found out? Was this exactly what he was afraid of? That you’d do something stupid and reckless and get yourself killed?
You shook your head. Barely registering the “coaching” that the one man was giving his other but fully aware that it sounded like the blind leading the blind. You took a deep, steady breath and then peeked toward the ring. With their attention diverted you moved quickly — not enough to be running — and quietly toward the door, pulling it open and entering a pitch black hallway.
You attempted to create a map in your mind of what the hallway had looked like when you had walked through it last. The edges of your memory recalled the turns, just barely. Whether to take a right or a left, how many doors you’d pass before the next turn. Though all your mind could focus on was the after. When you reached the black doors at the end of the hallway and pulled them open. The doors to this basement kept an illegal fight club and an even more illegal betting operation from the eyes of the general public. Which means, the doors most likely have an alarm system. You have no clearance, no alibi, no voucher, just a full disguise and pair of sneakers you hoped would take you all the way to the bus stop a couple blocks off.
With a deep breath and a starting pace, you push the back doors open and ran out at your fullest speed. The wind rushing through the air almost covered the sound of the alarm system you set off but there was nothing that would distract you. Nothing to make you turn back or slow you down. You sped past passersby on the sidewalk and watched the bus approach the stop. Boarding the bus, you swiped the bus-card you had just purchased that morning in cash and sat down next to an old man.
The doors to the bus shut, having welcomed only normal civilians, but you were too smart — or paranoid — to end the chase there. The syndicates had money and the city had CCTV everywhere. You needed to get lost in it. Which is why you pushed into the 6am train station in Seoul, and got off in Cheongju. Took a bus to a different entrance to the station at Cheongju and boarded during the 7:30am rush toward Daejeon. From Daejon you walked into a department store, paid and changed outfits, then walked to the train station again. From Daejon all the way to Daegu. Waiting and pretending to shop in a mall near the train station. Then you boarded toward Busan, changed outfits again in the back of a store in the streetmarket, before boarding the two-and-a-half hour train from Busan to Seoul during the work commute rush.
You pushed your apartment door open as the time rounded to 9pm. Kicking off your shoes and shrugging off your new jacket. You pulled the thumb drive from your pocket — the only thing that you had kept since that morning, besides the straight black wig that you’d been wearing all day. Double checking that your door was locked and your windows were shut, you walked into your room where your laptop and phone had sat all day. Naively, you checked your phone for messages from Jungwon. Heart crushing when you scrolled through all your notifications to find nothing from Jungwon. Just the same message you’d received the day he walked out.
wonie: I’m otw so make sure you have that green tea
You: can you just focus on not crashing your car please?
wonie: Lmao
A sorrowful smile rose onto your lips before tears sprung in your eyes.
All you wanted was for him to be free from his never ending cycle of exploitation.
All he wanted was to keep you away from his mess in order to keep you safe.
It felt like neither of you were getting what you wanted.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
You shoved the thumb drive into your laptop out of necessity — a need to make all the work you did feel like it was worth it — rather than an actual desire to see what was on that excel sheet. You risked your safety more than you ever had for some document that you hoped would provide you with incriminating evidence but really, you had no idea.
The file popped up on your desktop and with a double-click, the entire year’s receipts for the betting opened before your eyes. The columns held all the necessary information: the bettor’s name; the time they placed the bet, the odds of the fighters at the time the bet was placed, the name of the fighter they chose to bet on, their bet amount, their calculated pay out, their bank account number, and their contact information. All the information one would need to calculate and distribute the winnings of their bet.
You scrolled through the list — taking it all in — before your focus zeroed in. Hitting control F, you searched Park Hyun’s name and found 27 matching results. 27 bets placed under Jungwon’s coach’s name and not a single one was placed in favor of Jungwon’s victory. He had voted against Jungwon every single time.
Despite the odds — wait, no, the odds were split.
Your brows furrowed as you took in the percentages of the bets. Every bet he placed was when the odds evened out: 50-50, 49-51, 52-48, 51-48, 47-53, 55-45, 46-54. Every bet fell within even odds. From experience, you knew that Jungwon’s fights always started at 9pm. But all of these bets were made at various times. 9:13pm, 9:21pm, 9:09pm, 9:17pm, no consistency other than that the best were placed after the fights had started.
You recalled what Heeseung had told you in the cafe. The more even the odds are, the more pay that you get. But the odds aren't always even when the fighting starts. The odds of Jungwon winning in his fight against Tyun were well in his favor: 57.02%. Yet, looking at the document now, the coach had placed his bet halfway through the fight, likely after a timeout was called after the chokehold. The odds had fallen from 57.02% to 49.89% and it was at this moment that the coach had placed the bet. When the odds had evened out in his favor.
Though, it didn’t seem like he thought Tyun would pull that chokehold move because after he did, the odds had evened out and the sabotage hadn’t occurred yet. After Jungwon had drank the everclear, his odds had plummeted to 36% and the payout was a fraction of what it was when the odds were split. The coach must have realized how badly the odds would fall and placed his bet just before Jungwon had drank from his bottle.
It was strange. It was almost unbelievable that a man who was supposed to support and help Jungwon had been the one orchestrating his downfall the entire time. Your cursor hovered over the exit button of the excel sheet, having seen enough and wanting to rest from the eventful day. But a name kept scratching in the back of your mind like nails on a chalkboard: Kim Taeho. The syndicate boss who should have been voting in favor of Jungwon the whole time. Had he been? Or was he just like the coach?
Kim Taeho’s name appeared dozens more times than the coach’s. He had seven male fighters and five female fighters and all of which — you checked thoroughly — he had been voting in favor of. Even down to the last fight.
Kim Taeho | 21:00 | JAKAH 37.33% vs SOOBIN 63.66% | SOOBIN | $1000 | $148 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *********@gmail.com
At 21:00 sharp, every fight, he placed his bet in favor of Jungwon — regardless of the odds. You nodded your head as if you’d made up your mind. You would send Kim Taeho all the fights that the coach voted against Jungwon in. You’d note that there was foul play involved and that he should check the integrity of his staff. And maybe, if you were lucky, he’d fire the coach and Jungwon would have a fair chance at crawling out of his debt. And maybe, if you were extremely lucky, he’d find his way back to you after he was safe again.
With the motivation electrifying through your veins, you began to highlight the cells of Park Hyun’s voting information:
Park Hyun | 21:01 | JAKAH 78.12% vs BAMKYU 22.98% | BAMKYU | $1000 | $2340 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com
Park Hyun | 21:13 | JAKAH 53.01% vs JO 47.99% | JO | $1000 | $1780 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com
Park Hyun | 21:27 | JAKAH 57.02% vs TYUN 43.98% | TYUN | $1000 | $1570 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com
Park Hyun | 21:18 | JAKAH 48.00% vs SOOBIN 52.00% | SOOBIN | $100 | $148 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com
As you highlighted the last four rows, you recalled the events for each of these fights — except for the most recent one with a fighter named Soobin, which Jungwon had told you nothing about — and each of their respective sabotages. In the fight against a guy named Bamkyu, Jungwon’s water bottle had been filled with laxatives, which caused him to run from the fight even though the odds were fully in his favor. In his fight with Jo, he was given vinegar in place of the water, which caused him to fight more brutally in order to prevent over-dehydration. His fight against Tyun seemed to go off the rails. The everclear would have pushed the odds to even out, but the coach had not anticipated Tyun’s own intellect to even out the stakes all by himself. The everclear pushed the odds to fall too far into the margins of Tyun’s success which capped the amount of the payout.
You brows furrowed as you cross referenced the starting odds with the odds of when the coach placed his bets. The day the laxatives were used, Jungwon had over 70% chance of winning. The day the vinegar was used, he had a 59% chance of winning. The fight against Tyun had him at a 63% chance of winning. And the most recent fight, which you knew nothing of other than that he came home relatively unscathed, had placed his odds at 37%. The split between the odds and severity of the sabotage was a pattern too loud to miss.
The more the odds were in favor of Jungwon, the harsher the sabotage became. This realization left a bitter tongue and a deep ache in your heart. Involuntarily, you imagined Jungwon checking the scoreboard and noting his favor in odds. Had he found peace in that? Had he found comfort in the prospect of his probable victory? Or had it put him on edge? Had it brought his guard up at the expectation of a harsh attack coming from one of his blind spots?
Just as you were about to save the document, your eyes caught on the number that falls at the very end of the columns: Midnight Bank 20180917. The coach’s bank account number.
With shaky fingers, you scrolled up to the nearest row with Kim Taeho’s name, scanning past the information to reach the final column and reading it off in the silence of your held breath and still heart. Midnight Bank 20180917.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
The air in the room felt sticky. Too warm, too stuffy, as it clung to every millimeter of skin. The crowd was too talkative. Too joyous, too carefree, as they swirled their lavishly bartended drinks. The sight was too tense. Too terrifying, too uncanny, as he wrapped his fists in white bandages and bit down in the black mouthguard.
Like a familiar friend, that anxious heat crawled its way onto the back of your neck — resting there. Your breath was entirely uneven despite the deep inhales and long exhales you’d been doing to train it back to consistency. Your leg bounced uncontrollably and you were certain one of the bettors would say something in just a moment, but their thoughts and their preferences were the least of your concerns. Not when Jungwon stood with his shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed on his all-too-familiar foe.
Your phone buzzed and you drew your attention to it at lightning speed. An email was left with no subject line, just PDF and a caption: For your sake, I hope he wins. With shaky fingers, you tapped the screen and the PDF came into full view. A contract.
A contract that put everything on the line.
Since the night that you had reviewed the Excel sheet, you’d taken risks that not only would have sent Jungwon into a coma but also could have gotten you killed. After a couple nights of rest and planning. You had opened your laptop once again, clicking open the Decelis University website and typing in Jungwon’s username and password instead of yours. Because of course, you knew his log in.
You’d used it before to submit his assignments when he couldn’t or when he needed to check his grades. You’d never used it to check his financial statements.That was always private — too private — a boundary you couldn’t overstep. Somehow, that boundary seemed like nothing when it came in the way of securing a better future for him.
You scrolled and opened the PDF of his statements. Monthly payments toward the total of Jungwon’s tuition, room and board, downpayments, parking passes, and a section called “allowance” which gets filtered straight to Jungwon’s bank account. The receipt of these payments noted the bank of the payer to be: Midnight Bank ****0917, corresponding with the bank account both Kim Taeho and Park Hyun were filtering their winnings to. The contact information for the payer was noted to be Kim Taeho himself. You scrolled to the end of the receipt to see the fine print which read: All payments are final. No refunds are allowed.
With these words, you set your plan into action.
Immediately, you purchased a subscription to the strongest VPN on the market and created a burner email address. You bussed to the busiest public library in Seoul and drafted a very carefully worded email along with an attachment to the Excel sheet. The Excel sheet being highlighted with the necessary and incriminating information.
To whom it may concern,
Attached in the file below are the betting records of the 2026 year so far. As noted by the highlighting, Kim Taeho has been betting in favor of his fighter JAKAH and sending his winnings to a bank account number 20180917 at Midnight Bank. JAKAH’s coach and employee of Kim Taeho, Park Hyun, has been betting against JAKAH, his own fighter, and yet sending it to the same bank account: Midnight Bank 20180917.
Upon further research, the bank account was found to be in Kim Taeho’s name. Is this not grounds for double betting? I’m certain that this kind of fraud would not be tolerated among the syndicates gathered that make events like these possible. Should they find out, would your syndicate not face immense repercussions for this fraud?
I have no interest in exposing you to the people you work with nor am I interested in extorting you for money. What I want, in exchange for the hard drive of this information and the access to this email account to prevent the scheduled emails to every contact on this Excel sheet from being sent, is the complete forgiveness of JAKAH (Yang Jungwon)’s debt.
The emails are scheduled to be sent on Friday at 23:59. If I do not have confirmation that JAKAH (Yang Jungwon) has been forgiven of any debt that he has with you and is released from any obligation he has with you by 23:59, the emails will be sent. If I have confirmation before then that my requests have been fulfilled in good faith with evidence to prove it, then I will send an email with the log in, in order for you to manually close the emails yourself. I will also ship the hard drive to the front office of the HYBE gym.
Thank you for your understanding.
You left no signature. Just the attachment of the spreadsheet and a quick glance at your VPN which changed your location every three seconds. South Korea one moment, Brazil the next, then onto Turkey, before heading to Milawe. You hit send on the email and walked out of the library toward the busiest tourist street in the city.
You weren’t expecting a response within the first 72 hours. Which kept you running the VPN all hours of the day. You had known they’d consider your threat a bluff, then they’d realize that you had everything you needed in order to out them. Then they’d devise a plan. You had known some sort of trickery was coming, you just hadn’t known what.
As the days ticked by, a consistent anxiety welcomed itself into your heart. You hadn’t emailed back, dedicated to keeping communication as minimal as possible. When you woke up that Friday morning with no response, you prepared yourself to cut your losses. Once you send the emails and expose Belift, things might get more complicated for Jungwon, or everything would fizzle out. You’d assess the damage and move onto plan B.
Until then, you kept hope in your heart. Even as you entered the gym with your new gym membership, under a different name and paid in cash, thanks to the new increased security. You slipped into the locker room and down the stairs just before the 21:00 match started. Emboldened by the leverage you had over Belift, you had taken a seat right in the front — looking straight ahead to the reason you had even started doing this in the first place. Yang Jungwon.
It was in this ante period that you received the response email from Belift. And the PDF which sent a chill to the marrow of your bones. You knew the trick was coming. You just didn’t know that it’d threaten everything you’d worked for.
The PDF was a photocopy of a contract that had recently been drawn and signed. A contract that stated:
As decided by the executives of Belift Lab, the debt of Yang Jungwon will be wholly and completely forgiven should he win his next upcoming fight. As per Yang Jungwon’s request, upon his victory, Belift Lab or any of its affiliates will never attempt to contact or engage with Yang Jungwon and his loved ones.
Alternatively, in the case of Yang Jungwon’s defeat, he will carry on as a fighter of Belift Lab to eliminate his debt through his labor. Upon his defeat, Jungwon shall be legally required to pay off any accumulated debt to Belift Lab regardless of circumstances.
Jungwon was now contractually bound to his freedom or his exploitation. If he won the fight, you would send Belift your evidence and Jungwon would be forgiven of his debt. If he lost, you would still have to send your evidence, but Jungwon would be legally obligated to pay off his debt.
The loud buzzer swept over the makeshift arena.
“Welcome back to another round in the men’s fifth bracket!” The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, “Listen Dino, I don’t know about you but I have been anticipating this fight all night.”
“Me too, S.Coups. I’m sure the audience is well aware but these two fighters have recently butt heads which ended in a brutal victory.” The crowd uproared, “Yes, that’s right folks. Welcome to the rematch between Jakah of Belift and BigHit’s Tyun.”
Suddenly, Jungwon’s abnormally tensed shoulders made sense. Your breath was stolen straight from your lungs and the entire room fell into white noise. Jungwon began to switch his weight between his feet — lightening his step — though it seemed that his legs were stiffer than they’d ever been before. The image of his face turning purple-ish red as he clawed as the arm preventing him from breathing was seared into your mind. And you were only a bystander. You couldn’t imagine the way Jungwon must have felt as his mind begged his body to forget what happened last time and to focus on not repeating history.
“And Jakah takes the offensive!”
Jungwon lunged at Tyun, aiming a clean strike to the ribs. Tyun twisted out of the way but not fast enough for the speed that Jungwon was going. His first two knuckles clipped Tyun’s side, causing Jungwon to shift his feet closer and send another strike to the man’s face. Tyun’s bandaged hands blocked the strike and he jumped away from Jungwon.
“Man, it seems like Jakah has a bit of pent up rage… I haven’t seen him this aggressive in a fight for a while.”
Your eyes chanced a glance toward Jungwon’s corner where the coach and managers stood waiting in bated breath. Jay and Heeseung stood there as well, Jay’s arms wrapped around the water bottle you’d gifted Jungwon, as if he was guarding it with his life.
By the time you looked back over, Jungwon and Tyun had given up on dancing around each other and the latter was sending a barrage of feints with occasional strikes. Jungwon’s forearms were getting battered but he kept his guard up. He stayed like that for a while before he caught one of Tyun’s arms, pulled it, and twisted it behind the man’s back before shoving him face first onto the floor of the ring.
“Ohhh, ouch!”
“Man, that has got to hurt!”
The crowd echoed the announcers in various synonymous sentiments as the buzzer announced the end of the first round. Jungwon released his hold on his opponent and walked over to his corner, beckoning Jay for his water bottle and taking a test sip before chugging it. With your eyes tunneled onto him — the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the imprint of his hard abs on his white tank — you could barely hear the announcers informing the crowd of Jungwon’s increase in odds.
Before you could fully register it, the match began again. Shifting feet and tiny grunts was all that filled the room as passed strikes between each other. Jungwon pursued Tyun to the edge of the ring, his opponent’s feet only a meter away from the rails before suddenly, he pushed himself back onto the rail, held the bars, and pushed his feet square into Jungwon’s abdomen. Jungwon stumbled back, nearly losing his balance, and failed to block the punch that landed straight onto his nose.
“Oh, that’s definitely broken.”
“Speaking from experience, huh?”
Tyun grabbed Jungwon’s arm and threw him to his knees while he was still stunned. His hand grabbing one of his shoulders and sliding his arm across the plain of his neck. The everpresent heat on the back of your neck seemed to replicate Tyun’s actions, as if it knew this was what you had been most afraid of since the fight began.
Without warning or indication, Jungwon pulled Tyun’s left arm forward and reached back to grab ahold of the back of his right knee, standing up and bringing his opponent with him. With his feet off the ground, Tyun could do nothing to stop or brace himself as Jungwon jumped backward, sending them both to the floor, only with Tyun’s body as a cushion to break Jungwon’s fall.
“Jakah is on fire today!”
“He escaped out of that chokehold, picked Tyun up from behind, slammed him into the ground, and held him down for over five seconds, meaning: the second round is over!”
Your face had become sweaty like it was you that had been in that ring. But from the sight of Jungwon pushing his sweaty hair back and having it stay in a swept position, you assumed that he must be perspiring more than you could ever know. Of course, he would be. Everything was on the line for him. His freedom to leave the fighting and his freedom to pursue you.
Without needing to be asked, Jungwon’s manager handed him a face cloth, which he took gratefully. He shoved his face into the fabric and rubbed the sticky sweat and grime off of his skin. Your heart dropped to the craters of the Earth when Jungwon ripped the cloth away from his face and began to cough. He tossed the cloth over the rails of the ring and shook his head, placing a hand over his chest and taking deep breaths.
Before he was fully prepared, the buzzer signaled the start of the third round and Tyun sprung into action. He sent a jab that Jungwon barely dodged, causing him to stumble off to the side. Another jab, a feint, right, left, right, right, left, all blocked or dodged sloppily. Until Tyun dropped down low and sent a punch to his gut, leaving Jungwon in a fit of coughs. Another knee to his gut — his abdomen having already been targeted multiple times. Tyun’s strong hands pushed Jungwon backwards before sending three clean strikes. One to his left jaw, one under his chin, and another across his left jaw.
Jungwon fell backwards, immediately scrambling to get back up before Tyun kicked his stomach, forcing the blond to curl up into a centipede. Whatever was on that cloth had thrown Jungwon into a state of distraction that he struggled to free himself from. And as he was on the ground, trying to ignore the pounding of Tyun foot as it slammed into his back, trying to ignore the blaring “five, four, three” of the announcers, trying to ignore the burn in his lungs, he peeled his eyes open to look at the crowd. His hopeless eyes met your worried ones. As if Fate had directed your gazes to align. As if Fate had given him a guiding hand in his most crucial moment.
Memories of the last time he’d seen you crept up at the edges of his mind. Your tear-tracked face held in his hands. His lips brushing yours, careful to not press too hard that he might stay there with you in his arms forever. The sound of your voice as you pleaded him not to go in words cut open the chambers of his heart.
All it took was one small victory and everything he’s ever wanted would rest at his feet.
With renewed strength, Jungwon rolled over and out of the way of Tyun’s foot, just before the announcers made it to “one”. With the momentum and the opportunity of one of Tyun’s legs raised, Jungwon swept his feet out and knocked him to the floor. Without hesitation, Jungwon straddled the man’s waist, gripped his shirt, and swung punch after punch toward the man’s face. Every blow was blocked by expert hands.
As Jungwon drew back for another punch, Tyun grabbed his hips and attempted to twist their positions, but Jungwon was quick to slide away from getting pinned to the floor. The two exchanged blows, knocked fists, and blocked strikes, all while shuffling around each other. Jungwon increased the speed of his feet, sent a feint directly into Tyun’s line of sight, before twisting around him and leaving his view completely. As the other man turned to keep his eyes on Jungwon, the blond sent a brutal kick to the other man’s gut. With Tyun’s hands lowering to protect his abdomen, Jungwon slammed his foot into his opponent's face and sent him stumbling back. Without mercy, Jungwon shuffled his left foot toward the right and twisted his body, sending a roundhouse kick that dug into the cheekbone of the other fighter.
Tyun dropped to his knees, breath heavy and shallow, eyes closed and body tipping toward the floor. Jungwon shoved his foot in the other’s chest and held him down. The adrenaline drowned out the countdown from five.
“Five…” He couldn’t look at you.
“Four…” Not until he knew he had won.
“Three…” Until he knew you were safe.
“Two…” Until he knew he could—
“One!”
The referee raised Jungwon’s arm up and blew his whistle, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Cheering, jeering, and booing. Standing, clapping, and fist pumping. And all he saw was you. With tears in your eyes and the biggest smile he thinks he’s ever seen you wear.
And before he even knew it, he was hopping over the railing of the ring. Blood rushing and pounding in his ears as he ran toward you. You followed suit, hopping over the small guard rail and running just a few steps to where he had already gotten over to you.
His left hand found your waist and his right found your cheek and he turned the both of you to the side so that he wouldn’t crash into you at full force. Well at least with his body, for his lips were all but graceful as they crashed onto yours, his hand at your waist immediately moving to your left cheek to angle your face to fit his perfectly. He kissed hungrily and greedily like he couldn’t get enough. He didn’t stop to breathe, he just moved his lips against yours as if it was the only thing he needed to stay alive.
As soon as you brought your hands to his hard chest, he slid his hands down to hold your waist, pulling your body flush against his and never removing his lips from your own. How could he when you kissed him back with a mirroring fervor and slid your hands up to card through his hair.
Jungwon had fought for every South Korean Won he had made in the ring. Millions of won had been added to his name. But there — with you in his arms, clinging to him, and exchanging dozens of heated kisses like you were making up for lost time — that was the richest Jungwon had ever been.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
“And when someone asks for a caramel macchiato, what they’re really asking for is a caramel latte.”
His dark brows furrowed under his recently dyed brown hair, “Why wouldn’t they just ask for a caramel latte then?”
“Well, because they’re going off of the menu from Starbucks.”
His dark brown eyes held thinly veiled confusion before he nodded and leaned his hip against the counter, crossing his toned arms as the black work shirt stretched over his muscles. You glanced over to him, a different — more bashful — heat crawling up your neck as he stared at you.
“Don’t worry,” You told him, “You’ll get the hang of it soon.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure?”
“Why were there?” He narrowed his eyes, “At the fight.”
Your throat worked around a swallow, “Oh, uh I was just…”
A million reasons flashed through your mind — none of them even bordering on the truth — and it brought all of your thoughts to a halt. This entire situation: you finding out about Jungwon’s secret life, it all started from a lie. Now that you had Jungwon, you couldn’t lose him again. So you took a deep breath and began the long explanation.
“You told me that in order to keep me safe, you had to leave my life completely. And to be honest? I’d rather fear for my life everyday than say goodbye to you forever.” You eyes poured into his steady, deep, brown ones, “I talked to Heeseung, found out who was sabotaging you, broke into the Hybe gym basement to get proof—”
“I’m sorry, you what?!”
“And then, I found out that Kim Taeho was double betting and tampering with the odds by sabotaging you, in order to get an even split and make the most amount of money possible while winning every time.”
“How the he—”
“And then I essentially blackmailed him into forgiving your debt,”
He straightened, “Tell me you’re joking…”
“But don’t worry I stayed anonymous and used a VPN.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
“And then drew up a contract that would forgive your debt as long as you won the fight — which you did — and here we are!”
Jungwon grabbed your upper shoulders, “Y/N… Please tell me this is a joke.”
You could see the worry laced into every feature: his creased brows, his wide eyes, his downturned lips.
“Jungwon, you always talk about keeping me safe. I wanted to find a way to make sure you were safe.” You hesitated to keep going, “Even when you signed the contract, you were thinking about me. That if you won the fight and were forgiven, you requested that they stayed away from you.”
“I wouldn’t sign the contract unless that was added.” He confessed, “What good would getting rid of my debt be if they took something — someone — else from me in its place.” His hands slid to the hem of your sleeves, playing with the fabric. “And it’s the best decision I ever made because now, I’m finding out that you blackmailed a crime syndicate that most definitely has a grudge against both you and I.”
You tried not to look too horrified by the logistics of your impulsive decisions.
“And if I didn’t make them sign a contract to stay away from you,” His eyes dropped down, unable to look you in the eye, “Who would’ve gotten me an actual job to start chipping away at my tuition?”
“With or without me, you would have found a way to pay for college and keep on living a good life.” You rolled your eyes.
“‘With or without you’?” He repeated incredulously, “Without you I would still be spending Friday nights drinking laxatives, vinegar, and everclear or shoving my face into a chloroform face towel and getting my ass handed to me. Without you I’d have spent my entire life saving pennies to pay off an impossible debt.” His cat-like eyes took upon every frame of seriousness, “My life doesn’t exist without you, Y/N.”
A shy smile rose onto your lips. Because you may know Yang Jungwon inside and out as your best friend. But Yang Jungwon, your boyfriend, was still uncharted territory. Regardless of if this was the 50th time he’d pulled you in by your waist and pressed gentle, loving kisses against your lips.
“Jungwon,” You pressed against his chest, “This was the one condition my manager had!” You argued through the sweet pecks he placed in between words, “No PDA!”
He giggled before placing another kiss onto your forehead, “Fine, but once we’re off the clock, I’m never letting you go.”
His hands fell from you and the warmth he left behind lingered like a promise.
“I might need you to sign a contract for that.”
“What for?” He asked, picking up a dish to rinse off, “You’ll just blackmail me anyway.”
𝐢𝒏𝐝𝐞𝒙 ✸ and all the nights i spent fighting bad thoughts in my room / but my head is full of poison / i got toxins in my bloodstream, you tried hard to suck them out / i'm unraveled / why can't it ever be enough?
synopsis hotheaded y/n falls apart when her beautiful very famous boyfriend of two years, sunghoon, decides to go to a convention on their second anniversary.
pairing famous streamer boyfriend! sunghoon x fem! reader
genre angst, hurt, comfort
word count 10.4k
warnings profanities. y/n is very hotheaded and jealous and insecure. their relationship isn't toxic but sunghoon lowk picks an event over their 2 year anniversay so yea ... ness and jake are in a relationship hehe. ness is reader's cousin :p
nessie note Hello Wrld. HAHAHA this is long overdue i'm aware haha but also... can someone please help me understand why i'm so addicted to making angsty fics ... it's almost like i don't wanna give the day a chance ... anyway! listen to the cure by olivia (yes. on repeat.) while reading this for the full proper experience :p i love you all :3
the core issue was a massive failure of communication.
sunghoon hadn't told her about the upcoming twitch convention the boys had been invited to. it was a massive, five day annual convention that the four of them had religiously attended for the past three years—it was practically a mandatory business trip for their streaming careers. the fatal problem this time, however, was that their anniversary fell directly on the third day of the convention and y/n, wanting to celebrate their milestone, had been secretly planning a massive, intricate surprise trip for ages.
so, when sunghoon casually announced over dinner that he was packing his bags to go away for a week, something inside y/n fractured.
initially, she hadn't yelled. she had swallowed her pride, her voice dropping into an uncharacteristically sweet, fragile tone as she looked across the kitchen island at him. "hoon... please don't go. can't you just stay here with me? just this once?"
but sunghoon, completely blind to the hidden meaning behind her words and focused entirely on the strict contract logistics of the event, had sighed, shaking his head. "i can't just skip it, y/n. it's five days, it's business. don't be unreasonable."
that word—unreasonable—was the spark that blew the dam wide open. y/n's face had gone from sweet to entirely murderous in a split second. the hurt morphed instantly into blinding rage and she finally snapped, revealing the truth in a harsh, bitter volley of words.
"unreasonable?!" y/n slammed her fork down against the ceramic plate, the sharp clank echoing violently in the quiet kitchen. she stood up from her stool, her chair scraping harshly against the floorboards. "our two year anniversary is next thursday, sunghoon! next thursday! i have spent the last four months booking a private cabin, organising your streaming schedule with your manager behind your back so you’d have the days cleared and planning a surprise because i actually thought you cared about our milestones! and you just casually sit there eating chicken, telling me you're leaving the state?!"
sunghoon froze, his piece of chicken halfway to his mouth. his dark eyes widened in sudden, jarring realisation as the date clicked in his head. a heavy, immediate wave of guilt flooded his chest, his stoic mask cracking. next thursday. he had completely, utterly lost track of the days in the chaos of his content schedule.
"y/n... wait," sunghoon started, his deep voice immediately dropping into a softer, urgent register as he set his cutlery down. he rose to his feet, his tall frame looming over the counter as he reached out to try and catch her hand. "i didn't... i honestly didn't realise the dates overlapped. the convention scheduled it a month earlier this year. look at me, love, i'm sorry—"
"do not call me that right now!" y/n hissed, violently slapping his hand away before he could touch her. her eyes were flashing with dangerous, hot tears of frustration, her chest heaving underneath her shirt. "you didn't realise? how do you forget our anniversary, hoon? it happens on the same day every single year! but of course, if it's not a streaming schedule, if it's not a sponsor deck, or if it's not jake and jay asking you to do a co-stream, it doesn't exist in your perfect little brain!"
sunghoon’s jaw set, his own patience taking a direct hit from her sharp words. he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to maintain his calm, but the exhaustion of his own week was starting to bleed through. "y/n, that's unfair and you know it. i feel terrible about the timing, alright? i do. but you can't stand there and act like i don't care about us just because a massive networking event landed on that weekend."
"then cancel it!" y/n commanded, her voice rising to a fierce, unyielding pitch as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "if you care, cancel the convention. tell the boys you're staying. it's one year, sunghoon. you've gone to this thing three times already!"
"i can't just cancel a contracted event six days before it starts, y/n! that's not how this works!" sunghoon finally snapped back, his voice rising, matching her volume as his own anger began to blur his logic. he stepped around the kitchen counter, closing the distance between them, his features tightening into a rigid, stubborn line. "there are brand guidelines, panel slots i'm legally locked into and flight bookings. there is absolutely no way i am missing this convention. it's my job."
y/n let out a sharp, bitter and entirely cynical laugh, stepping back away from him as if his presence physically repelled her. the words tore out of her throat before her brain could stop them.
"right. your job," she whispered, her voice dropping into a lethal, icy venom that made sunghoon’s blood run cold. "your job always comes first. why don't you just pack your bags tonight then, hoon? go live at the fucking convention center. because clearly, having a real life with me is just an inconvenience to your algorithm."
sunghoon’s blood ran completely cold before a fierce, dark fury took over his features. his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped, his dark eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. for the past two years, he had been the one to bow first, he was the one who smoothed over her sharp edges, swallowed his own pride and cracked the tension with a soft touch or a blind apology just to keep her happy.
but this time? he didn't give in. he refused to blindly apologise for trying to maintain his livelihood and respect his legal contracts.
"is that really what you think?" sunghoon's voice dropped into a low, terrifyingly steady vibrato. he stared down at her, his posture rigid. "you think you're just an inconvenience to me? if you're going to weaponise my career against me every time a scheduling conflict happens, y/n, then i'm not going to stand here and beg for your permission to do my job. i’m going to the convention."
"fine! go!" y/n fired back, her face twisting in pain before she turned on her heel and marched into the bedroom, slamming the heavy door shut behind her.
and she didn't warm up. not that night and not the morning after. to y/n, the silence in the apartment was a glaring, roaring proof that his work—his pristine, dazzling digital image—was vastly more important than the milestone they had built together.
but beneath the surface of her hot temper lay a much darker, much more agonizing truth that she would never admit out loud. it wasn't just the anniversary trip. it was the crushing, suffocating weight of his female fanbase. y/n knew what she was—she was a stubborn, short-tempered and highly irritable figure in sunghoon's life. every single day, she saw thousands of gorgeous, sweet, entirely tension-free girls flocking to his streams, leaving adoring comments and openly flirting with him. the intrusive, toxic thought that there was someone out there who was softer, kinder and wouldn't pick fights with him always made her physically sick in the head.
sunghoon knew she had a jealousy streak, sure. he knew she hated when people hit on him. but he had absolutely no idea just how deeply it tore her up inside.
only ness knew. y/n would rarely break down, but when the insecurity became too heavy to carry, she would drive over to her cousin’s place, collapsing onto ness' shoulder in tears. “he’s going to get tired of how difficult i am, ness,” y/n had sobbed into her sister’s lap months ago, her fierce armor completely gone. “some sweet, quiet girl is going to smile at him at one of these events, and he’s going to realise how exhausting i am.” ness had held her sister tightly, smoothing her hair and softly whispering comforts, keeping the secret fiercely. she had sworn an absolute oath never to tell jake or sunghoon, taking care of her sister in the dark while y/n put her fierce mask back on for the world.
for the next six days leading up to his departure, the apartment became a frozen war zone. y/n completely withdrew. every single night, she climbed into bed, stuck entirely to her extreme side of the mattress, her back turned to him like an unyielding brick wall.
on the final night before the convention, the silence in the bedroom was deafening. sunghoon lay awake on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet, rhythmic sound of her breathing. his anger had long since burned out, leaving behind a heavy, aching hollow in his chest.
he hated leaving like this. he hated the distance.
slowly, sunghoon shifted. he slid across the mattress, closing the wide gap between them until his broad chest pressed directly against her rigid back. he reached out, his long, heavy arm sliding around her waist, pulling her smaller frame flush against his torso. he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sharp, familiar scent of her shampoo.
"y/n..." sunghoon murmured, his rough voice dropping into a quiet, incredibly weary plea against her skin. "please. i'm leaving tomorrow morning. can we just... can we just sleep facing each other for one night? can you look at me? please?"
y/n stayed completely rigid. she froze in his embrace, her hands clutching the edge of the duvet, refusing to relax a single muscle. she didn't answer him. she didn't move. she couldn't. she was terrified that if she opened her mouth, she would scream or beg him to stay, or lay bare all the pathetic, trembling insecurities she fought so hard to hide.
and unknown to sunghoon in the dark, hot, silent tears were already flowing freely from her wide eyes, spilling over her nose and soaking into the plush fabric of her pillow. her throat ached from the sheer force of holding back a sob.
sunghoon waited in the heavy darkness, hoping for a sign, a shift, or a soft squeeze of his hand. when nothing came, he let out a long, heavy and thoroughly defeated sigh that fanned warm against her skin. he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering and deeply sad kiss to the back of her neck.
"that’s alright," he whispered hoarsely, tightening his arm around her waist anyway, refusing to let her go even if she hated him right now. "i've still got you. i love you, baby."
the harsh glow of dawn hadn’t even broken past the horizon when sunghoon’s alarm silently vibrated under his pillow at 5:00 am. he turned it off instantly, the heavy, dark silence of the bedroom settling back over him. he sat up slowly, the cool morning air biting at his bare chest as he looked down at the girl sleeping beside him.
y/n was tucked under the heavy duvet, but she didn't look peaceful. even in her sleep, her brow was slightly furrowed, her breathing shallow and uneven, her small hands clutching the edge of the blanket tightly near her chin. her face looked pale and exhausted, the faint, dry tracks of last night's secret tears barely visible in the dim morning shadows.
sunghoon’s heart clenched violently at the sight. the guilt that had been simmering in his chest for the last six days flared into a sharp, painful ache. he leaned down, lingering over her for a long moment, before pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the side of her face. his lips brushed her temple, his thumb gently smoothing over her brow to try and ease her tension. she let out a tiny, restless whimper in her sleep but didn't wake.
i'm sorry, love, he thought, his throat tightening.
he quietly slid out of bed, got dressed in a comfortable grey tracksuit and grabbed his packed suitcase from the closet. before he reached for the doorknob, he walked over to her nightstand. he grabbed the thick, textured white envelope on his desk. inside was a letter he had spent three hours writing the night before—spilling every single unfiltered, vulnerable emotion he usually kept locked behind his stoic mask, explaining his fears, his devotion and how much he worshipped her, short temper and all.
on the front, in his neat handwriting, he had written: to my y/n. open this on thursday.
their anniversary.
he set it gently next to her phone, placing a small glass paperweight over it so the morning breeze wouldn't blow it away. sunghoon walked back to the edge of the mattress, bending down to press one final, long kiss against her cheek.
"i love you, my y/n," he whispered into the quiet room, his voice cracking slightly with a raw, heavy emotion. he pulled back, quickly using the back of his hand to wipe away a single, stray tear that had escaped his own eye, before wheeling his suitcase out of the apartment and closing the door behind him.
the international terminal of the airport was already bustling with travelers by 6:30 am. the sharp scent of roasted coffee beans and terminal air conditioning filled the space as sunghoon walked toward the designated terminal gate.
from a distance, he easily spotted the group. heeseung was leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone with a pair of headphones around his neck, while jay was adjusting the strap of his carry-on bag and right in the center of the terminal seating area were jake and ness.
true to her dedicated girlfriend routine, ness had insisted on driving jake to the airport despite the ungodly hour. she was clearly half-asleep, her frame completely engulfed in one of jake’s oversized black hoodies, her eyes barely open. she was practically dead weight against him, her arms wrapped tightly around jake’s waist while her face was buried deeply in the crook of his neck.
sunghoon stopped a few feet away, his suitcase handle burning into his palm as his heart clenched sharply at the display of pure, uncomplicated affection. a heavy wave of longing and envy washed over him. he missed his girl so much it physically pained him and he hadn't even boarded the plane yet. he would give anything to have y/n clinging to him like that right now, even if she was lecturing him about his packing list.
jay was the first to notice him approaching. "hey. hoon’s here."
jake slowly pulled back from ness, keeping a supportive hand on her waist so she wouldn't topple over in her sleepy state. he looked at sunghoon, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he scanned the space behind him. "hey, man. where’s y/n? did she drop you off at the curb?"
sunghoon forced a neutral, completely unbothered shrug, adjusting the straps of his backpack to mask the sudden tight knot in his throat. "nah. she was just way too tired to come by this morning. work has been brutal on her this week, so i told her to just stay in bed and sleep in. it’s totally okay."
jay and heeseung both offered understanding nods. "yeah, makes sense. it’s way too early anyway," jay muttered.
but ness didn't nod. the second sunghoon said those words, her heavy eyelids opened for a second, the sleepiness instantly evaporating from her eyes. she knew y/n. knew how she was a lot of things, but she loved fiercely and if things were good, y/n would have dragged herself out of bed at 3:00 am in a blizzard just to glare at sunghoon at the security gate and tell him to come back in one piece. for y/n to skip dropping him off entirely meant a complete catastrophe had occurred.
the overhead intercom crackled to life, announcing the final boarding call for their flight.
"alright, boys, that’s us. let's move," jay said, picking up his duffel bag.
as they gathered their things, ness stepped forward to say goodbye to the group. she gave jay and heeseung quick, warm hugs, telling them to stay safe and get tons of souvenirs back for her. then she stepped up to sunghoon.
when she threw her arms around his neck for a goodbye hug, she didn't pull away immediately. instead, she leaned her head close to his ear, her voice dropping into a quiet, deeply concerned whisper that the other boys couldn't hear.
"hoon..." ness murmured softly, her small hand gently patting the back of his shoulder. "is y/n really okay? did something happen between you two?"
sunghoon squeezed his eyes shut, the heavy armor he had been wearing all morning finally fracturing under ness’ gentle presence. he let out a long, ragged and thoroughly defeated sigh against her shoulder, his broad shoulders dropping. he pulled back to look down into her worried eyes.
"no, ness. she’s not okay," sunghoon admitted hoarsely, his voice tight and dripping with a raw, quiet desperation. he looked at ness, his eyes pleading. "we had a really bad fight about the convention and she’s... she’s completely furious with me and she wouldn't even look at me before i left. please... can you just go check on her? take care of her for me while i'm gone? she’s a lot more fragile right now than she lets on."
ness’ expression immediately softened into a look of deep, aching sympathy. the pieces of the puzzle instantly clicked in her mind—she remembered y/n’s breakdowns about her insecurities and the fear of losing him to his fanbase. she offered sunghoon a firm, reassuring nod, her small hand moving up to squeeze his arm securely.
"i knew something was wrong," ness whispered softly, her voice filled with an absolute, unyielding determination. "don't worry about a single thing, hoon. i’ll go straight to her and stay the week. i won't leave her side, i promise.”
a profound wave of relief washed over sunghoon, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a fraction. he managed a faint, incredibly grateful smile. "thank you, ness. seriously. you have no idea how much that means to me."
"of course. now go, before you miss your flight," she smiled gently, patting his chest.
sunghoon thanked her one last time, giving her a final squeeze before stepping back to join jay and heeseung down the boarding ramp. ness turned back around, instantly melting right back into jake's open arms for a final goodbye.
the quiet click of the front door unlocking cut through the suffocating silence of the apartment. y/n didn’t move. she remained completely frozen on her side of the bed, her eyes wide open, staring blankly at the dark accent wall. she had been awake since 5:00 am, listening to the agonizingly quiet sounds of sunghoon packing, the soft press of his lips against her face and the devastating click of the door closing behind him.
"y/n? y/n… it's me."
ness’ voice was a soft, cautious whisper down the hallway. she used her spare key, stepping quietly into the master bedroom. the blinds were still drawn, plunging the room into a heavy twilight. the second ness’ eyes adjusted to the dimness and she saw how completely emotionless and hollow y/n looked—lying there like a ghost under the heavy duvet—her heart dropped.
"oh, y/n..." ness breathed. she dropped her bag onto the floor and practically ran to the side of the bed, climbing onto the mattress and sinking onto her knees beside her sister.
y/n didn't even flinch when the mattress dipped. her face was pale, her expression completely vacant, stripped of the fierce, unyielding armor she usually wore for the world.
ness leaned down, her small hands incredibly tender as she reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from y/n’s forehead. her eyes swam with an immediate, deep sympathy. "y/n, talk to me, please. sunghoon told me at the airport. look at me, please?"
the sheer, maternal sweetness in ness’ voice was the exact catalyst y/n couldn't fight. her breath caught in her throat. her bottom lip quivered violently and within a fraction of a second, the emotionless facade completely shattered. a harsh, ragged sob tore out of y/n’s chest and she scrambled forward, burying her face directly into ness’ lap.
ness’ own voice cracked under the sheer weight of her cousin's agony. "i've got you. i'm right here," she whispered, her eyes welling with tears as she wrapped her arms tightly around y/n’s shaking shoulders, rocking her back and forth on the bed.
"he left, ness," y/n choked out, her words slurring through a torrent of hot, violent tears that soaked right through ness’ sweatpants. "he actually... he actually just packed his bags and walked out the door. it’s our anniversary next thursday. our two year milestone..."
"i know, i know," ness murmured softly, smoothing her hand down y/n’s back in steady, calming strokes.
"i planned everything," y/n cried, her voice rising into a breathless, desperate pitch as the months of hidden effort poured out of her. "i spent four months coordinating with his manager to clear his schedule. i booked a private cabin up north. i wanted to surprise him so badly because i thought... i thought for once, we could just be normal. but he didn't even realise the dates overlapped. he just told me it was a contract. he told me it was his job."
y/n pulled back slightly, her face completely flushed, her eyes glassy and wild with a deep, agonising panic. her fingers dug tightly into ness’ wrists. "and my mind is completely killing me, ness. i can’t stop thinking about it. he’s at that convention right now, surrounded by thousands of beautiful, sweet, perfect girls who don't pick fights with him. girls who don't have a short temper. girls who aren't a stubborn, irritating burden like i am."
ness’ chest ached terribly at the raw confession. she hated seeing her fierce, brilliant sister reduced to such a fragile, insecure state.
"y/n, listen to me," ness suggested softly, her voice brimming with a gentle but firm reason as she wiped a tear from y/n’s cheek. "you cannot keep keeping this inside. it's eating you alive. when sunghoon gets back or even when he calls you tonight, you need to sit down and talk to him about the fan issue. you need to tell him how much it hurts you."
y/n immediately shook her head violently, her breathing turning shallow and erratic as a wave of intense nervousness and anxiety took over. she pulled away completely, curling her knees tightly against her chest and hiding her face.
"no! no, i can't do that, ness," y/n whimpered, her voice trembling with a terrifying certainty. "if i tell him that... if i admit to him how pathetic and insecure i am about his chat and his female followers, it’s just going to give him more of a reason to leave me. he’s going to look at me and realise i’m even more suffocating and difficult than he thought. he'll realise a sweet, tension-free girl from his fanbase is a million times easier to love than i am."
ness let out a soft, aching sigh, her heart breaking because she knew none of that was true. she knew just how deeply, unconditionally sunghoon loved y/n. she had seen the way sunghoon looked at y/n when she wasn't paying attention—like she was the only permanent fixture in his universe. she had just heard his voice crack at the airport, desperately begging her to take care of his girl.
but looking at y/n right now, huddled in a tight ball of anxiety and tears, ness realised her cousin was completely beyond belief. no amount of logical reassurance from a sister was going to cure this heartbreak. y/n didn't need a lecture from her. she needed to hear it directly from him.
"okay. okay, hey, breathe," ness murmured, sliding closer and wrapping her arms around y/n's curled frame, pulling her back into a secure embrace. "i'm not going anywhere. i'm staying right here with you."
as y/n quietly wept against her shoulder, ness’ gaze drifted to the nightstand. there, resting quietly under a small glass paperweight, was the thick white envelope sunghoon had left behind. ness squeezed her sister a little tighter, a small, knowing spark of hope returning to her chest. the week was going to be long, but thursday was coming.
the heavy vibration of ness’ phone buzzed loudly against the wooden nightstand, breaking the somber silence of the guest bedroom. she checked the screen to see jake’s handsome face popping up on a facetime call.
ness immediately shifted on the bed, adjusting her posture so her back was completely turned toward y/n, who was still curled into a tight, fragile ball beneath the covers, her breathing slow and exhausted. ness knew exactly how nosy and oblivious jake could be at times. if he caught even a single glimpse of y/n’s red, swollen eyes or the hollow state of the apartment, he would start asking a million unnecessary questions and the last thing y/n needed right now was an interrogation.
the call was quick: her asking him about the flight, him telling her about how heeseung and jay were both already fighting over beds. she cut the call soon enough with some excuse about dinner and luckily her undoubting boyfriend bought it.
as soon as the screen went black, ness let out a long, quiet breath, the fake smile sliding off her face. she turned back around, gently pulling the duvet a little higher over y/n’s shoulders.
across the state, inside the bustling hotel suite, jake threw his phone onto the mattress and stretched his arms over his head. he walked over to the main living area of the suite, where sunghoon was sitting quietly on a sleek leather armchair, a single suitcase resting neatly by his feet.
"hey, hoon," jake called out, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge. "just talked to ness. she said she's officially moved into your place for the week to keep y/n company."
sunghoon didn't look up immediately. he just offered a slow, tight nod, his long fingers mechanically scrolling through his phone screen. his expression was completely blank, a stoic mask that masked the fierce, anxious storm currently raging in his chest. "yeah. ness told me at the airport she'd stay with her. it's good."
"cool. let me know if you need to borrow that charger," jake added, sensing the heavy, unapproachable wall his friend had built up, before walking off to find jay.
left alone in the quiet corner of the room, sunghoon stopped scrolling. he opened his messaging app, his thumb hovering over y/n's contact. his chest felt incredibly tight. he hated the silence between them, hated that the last image he had of his girl was her rigid, frozen back in the dark.
taking a deep, ragged breath, he quickly typed out a message.
from hoon🐧
hey baby
we landed awhile back
we’re at the hotel now
are you awake love?
are you okay to talk on a quick call? i wanna hear your voice
back in the quiet bedroom, y/n’s phone lit up on the nightstand. she reached out with a trembling, pale hand, pulling the device under the covers with her like a shield. reading the text, a sharp, physical ache pierced her heart. she wanted to hear his voice so badly it made her stomach turn, but the suffocating voice of her own anxiety screamed louder.
‘if you call him, you'll just cry, you'll make a scene. you'll remind him how difficult you are compared to the fans waiting for him downstairs.’
with a shaking thumb, she typed back a single, freezing response.
from my lil fire baby
no
don't want to talk rn.
sunghoon stared at the dry response, the cold finality of it cutting right through his resolve. he closed his eyes for a brief second, forcing down the defensive spike of frustration that usually flared when she shut him out. he remembered what ness had told him at the airport—*she’s a lot more fragile right now than she lets on.* he knew he couldn't push her. not this time.
he slowly typed back, his words deliberate, soft, and completely dripping with unconditional affection.
from hoonie 🐧
it’s okay baby
i understand
u must be exhausted from work
eat something good for dinner pls
i'm thinking about you every second
i love you so much
under the heavy blankets, y/n stared at the glowing screen, her chest heaving as a fresh, heavy wave of tears silently spilled over her eyelashes. the sweet, unyielding warmth of his words didn't make her feel better—it made her feel infinitely worse.
unable to formulate a reply that wouldn't betray her complete emotional breakdown, y/n slowly locked her phone. she set it face down on the mattress, leaving his beautiful, loving text completely on read, before burying her face back into the tear-soaked pillow to weep in the dark.
the first day of the convention was an absolute, unmitigated meat grinder. even for handsome, famous twitch streamers with millions of followers like the four of them, the sheer volume of human energy in the convention center was completely exhausting.
officially, the first day wasn't even supposed to have any public programming. it was strictly a closed door orientation—a quick walkthrough of the massive venue layout, technical sound checks for their upcoming panels and a thorough rundown of the schedule for the next four days. but the absolute chaos of the internet never adhered to logistics. word of their arrival had leaked online within minutes of their landing, and a massive horde of eager fans had managed to bypass the primary barriers, crashing into the restricted creator corridor.
suddenly, the four boys were surrounded.
while they weren't technically authorised or prepared to host an official meet and greet that day, their natural professionalism and deep gratitude for their community took over. they complied without a single complaint. for nearly two hours, they stood in the crowded hallway, greeting fans, posing for frantic selfies and signing everything from phone cases to mousepads while the venue security team aggressively pushed back the perimeter to escort them out.
by the time 6:00 pm rolled around, the four of them practically crawled back into their private hotel suite, entirely drained to the bone. they still had a full hour left before their mandatory sponsor dinner, so they scattered into their own corners to desperately recharge their batteries.
heeseung and jake immediately grabbed their swim trunks and headed down to the rooftop pool, desperate to wash off the claustrophobic heat of the convention center. jay, completely tuned out from the world, was tucked into the corner of the plush sectional couch, his face illuminated by a soft, besotted smile as he chatted away on a facetime call with jungwon, checking in on his day.
and sunghoon was, well, worried. completely, paralyzingly worried.
he sat at the desk in the corner of his room, still wearing his black tracksuit, his eyes burning hole after hole into his phone screen. y/n hadn’t texted him back at all since she abruptly shut down his offer for a call hours ago. there was absolutely nothing from her. and even more alarming, there was dead silence from ness too. the void of information was making his mind play out every worst-case scenario.
unable to take the agonizing silence for another second, sunghoon opened his chat with ness and typed out a message with a trembling thumb.
from sunghoon
hey ness
sorry to bother you
i haven't heard from y/n all day and i’m kinda losing my mind a little bit haha
is she okay? did she eat today?
to his immense relief, the three typing bubbles appeared instantly.
from ness
hey hoon! u're not bothering me at all
don't worry, she's okay
i made her some homemade soup for lunch and she actually finished the whole bowl
we even went for a quiet walk around the park down the street to get some fresh air
she actually just fell asleep a little while ago, so she's resting
sunghoon let out a long, heavy sigh of relief, his broad shoulders physically dropping as some of the agonizing tension left his body. he pinched the bridge of his nose, typing back quickly.
from sunghoon
thank god thank you so much, ness
srsly, i owe you
did she... did she say anything about me? did she talk at all?
a long pause stretched over the screen before the typing bubbles reappeared.
from ness
no.. i'm sorry, hoon
she didn't really talk much today
she's just truly, completely battered down
just give her a little bit of time, okay?
keep texting her sweetly and dw i'm taking care of her!
sunghoon stared at the screen, a profound, hollow ache settling deep into his chest. "damn it," he muttered hoarsely to the empty room, locking his phone and dropping his head into his hands. he felt so utterly helpless being miles away, trapped in a business contract while his girl was breaking down in their apartment.
but what ness had purposefully, fiercely omitted from that text message was the true horror of what had actually transpired just two hours prior.
she didn't mention the part where y/n had been sitting on the living room rug, her hands shaking as she opened twitter. she didn't tell him how y/n's eyes had glazed over with tears as she watched hundreds of gorgeous, ecstatic girls post HD photos of the four boys at the venue layout orientation—tagging sunghoon, raving about how devastatingly handsome he looked in person and filling his notifications with thousands of explicit thirst comments, marriage proposals and declarations of love.
the sight had acted like a brutal, crushing vice on y/n's lungs. toxic intrusive thoughts had slammed into her brain so violently it threw her into a massive, terrifying panic attack.
y/n had collapsed against the coffee table, clutching her chest, gasping frantically for air that wouldn't come while tears poured down her face. ness had dropped everything, rushing to the floor to pull her tightly into her arms, rocking her through the hyperventilation, whispering soft, rhythmic anchors into her ear until y/n’s breathing finally stabilised and she fell into a state of total, emotionally exhausted slumber.
ness sat in the dim light of y/n's bedroom, watching her pale, resting face. she knew sunghoon loved her cousin with everything he had—but as she remembered the absolute terror in y/n's eyes during the attack, she knew this week was going to be an uphill battle against the demons in her sister's head.
thursday came by far sooner than y/n ever expected, arriving with a heavy, looming finality that she had been dreading since the night of their argument.
the past few days had been a blur of exhausting silence but as the clock slowly ticked closer to midnight on wednesday evening, y/n found herself completely unable to sleep. ness was fast asleep in the guest room, leaving y/n alone in the vast, empty master bed. with a trembling hand, she pulled her phone out and opened her camera roll. she spent the agonising hours leading up to midnight just scrolling through hundreds of photos and videos of her and sunghoon.
there were so many cute, stupid ones that she had forgotten about—videos of sunghoon completely failing a tiktok dance trend she forced him to try, his eyes turning into crescents as he threw his head back in a bright, loud laugh. photos of him deeply asleep on her lap on a train ride, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks while she pulled a funny face at the camera. watching them made a faint, involuntary laugh bubble up in her throat, a sharp contrast to the dull, suffocating ache in her chest. ‘we used to be so easy,’ she thought, a tear slipping down her cheek. ‘when did i become so difficult?’
then, the digital clock on her lock screen flashed: 12:00 am.
instantly, a text notification banner popped up from the top of her screen.
from hoonie 🐧
happy two years, my love
i know things are heavy right now and i know you're mad at me but meeting you is still the best thing that has ever happened to my life.
i love you more than words can say
happy anniversary, baby
y/n’s breath hitched completely. she opened the chat, staring at the glowing screen as she read his sweet, unyielding message over and over again, her vision blurring as a fresh wave of tears flooded her eyes. every single word felt like a warm blanket she didn't deserve. she hovered her fingers over the keyboard, trying to formulate a reply that wouldn't sound broken, but before she could type a single letter, the screen suddenly changed.
the phone began to vibrate violently in her hand, sunghoon's contact photo—y/n kissing his dimple as he grinned widely at the camera—filling the screen as an incoming voice call bar slid down.
y/n froze. her heart hammered against her ribs, a thick wave of hesitation and intense anxiety washing over her. she stared at the green answer button, her thumb trembling.
‘don't pick up, you'll ruin it. you'll cry.’
but the sheer, desperate longing to hear his voice after six days of agonising silence overrode her defense mechanisms. she swiped the screen and pressed the phone tightly to her ear.
"hoon...?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
on the other end of the line, sitting on the edge of his hotel bed in a dark room, sunghoon let out a long, ragged gasp, a profound wave of relief crashing down on him so hard his shoulders physically sagged. he had been terrified she would let it ring out. but true to his promise to himself, he didn't push her. he didn't pressure her with demands of ‘where have you been?’ or ‘why have you been ghosting me?’ he just closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headboard.
"happy anniversary, y/n," sunghoon murmured, his deep, velvety voice dropping into an incredibly raw, thick register. he took a shaky breath, a sudden, emotional crack in his voice betraying just how close he was to the edge himself. "i love you so, so much. i miss you so fucking much, baby. you have no idea."
the sheer weight of the raw devotion in his tone sent a violent shudder through y/n’s entire body. the heavy tremble in her breathing carried perfectly through the sensitive microphone of her phone, a soft, hitching gasp that instantly caught his attention.
sunghoon's brow furrowed, his heart breaking into a million pieces in the quiet hotel room. "y/n...? love, are you crying? please don't cry."
y/n immediately pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing her facial muscles to tighten as she desperately tried to construct a flat, unbothered tone to hide her complete emotional breakdown. "no. i'm not crying, hoon. i'm fine. happy anniversary to you too."
sunghoon knew her too well to believe the lie but he chose to accept it, just grateful she was talking to him at all. "yeah? good," he softly chuckled, his tone turning warm and gentle.
to ease her obvious tension, sunghoon took the reins of the conversation, launching into long, detailed stories about the first official day of the convention. he told her about the chaotic orientation, the ridiculous panels heeseung had accidentally wandered into, and a funny argument jay and jake had over a terrible design layout in the main hall. y/n listened quietly, curled tightly beneath the heavy sheets, her lips subtly parting into a genuine, soft smile at his storytelling. for a brief moment, the suffocating shadows of her jealousy and anxiety were entirely pushed away by the familiar, comforting rhythm of his voice.
she replied mostly in short, quiet responses—“yeah?”, “that sounds silly, hoon”, “did jake really do that?”—but sunghoon didn't care. he took every single syllable greedily, memorising the cadence of her voice like a man dying of thirst in a desert.
they talked for nearly forty minutes before a comfortable, sleepy lull settled over the line. sunghoon cleared his throat softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, tentative whisper.
"y/n?"
"mmh? yeah?"
"did you... did you read the letter i left on your nightstand before i left?" sunghoon asked, his fingers nervously tracing the fabric of his hotel blanket.
y/n’s eyes drifted to the dark corner of the room, where the thick white envelope was still resting safely under the small glass paperweight. "no. i haven't touched it yet."
sunghoon let out a soft, understanding hum, a gentle, pleading edge bleeding into his tone. "that’s okay. but please... promise me you’ll read it whenever you can today. i put everything in there, y/n. everything i'm too stubborn or stupid to say out loud when we're bickering. just read it for me, okay?"
y/n swallowed the tight lump in her throat, her fingers clutching the phone tighter. "okay, hoon. i'll read it."
"thank you, baby," he whispered softly, his voice full of a quiet, hopeful warmth. "get some sleep now. i'll text you the second i wake up tomorrow."
the next morning, the city outside was painted in a pale, humid light. inside the apartment, y/n sat on the edge of the unmade bed, her keys and phone already packed into her bag for work but she couldn't bring herself to move. there was a thick, unyielding lump in her throat that she just couldn't shake. it felt heavy, pressing against her windpipe, making every breath feel shallow.
from the hallway, the soft, rhythmic rustle of clothing signaled that ness was already up and prepping for her day at the clinic. ness poked her head into the bedroom, her face holding a touch of morning grogginess but filled with immediate concern.
"hey," ness called out softly, her voice a comforting balm in the quiet room. "how are you feeling this morning? did you sleep a little better after talking to hoon?"
y/n didn't look up, her eyes glued to the floorboards. she just let out a low, tired hum. "yeah. i'm fine, ness. just tired."
"are you sure?" ness stepped closer, leaning against the bedpost and peering down at her cousin. "i can make you a quick iced coffee before we head out. you look like you're a million miles away."
"no, it's okay. don't worry about it," y/n murmured, offering a faint, tight smile to ease her worry. "go finish getting ready. i'll be out in a minute."
"okay. don't forget to drink some water," ness said gently, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading back toward the bathroom.
left alone again, y/n's gaze automatically drifted back to the nightstand. there, resting under the heavy glass paperweight, was the pristine white envelope. the crisp, neat strokes of sunghoon’s handwriting spelling out to my y/n. open this on thursday felt like a magnet pulling at her attention.
she had been intentionally stalling all morning. she had spent an extra ten minutes in the shower, meticulously ironed her blouse and reorganised her work bag—anything to avoid picking up that piece of paper. her mind, deeply scarred by its own toxic insecurities, kept warning her against it.
‘don't open it. what if it's full of hidden frustrations? what if reading his perfect, polite words just makes you feel ten times worse about how difficult and broken you are compared to everyone else?’
but it bugged her. it gnawed at the edges of her brain until the curiosity and the sheer, desperate longing for him became completely unbearable.
with a shaky, uneven breath, y/n slid off her shoes and sat cross-legged back on the center of the bed, her work clothes slightly wrinkling beneath her. she reached out, lifted the glass paperweight, and took the envelope into her hands. the texture of the paper was heavy and expensive. carefully, as if she were handling a fragile piece of glass, she slid her thumb under the seal and pulled out the folded pages inside.
the scent of his familiar, clean cedarwood cologne faintly drifted from the paper, hitting her senses so fast it made her eyes instantly sting with unshed tears. she unfolded the pages, tracing her fingers over the sharp, elegant cursive script that filled the sheets from top to bottom.
—
to my y/n,
if you're reading this, it means it's thursday and it’s officially our two year anniversary.
i'm currently writing this late at night, looking at your back while you sleep on the opposite side of the bed. you've been facing away from me for six days now and honestly, it’s the hardest thing i’ve ever had to endure. i know you're furious with me. i know you think i don't care about our milestones or that i've prioritised my streaming contracts over the life we've built. i know i’m stubborn and i know i don’t always say the right things when your temper flares, but please, read these words and believe them.
i don't want anyone else.
i have never wanted anyone but you from the exact moment you crashed into my life. i know under all the temper, you get anxious. i see the way you try to push your jealousy away for me, baby and i see you trying to be ‘easier’ for me.
but 'easy' isn't what i want. i don't want a fan, y/n. i don't want someone who only sees the polished, curated version of me under the stream lights. i want you.
i want you with your sharp wit, your fierce intelligence and yes, even your crazy, unpredictable temper because it means you feel things deeply. you are my anchor. when the digital world gets too loud and exhausting, coming home to your chaotic, beautiful energy is the only thing that keeps me sane.
everything i am doing right now, every grueling hours-long stream, every legally binding contract, every corporate panel at this convention, it isn't because i love the job more than you. it's because i am building our future. i am working myself to the bone right now so that very soon, i can give you absolutely everything you’ve ever wanted. the private cabins, the trips, the house we talked about. i want to provide a life for us where you never have to worry about a single thing.
i am going to marry you, y/n. that is my end game. i am going to give you my last name, buy that house with the big windows you like and spend the rest of my life learning how to smooth over your sharp edges every single time we bickering. you are not a burden to my life; you are my life.
so please, stop hiding from me in the dark. stop letting your anxiety tell you that you aren't enough. you are my entire universe, short temper and all.
i love you, baby. happy anniversary.
forever yours,
hoon
—
by the time y/n reached the final line, her vision was completely obscured by a thick, heavy sheet of tears. the letters on the page blurred into illegible streaks of ink.
what sunghoon had written absolutely, completely floored her. the words shattered every single toxic defense mechanism, every ugly insecurity and every terrifying doubt she had been feeding herself for the past week. he didn't want a sweet, tension-free fan. he wanted her. he was planning a marriage. he was working for them.
a choked, ragged sob tore completely out of her throat, breaking the heavy quiet of the apartment. she clutched the letter tightly against her chest, right over her racing heart, bowing her head as the tears poured uncontrollably down her flushed cheeks. it wasn't a panic attack this time—it was the overwhelming, crushing weight of realisation. she was loved. so entirely, unconditionally loved by the man she had been punishing.
the bathroom door flew open, and ness came running down the hallway, her car keys jingling in her hand. "y/n?! what's wrong—"
ness froze in the doorway, her eyes wide as she saw her sister sobbing on the center of the bed, the white papers crushed against her blouse. her gaze shifted to the empty nightstand, and a soft, knowing, and deeply relieved smile broke across ness’ face.
she dropped her keys, instantly walking over to climb onto the mattress and wrap her arms tightly around her. "you read it," ness whispered fondly, rocking her. "i told you, dummy. i told you how much he loves you."
"i've been... i've been so awful to him, ness," y/n sobbed out, her voice cracking into a million pieces as she clung to her sister, the lump in her throat finally dissolving into pure, healing tears. "he wants to marry me... and i wouldn't even look at him before he left."
y/n didn’t care about the logistics anymore. she didn’t care that the digital clock on her nightstand read just after 5:00 am across the state line, or that the boys were likely deep in a sleep deficit after consecutive days of panels. the terrifying wall of stubborn pride and toxic anxiety that had kept her paralyzed for a week had been completely pulverised by the pages in her hands. she needed to hear his voice. she needed it like air.
with her hands trembling so violently she could barely type, she scrambled for her phone on the mattress, pulled up his contact and hit the call button.
on the other end of the line, in a silent, shadowed hotel room, sunghoon was already half-awake, his internal clock shot from stress. the moment his phone violently buzzed on the nightstand and y/n’s name flashed across the screen in the pitch black, a sharp shot of pure adrenaline slammed through his system. a heavy, terrifying worry flared in his chest. ‘at 5:00 am? did she have an attack? did something happen to the apartment?’
he snatched the phone, pressing it to his ear before the second ring could even finish. "y/n?! y/n, love, what’s wrong? are you okay? is ness there?"
he was met with a ragged, completely shattered sob that sounded so raw it physically pained him through the speaker.
"hoon..." y/n wept, her voice cracking into tiny, breathless pieces as she clutched his letter against her ribs. "hoon, i love you. i love you so much. i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry, baby."
sunghoon sat up abruptly, swinging his long legs over the edge of the hotel bed, his brow furrowing in deep, desperate confusion. "hey, hey, sweetie, breathe for me. why are you apologizing? did something happen? let me call ness—"
"no, don't call anyone! just... please, hoon, let me speak," y/n pleaded, a sharp, hiccups-laden gasp escaping her as she forced the words out. she gripped the phone tighter, her knuckles turning white as she leaned her head against her knees, letting the ugly, unfiltered truth pour out of her. "please just listen to me, i need to say this."
sunghoon went entirely still, holding his breath in the dark room, his heart hammering against his ribs. "okay. i'm listening, baby. go ahead."
"i read the letter," y/n sobbed, the tears pouring down her cheeks, hot and unyielding. "and it completely destroyed me, hoon. because for the last seven days, i have been a toxic, stubborn monster to you. i kept spiraling completely inside my own head. my thoughts... they were poisoning my entire system, hoon. every single hour, i was looking at the comments, looking at the photos from the convention, watching all these beautiful, perfect girls thirsting over you on twitter and i let it completely consume me."
she took a ragged, trembling breath, her voice dropping into a small, agonizingly vulnerable whisper that broke sunghoon’s heart into pieces. "i convinced myself that i was just a miserable, short-tempered burden to your life. i thought you were going to realise how exhausting i am compared to them, and that you’d eventually find a reason to leave me. so i punished you. i ignored you completely, i wouldn't look at you before you left, and i left you on read when you were just trying to love me from miles away. i am so sorry, hoon. i'm so sorry for being so difficult."
"y/n, love, listen to me," sunghoon rushed out, his deep voice thick with an intense, overwhelming emotion, his own eyes burning in the dark. "you don't have to apologise for being scared. i told you in the letter—"
"no, i do," y/n intercepted fiercely, her tone returning to a ghost of its usual commanding strength, though it was still heavy with tears. "i do, because you are working yourself to the bone and i was throwing a tantrum. but i am done hiding from you, hoon. i love you more than anything and i swear to you, the second you get back, i am going to try so hard to change. i’m going to fight my own head. i’m going to push away the jealousy, ignore the internet and just focus entirely on loving you the way you deserve to be loved."
she paused, swallowing the lingering lump in her throat, her eyes catching the specific sentence in his letter about their endgame. a sudden, fierce, and beautiful certainty washed over her entire being.
"and hoon?" she whispered, a soft, tearful but incredibly steady smile finally breaking through her damp features. "i read what you said about the ring. and i need you to know... i am going to marry you. i’m going to marry you, sunghoon and i don't care how many fights we have to bicker through, i am never letting you go."
across the state, sunghoon closed his eyes, a large, breathless, and completely overwhelmed laugh escaping his lips as a tear finally slipped down his own cheek. the crushing weight he had been carrying all week instantly evaporated into thin air, replaced by a profound, radiant warmth.
"you really know how to take charge, don't you, baby?" sunghoon rasped out, his voice shaking with pure, unadulterated happiness as he leaned his head back against the wall, a brilliant smile lighting up his face in the dark. "boasting about marrying me at five in the morning... god, i love you so much, y/n. you have no idea how long i've waited for you to come back to me."
the terminal at the arrivals gate was buzzing with the chaotic energy of a sunday afternoon, but for the three people waiting near the security barrier, the entire world had shrunk down to a single digital flight board.
ness was practically jumping in place, her sneakers squeaking rhythmically against the polished airport tile. she was wearing one of jake’s baseball caps, her hands gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles were white. her eyes were glued to the automatic sliding glass doors of the restricted arrivals area, her foot tapping a mile a minute.
beside her, jungwon stood with his hands casually slipped into the pockets of his trench coat but the cool facade was entirely betrayed by the massive, dimpled grin that was splitting his face. he kept shifting his weight, his sharp cat eyes scanning every single traveler who walked through the threshold.
y/n, however, felt like she was trapped in an absolute vacuum.
her heart hammered so violently against her ribs she was convinced the entire terminal could hear it. her palms were cold, sweating slightly and a weird, suffocating wave of nervous nausea was rolling through her stomach.
this was going to be the very first time she would see sunghoon face-to-face since their explosive argument, since she had frozen him out in the dark. the reality of everything that had transpired before he left was crashing over her all at once.
"oh my gosh, oh my gosh, the light just turned green! the flight status says baggage claimed!" ness gasped, tugging violently on jungwon’s sleeve.
"ness, breathe, you're going to tear my coat," jungwon chuckled, though his own eyes moved around as the automatic glass doors slid open for a large influx of passengers.
and then, right through the crowd, the four of them appeared.
they looked exhausted, carrying their heavy duffel bags and wheeling their suitcases, but the moment they cleared the barrier, their eyes scanned the waiting crowd.
ness reacted first. she didn't care about public decorum, the airport traffic, or the baggage carts in her way. the second her eyes locked onto the black cap and broad shoulders of her boyfriend and she let out a sharp, breathless cry.
"jakey!"
she bolted past the security barrier, her feet flying across the tile. jake’s head whipped around at the sound of his name, and the moment he saw his girl running toward him, his entire face lit up with a brilliant, dazzling smile. he dropped the handle of his suitcase completely, opening his arms wide just in time for ness to launch her entire body off the ground and wrap her legs securely around his waist.
a few feet away, jay didn't waste a single second either. he didn't say a word, his jaw set in a determined line as he marched straight past jake and ness, his eyes locked entirely on jungwon. jungwon took a single step forward before jay closed the distance, dropping his duffel bag to the floor and throwing his arms fiercely around his boyfriend’s shoulders.
but in the center of the terminal static, sunghoon just stood perfectly still.
he had stopped about ten feet back, his hand resting loosely on the handle of his suitcase. his dark, piercing eyes were fixed entirely on y/n, completely tuning out the chaotic reunions happening around him.
y/n stared back at him, her breath catching completely in her throat. seeing him standing there in his grey tracksuit, his pale skin and his towering, elegant frame looking so impossibly real and within arm's reach—it was too much for her fragile system to handle. the unyielding, fiercely loyal love she had read on those pages textually was standing right in front of her.
a single, heavy tear spilled over y/n's eyelashes, followed instantly by a torrent of hot, silent weeping.
the second sunghoon saw her shoulders tremble and the tears break free across her face, his stoic mask completely shattered.
"y/n," he choked out.
he didn't walk; he rushed. sunghoon abandoned his suitcase entirely, his long strides covering the distance between them in a fraction of a second. before y/n could even take a step forward, sunghoon slammed into her frame, his long, powerful arms reaching out to scoop her up and drag her body violently flush against his broad chest.
the impact knocked the breath out of her, but y/n didn't care. she buried her face directly into the crook of his neck, her hands flying up to clutch at the fabric of his hoodie with a desperate, white-knuckled grip and she completely broke down. she sobbed loudly, a raw, ragged sound of pure, overwhelming relief and devotion bleeding right into his ear.
"finally," sunghoon shuddered against her hair, his own eyes burning with hot tears as he squeezed her so tightly her ribs practically crushed against his chest. he buried his face in her hair, his large hand cupping the back of her head, pressing her into his skin as if he wanted to fuse their bodies together. "i missed you so much, y/n."
"i'm sorry... i'm so sorry, hoon," she wept into his neck, her body shaking violently in his embrace.
"hey, look at me. none of that anymore, remember?" sunghoon murmured, pulling back just enough to look down into her tear-streaked face. his thumbs were incredibly tender as he wiped the moisture from her cheeks, his dark eyes consumption-warm. "we are entirely good, my mrs. park. i love you."
y/n let out a watery, breathless laugh through her tears, nodding her head as she clung to his neck again. "i love you too."
while the three couples were trapped in their own cinematic worlds of hugging, crying and whispering lovey-dovey vows, heeseung was left standing completely alone in the center of the walkway. he was holding his own duffel bag, staring at the three pairs of lovebirds with a completely deadpan, unbothered and highly amused expression on his face.
he let out a loud, theatrical sigh, shifting his bag to his other shoulder as he looked around at them.
"wow. truly beautiful. i feel so seen right now," heeseung called out, his tired voice dripping with a dry, sarcastic humor that cut right through the romantic tension of the terminal. "i mean, i also survived a five-day corporate meat grinder, carried the team through three separate Q&A panels and practically raised these boys, but please, continue to ignore the eldest. it’s totally fine. i love being the seventh wheel."
the group collectively broke away from their hugs, a chorus of loud, bright laughter echoing through the arrivals gate.
"oh, come here, you big baby!" ness giggled, pulling away from jake and jogging over to him.
before heeseung could even drop his bag, the trio executed a coordinated strike. ness, y/n (still wiping her eyes) and jungwon all stepped forward at the exact same time, throwing their arms completely around heeseung in a massive, chaotic group hug.
"welcome back, hyung," jungwon laughed, burying his face in heeseung’s shoulder.
"yeah, yeah, welcome back, old man," y/n teased, her voice returning to its usual fierce, sarcastic cadence as she squeezed his side.
heeseung let out a dramatic, wheezing gasp, though a massive, triumphant grin broke across his face as he wrapped his long arms around all three of them, patting their backs roughly. "ah, okay, okay, too much love! i retract my statement! GET AWAAYYYYY!"
the boys just laughed, stepping forward to gather their bags and slide back into their respective pairs. the air was warm, the tension was entirely gone and as sunghoon wrapped his arm around y/n’s waist, pulling her side flush against his as they walked toward the exit, they all knew the storm had officially passed.
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 : 29.9k words
warnings : tw / oral, penetrative sex, fingering, creampie, shower sex, sex during pregnancy, toxic family dynamics and emotional abuse from heeseung’s parents ,harassment and career threats, public slut shaming and campus gossip ( including being called a whore and accused of baby trapping ), pregnancy symptoms, mild power imbalance, jealousy, emotional guilt, anxiety, panic, crying, guilt, self-doubt, fear of the future, and emotional breakdowns
🗯️JO's NOTES < 🐼 3 ! : bye.
unknown : stay away from Heeseung or else your career and his especially are doomed. i will make sure of it.
You stared at the message, blood running cold.Your hand instinctively moved to rest on your belly.The threat hung in the air like a shadow, shattering the fragile warmth you had felt just moments ago.You stared at the glowing screen for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the words pressing down on your chest until it became hard to breathe. Your hand trembled as you lowered the phone, pressing your back harder against the door. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty, the silence amplifying every racing thought in your head. Your pulse hammered in your ears, loud and frantic, while fresh tears stung your eyes.
You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t let yourself get any closer. From your point of view, keeping your distance was the best , the only thing you could do. If you stayed near him, your feelings would only grow stronger, and that would only put him at greater risk. You couldn’t let your heart get in the way of his future. You couldn’t let your love become the reason his career and everything he had worked so hard for got destroyed. Bambi deserved a father with a bright future, not one whose dreams were ruined because of you.
You hugged your knees tighter to your chest, phone still clutched in your hand, the decision settling over you like a heavy, painful blanket. It hurt, it hurt more than you expected. But it was the right thing, the safe thing and the only way to protect him.Just then, another notification popped up.
heeseung : thank you so much for standing up for me tonight , tomorrow we go out somewhere ?
Your thumb hovered over the screen. The message was simple, sweet, and full of the quiet care you had come to expect from him. Your heart ached fiercely. You wanted to reply, you wanted to tell him yes, that you’d see him in the morning, that you’d face the day together like you had been doing. You wanted to hear his voice, feel his hand in yours, let him make you breakfast and hold you when the world felt too heavy.
But you didn't, you ignored the message.You turned your phone face down on the floor and hugged your knees closer, fresh tears silently sliding down your cheeks. If you didn’t draw a line right now, your feelings might get out of hand. And that would only hurt him and his career even more.You sat there in the dark for a long time, tears flowing freely now, one hand still protectively over your belly. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty. The love you had just realized was now tangled with guilt, fear, and a painful resolve.
You didn’t know what the future held but you knew one thing for certain ,you didn’t want to hurt him, especially not his career.The realization that you were in love with Heeseung and that you wanted a family with him suddenly felt both precious and terrifyingly vulnerable.You stayed on the cold floor until your legs went numb, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a stone. You stayed on the cold floor for what felt like hours, knees hugged tightly to your chest, tears drying on your cheeks. The weight of the threatening message, the realization of your feelings, and the painful decision you had just made pressed down on you until your body felt too heavy to move.
Eventually, you forced yourself up. Your legs were numb, your eyes swollen. You moved through your nightly routine on autopilot washing your face with cold water, brushing your teeth, changing into an oversized tshirt. Every motion felt mechanical, like you were watching yourself from outside your body. When you finally crawled into bed, you pulled the covers over your head and curled up on your side, one hand resting protectively over your belly.
The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside. You closed your eyes, willing sleep to come. It took a long time, but exhaustion eventually won. You drifted off with Heeseung’s face in your mind his gentle smile, the way he had held you earlier, the way he had kissed your forehead like you mattered.
The next morning, you woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains. Your body felt heavy, your eyes still puffy from the night before. The decision to keep your distance sat like a stone in your chest, but you knew it was the right thing. You reached for your phone on the nightstand and opened your messages to Heeseung. Your fingers hovered for a moment before you typed
you : hey, I’m going to my parents’ place for the weekend since we have holidays now
you : i’ll be back on monday morning, sorry that I can’t go out with you.
You stared at the message for a long time, thumb hovering over the send button. It felt cold and distant but it was necessary. You couldn’t let your feelings get out of hand, you couldn't risk hurting him — or his career. you hit send and then you turned your phone face down, got out of bed, and started getting ready for the trip to your parents’ house. The weekend away felt like a necessary escape, a chance to breathe, to think, to put some space between you and the complicated feelings that were growing too fast.
But even as you packed your bag, a small, quiet part of you already missed him.The decision sat heavy in your chest like a stone, but you didn’t let yourself dwell on it.You moved quickly, almost frantically, through your apartment. You pulled out a small suitcase and started packing as fast as you could clothes for the weekend, your laptop for capstone work, toiletries, and a few comfort items. Every motion felt mechanical, like you were trying to outrun the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you. The threatening message still burned in your mind, but you pushed it down, focusing instead on the practical steps in front of you.
Once your bag was packed, you grabbed your keys and left the apartment without looking back. The hallway felt too quiet, too empty. You didn’t glance at Heeseung’s door as you passed it fuck you couldn’t. On the way to the bus stop, you pulled out your phone and called your parents. The line connected after a couple of rings, and your mom’s cheerful voice filled your ear. “Sweetheart! Is everything okay?”
You forced a smile into your voice. “Hi mom im coming home for thanksgiving break. The university has a short break, so I thought I’d surprise you guys and spend the long weekend with you.”Your mom gasped happily. “Oh! That’s wonderful! We’ll prepare your favorite room and make all your favorite dishes. Is Heeseung coming with you? We’d love to see him again and celebrate Thanksgiving together as a family.”You swallowed hard, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. “No, he’s busy with basketball practice. He couldn’t make it this time.”
Your dad’s voice joined in the background, sounding a little disappointed. “Ah, that’s too bad we really liked him. But we’re so happy you’re coming home, honey. We’ll see you soon!”They sounded a little sad about Heeseung not joining, but their excitement to see you won out. You ended the call with a promise to text when you reached the bus station, then quickly messaged Yunjin and Soobin to let them know you’d be away until monday morning.
you : hey guys, im heading to my parents’ town for the weekend since there’s a short break i’ll be back on monday morning and take care!
you : also happy early thanksgiving !
Yunjin replied almost immediately with a string of heart emojis and a promise to catch up when you returned. Soobin sent a simple, caring message wishing you a safe trip.You reached the bus stop just in time for the earliest bus to your hometown. You climbed aboard, found a window seat near the back, and settled in with your bag on your lap. The bus pulled away from the stop, the familiar streets of campus slowly fading behind you.As the scenery changed to highways and open fields, your mind wandered back to Heeseung.
You thought about him and Bambi. About the quiet mornings when he brought you breakfast. About the way he held you when you cried. About the gentle way he spoke to your belly, calling the baby by the nickname you both loved. About how safe you felt in his arms. About how much you wanted to build a real family with him but nothing could be done now.His career was important. He had worked so hard to get where he was — the captain of the team, the one with real NBA potential. According to whoever sent that message, you looked like a threat. You couldn’t be the reason his dreams crumbled. You couldn’t be the reason his future was ruined.
You hugged your bag tighter to your chest, staring out the window as the bus rumbled along the highway. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. This was the right thing this was the only thing you could do to protect him.The bus continued its journey, carrying you away from him, away from the complicated feelings that had grown too strong, too fast.You leaned your head against the window, watching the world blur past, heart heavy with love and sacrifice.
The bus finally pulled into your hometown station by early afternoon. The familiar sight of the small, quiet terminal and the surrounding streets brought a strange mix of comfort and nostalgia. You stepped off the bus with your bag, scanning the area, and spotted your dad waiting near the entrance.The moment he saw you, his face lit up with the warmest smile. He rushed forward and pulled you into a big, tight hug, holding you like he hadn’t seen you in years.“My girl,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You look beautiful come here, let me see you properly.”
He pulled back slightly, then gently placed both hands on your shoulders before lowering them to rest lightly on your belly. His eyes softened with pure joy as he leaned down a little. “Hey there, little Bambi,” he whispered to your belly, his voice full of wonder. “How is my little grandbaby doing today? Grandpa can’t wait to meet you.” You felt tears prick your eyes at the tenderness in his voice. Your dad straightened up and hugged you again, kissing the top of your head.
“Let’s get you home, your mom has been cooking up a storm since you called.”You climbed into his car, the familiar smell of leather and faint bakery scent ( from years of him driving to and from work ) wrapping around you like a hug. As he started the engine and pulled out of the station, your dad began chatting happily. “The bakery has been so busy lately,” he said, smiling. “Thanksgiving orders are pouring in and we're fully booked for the next few days. Oh, and guess what? Sangwon started working with us three months ago.”You turned to him, shocked. “Sangwon? When did he come back from pastry school?”
Your dad chuckled. “About three months ago he finished his program early and wanted to come back home. He’s been a huge help at the bakery and the customers love his new recipes. He’s really grown into a fine young man.”Sangwon your first love, your first and only boyfriend. The two of you had dated in high school a sweet, normal relationship filled with study dates, walks home, and innocent kisses. The breakup had been mutual and gentle. The distance during university had simply made things too hard, so you both decided to part ways before starting separate schools.
You had stayed friends, occasionally checking in on each other’s lives through social media, but it had been years since you last saw him in person.
Hearing his name now felt surreal. A wave of nostalgia washed over you, but it was soft, not painful. You wondered how he was doing, how life had treated him since then. Your dad continued chatting warmly about the bakery, your mom’s excitement to see you, and how they had prepared your old room with fresh sheets and your favorite snacks. You listened, smiling softly, letting his voice fill the car and ease some of the heaviness you had carried from the city.
But in the back of your mind, Heeseung’s face kept appearing his gentle smile, the way he had held you last night, the way he had kissed your forehead before leaving.You pushed the thoughts down this weekend was for your parents for some distance and for some clarity. Even if your heart was still back in the city with him, Heeseung woke up slowly around 10 a.m., the sunlight filtering through the curtains of his bedroom. For a moment, the events of the previous day felt distant the loss at the game, the painful dinner with his parents, the comforting way you had hugged him and kissed him before he went to sleep alone then reality settled in.
He sat up, rubbing his face with both hands, and reached for his phone on the nightstand. He had planned to take you out today to a quiet movie or a walk, just the two of you, something normal after the chaos of yesterday. He had been looking forward to it. But when he opened his messages, there was no new reply from you.He frowned slightly, you must have been exhausted and fallen asleep, he thought. The day had been long and emotional for both of you. He scrolled up to check the conversation again, hoping he had missed something. There it was your message from last night.
you : hey, im going to my parents’ place for the thanksgiving break since there’s a short break. i’ll be back on Monday morning. sorry that I can’t go out with you
The words felt… off too polite, too distant. Nothing like the way you had been opening up to him lately the soft smiles, the way you leaned into his touch, the quiet conversations in the dark. This message sounded careful and guarded like you were putting space between you both again. Heeseung stared at the screen for a long time, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Did something happen yesterday? The thought gnawed at him. The dinner with his parents had been rough. His father’s words had cut deep, and he had seen how you had stood up for him. Maybe it had been too much, maybe you were pulling away because of that or maybe… you were just tired.
He didn’t want to pry he couldn’t. You two weren’t actually dating. This was all supposed to be for show for the baby, for appearances. He was the one who had developed real feelings. He was the one who lay awake at night thinking about you and Bambi, imagining a future that felt real. He couldn’t push you he wouldn’t.So he typed a simple, careful reply.
heeseung : did you reach safely?
He sent it and set the phone down, running a hand through his messy hair. The apartment felt too quiet without you. He got up, made himself a quick breakfast, and tried to focus on the day ahead. But his mind kept drifting back to you wondering if you were okay, if the trip was a good escape for you, if you were thinking about him at all. He told himself it was fine if you needed space. You needed time with your family.
But the quiet ache in his chest told him it wasn’t fine he missed you already.Thanksgiving Day started quietly for Heeseung.He woke up early, the apartment feeling too empty without the soft sound of your breathing or the faint scent of your shampoo on the pillow next to him. He spent the first half of the day trying to keep busy. He went to the gym for a long, intense workout pushing himself harder than usual, lifting heavier weights, running longer on the treadmill. The physical exertion helped quiet the restless thoughts in his head.
After showering, he settled on the couch with one of the parenting books he had ordered. He read about the second trimester, about how the baby was developing, about ways to support a partner through mood swings and fatigue. Every page made him think of you how you had been feeling lately, how your belly was starting to show more, how you tried to hide your exhaustion behind a brave smile. He highlighted passages and made mental notes of things he wanted to ask you about or prepare for.
Later, he cleaned his apartment thoroughly, wiping down surfaces, organizing the kitchen, folding the blanket you had used the last time you fell asleep on his couch. The small tasks kept his hands busy, but his mind kept drifting back to you. He wondered if you had reached your parents’ house safely, if you were resting, if you were thinking about him at all.By late evening, he still hadn’t heard from you.He checked his phone again as he got ready to head out for Thanksgiving dinner with his teammates. No new messages. The silence felt heavier than he expected.
Fuck I miss you so much
The thought hit him as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He wanted to take you along with him tonight. He wanted to show you off to everyone to walk into the restaurant with your hand in his, to introduce you as his girlfriend ( even if it was still fake to you ), to let his teammates see the girl who had changed everything for him. He imagined how proud he would feel, how complete the night would feel with you by his side. Instead, he would be going alone. Most of his teammates would be there with their girlfriends. Jake had mentioned bringing his girl. Jay was bringing someone too.
The thought of sitting there, watching everyone else paired up while he sat by himself, made the loneliness feel sharper. He grabbed his keys and headed out, the cool evening air doing little to ease the ache in his chest. The restaurant was lively when he arrived. Laughter, clinking glasses, the smell of roasted turkey and warm pies filled the air. His teammates greeted him warmly, clapping him on the back and teasing him about the game. But the moment he sat down at the long table, the emptiness beside him felt glaringly obvious.
He smiled and laughed at the right times, joining in the conversation about the season and holiday plans. But his mind kept drifting back to you wondering if you were having a good time with your parents, if you had eaten something gentle on your stomach, if you were thinking about him even a little. He missed you more than he had expected to. He missed the way you leaned into him when you were tired. He missed the soft way you said his name when you were half asleep. He missed the quiet moments where you let him talk to Bambi, your hand resting over his on your belly.
He took a sip of water, forcing another smile as his teammates joked around him. The loneliness sat heavy in his chest, but he pushed it down. He had chosen this to be there for you, even if it meant sitting through a holiday dinner feeling like something was missing. He pulled out his phone under the table and checked it one more time, still no reply from you.He put the phone away and tried to focus on the conversation, but his thoughts kept circling back to the same quiet hope
Come back soon.
Come back to me.
Heeseung sat at the long dinner table with his teammates, the restaurant buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the rich smell of roasted turkey and warm pies. The Thanksgiving dinner was lively, exactly the kind of celebration the team usually loved after a tough season. But tonight, Heeseung felt detached from it all. Ten minutes into the main course, Beomgyu walked up to him with that signature mischievous grin, slinging an arm around his shoulders.“Yo, captain,” Beomgyu teased loudly enough for the whole table to hear. “You look like a loser in love sitting here all by yourself. Where’s your girl?
The table erupted in laughter. Jake, Jay, and a few others joined in with playful jabs. Heeseung forced a small smile, trying to play along, but the words landed heavier than they should have. Jake, who knew the full truth along with Coach, Jay, and Beomgyu, shot him a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything. Heeseung shrugged, keeping his tone light. “She’s at her parents’ place for Thanksgiving family stuff couldn’t make it.” Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Is she avoiding the team dinner because she knows how chaotic we are?” The teasing continued, but Heeseung’s mind wasn’t fully there.
He laughed at the right moments, contributed a few comments about the lost game and holiday plans, but the loneliness from earlier still sat heavy in his chest. Most of his teammates had come with their girlfriends. The empty seat beside him felt glaringly obvious. He pulled out his phone under the table and started scrolling through Instagram to distract himself. Stories popped up one after another. Then he saw it ,you had reposted a story.
It was a picture of you smiling brightly next to a guy — tall, good looking, holding a freshly baked pie. The two of you looked comfortable together, arms casually close, the background clearly a warm home setting. Heeseung stared at the photo something sharp twisted in his chest. Jealousy? No, it couldn’t be, it was just a picture. You were allowed to have friends. You were allowed to spend time with people from your past. You had the time to repost that, but not to reply to his message?
He told himself it was nothing. You two were just faking it anyway. But to him, it had started to feel real. The way you had hugged him two nights ago, the peck on his cheek, the way you had defended him in front of his father — it had started to feel real from your side too or maybe he was just being delusional. The thought stung more than he wanted to admit.He slipped his phone back into his pocket, the food on his plate suddenly tasting like nothing. The laughter around the table felt distant. “I’m tired,” he told Coach a few minutes later, standing up. “I’m gonna head out enjoy the rest of the night, guys.”
Coach gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. “Get some rest, Lee, see you at practice.” Heeseung drove straight to the basketball court instead of going home. The arena was empty and dark, but he had a key. He turned on the lights in the practice gym, the familiar smell of polished wood and sweat hitting him as he stepped inside. He changed into practice clothes he kept in his bag and started doing drills dribbling, shooting, defensive slides, anything to clear his head. The ball echoed loudly in the empty gym, each bounce and swish a small release of the frustration and jealousy he didn’t want to name.
Every shot he took, he thought of you every time he caught the ball, he remembered the way you had looked at him after the game, the way you had hugged him, the way you had stood up for him in front of his father.He kept playing until his muscles burned and his mind felt a little quieter.But even then, the image of you smiling next to that guy lingered.
He didn’t know what this was between you two anymore. But he knew one thing for certain he missed you and he didn’t know how much longer he could pretend he didn’t.
Heeseung sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, staring at the dark screen. The apartment felt too quiet after the team dinner. The loneliness from earlier had only grown heavier on the drive home. He had tried to distract himself with a quick shower and some stretches, but nothing worked. He opened his messages and typed a simple text to you.
heeseung : happy thanksgiving looks like you’re busy with family hope you’re having a good time
heeseumg : take care of yourself and bambi
He stared at the message for a long moment before sending it. No reply came. He waited a few minutes, refreshing the chat, but the screen stayed silent.He sighed, setting the phone on the nightstand.You’re probably busy with your parents, he told himself. It’s fine she needs time with her family.But the silence stung more than he wanted to admit. He missed the little replies you usually sent even the short ones that made his day feel a little brighter. He missed the way you had started opening up to him, the quiet conversations, the way you let him hold you.
He changed into comfortable clothes and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The room felt too empty without you. No soft breathing beside him. No warm body curled against his chest. No gentle hand resting on his stomach while you slept. He closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. She’s not mine, he reminded himself this is all fake she’s doing this for the baby not for me.But the lie felt thinner every day. He turned on his side, pulling the blanket higher, and tried to sleep.
The last thing he thought about before drifting off was you smiling in that Instagram story, looking happy and carefree with someone else. And how much he wished he had been the one standing next to you instead.You were sitting on the edge of your old bed in your parents’ house when your phone buzzed. The screen lit up with Heeseung’s message.
heeseung : happy thanksgiving looks like you’re busy with family hope you’re having a good time
heeseung : take care of yourself and bambi
Reading his words made something twist painfully in your chest. Guilt flooded through you, heavy and sharp. You could almost hear his voice saying it soft, caring, the same tone he used when he brought you food or held you through a bad night. You felt like the worst person in the world for ignoring him earlier, for pulling away when he had been nothing but good to you. But you had no choice , you typed back quickly, keeping it short and neutral.
you : happy thanksgiving to you too, good night
you : yes, I was hanging out with my family
You hit send and immediately turned your phone face down on the nightstand. You couldn’t let yourself think about him right now. Not when you were trying so hard to keep your distance. You had spent the day helping out at your parents’ bakery. The place was busy with Thanksgiving orders, the warm smell of fresh bread, pies, and cookies filling the air. You had tied on an apron and worked alongside your mom and dad packing orders, decorating cakes, and chatting with regular customers. It felt good to be useful, to lose yourself in the familiar rhythm of the bakery. Your mom kept fussing over you the whole time, reminding you to sit down, to drink water, to take care of yourself and the baby.
“You’re growing a little person in there,” she had said, gently patting your belly. “Don’t overdo it, sweetheart we’re so happy you’re home.” You had smiled and nodded, letting her worry over you. It was comforting in its own way.
You had also run into Sangwon earlier that day.He was working behind the counter at your parents’ bakery, focused and efficient as he helped customers with their orders. When he looked up and saw you standing there, his eyes widened in genuine surprise, then lit up with that familiar, warm smile you remembered so clearly from high school. The same smile that used to make your teenage heart flutter.
“Wow,” he said, stepping around the counter to pull you into a quick, friendly hug. “It’s really you you look different in a good way.”The two of you had talked for a while during a quiet moment between customers. You had found a small table in the back corner of the bakery, away from prying ears. You told him everything the pregnancy, that Heeseung was the father, and that the two of you were in a pretend relationship for now, mostly for the sake of the baby and to keep things stable.
Sangwon had been really shocked. His eyes went wide, and he leaned back in his chair, processing the news in silence for a few seconds. He asked a few careful, gentle questions how you were feeling, how far along you were, if you were okay emotionally.
Then he promised to keep it all to himself. “You know I won’t say anything to your parents,” he had said seriously, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “But… are you okay? Do you need anything? Money, a place to stay, someone to talk to anything at all.” You had hesitated before answering his next question.“Do you like him?” Sangwon had asked gently, his voice full of understanding. You had paused for a long moment, the truth sitting heavy on your tongue.
“I love him,” you had admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it just wouldn’t work out we’re from two different worlds his career, his family expectations, the pressure he’s under… it’s too complicated. I can’t drag him down with me.”Sangwon had looked at you with deep understanding, then pulled you into a gentle, comforting hug right there in the back of the bakery. “Whatever happens, you can come to me,” he had said softly. “I’m always here, never hesitate to call me day or night.”
You had smiled, grateful beyond words. It felt good to have someone who had your back, someone who didn’t judge, someone who remembered the girl you used to be before everything became so complicated.
Now, back in your old room, you lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet, your parents already asleep after a long day at the bakery. The realization that you were in love with Heeseung still sat heavy in your chest, warm and terrifying at the same time. You wanted him. You wanted the quiet mornings, the late night talks, the way he held you like you were something precious. You wanted to build a real family with him and Bambi.
But the threatening message from earlier made your decision feel even more necessary. You closed your eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but Heeseung’s face kept appearing in your mind his gentle smile, the way he held you when you cried, the way he spoke to Bambi like the baby was already the most important thing in the world. You turned onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest, and whispered to the quiet room “I’m sorry…” But you knew you had to stay away — for him for Bambi for both of you.
The weekend went by quickly you spent most of your time with your family, helping out at the bakery whenever you could. The familiar rhythm of packing orders, decorating cakes, and chatting with regular customers felt grounding. Your mom fussed over you constantly making sure you ate small, frequent meals, reminding you to rest, and gently patting your belly while whispering sweet words to Bambi. Your dad was over the moon, constantly talking about future plans for the baby and how excited he was to be a grandfather. The warmth of their love helped ease some of the heaviness you had carried from the city.
You also spent time with Sangwon. The two of you talked a lot during quiet moments at the bakery or while walking home in the evenings. It was easy and nostalgic reminiscing about high school, laughing about old memories, and catching up on life since then. He was supportive without being pushy, and his presence felt like a safe, familiar anchor.But throughout the weekend, you barely texted Heeseung. He had messaged you several times asking how you were doing, how your parents were, if you were resting enough, if the nausea was better.
Each message was caring, thoughtful, and full of the quiet concern you had come to expect from him. You replied briefly, keeping your answers short and neutral. You told yourself it was for the best. Keeping distance was the only way to protect him. On Monday morning, your dad didn’t want you to travel back by bus. He insisted Sangwon drop you back to your apartment. “It’s safer this way,” he said. “And it would have been better if Heeseung was here to pick you up, but I understand he’s busy with practice.” You forced a small smile. “He is busy it’s fine, Dad.”
The drive back with Sangwon was pleasant. The two of you chatted casually about old times funny high school memories, how life had changed since then, and light updates about mutual friends. It was fun talking to him. The conversation flowed easily, and you didn’t realize how fast the time had passed until the car halted right in front of your apartment building. Sangwon helped you carry your bags and all the stuff your parents had sent homemade snacks, some clothes, and a few things for the baby they had already started buying. He carried everything up to your door without complaint.
When you reached your apartment door, Heeseung’s door suddenly opened. He stepped out, looking like he had just come back from somewhere. His eyes landed on you first, then on Sangwon standing beside you with your bags. Something passed through his eyes in a quick flash you couldn’t quite figure out surprise? hurt? jealousy? It was gone too fast to read.“You’re back,” he said quietly, his voice neutral but his gaze lingering on you. You nodded, suddenly feeling awkward with Sangwon still standing there. “Yeah… just got back.”
Sangwon gave a polite nod to Heeseung, then turned to you with a warm smile. “Take care, call me if you need anything, okay?” You thanked him and watched him leave. When you turned back, Heeseung was still standing in his doorway, watching you. The air between you felt heavy and didn't know what to say. You stood in the hallway for a moment, the silence after Sangwon left feeling heavier than it should have. Heeseung was still standing in his doorway, watching you with that unreadable expression. The air between you felt thick, charged with everything that had happened over the weekend and everything that remained unsaid.
You shifted your bag on your shoulder and tried to sound casual. “Do you… want to come inside?” you asked, gesturing toward your apartment door.Heeseung shook his head slowly, his voice gentle but firm. “No, you must be tired from all the traveling. You need to rest.” He paused, eyes flicking to your face as if checking for any sign of exhaustion. “Do you have any classes today?” he asked. You shook your head. “No, the one I had in the evening is cancelled.”
Heeseung nodded once, a small, almost curt movement. He didn’t say anything else no “how was your weekend,” no “I missed you,” no offer to bring you dinner or check on you later. He simply turned and walked back into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet finality.You stood there for a few seconds longer, staring at his closed door. The hallway felt colder now emptier.
You turned and walked into your own apartment, locking the door behind you. You set your bags down and leaned against the door, letting out a long, slow breath. Yes, you thought, closing your eyes. This is how it should be. This is how it should have been from the beginning. Keeping distance was the right thing, the safe thing. The only way to protect him from the threat, from his father’s expectations, from the complications your feelings would bring. You couldn’t let yourself get any closer. You couldn’t let your heart get in the way of his future.
You unpacked your bags slowly, folding clothes and putting away the snacks and gifts your parents had sent. Every motion felt mechanical, like you were trying to outrun the ache in your chest. The apartment felt too quiet without his presence no soft knocks on the door, no warm food waiting on the table, no gentle voice asking how you were feeling. You sat on the edge of your bed, hand resting on your belly, and whispered to the quiet room. “This is better for him and Bambi.”
But even as you said the words, a small, stubborn part of you ached for the way things had been just a few days ago the easy conversations, the forehead kisses, the way he made you feel safe. You pushed the thoughts down, telling yourself again and again that this was the right choice. You had to keep your distance.
The following weeks blurred into a painful routine of deliberate distance you ignored Heeseung. Every morning, when he knocked softly on your door with breakfast, you pretended you were already gone or too busy to answer. You left earlier than usual for campus, taking the side stairs to avoid the hallway. When he texted asking how you were feeling or if you needed anything, you replied with short, polite messages — “I’m fine,” “Thank you,” “No need.” You stopped letting him come inside. You stopped the late night talks. You stopped the quiet moments where you used to watch him cook or let him hold you, it hurt.
Every time you saw his name on your phone, your heart clenched. Every time you heard his door open or close, you pressed your back against your own door and reminded yourself why you were doing this. The threatening message still lingered in your mind like a shadow. You couldn’t risk his career. You couldn’t risk Bambi’s future. Keeping distance was the only way.Soobin and Yunjin noticed something was wrong.
They caught the way you went quiet whenever Heeseung’s name came up. They saw how you avoided the usual routes where you might run into him. They noticed how tired and distant you seemed. But they didn’t dare ask. They simply stayed close Soobin walking you to classes, Yunjin sending funny memes to cheer you up, both of them offering silent support without pushing.
Heeseung still tried.
He kept showing up.
Some mornings he left breakfast containers outside your door with little notes “Eat something for Bambi.”He texted every day asking how you were feeling, if the nausea was better, if you needed anything. When you gave short replies, he still followed up the next day. He waited in the hallway sometimes, hoping to catch you, but you always slipped away before he could say more than a few words. One evening, he knocked on your door with dinner. You opened it just a crack, thanked him politely, and took the container without letting him inside. The hurt in his eyes was impossible to miss, but he didn’t push. He simply nodded and said, “Take care of yourself.”
It broke your heart a little more every time. During this one month, your parents sent Sangwon every single week to bring food they had made for you. Homemade meals, snacks, and little notes from your mom reminding you to rest. Sangwon would drop them off with a warm smile, sometimes staying for a short chat. He never pushed, never asked too many questions. He was just there, a safe, familiar presence.
Every time Sangwon came, Heeseung’s door would open. He would step out, see the two of you in the hallway, and go dead silent. His expression would tighten, something unreadable flashing in his eyes, before he quietly went back inside without a word you noticed it every time.And every time, it made the ache in your chest worse.
You were ignoring him to protect him. But it felt like you were hurting him anyway. You sat alone in your apartment many nights, hand on your belly, whispering to Bambi about how sorry you were, how you were doing this for both of them, how you wished things could be different.But you kept your distance because you loved him too much to let anything happen to him. It was a random Wednesday afternoon. ( like it was a random tuesday march 10 )
You were walking down the familiar hallway toward your next class, bag slung over your shoulder, mind lost in thoughts about your capstone project and the gentle flutter you had started feeling in your belly lately. The campus was busy as usual, students rushing between classes, but something felt off the moment you turned the corner and people were staring. Not the usual quick glances, these were prolonged, deliberate stares. Groups of students huddled together, whispering as you passed. Some gave you disgusted looks, others smirked or shook their heads. A few pulled out their phones, clearly taking photos or sending messages. The air felt thick with judgment, and your steps slowed as unease crept up your spine.
You kept your head down, pulling your hood a little lower, trying to ignore the growing discomfort. It’s nothing, you told yourself. Just rumors from the game or something but then it happened. One of the girls standing with a group near the lockers suddenly shouted loud enough for the entire hallway to hear
“Whore!” You stopped dead in your tracks, heart slamming against your ribcage. “What?” you whispered, turning toward her in disbelief. She crossed her arms, smirking with clear malice. “Aren’t you such a slut for baby trapping Heeseung? Everyone knows it you got pregnant on purpose to trap the basketball captain pathetic.”
The words hit like a slap. Your face burned with humiliation as more whispers erupted around you. The hallway seemed to close in, the stares growing sharper, more vicious. Your hand instinctively moved to your belly, protecting the small swell that was starting to show. Before you could even process what to say, Yunjin came running from the other end of the hallway, pushing through the crowd. “Get away from her!” Yunjin snapped at the girl, grabbing your arm and pulling you away. “Come on.”
She dragged you down the hallway and into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut behind you. The room was quiet, the noise from the hallway muffled. Yunjin turned to you, her face flushed with anger and worry. “Are you okay?” she asked, searching your face. You nodded shakily, but your legs felt weak. You leaned against a desk, trying to steady yourself. Yunjin pulled out her phone, scrolling quickly before turning the screen toward you. “Look at this itt’s been circulating all morning.”
It was a post on the anonymous campus page
@decelisconfessions : The only reason Heeseung is with the girl from the arts major is because she baby trapped him. She got pregnant on purpose to lock down the basketball captain disgusting he deserves better.
The post had hundreds of likes and comments already, many agreeing with the accusation, calling you names, speculating about your motives.Your heart dropped. The room spun for a second. You felt sick not from pregnancy, but from the sheer cruelty of it all. The rumors had been bad before, but this was vicious, personally designed to hurt.Yunjin put her phone away and pulled you into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “People are idiots, you know that’s not true heeseung knows that’s not true ee know that’s not true.”
You hugged her back, tears stinging your eyes. The weight of the secret, the distance you had been trying to keep, the love you were trying so hard not to feel it all crashed down on you at once.You didn’t know how much longer you could keep pretending everything was fine.You didn’t know what to do. The words on Yunjin’s phone screen blurred as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop crying. The accusation“baby trapped him” felt like a knife twisting in your chest. Who would do this to you? Who would spread such a vicious, cruel rumor? Why? What had you ever done to deserve this kind of hatred?
Your shoulders shook with silent sobs as you stood in the empty classroom, the world outside the door feeling too loud, too cruel. Yunjin immediately pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as you cried against her shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay,” she whispered, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay those people are idiots. They don’t know anything they’re just jealous or bored or whatever. This isn’t true you know that i know that and moreover Heeseung knows that too.”
You clung to her, the tears coming harder. The weight of the past few weeks the hormones, the secrecy, the distance you had forced between you and Heeseung, the love you were trying so hard not to feel all of it crashed down on you at once. You felt small exposed and terrified.Yunjin held you until the worst of the sobs eased, then gently pulled back and wiped your tears with her thumbs. “Do you want to go home?” she asked softly. “Skip the rest of the classes today? It’s okay if you do.” You nodded, unable to speak. The thought of walking through the hallways again, facing more stares and whispers, made your stomach churn.
Yunjin nodded understandingly. “Okay, I’ll call Soobin. He can bring his car and pick us up at the side entrance so we can avoid the main crowd.” She quickly dialed Soobin while you tried to steady your breathing. Your hand stayed on your belly, gently rubbing small circles. I shouldn’t stress myself out too much, you thought, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. It isn’t good for Bambi. I have to stay calm for you, little one. Soobin arrived quickly. He didn’t ask questions when he saw your tear streaked face he just gave you a gentle, concerned look and helped guide you out through a quieter side exit. You kept your head down the entire way, hood pulled low, trying to make yourself as small as possible so no one would notice you.
The walk to the car felt endless, every distant whisper or glance making you flinch. Once you were safely in the backseat with Yunjin beside you, Soobin started the car and drove away from campus. The silence in the car was broken only by your occasional sniffles.Yunjin rubbed your arm gently. “Hey… it’s going to be okay those rumors are bullshit people love drama, but it’ll die down. You’re strong, you've got us and you’ve got Heeseung.” Soobin glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his voice soft and reassuring. “Yeah and if anyone says anything to your face, tell me. I’ve got your back.”
They spent the entire car ride trying to cheer you up. Yunjin told funny stories about her latest disastrous date attempt trying to move on sunghoon. Soobin played some of your favorite calm music and cracked a few light jokes about how the three of you should start a secret society to fight campus gossip. Their efforts were sweet, and you managed a few watery smiles, but the ache in your chest didn’t fully go away.When Soobin pulled up in front of your apartment building, Yunjin helped you out of the car and walked you to your door. “Call us if you need anything,” she said, hugging you tightly. “Even if it’s just to cry we’re here.”Soobin gave you a gentle hug too. “Rest up we love you.”
You nodded, thanking them both before stepping inside. The apartment felt too quiet too empty. You locked the door, leaned against it, and let the tears come again. You couldn’t stop thinking about the rumor. About how it could hurt Heeseung’s reputation. About how it could affect Bambi one day. About how you had to keep your distance to protect him even if it broke your heart a little more every day.
You curled up on the couch, hand on your belly, whispering softly to Bambi. “I’m sorry, little one. I’m trying to do the right thing for you and your dad.” The tears kept coming, but you held on to the small comfort that at least you weren’t completely alone.
Only ten minutes had passed since you had curled up on the couch, tears still flowing freely as you hugged a pillow to your chest. The weight of the rumor, the stares, the whispers, and the overwhelming fear of what it could do to Heeseung and Bambi felt crushing. Your phone lay silent on the coffee table, the ignored message from Heeseung still open on the screen. You didn’t have the strength to reply. You didn’t have the strength to face anyone right now.
The doorbell rang and your heart jumped you thought it was Heeseung. He must have heard about the rumor somehow, or maybe he had come to check on you after his practice. You didn’t want to face him right now — not with your eyes swollen from crying, not with the guilt of ignoring him weighing on you, not when you were still trying so hard to keep your distance to protect him.
But the doorbell rang again, soft but persistent.You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, took a shaky breath, and forced yourself to stand up. Your legs felt heavy as you walked to the door. You opened it slowly, expecting to see Heeseung’s concerned face.
It wasn’t him it was Sangwon.He stood there with a small bag in his hand, likely another care package from your parents. His expression was relaxed at first, the familiar warm smile starting to form on his face. But the moment he saw you eyes red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears, shoulders hunched his smile vanished completely.You broke down the second you saw him.
The tears you had been trying to hold back came rushing out again. A sob tore from your throat as you covered your mouth with one hand, the other gripping the doorframe for support. Your body shook with the force of the crying, the exhaustion of the day, the fear, the guilt, and the overwhelming love you were trying so hard to suppress all crashing down at once.
Sangwon’s eyes widened in alarm. He stepped forward immediately, startled and deeply worried.“Hey, hey — what happened?” he asked, voice full of concern. “Are you okay? Did something happen at campus? Talk to me.”You couldn’t answer right away. The sobs kept coming, your legs feeling weak. Sangwon didn’t hesitate he gently guided you inside, closing the door behind him with his foot. He led you to the couch, making you sit down carefully, and sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.
“Take your time,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m here just breathe whatever it is, you can tell me.” You cried harder, leaning into his side as the words finally started spilling out between sobs the rumor on the campus page, the girl shouting “whore” in the hallway, the stares, the whispers, the fear that it would ruin Heeseung’s career and reputation. You told him how you had stood up for Heeseung in front of his father, how you were trying so hard to keep your distance to protect him, how much you loved him but couldn’t let yourself get closer.
Sangwon listened without interrupting, his arm around your shoulders, rubbing gentle circles on your back. He stayed quiet and steady, letting you cry it all out, his presence calm and comforting in the middle of your storm. Sangwon stayed with you on the couch, his arm around your shoulders as you cried out everything that had been weighing on you. He didn’t rush you. He just listened, rubbing gentle circles on your back, his presence steady and comforting in the middle of your storm. When your sobs finally quieted into soft sniffles, you pulled back slightly and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. Sangwon looked at you with deep concern, his voice gentle but firm.
“Is there anything else?” he asked. “You look like you’re carrying even more.”You hesitated, then nodded. The threatening message had been burning in your mind since last night. You took a shaky breath and told him everything the anonymous text, the warning to stay away from Heeseung, the threat to both your careers.Sangwon’s expression darkened. He sat up straighter, his hand still on your shoulder.
“Did you discuss this with Heeseung?” he asked.You shook your head, eyes downcast. “No.”Sangwon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why not? Heeseung should be the first person to know all of this he’s the father of your baby. He’s been there for you every step of the way you can’t keep carrying this alone.”
You looked down at your hands, voice small. “I don’t want to ruin his future. If I tell him, he’ll worry, he’ll get involved. And if whoever sent that message finds out… it could hurt his career even more. I can’t do that to him.” Sangwon stared at you for a moment, then gently flicked your forehead. “You’re dumb,” he said, but there was no real bite in his voice, only fond exasperation. “If he didn’t care about you, you would be alone here. Even though you’ve been ignoring him, he still shows up, he still brings you food and he still checks on you that he wants this baby. Do you think some anonymous threat is going to stop him? I think you’re too blind to see that that man is in love with you.”You shook your head quickly, cheeks burning. “No it’s not like that this is all fake it’s just for the baby he’s just being responsible.”
Sangwon gave you a long, knowing look, but he didn’t push further on that point. Instead, he squeezed your shoulder. “I want you to call him up and tell him that you wanna talk to him. This is much needed, he deserves to know. But right now go to sleep, you need that rest. You’ve been through enough today.”
You nodded, too exhausted to argue. Sangwon helped you to your bed, tucking the blanket around you like an older brother ( ex boyfriend turned older brother 🥰). He dimmed the lights and quietly started cleaning up your apartment picking up the scattered snacks from earlier, washing the few dishes in the sink, folding the blanket on the couch.You watched him for a moment, grateful beyond words, before your eyes grew heavy. As you drifted off, the last thing you thought about was Heeseung and how much you wished you could tell him everything.
The entire day had been a blur of motion and focus for Heeseung.He had woken up early, the apartment feeling too quiet without you. The first thing he did was prepare breakfast mild porridge with ginger and some fresh fruit slices, exactly the kind of thing that wouldn’t upset your stomach. He packed it carefully, wrote a short note “Eat something and have a good day”, and quietly left it outside your door before heading to practice. He didn’t knock, he didn't want to wake you if you were still resting. After that, he was completely immersed in basketball.
He arrived at the coaching center and didn’t even glance at his phone. Practice was intense drills, strategy sessions, weight training, and full court scrimmages. He pushed himself harder than usual, channeling every ounce of frustration from the previous night’s loss and the painful dinner with his parents into every sprint, every shot, every defensive slide. Coach noticed his intensity and gave him approving nods, but Heeseung barely registered it. His mind was focused, sharp, and deliberately empty of everything else.
The only breaks he took were for water and quick stretches. He didn’t check his messages. He didn’t think about the unanswered text he had sent you last night. He didn’t let himself wonder why you had suddenly pulled away again. By the time evening practice ended, he was exhausted but satisfied. The team headed to the locker room, the air filled with the usual post practice chatter jokes about the game, plans for the weekend, complaints about sore muscles. Heeseung was changing his shirt when Jay walked over, phone in hand, his expression unusually serious. “Hey, man,” Jay said, lowering his voice. “You should check the university confession page there’s something posted about you and her.”
Heeseung’s stomach dropped. He took the phone from Jay and opened the page. The post was right at the top, already with hundreds of likes and comments.
@decelisconfessions : The only reason Heeseung is with the girl from the arts major is because she baby trapped him. She got pregnant on purpose to lock down the basketball captain disgusting he deserves better.
Heeseung’s blood boiled his grip tightened on the phone, knuckles turning white. The words felt like a personal attack not just on you, but on everything the two of you had been trying to build. The casual cruelty, the assumption that you would do something so manipulative, the way it painted you as some scheming villain it made his jaw clench so hard it hurt.
What do these people think? he thought, anger surging through him. What do they actually think of themselves? Spreading lies like this, ruining someone’s reputation for clicks and gossip? They don’t know anything about her. They don’t know how hard she’s trying, how scared she is, how much she’s already giving up to protect this baby. He handed the phone back to Jay without a word, his mind racing. He wanted to find whoever posted it. He wanted to shut it down. He wanted to protect you from this.But right now, all he could do was breathe through the anger and try to stay calm.
The locker room fell into a stunned silence as the post spread through the team’s phones.Heeseung’s blood was still boiling, his grip on the edge of the bench so tight his knuckles turned white. The words on the screen, the casual cruelty, the baseless accusation that you had “baby trapped” him made his jaw clench so hard it ached. He wanted to find whoever posted it. He wanted to shut it down. He wanted to protect you from this vicious gossip that was clearly spreading like wildfire across campus.Before he could say anything, the door to the locker room burst open.
Coach rushed in, phone in hand, his face a mixture of concern and anger. The rest of the team looked up, the atmosphere shifting from casual post-practice chatter to tense worry.
“I just saw the post,” Coach said, voice low but urgent. “It’s been up for almost 8 hours. The whole campus is talking about it. Heeseung — are you okay? Is she okay?”The guys gathered closer, their expressions shifting from shock to genuine concern. Jake stepped forward first. “Man, this is messed up,” Jake said, voice serious. “If you need anything, if she needs anything we’ve got your back.”Jay nodded. “Yeah this isn’t right people are assholes.”Beomgyu looked furious. “Who the hell posts something like this? We need to find out who runs that page.”Heeseung ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to keep his voice steady.
“I’m going to find out,” he said. He turned to Jake. “Can you try to find the admin of the page? Anything you can dig up.”
Jake nodded immediately. “On it.”Heeseung didn’t wait for more. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the door.“I need to check on her,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s not answering my messages, and her calls are going straight to voicemail.”The team called out words of support as he left, but Heeseung barely heard them. His mind was racing. The rumor had been out for almost 8 hours. You must have seen it. You must be hurting. And the fact that you weren’t answering him only made the worry twist sharper in his chest. He drove straight to your apartment building, heart pounding the entire way. The streets blurred past as he pushed the speed limit, his mind replaying every moment of the past few weeks the way you had stood up for him in front of his father, the way you had hugged him after the game, the way you had slowly started opening up to him.
He parked quickly and took the stairs two at a time. When he reached your door, he knocked firmly.No answer he knocked again, louder still nothing. He pulled out his phone and tried calling you straight to voicemail. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.He stood there for a moment, worry and frustration mixing with a deep, protective anger. He didn’t know who was behind the post, but he knew one thing for certain he wasn’t going to let this hurt you. Not if he could help it he knocked one more time, calling your name softly through the door.
“Baby… it’s me please open the door if you’re in there.”The silence on the other side only made his chest ache more.Heeseung stood outside your door, heart pounding, worry and frustration mixing in his chest. He had knocked again, called your name softly, and tried your phone one more time. Straight to voicemail.The silence on the other side was deafening.
Just as he was about to knock again, the door finally opened. But it wasn’t you it was another guy — tall, good looking, carrying a small bag. The same guy from the Instagram story you had reposted. The one holding a pie, smiling comfortably next to you. Heeseung’s heart hurt it was a sharp, unexpected twist in his chest. You had relied on another man instead of him. He didn’t even know who this guy was or what his relationship with you was. All he knew was that this same person had been visiting you every single week for the past month, bringing things from your parents. And now he was here, in your apartment, when you weren’t answering Heeseung’s calls.
The jealousy was instant and ugly. He tried to push it down, but it burned.Sangwon looked at him for a second, then offered a polite, slightly awkward nod.
“I think I’ll leave now,” Sangwon said quietly. “I was waiting for you to come back.”Heeseung just nodded, jaw tight, unable to form words. Sangwon grabbed his stuff, gave a small wave, and left down the hallway.Heeseung stepped inside your apartment, closing the door behind him. The place was dimly lit, quiet except for the faint sound of your breathing from the bedroom. He walked in slowly, his eyes adjusting to the low light.You were curled up on the bed, eyes red and swollen from crying, looking small and exhausted. The sight broke something in him. He crossed the room in a few quick steps and knelt beside the bed, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“Hey,” he whispered, voice soft. “I’m here.”You looked up at him, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. Heeseung’s heart twisted again. He climbed onto the bed and pulled you into his arms without another word, holding you close as you cried against his chest.He didn’t ask what happened. He just held you, one hand stroking your back, the other resting protectively over your belly.“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ve got both of you.”
He stayed like that for a long time, letting you cry it all out, his own worry and jealousy fading into the background. Right now, the only thing that mattered was you.You stayed curled against Heeseung’s chest for a long time, the sobs slowly easing into quiet sniffles. His arms were steady around you, one hand gently stroking your back, the other resting protectively over your belly. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat slowly grounded you.
When you finally felt calm enough to speak, you pulled back just enough to look at him. Your voice was hoarse and shaky. “People are talking shit about me,” you whispered. “On that confession page they’re saying I baby trapped you. Some girl shouted ‘whore’ at me in the hallway today. Called me a slut for trapping you. Everyone was staring… whispering…”Heeseung’s expression darkened, but his touch remained gentle. He brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
“That isn’t true,” he said firmly, voice low and steady. “You know it. I know that those people don’t know anything about us they don’t know how hard you’ve been trying, how scared you’ve been, or how much you’ve already given up to protect this baby. They’re just bored and cruel. Their words don’t define you. They don’t define us.”He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, holding it there for a long moment. You took a shaky breath and continued.
“There’s more,” you whispered. “The day we came back from your parents’ place… an anonymous number threatened me. They said to stay away from you or they’d ruin both our careers. I… I got scared I didn’t want to ruin your future. That’s why I started avoiding you. I thought if I kept my distance, it would protect you.”
Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly. He searched your face, then let out a slow, pained breath. “It was probably my dad,” he said quietly, voice tight with frustration. “He’s been like this my whole life always comparing me to Heedo, always putting pressure on me. I should have told you how bad it was. You should have told me about the message. We’re supposed to face this together.” You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks again. “I couldn’t,” you whispered. “I was scared I didn't want to ruin your career you mean a lot to me, Heeseung, more than I ever thought you would.” Heeseung’s eyes filled with tears. He pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough, thick with emotion. “Don’t ever hide anything from me again,” he whispered. “Not the hard things not the scary things. Not the messages that make you cry. I don’t care how busy I am, or how important the tryouts feel, or how much pressure my dad puts on me. You come first always.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. His own eyes were shining.
“I want to be the first person you come to when something hurts, when you’re scared, when you need something, anything. Even if it’s just to sit in silence and let me hold you. I don’t want you carrying things alone just because you’re trying to protect me. That’s not how this works, we're a team now you and me and Bambi.” His forehead rested against yours as he continued, voice softer but no less certain. “I know I’ve been focused on the NBA stuff. I know I’ve been distant sometimes because of it. But that stops now. If my dad sends another message, if anyone tries to make you feel small or unwanted, you tell me immediately. I will handle it i will protect you. I will never let anyone make you feel like you have to choose between my dreams and your peace.”
He kissed your forehead, lingering there, then pressed another soft kiss to each of your damp eyelids.“Promise me,” he murmured. “Promise you’ll come to me first. No more keeping things inside because you’re afraid of what it might cost me. You’re not a burden, baby you’re the reason any of this matters. You’re the home I want to come back to every single time.” His arms tightened around you again, one hand sliding down to rest protectively over your belly.
He thought to himself it is now or never fuck it “I have to tell you this,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you ever since the first day you walked into this building and banged on my door calling me an entitled asshole. I loved how you never backed down, how you called me out, how you were so real with me. I fell for you long before the baby. I fell for you when you were still miss morals, yelling at me through the wall. I love you. I love Bambi. I want this — us ,to be real. I don’t care how complicated it is i want to build a life with you. I want to be the one who’s there for you every single day i love you.”
His voice cracked on the last words, tears slipping down his cheeks as he held you like you were the most precious thing in his world. You felt your own tears fall faster. You pulled back just enough to look at him, then leaned in and kissed him soft at first, then deeper, pouring everything you had been holding back into it.When you pulled away, your voice was shaky but sure. “I love you too,” you whispered. “I’ve been trying so hard not to admit it, but I do, I love you, Heeseung.” He smiled through his tears and pulled you back into his arms, holding you like he never wanted to let go.
Heeseung’s confession hung in the air between you, raw and honest. His eyes were glassy with tears, but the smile on his face was real soft, vulnerable, full of love. You didn’t have words left, you just leaned in and kissed him.
The kiss started slow and tender, lips brushing gently, tasting the salt of tears that still clung to both of you then it deepened. Heeseung cupped your face with both hands, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as he tilted your head and kissed you like he had been starving for this exact moment for months. His tongue traced the soft curve of your lower lip, teasing, asking. You opened for him without hesitation, and the kiss turned hungry desperate in the best way. Your tongues met in a slow, deliberate slide, wet and warm, exploring each other with a thoroughness that made heat pool low in your belly.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, gripping the soft strands at the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. He groaned into your mouth, the low, rough sound vibrating straight through your chest. His hands left your face and slid down, roaming over your back with firm, open palms. Fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, finding bare skin. The first touch of his warm hands against your lower back made you shiver. He stroked upward, slow and deliberate, mapping the line of your spine, the soft curves of your waist, the sensitive skin just beneath your shoulder blades.
You pressed closer, shifting until you were straddling his lap fully. The solid heat of his thighs beneath you, the unmistakable hardness growing against the softest part of you, sent a fresh wave of need through your body. He pulled you down against him, rolling his hips once just enough for you to feel how much he wanted you and another deep groan spilled from his throat into the kiss.
The kiss broke only for quick, shared breaths before you found each other again. His lips were swollen, wet, insistent. He sucked gently on your lower lip, then your upper, then kissed you deeper still, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that felt almost indecent. One of his hands slipped higher under your shirt, palm gliding over the side of your ribcage until his fingers brushed the soft underside of your breast. He didn’t rush he just held you there, thumb stroking back and forth in a feather light tease that made your breath catch. The other hand stayed on your thigh, fingers spreading wide, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulled you even tighter against the hard line of his cock.
You rocked against him without thinking, a soft, needy sound escaping into his mouth. He answered by kissing you harder open mouthed, messy, full of heat while both hands moved with purpose. One stayed under your shirt, now fully cupping your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra until it tightened into a sensitive peak. The other hand slid higher up your thigh, fingertips tracing the edge of your underwear, not quite slipping underneath yet, just teasing the sensitive skin there in slow, maddening strokes.
You kissed for what felt like forever slow, then deeper, then almost frantic his tongue stroked yours. Your teeth grazed his lower lip. His hands never stopped moving, squeezing, stroking, mapping every inch of bare skin he could reach. The air between you grew warmer, heavier. Your fingers tightened in his hair, his hips rolled up against you again, deliberate and slow, letting you feel every hard inch of him through the layers of clothing.
When Heeseung finally pulled back just enough to look at you, both of you were breathing hard. His eyes were dark with desire, pupils blown wide, but underneath the heat there was something softer, almost worshipful. His hands remained on you one still under your shirt, palm curved possessively over your breast, the other resting high on your thigh, fingers still tracing lazy, intimate patterns against your skin.He didn’t speak he only watched you, lips parted and shining, as if the sight of you flushed and breathless in his lap was something he needed to memorize before he kissed you again.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “God, I love you so much. I’ve been losing my mind over you for months. Every time you smiled at me, every time you let me hold you, every time you trusted me with Bambi… I fell harder. I’m such a loser for you i can’t even pretend anymore.” He laid you down gently on the bed, hovering over you. His hands were reverent as he slowly undressed you, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. When you were bare beneath him, he took his time, lips trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, and over your swollen, sensitive breasts.
He sucked gently on one nipple, then the other, making you whimper and arch into him.bHis hand slid between your thighs. You were already wet, aching. He teased your folds with his fingers, circling your clit slowly before sliding two fingers inside you. He pumped them deep and steady, curling them just right against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. His thumb rubbed your clit in perfect rhythm, and you whimpered, hips rolling against his hand.
“So good,” he murmured against your breast, voice wrecked. “So wet for me I love you like this I love you so much it hurts.” You moaned loudly, fingers digging into his shoulders as he worked you closer and closer. The pleasure built slowly, deliciously, until you came with a soft cry, clenching around his fingers.
Heeseung kissed you through it, then gently withdrew his hand. He stripped off his own clothes and settled between your legs in missionary. He entered you slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. You both moaned at the feeling. He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in. “I love you,” he whispered as he started moving slow, deep thrusts that made you feel every inch of him. “I love you I love you so much.”
You wrapped your legs around him, hands on his back, matching his rhythm. The pace was sensual, loving, every stroke deliberate. He kissed you the entire time, whispering sweet, adoring words between thrusts how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, how happy he was to have you and Bambi.
After a while, the need to feel even closer overwhelmed you. You gently pushed at Heeseung’s shoulder, and he understood immediately, rolling onto his back without breaking the kiss. You followed, straddling his hips, your hands braced on his chest as you slowly sank down onto him. The new angle made you both moan deeply. He filled you completely, thick and warm, stretching you in the most delicious way. You paused for a moment, adjusting, breathing each other in as your bodies connected fully. Heeseung’s hands found your hips, fingers digging in just enough to ground you, his eyes dark and full of awe as he looked up at you.
You started moving slow, rolling hips that dragged him in and out of you with exquisite friction. Every downward motion made you whimper softly, the angle hitting that perfect spot deep inside. Heeseung’s breath hitched with every roll, his hands guiding your movements, thumbs stroking the skin just above your hips. When you placed your right leg on his chest, bending it so your foot rested near his shoulder, he took it gently in both hands. He kissed your calf tenderly, lips brushing the sensitive skin, then moved to your ankle, pressing open mouthed kisses there as you continued riding him. The contrast between the sweet, reverent kisses on your leg and the way his cock filled you so perfectly made your head spin.
“Look at you,” he groaned, voice wrecked and full of wonder. “Riding me so perfectly you’re so beautiful like this. I’m such a loser for you I can’t even think straight when you’re on top of me I love you I love you so much it hurts.” ( my man is pussy drunk ) His words, combined with the deep, rolling thrusts and the way he kissed your leg like it was something sacred, pushed you over the edge again. You came hard, trembling on top of him, walls clenching rhythmically around his cock as pleasure crashed through you in waves. Your moans filled the room, raw and unrestrained. Heeseung followed right after, groaning your name as he spilled deep inside you, hips jerking up to meet yours. He held you down on him, pulsing inside you, his hands gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go.
Afterward, he gently pulled you down onto his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips soft, lingering kisses that spoke more than words ever could. You both stayed like that, naked and tangled together, hearts beating in sync, his hand resting protectively over your belly where Bambi was growing. The room was quiet except for your slowing breaths. Heeseung held you like you were the most precious thing in his world, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as you drifted in the warm afterglow.
The next morning, you woke up slowly to the soft clinking of utensils and the faint, comforting smell of something warm cooking in the kitchen. Sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You were still naked under the blanket, the memory of last night’s intimacy lingering in the pleasant ache of your body and the warmth in your chest. Heeseung wasn’t in bed beside you. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, and smiled faintly when you heard him humming quietly in the kitchen.
You slipped on one of his oversized shirts that had been left on the chair and padded barefoot toward the kitchen.
Heeseung stood at the stove, wearing only sweatpants, his back to you as he stirred something in a pot. The sight of his broad shoulders, the way his muscles moved as he cooked, the domestic ease of it all made your heart flutter. You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his bare back in a back hug. Heeseung startled for a second, then relaxed into your embrace with a soft chuckle. “Good morning,” he murmured, turning his head slightly to kiss the top of your head. “Did you sleep well?”You nodded against his back, tightening your arms around him. “Better than I have in a while what are you making?”
“ porridge with ginger and some fruit on the side,” he said, continuing to stir. “And ginger tea thought it would be gentle on your stomach.” You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder blade. “You didn’t have to.” “I wanted to,” he replied simply, turning off the stove and turning around in your arms so he could face you. He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you gently on the lips, then on your forehead. “Morning looks good on you.” You blushed, burying your face in his chest. The two of you stayed like that for a while you wrapped around him, his arms holding you close, the quiet morning sunlight warming the kitchen.
Heeseung eventually pulled back just enough to serve breakfast. You sat at the small table together, eating slowly. He asked how you were feeling, if the nausea was better, and you asked about his practice schedule. The conversation was easy, domestic, and full of small, sweet moments, him reaching over to brush a strand of hair from your face, you feeding him a piece of fruit from your bowl, both of you laughing when he accidentally got a bit of porridge on his chin.
After breakfast, you both got ready for campus. Heeseung helped you choose a comfortable outfit, making sure it was loose enough for your growing belly. Before leaving, he pulled you into another hug, kissing your forehead.
“Ready to go?” he asked.You nodded, taking his hand as you stepped out together.You walked to campus hand in hand, the morning sun shining down on you. A few people stared, but you didn’t care. For the first time in a while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be. The walk to campus hand in hand with Heeseung felt both surreal and strangely right.Everyone in the campus looked shocked. As you both walked through the main gates, heads turned. Students who had been whispering about the rumors just yesterday now stared openly, eyes wide with surprise. Some pointed discreetly. Others pulled out their phones.
The sight of Heeseung the basketball captain, campus royalty walking hand in hand with you, his arm occasionally brushing protectively over your small, rounded belly, was clearly not what anyone had expected. The news had spread fast. The confession page rumor had painted you as a manipulator. But seeing you two openly together, Heeseung looking at you with soft, obvious adoration, and the visible sign of your pregnancy under your loose sweater it shattered that narrative in real time. People whispered, but the tone had shifted.
Some looked curious, some looked surprised, a few even smiled.Heeseung didn’t seem to care about any of it. He walked with quiet confidence, his fingers intertwined with yours, occasionally squeezing gently as if to remind you he was right there. When you reached the building for your first class, he stopped and turned to you. He cupped your face with both hands and leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips right there in the middle of the busy pathway. “I’ll see you after class,” he murmured against your lips. “Text me if you need anything take care of yourself and Bambi.”You nodded, cheeks warm, heart fluttering. “You too.”He gave you one last soft smile, then walked away toward his own building, glancing back once with that same adoring look.
You stood there for a second, still a little dazed, before Yunjin and Soobin appeared beside you, both grinning like idiots. Yunjin squealed and linked her arm with yours. “Oh my god, that was so cute! He just kissed you in front of everyone! Heeseung Mr. Cool Captain is out here openly simping for you. I’m living for this.” Soobin chuckled, shaking his head. “He looked like he was ready to fight anyone who looked at you wrong. Madly in love is an understatement how does it feel to have the whole campus talking about you two in a good way now?” You blushed harder, trying to hide your smile as you walked with them toward class.
“It feels… weird,” you admitted. “But nice I think.”Yunjin bumped your shoulder playfully. “Weirdly nice is the best kind he’s whipped and you’re glowing pregnancy looks good on you, babe.” Soobin nodded in agreement.You laughed softly, the teasing from your friends helping ease some of the nervousness. As you walked into the classroom, you couldn’t help but glance back toward where Heeseung had gone, a small, private smile on your face.The campus was still staring but for the first time, it didn’t feel like judgment.It felt like the beginning of something real.
The rest of your classes went by surprisingly smoothly. Nobody dared say anything to your face. The stares were still there, but they were quieter now more curious than cruel. The rumor had spread, but the sight of Heeseung openly kissing you goodbye in the morning seemed to have shifted the narrative. People whispered, but no one shouted insults no one followed you. You kept your head high, hand occasionally resting on your belly under your hoodie, and focused on your lectures. Yunjin and Soobin stayed close, offering silent support and the occasional funny comment to keep your spirits up.
By the time the final class ended, you felt tired but lighter. The campus still felt watchful, but it no longer felt hostile.
In the evening, you met Heeseung in the parking lot like you had agreed. The moment he saw you walking toward him, his face lit up with that soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip. He didn’t say anything at first. He just pulled you into a big, warm bear hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly and lifting you slightly off the ground. You laughed softly into his shoulder, hugging him back just as hard.
“I missed you today,” he murmured against your hair. “How were your classes?” “They were okay,” you replied, still in his arms. “No one said anything mean. Just staring it was… manageable.”Heeseung pulled back enough to look at you, his hands resting on your waist. “Good if anyone bothers you, tell me. I mean it.”
You nodded, smiling up at him. He looked so happy just to see you eyes bright, shoulders relaxed. It made the earlier anxiety feel smaller.Heeseung brushed a strand of hair from your face. “I was thinking do you want to go on a date? A real one there’s a restaurant not too far from here. Good food” You felt a flutter in your chest a real date with Heeseung after everything. You smiled. “I’d like that.” His face lit up even more. “Great let’s go home first and get ready i’ll drive.”
You both walked back to the apartment hand in hand. Once inside, you changed into a comfortable but cute outfit a flowy dress that hid your bump nicely and made you feel pretty. Heeseung changed into a simple button up shirt and jeans, looking effortlessly handsome. He waited patiently while you did your hair and a bit of makeup, complimenting you every time you caught his eye in the mirror.“You look beautiful,” he said softly when you were ready. “Ready to go?”You nodded, taking his hand as you left the apartment together.
The car ride to the restaurant was peaceful. Heeseung played soft music and asked about your day in more detail what you learned in class, how Bambi had been moving, if you were feeling any new symptoms. You asked him about practice and how he was feeling after the loss. The conversation flowed easily, comfortable and warm, like you had been doing this for months.
The restaurant was quiet and cozy, with soft lighting and gentle background music. You and Heeseung sat at a corner table, the atmosphere intimate and warm. He had chosen a place with light, pregnancy-friendly options, and the waiter had been attentive without being intrusive. As you both ate, the conversation flowed naturally. You talked about your classes, how Bambi had been moving more lately, and how your parents had been sending care packages. Heeseung listened with that soft, focused look he always gave you, occasionally reaching across the table to hold your hand.
Toward the end of the meal, Heeseung set his fork down and looked at you with a small, excited smile.
“I have some news,” he said, voice low but full of quiet pride. “During my next match, an NBA scout is coming. My coach told me today. It’s a big one someone from a team that’s been watching me for a while.” Your eyes widened, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “Really? That’s amazing, Heeseung! You’ve been working so hard for this.” He nodded, looking a little shy but happy. “Yeah it’s a huge opportunity I’m nervous, but… excited. I want to show them what I can do.” You squeezed his hand across the table. “You’re going to do great i know it. I’ll be there cheering for you with Bambi.”
Heeseung’s smile widened, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Having you there means everything. I’ll play better knowing you’re watching.” There was a comfortable pause as you both finished the last bites of your meal. Then Heeseung’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of cute, boyish jealousy creeping into his voice. “So… who is that guy who has been coming over to your place for the past month?” he asked, trying ( and failing ) to sound casual. “The one with the pie in your instagram story”
You blinked, then couldn’t help but smile at how adorably obvious his jealousy was. “He’s an old friend from high school,” you explained gently. “My first boyfriend, actually we broke up mutually before university because of the distance. He’s been helping at my parents’ bakery and dropped off some food they made for me. That’s all.” Heeseung nodded, but his ears turned a little pink. “Ah okay just… curious.”
You teased him lightly. “Were you jealous?” He looked away, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe a little I saw the story and I don’t know. I didn’t like seeing you smiling with someone else even if it’s fake between us, it felt… real to me.”Your heart melted at his honesty. You squeezed his hand again.“It’s real to me too,” you admitted softly.
Heeseung’s eyes lit up, and he leaned across the table to kiss your knuckles. The rest of the dinner was filled with light conversation about the upcoming game, what he was preparing, and how you could support him. The mood was warm and hopeful, the earlier tension from the campus rumors feeling far away.
After dinner, Heeseung drove you back to the apartment. You both walked into his apartment hand in hand. It felt familiar now the clean, minimalist space with the faint scent of his cologne. Heeseung closed the door behind you and pulled you into a gentle hug, kissing the top of your head.“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “I’ll get you something to change into.”
He handed you one of his oversized shirts. You changed in the bathroom and came out to find him already in sweatpants, turning down the bed. He smiled when he saw you in his shirt, eyes warm and adoring. “You look good in my clothes,” he murmured, pulling you into bed with him. You both slipped under the covers, naked except for the shirt you wore. Heeseung immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back against his chest in a spooning position. One hand rested protectively over your belly, the other stroked your arm.The room was dark and quiet, only the faint city lights filtering through the curtains. You felt safe warm and loved.
Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck.“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered. “Sleep well i’ve got you and Bambi.”You smiled in the dark, intertwining your fingers with his over your belly.“Goodnight,” you whispered back. You fell asleep like that safe in his arms, his breath warm against your neck, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into peaceful rest.
The next morning, you woke up to the soft sound of Heeseung humming in the kitchen. The smell of gentle breakfast filled the apartment. You smiled, stretching slowly, feeling the warmth of the night before still lingering in your body and heart.
You got up, wearing his shirt, and walked to the kitchen. Heeseung turned when he heard you, his face lighting up with that soft smile. “Morning,” he said, pulling you into a hug and kissing your forehead. “Sleep well?” You nodded, hugging him back. The two of you spent a sweet, slow morning together eating breakfast at the small table, talking about nothing and everything, stealing soft kisses between bites. Heeseung’s hand never strayed far from your belly, a quiet, protective gesture that made your heart feel full.
When it was time to head to campus, he took your hand as you left the apartment together, walking side by side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The walk to campus hand in hand with Heeseung felt both surreal and strangely right.The morning air was crisp, the sun shining gently as you both made your way through the familiar paths. Heeseung’s fingers were intertwined with yours, his thumb occasionally stroking the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm. You felt the small, rounded curve of your belly brushing against the fabric of your loose sweater with every step a constant, gentle reminder of Bambi growing inside you.
You glanced up at him, heart full. After the sweet night spent in his apartment, the warmth of his arms still lingered on your skin. You took a deep breath and decided to share the news that had been on your mind since the last checkup. “I have an appointment today with the doctor,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Today they’ll be able to tell us the baby’s gender. Maybe if you want, we can have a small gender reveal? Just something simple with our parents, or even just the two of us.” Heeseung stopped walking abruptly. He turned to you, eyes wide with pure, unfiltered excitement. Then, right there in the middle of the campus pathway, he literally jumped a little, a small, boyish hop of joy that made you laugh out loud.
“What do you mean ‘if you want’?” he exclaimed, grinning so wide it lit up his entire face. “We need to hold a huge gender reveal celebration! Balloons, cake, a big sign the works! I want everyone to know. I want to celebrate our baby properly.” You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. His happiness was infectious, and for a moment, all the worries about rumors, his family, and the future faded into the background.
Heeseung pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in the middle of the pathway, not caring who saw. He rested his forehead against yours, voice soft but full of wonder.“And I want a daughter who just looks like you,” he whispered, eyes shining. “With your pretty brown eyes, your smile, your laugh. A little girl who’s as strong and kind as her mom. Though a mini me would be cute too. As long as they have even a little bit of you in them, I’ll be the happiest dad in the world.”
Your heart melted. You felt tears prick your eyes as you hugged him back, burying your face in his chest.“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you whispered. Heeseung kissed the top of your head, holding you for a long moment before pulling back with a bright, excited grin.
“Let’s do this,” he said. “After the appointment, we’ll plan the gender reveal. Big or small — whatever you want but I’m definitely celebrating our baby.” You nodded, smiling up at him as you continued walking hand in hand toward campus. The stares from other students didn’t bother you as much today. Not when Heeseung was looking at you like you were his whole world. The future still felt a little scary, but with him by your side, it also felt full of hope.
It had been a week since you entered your fifth month and three weeks of pregnancy. Your bump was now clearly visible a soft, rounded curve that made your clothes fit differently and drew more curious glances on campus. You had started wearing looser tops and dresses to accommodate it, and every time you caught your reflection, a mix of wonder and nervousness filled you. Bambi was growing, and the reality of it all felt more real with each passing day.
You and Heeseung were now openly together. The rumors had slowly died down, replaced by a mix of surprise and tentative acceptance. People still whispered, but the public affection the way Heeseung walked you to class, held your hand, and kissed your forehead in front of everyone had shifted the narrative. He was proud and protective and you were slowly letting yourself believe it was real.
Today, you were sitting on the couch in your apartment, feet propped up as Yunjin took full control of planning the gender reveal party. Yunjin had declared herself the official planner the moment you told her the gender reveal was happening. She had taken over everything — decorations, venue, guest list, even the cake. She had told you in no uncertain terms that you were to take full rest and not worry about anything. “This mama needs her beauty sleep,” she had said dramatically, pointing at you with a pen. “You just sit there, look pretty, and let me handle the rest doctor’s orders well, my orders same thing.”
You laughed softly, rubbing your belly. “You’re really going all out, aren’t you?”“Obviously,” Yunjin grinned, scribbling notes on her planner. “This is Bambi’s big day we’re doing it right pink and blue everything. Balloons, confetti It’s going to be perfect.” She looked up from her notes, tapping her pen against her chin. “Okay, so who do you want at the gender reveal? I need the final list.”
You had already thought about it. “My parents and heeseungs parents , obviously. Soobin and you, Heeseung’s teammates — Jake, Jay, Beomgyu and Sangwon.” Yunjin nodded, writing everything down. “Got it I’ll handle the invitations you just relax.” Later that evening, you called your parents. Your mom answered on the first ring, her voice bright and excited.
“Sweetheart! How are you feeling? How’s my grandbaby?”You smiled, rubbing your belly. “We’re doing good. The bump is getting bigger I wanted to let you know we’re planning a gender reveal party soon. I’d love for you and Dad to come.” Your mom gasped happily. “Of course we’ll come! We wouldn’t miss it for the world. And do you think you and Heeseung could visit for Christmas? Stay for a day or two? We’d love to have you both here.” You glanced at Heeseung, who was sitting beside you on the couch, listening quietly. He nodded with a small smile.“Yeah,” you said. “We’d love that.”
Your dad’s voice joined in the background, sounding emotional. “Tell Heeseung we’re looking forward to seeing him too. Take care of yourself, okay?”You ended the call with a warm feeling in your chest. Your parents’ support had always been unwavering, and it meant the world. Yunjin continued planning with relentless enthusiasm, texting you updates and ideas late into the night. You let her take the lead, grateful for her energy while you rested more.The gender reveal was coming and for the first time, you felt excited instead of scared.
The messages had started again. Even though you had blocked the first number, they kept coming from different ones. You had tried blocking each new number, but they always found a way. At first, you had been terrified every time your phone buzzed. Now, you were just tired. You sat on the couch in your apartment, legs tucked under you, hand resting on your growing belly. Bambi was moving more these days gentle flutters that made you smile despite everything. You opened your phone and looked at the latest thread from an unknown number.
unknown : you think blocking me will stop this? Stay away from Heeseung
unknown : i know where you live. I know your schedule don’t test me
unknown : if you don’t leave him, I’ll make sure both your careers are over the baby too
unknown : you’re ruining his life leave before it’s too late
You stared at the screen for a long moment, then locked the phone and set it face down on the coffee table. The threats had lost some of their power over the weeks. They still scared you, but Heeseung’s constant reassurance had slowly built a shield around your heart. He had told you again and again that nothing would happen. That he would protect you and Bambi. That whoever was behind the messages was just trying to scare you. He had even talked to his coach and a few trusted friends about keeping an eye out, and he had started walking you to and from classes more often.
You were happy ,truly happy with the choice you had made. The fear was still there, but it was quieter now. You had Heeseung. You had Bambi. You had a little family that felt more real every day. You rubbed your belly gently, smiling as you felt a small kick. “You’re going to be so loved,” you whispered. “Your dad and I… we’re going to figure this out i promise.” Heeseung walked in from the kitchen, carrying a plate of fresh fruit he had cut for you. He saw your phone on the table and the tired look on your face. “Another one?” he asked softly, setting the plate down and sitting beside you, you nodded. “Different number again.”
He pulled you into his arms, kissing the top of your head. “I’ve got you nothing is going to happen to you or Bambi i won’t let it we’re in this together.” You leaned into him, breathing in his familiar scent. “I know I’m okay and I’m happy, Heeseung really happy with you with Bambi with us.” He smiled against your hair, his hand resting on your belly. “Our little family is perfect,” he whispered. “All that’s left is waiting for Bambi to arrive and I can’t wait.” You closed your eyes, letting his words wrap around you like a warm blanket. The threats were still out there but so was your little family and for the first time, you truly believed everything was going to be okay.
The next day, Heeseung drove to his parents’ house alone. He had decided to invite his mother personally for the gender reveal party. He wanted to do it face to face, hoping to keep the conversation civil and away from his father’s influence. The drive was quiet, his mind drifting between excitement for the reveal and the lingering tension from the last visit. When he arrived, his mom greeted him at the door with her usual warm smile, pulling him into a tight hug.
“My son,” she said happily. “Come in i made your favorite tea.” Heeseung followed her inside, the familiar scent of the house bringing back a mix of memories some good, some painful. They sat in the living room, and his mom asked about you immediately.
“How is she? How’s the baby? Are there any problems? Is she resting enough?” Heeseung smiled softly, the mention of you and Bambi instantly warming his chest.“We’ve never been better,” he said honestly. “She’s doing well the bump is growing, and Bambi is active. She’s strong and we’re both excited for the gender reveal.” His mom’s eyes lit up with genuine joy. “I’m so happy for you both. I can’t wait to meet my grandbaby.”
They talked for a while about the party plans, about how you were feeling, about Heeseung’s basketball schedule. The conversation was light and comfortable, the kind of talk he wished he could have more often with his family. Then his mom stood up. “Can you go to my room and get me my reading glasses? They’re on the dressing table.” Heeseung nodded and headed to the master bedroom. The room was neat and elegant, as always. He walked to the dressing table and spotted the glasses immediately. As he reached for them, a spare phone lying on the table lit up with a notification. The number on the screen looked oddly familiar ,it was your number. The message preview read
you : i don’t know who you are and why you hate me so much and why you want me away from Heeseung stop it
Heeseung’s hand shook as he picked up the phone. His heart pounded in his chest. He unlocked it with the passcode he knew his mom used for everything and opened the messaging app the thread was long. Dozens of messages from different numbers ( let’s forget common sense here you guys ) all sent to you. Threats, warnings, cruel words telling you to stay away from him. The same anonymous number that had been harassing you for weeks it was his mom.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. His own mother had been the one sending those messages. The one threatening your career, his career, the safety of you and Bambi.
His hands trembled as he scrolled through the messages. The words were vicious, calculated to scare you into leaving him. His mom had done this. The woman who had welcomed you with open arms, who had cried happy tears at the news of the baby she had been behind it all. Heeseung stood there in the middle of the room, phone in hand, the weight of the betrayal crashing down on him. He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the screen, before he heard his mom’s voice calling from the living room.
“Heeseung? Did you find them?”He took a deep, shaky breath, slipped the phone into his pocket, and walked back out.The conversation continued as if nothing had happened, but inside, Heeseung’s world had shifted.His own mother had tried to tear you away from him.
And he had no idea what to do with that. Heeseung sat across from his mother in the living room, the spare phone burning a hole in his pocket. His mom acted like nothing was happening smiling warmly, asking about your health, about the baby, about how the two of you were managing. She poured him tea, chatted about the weather, and even asked if you had any cravings she could help with.He couldn’t hold it in anymore.“Mom,” he said, voice low but sharp. “Did you ever contact her?”
Eunae blinked, setting her teacup down. “Contact who, dear?” “You know who the woman I’m with the mother of my child.” She laughed lightly, waving her hand. “How can I? I don’t even have her number. Why would I contact her?” Heeseung pulled the spare phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table between them. The screen lit up with the thread of messages the threats, the warnings, the cruel words.His mom’s face paled.
Heeseung’s voice shook with anger. “This is you, these are your messages, you threatened her, you told her to stay away from me or you’d ruin both our careers why?”Eunae stared at the phone, then back at him. Her expression shifted from shock to defensiveness. “She isn’t good for you, Heeseung,” she said, voice steady but cold. “She isn’t from the same league, she's just a normal girl and a child now is just a distraction you have a future in the league. Your brother Heedo never let anything like this happen. He stayed focused and succeeded. You’re throwing everything away for her and that baby.”
Heeseung’s hands clenched into fists. “She is good for me she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She stood up for me in front of Dad when you both stayed silent, she’s carrying my child ,our child. And you tried to scare her away you threatened her how could you do that?” Eunae’s eyes hardened. “I did it for you for your future a baby now will ruin your career. She will ruin your career you need to focus on basketball, on the league. Not on playing house with some girl who got pregnant to trap you.”
Heeseung stood up, voice rising. “She didn’t trap me I love her and i want this baby. I want this family if you can’t accept her and Bambi, then I don’t want to be a part of this fucking family you all are dead to me.”The words hung in the air. At that moment, the front door opened. Heedo walked in, back from wherever he had been. He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene Heeseung standing, face flushed with anger, their mom looking shocked. Heedo looked at Heeseung, then at their mom
“He’s right,” Heedo said quietly. “If you can’t accept them, then you don’t deserve to be part of their lives.”Heeseung was taken back. His older brother, the golden child, the one their father always compared him to, had never spoken up for him before. Never defended him, never said anything against their parents.Heedo looked at Heeseung with a small, rare nod of respect. Heeseung swallowed hard, then turned back to his mom. “Never fucking contact me again,” he said, voice breaking. “Or her or my child.”
He stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. The drive back was a blur. His hands shook on the wheel, tears blurring his vision. But underneath the anger and hurt was a strange sense of freedom.
He had chosen you.
He had chosen Bambi.
And it felt like the right choice.
You were sitting on the couch, still trying to process everything that had happened, when you heard a soft knock on your door. Your heart jumped when you thought it might be Heeseung. You hadn’t expected him so soon, but the moment you opened the door and saw him standing there, something in you broke.
Heeseung looked devastated his eyes were red and glassy, shoulders slumped, hair messy like he had run his hands through it too many times. The moment he saw you, his face crumpled. He stepped inside without a word and broke into tears, pulling you into his arms as sobs shook his body.
You held him tightly, stunned. Heeseung the strong, steady Heeseung who had been your rock through everything was crying in your arms like his world was falling apart.“I’m sorry,” he choked out between sobs.“I’m so sorry.” You rubbed his back, heart aching. “Shh, it’s okay you’re here i’ve got you.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, tears streaming down his face. His voice cracked as he spoke. “The anonymous person was my mom.”The words hit you like a slap. You froze, eyes widening in shock. “What?”
Heeseung nodded, crying harder now, his shoulders shaking. “Out of everyone… it was her, she was the one sending those messages. Threatening you telling you to stay away from me she used a spare phone. I found it when I went to their house today. She denied it at first, but I saw everything, all of it.”
You were completely shaken. His mom the woman who had welcomed you with open arms, who had cried happy tears at the news of the baby, who had been so kind and warm had been the one behind the cruel messages? The one who had terrified you for weeks? You didn’t know how to react your mind spun. You had thought she liked you. You had thought she was happy for you and Heeseung and Bambi.
Heeseung buried his face in your neck, crying harder. “She said you weren’t good enough, that you were a distraction and that the baby would ruin my career. She compared me to Heedo again and said I was throwing everything away. I told her if she couldn’t accept you and Bambi, then I don’t want to be part of this family anymore.”
You held him tighter, your own eyes filling with tears. You rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles, trying to be the steady one for once. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect this she was so nice to me. I thought I thought she was happy for us.” Heeseung shook his head against your shoulder. “I didn’t either. I thought she was on our side. I thought I don’t know what I thought anymore.” You pulled back gently and cupped his face with both hands, wiping his tears with your thumbs. “Hey… look at me we’re okay we’re together bambi is okay. That’s what matters right now, we don't need their approval we have each other.”
Heeseung nodded, eyes still wet, but he leaned into your touch. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you and Bambi so much. I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.” You kissed his forehead, then his cheeks, then his lips — soft, reassuring kisses. “I love you too, we're going to be okay all three of us.” You held him for a long time, letting him cry it out, stroking his hair, whispering comforting words. The betrayal hurt especially coming from his mom but having Heeseung here, choosing you and Bambi over everything else, made the pain feel a little more bearable you were in this together and that was enough.
The silence in your apartment felt heavier than it ever had.Heeseung sat on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His shoulders were still shaking slightly from the tears he had shed earlier. You sat beside him, one hand gently rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles, the other resting protectively over your belly. Bambi had been kicking more today, as if sensing the storm around you. Neither of you had spoken for several minutes. Finally, Heeseung lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, voice hoarse.
“I can’t believe it was her,” he whispered. “My own mom. She welcomed you. She cried when she heard about the baby. And behind our backs she was threatening you trying to scare you away from me .”You swallowed hard, your own throat tight. The woman who had hugged you so warmly, who had asked about your health and the baby with what seemed like genuine care she had been the one sending those cruel messages. The realization still felt surreal.“I didn’t expect it either,” you said softly. “She seemed so nice I thought… I thought she was happy for us.”
Heeseung let out a bitter laugh, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “That’s what makes it worse. She played the perfect mother in law. And all this time, she was the one trying to tear us apart. Because I’m not Heedo because I’m not ‘perfect’ enough because having a baby with you is apparently ‘ruining my future.’” You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him. He leaned into you immediately, resting his head on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone,” he murmured. “The messages, the fear you were protecting me, and I had no idea. I should have known something was wrong when you started pulling away.”
You kissed the top of his head. “I didn’t want to add more stress. You already have so much on your plate basketball, your dad, everything. I thought if I stayed away, it would keep you safe.” Heeseung pulled back to look at you, eyes still wet but full of fierce determination. “You don’t have to protect me by disappearing,” he said. “We protect each other, that's what this is supposed to be us ,a team for Bambi.”
You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks again. “I know im sorry I was scared I still am but I don’t want to run anymore.”Heeseung cupped your face with both hands, thumbs wiping your tears away. “We’re going to figure this out together I love you I love Bambi and I’m not letting my family or anyone take that away from us.”
The two of you stayed like that for a long time, holding each other in the quiet of your apartment. The betrayal still stung, but being together made it feel a little less overwhelming. Later that evening, Heeseung made you both tea and sat with you on the couch. You talked for hours about what to do next, whether to confront his mom again, whether to tell his dad, how to move forward with the gender reveal party. Heeseung was hurt, but he was also resolute.
“I don’t want to cut them off completely,” he said quietly. “But I won’t let them treat you or Bambi like this. If they can’t accept us, then they don’t get to be part of our lives.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “We’ll do whatever feels right as long as we’re together.”
He kissed your forehead, hand resting on your belly. “Together always.” The revelation had shaken both of you. But it had also brought you closer. The love you had both been afraid to fully admit was now out in the open, stronger because of the storm you were facing. You fell asleep that night in his arms, his hand protectively over your belly, whispering promises to Bambi about the family you were building — no matter what anyone else tried to do. The road ahead was still uncertain but you felt ready to walk it together.
The next two weeks passed in a surprisingly peaceful rhythm. Life had settled into a gentle, busy routine that felt almost normal. Heeseung had gotten really busy with practice. The NBA scout was coming to his next big match, and he was pushing himself harder than ever. He left early in the mornings and came back late in the evenings, but he always made time for you. He would text you during breaks, send photos of his meals to show he was eating properly, and still managed to drop off breakfast or dinner whenever he could.
You were equally occupied with your capstone project. With the third trimester approaching, you had decided to take a break from university after this semester to focus on the pregnancy and the baby. The pressure was on to finish strong, so you spent long hours at the library or at home, working on your art curation proposal. Heeseung would often find you hunched over your laptop when he came over, and he would gently pull you away for breaks making you tea, rubbing your feet, or simply holding you while you rested your head on his chest. In between all the busyness, you both started apartment hunting.
It was exciting and a little overwhelming. You looked at several places together, small but cozy apartments closer to both campus and the basketball facilities. After a few viewings, you found one that felt right: a two-bedroom unit with a bright living room, a small balcony, and enough space for a nursery corner. The rent was reasonable, and the location was perfect. You both signed the lease the same day, smiling at each other like it was the beginning of something real.
During Christmas, you and Heeseung visited your parents’ house for a couple of days.The trip was warm and joyful. Your parents were over the moon to have both of you there. Your mom had prepared a feast all your favorite dishes and pregnancy-safe versions of everything. Your dad kept pulling Heeseung aside to talk about baby names and future plans, treating him like a son already. Heeseung fit in seamlessly, helping your dad with small tasks around the house and charming your mom with his thoughtfulness.
One evening, the four of you sat around the Christmas tree, exchanging small gifts. Heeseung had gotten your parents thoughtful presents, and they had prepared something special for both of you baby clothes and a beautiful journal for you to write letters to Bambi. The night ended with Heeseung falling asleep with his head on your shoulder while your dad told old family stories. You felt safe loved like you were already building the family you had dreamed of.
The visit was exactly what you both needed a break from the campus rumors, a reminder that there were people who supported you unconditionally.Back in the city, the gender reveal party planning was also in full swing. The gender reveal party planning was also in full swing. Yunjin had taken complete charge, sending you daily updates and mood boards. She had booked a small venue, ordered decorations in soft pinks and blues, and was handling the guest list with military precision. You and Heeseung helped where you could, choosing the cake flavor, deciding on simple games, and finalizing the guest list. Your parents were coming, and close friends from both sides were excited.
Through all of it, Heeseung was incredibly attentive. He made sure you rested, reminded you to eat, and massaged your feet when they swelled. Some nights he would fall asleep with his head on your belly, talking softly to Bambi about the future. Other nights, when the hormones made you needy, he would make love to you slowly and sweetly, whispering how much he loved you and how beautiful you looked carrying his child you were happy.
The distance you had tried to keep had dissolved completely. The love you felt for him was no longer something you fought against it was something you embraced. Heeseung felt the same. He told you every day, in small ways and big ones. One evening, after a long day, you were both lying on the couch. Heeseung had his hand on your belly, feeling Bambi’s kicks. “I can’t wait to meet them,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to start this life with you for real.” You smiled, turning to kiss him softly. “Me too.” The two weeks had been peaceful, productive, and full of quiet joy.
The morning of the gender reveal party, the air in your apartment felt charged with nervous excitement.You stood in the bathroom, slowly undressing for a shower. Your hands trembled slightly as you pulled off your shirt, revealing your six month pregnant belly and swollen, tender breasts. Today was the day the day you would finally find out if Bambi was a boy or a girl. The day your friends and family would celebrate with you. The day everything felt incredibly real.Heeseung leaned against the doorway, watching you with soft, adoring eyes.
“Are you nervous?” he asked gently, his voice low and warm. You turned to him, a small, shy smile on your face. “A little happy, nervous I just… I can’t believe we’re really doing this finding out who Bambi is.”
Heeseung stepped closer, his gaze tracing your body with reverence, the curve of your belly, the fullness of your breasts, the way your skin glowed from pregnancy. He looked almost reverent, like he still couldn’t believe you were his. “Can I join you in the shower?” he asked, his voice dropping to that husky tone that always made your knees weak. His eyes had that unmistakable puppy dog look soft, pleading, full of love and desire.
You couldn’t say no you nodded, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah come here.” Heeseung stripped quickly. The moment he pulled his pants and boxers down, his cock sprang free, already hard and heavy, slapping against his stomach with a soft sound. The sight made heat pool between your legs instantly.
You raised an eyebrow, teasing him even as your cheeks warmed. “Are you sure you only want to shower?” Heeseung let out a low, embarrassed laugh, stepping into the shower with you. The water started running, warm streams cascading over both of you.
“I swear I’m trying my best,” he groaned, pulling you against him. His hands slid over your wet skin, one cupping your swollen breast, the other resting on your belly. “But mama seeing you like this, carrying our baby, these beautiful swollen breasts I can barely control myself.” You smiled, turning in his arms to face him. Water ran down your bodies as you kissed him deeply, tongues sliding together in a slow, sensual dance. Heeseung groaned into your mouth, his hard cock pressing against your belly. He was gentle but desperate, hands roaming your curves with adoration.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, sucking softly at your pulse point. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. “I love you like this heavy with my baby so full and sensitive ”You whimpered as he cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. They were darker and heavier now, and every touch sent sparks straight to your core. Heeseung leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand kneaded the other. You moaned, fingers threading through his wet hair, hips pressing against him.
He eventually dropped to his knees in front of you, water cascading over his shoulders. He kissed your belly reverently, whispering to Bambi before spreading your legs and burying his face between them. His tongue was slow and thorough, licking and sucking your swollen clit while two fingers slid inside you, curling perfectly. You cried out, one hand braced on the wall, the other in his hair, as he brought you to the edge with expert precision. When you came, it was with a broken moan, legs shaking as pleasure washed over you.
Heeseung stood up slowly, water cascading down his toned body as he captured your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth, letting you taste the sweet tang of your own release mixed with the heat of him. You whimpered into the kiss, fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you.“God, you taste so fucking good,” he murmured, voice husky and low. “I could eat you out for hours, baby. But I need to feel you now.”
He turned you around with gentle but firm hands, pressing your front against the cool, slick tile wall. The contrast between the chilled surface on your breasts and the hot spray of water on your back made you gasp. Heeseung’s chest molded to your back, his hard length nudging insistently against your ass. One hand splayed protectively over your rounded belly, cradling it tenderly, while the other slid down between your legs, fingers circling your sensitive clit with expert precision.“You ready for me, love?” he whispered hotly against your ear, nipping at the lobe. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want you,” you breathed, arching back into him. “Please, Heeseung fill me up.” With a low, satisfied growl, he entered you in one smooth, deliberate thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The angle was devastating, deep, intimate, every inch of him stretching and claiming you perfectly. You cried out, forehead pressing against the tile as the water made everything impossibly slick and heated. “Fuck yes,” he groaned, staying still for a moment to let you adjust, his breath ragged against your neck. “You’re so tight, so warm around me like you were made for me. I love you… I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”
He began to move slow, sensual rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. The hand on your belly held you steady, protective of the life growing there, while his fingers between your legs never stopped their teasing rhythm on your clit. Steam filled the shower, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the rush of water. “Heeseung fuck right there,” you moaned, pushing back against him, meeting every thrust. “Feels so good don’t stop.”
“I won’t, baby never,” he promised, lips trailing wet kisses along your shoulder and neck. “You’re perfect like this carrying our little one so strong, so beautiful I’m so excited to meet Bambi. Boy or girl, I already love them more than anything just like I love their mama.” Your heart swelled at his words, the emotion blending with the building pleasure. He picked up the pace just slightly, thrusts still deep and controlled, grinding against you with every stroke. The hand on your belly rubbed soothing circles, while his other worked your clit faster, drawing desperate sounds from your throat.
“Say it again,” you gasped, clenching around him. “Tell me you love me.” “I love you,” he growled, voice breaking with pleasure. “I love you more than yesterday, and I’ll love you even more tomorrow you and Bambi you’re my everything come for me, sweetheart let me feel you.” The coil inside you snapped hard. You came with a sharp cry of his name, walls pulsing tightly around his cock, vision blurring from the intensity. Heeseung followed right after, burying himself deep with a guttural moan that echoed off the tiles. “Fuck—yes, just like that taking all of me,” he panted, spilling hot and thick inside you, hips stuttering as he rode out his release. He held you close through every pulse, arms wrapped around you like he’d never let go.
For a long moment, you both stayed like that, breathing hard under the warm spray. Heeseung kissed your neck softly, whispering, “My beautiful mama you did so well.” He pulled out carefully, turning you to face him. His hands were gentle as he cleaned you both with soapy hands, massaging your shoulders, your belly, your thighs with reverent touches. “Does that feel okay? Not too sore?” he asked, eyes full of concern and love. You smiled, cupping his face. “Perfect I love you, Heeseung.”
He kissed you softly, lingering under the water until it started to cool. Shutting it off, he wrapped you in a huge, fluffy towel, then scooped you up effortlessly into his arms. You laughed lightly, nuzzling into his chest as he carried you to the bedroom.Laying you down on the bed, he climbed in beside you, pulling the covers over both of you. He immediately pressed kisses to your belly, murmuring against your skin, “Hey, little Bambi daddy loves you so much already. Can’t wait to find out if you’re our princess or our little prince today at the reveal but either way, you’re going to be so loved.”
You ran your fingers through his hair, watching him with soft eyes. “You’re going to be the best dad.” He looked up at you, eyes shining. “Only because I have the best partner come here.” He pulled you into his arms, holding you close, one hand still resting on your belly. “The gender reveal’s going to be amazing but right now? This is everything I need just us three.” The room was quiet except for your mingled breathing, the world outside forgotten. Everything felt warm, safe, and utterly perfect.
As soon as you both came down from the high, you dressed slowly, still glowing from the intimacy. You chose a soft white dress that flowed beautifully over your 6 month pregnant bump, the fabric hugging your curves gently and showing off the roundness of your belly. You left your hair in loose waves, adding a touch of natural makeup that made you feel pretty and confident. Heeseung wore a simple white shirt and white pants, looking effortlessly handsome and matching you perfectly.
When you stepped out of the bedroom, Heeseung’s eyes lit up. He walked over and gently placed both hands on your belly, leaning down to kiss it softly.“You look absolutely stunning,” he murmured, voice full of awe. “Our little family is going to have the best day today.” You smiled, heart full, and took his hand as you both left the apartment. The drive to the venue was peaceful. Heeseung held your hand the entire way, occasionally rubbing his thumb over your knuckles or glancing at you with that soft, adoring look that always made your stomach flutter. When you arrived, the venue took your breath away.
It was magical.
The outdoor garden space Yunjin had chosen was decorated beautifully with strings of soft fairy lights, arches covered in white and blush flowers, and delicate deer themed decorations everywhere in honor of Bambi. There were tables with pastel blue and pink accents, a beautiful reveal box in the center, and a small stage for the announcement. Balloons in soft colors floated gently, and the whole place felt warm, intimate, and full of love. The moment you stepped inside, Yunjin spotted you and came running. She pulled you into a tight hug, careful of your bump.
“Oh my god, you look so beautiful!” she squealed, pulling back to admire your dress. “That bump is perfect and Heeseung you two match so well. This is going to be the best gender reveal ever.”You hugged her back tightly, laughing softly. “Thank you for doing all of this it’s perfect really.”
Heeseung smiled beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You outdid yourself, Yunjin thank you.”Guests started pouring in slowly. Your parents arrived first, your mom tearing up the moment she saw you. She hugged you carefully, then hugged Heeseung like he was already family.“You both look so happy,” she said, eyes shining. “We’re so excited to meet our grandbaby today.” Your dad pulled you into a warm hug, then patted Heeseung on the back. “Take care of my girl, son.”
Close friends and Heeseung’s teammates filled the space Jake, Jay, Beomgyu, and others congratulating you with wide smiles and teasing Heeseung about how whipped he looked. Soobin and Yunjin stayed close, making sure you were comfortable. Soobin brought you a chair when you looked tired, and Yunjin kept checking if you needed water or snacks.
Then Heedo and his fiancée arrived. Heeseung’s older brother walked in with a calm, confident stride, his fiancée beside him looking elegant and kind. The moment Heeseung saw them, his entire face lit up with genuine happiness. He hadn’t expected them especially after the tension with his parents and the surprise showed in his eyes. “Heedo,” Heeseung said, voice warm as he stepped forward to hug his brother. “You came.” Heedo hugged him back, clapping him on the back. “Of course I did ,couldn’t miss this. Congratulations, little brother, you're going to be a dad.”
His fiancée smiled warmly at you, stepping forward to give you a gentle hug. “You look absolutely radiant we’re so happy for both of you.” Heeseung’s happiness was palpable. He stayed close to you, arm around your waist, but you could see how much it meant to him that his brother had shown up. For the first time in a long time, there was no comparison, no pressure just family showing up for him.
The atmosphere was joyful and full of love. Everyone congratulated you and Heeseung, commenting on how cute your bump was and how excited they were to find out if Bambi was a boy or a girl. Heeseung stayed by your side the entire time, hand on your lower back or gently on your belly, looking at you like you were the center of his world.As the party continued, you felt a deep sense of peace.
The gender reveal was about to begin.And no matter what the result was, you knew you had everything you needed Heeseung, Bambi, and the people who loved you.The moment finally arrived. Yunjin stood in the center of the beautifully decorated garden, holding a microphone with a bright, excited smile on her face. The guests had gathered around in a semi circle, the fairy lights twinkling overhead and the soft pastel decorations creating a magical atmosphere. The air was filled with anticipation and joy.
“Alright everyone!” Yunjin called out, her voice bright and clear. “It’s time for the main event! Can we please gather around the couple? Heeseung and our beautiful mama to be are about to find out if they’re having a baby boy or a baby girl!” The crowd moved closer, phones ready to capture the moment. Your parents stood near the front, your mom already tearing up with excitement. Heedo and his fiancée were smiling warmly beside them. Soobin and the rest of your friends formed a supportive circle, while Heeseung’s teammates cheered loudly, clapping and whistling.
Yunjin gestured dramatically as two staff members wheeled out a beautiful, two-tiered cake. It was white with delicate gold accents and small deer figurines on top a perfect tribute to Bambi. The cake sat on a special stand with a hidden compartment inside.Yunjin handed both of you a small silver spoon. “Okay, lovebirds,” she said with a grin. “You’re going to dig into the cake together on my count. If it’s blue inside, it’s a boy and if it’s pink, it’s a girl ready?” You looked at Heeseung, heart pounding with happy nerves. He smiled at you, eyes full of love, and took your hand.“Ready,” he said softly.
Yunjin raised the microphone. “Alright… 3… 2… 1… Dig in!”
You and Heeseung leaned forward together, spoons sinking into the soft cake. The moment the spoons broke through the white frosting, bright pink filling spilled out vibrant, beautiful pink. The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps of delight. Pink poppers went off all around you, showering the air with pink confetti and ribbons. The entire venue lit up with pink lights as everyone celebrated. You and Heeseung were having a baby girl.
The moment you saw the pink, tears filled your eyes. Heeseung’s reaction was immediate, he dropped his spoon and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly as happy tears streamed down his face.“We’re having a girl,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “A baby girl our daughter.”He held you close, one hand on your back and the other gently on your belly, crying softly against your shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice breaking. “Thank you for giving me this for giving us her. I love you so much, I love both of you.”
You hugged him back just as tightly, tears falling freely down your cheeks. The joy was overwhelming pure, unfiltered happiness. The guests cheered louder, clapping and whistling as pink confetti continued to rain down. Yunjin was crying happy tears too, jumping up and down. “A girl! Bambi is a girl!” Your parents rushed forward, hugging both of you. Your mom was sobbing with joy, your dad wiping his eyes as he patted Heeseung on the back. Heeseung didn’t let go of you for a long time. He kept whispering against your hair, “Our daughter, we're having a daughter. I can’t believe it ,I’m the luckiest man alive.”
In that moment, surrounded by love, pink confetti, and the people who mattered most, everything felt perfect. Your little family was growing and it was going to be beautiful.The car ride back to your new apartment was quiet but full of warmth.
The gender reveal party had been magical pink confetti still clung to your hair and clothes, and the joy of knowing you were having a baby girl lingered in the air like a sweet aftertaste. Heeseung drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on your thigh, thumb stroking small circles. Every now and then, he would glance at you with that soft, adoring smile that made your heart feel too big for your chest.When you finally stepped into your new apartment, the feeling was surreal.
The space was still mostly unfurnished, but it already felt like home. The living room had a comfortable couch, a few boxes waiting to be unpacked, and a small corner where you had already started imagining the nursery. The balcony doors were open, letting in the cool night breeze. The moment the door closed behind you, Heeseung stopped in the middle of the room, looking around with tears in his eyes.
“We’re going to have a daughter,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “A little miss morals, a mini version.” You turned to him, smiling through your own happy tears. “Yeah we are.” Heeseung’s eyes filled with fresh tears. He looked so overwhelmed, happy, grateful, a little disbelieving like he still couldn’t quite believe this was his life now. “Can I hug you?” he asked softly, almost shyly, as if he was afraid to ask for too much. You laughed gently, stepping closer. “Why are you even asking me? Of course you can.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in a tight, warm hug. His face buried in your neck, and you felt his shoulders shake as he started crying again soft, happy tears that soaked into your shoulder.
“I’m so lucky I found you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You are my lucky charm, miss morals. From the first day you banged on my door and called me an entitled asshole I never stood a chance. You changed everything and you gave me a reason to be better. You gave me Bambi you gave me this — us. I love you so much I love our daughter so much I can’t believe I get to do this with you.”You held him tighter, one hand rubbing his back while the other rested on the back of his head. Tears slipped down your own cheeks as you listened to him pour his heart out.
“You’re going to be the best dad,” you whispered. “I know it and I’m so happy it’s with you.” Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red but shining with love. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs wiping your tears away. “I’m going to give her the world,” he said, voice thick. “And you too everything you both deserve I promise.” He leaned in and kissed you slow, deep, full of all the love and gratitude he couldn’t put into words. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, hands sliding down to rest on your belly.
“Hey, little one,” he whispered to your bump, voice soft and full of wonder. “It’s Daddy we found out today that you’re a girl. My little miss morals I can’t wait to meet you. I’m going to love you so much your mom and I we’re going to be the best team for you.” You smiled through your tears, placing your hand over his on your belly. The moment felt sacred to the three of you, in your new home, starting this new chapter together. Heeseung kissed your forehead again, then your nose, then your lips. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For choosing me, for choosing us.”
You hugged him again, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The future was still full of unknowns, the scout, his family, the challenges of parenthood but in that moment, wrapped in his arms in your new apartment, everything felt exactly right you were home.
The arena was packed, the air thick with tension and the roar of the crowd. You sat in the stands with Yunjin beside you, your hand resting protectively on your rounded belly. At sevenmonths pregnant, the bump was impossible to hide now, and every time the crowd cheered, you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety twist in your stomach. Today was one of the most important matches of Heeseung’s life a crucial game that could determine whether his team made it to the finals, and with the NBA scout in the audience, the pressure was sky- high.
Yunjin nudged your shoulder, grinning. “You look even more nervous than Heeseung out there. Girl, breathe you’re going to give yourself and Bambi a heart attack.” You let out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t ease the knot in your chest. “How can I be calm? This is huge for him. The scout is watching yhe team is neck and neck with the opponents if they lose this…” You trailed off, eyes fixed on the court. Heeseung was in the middle of it all, sweat dripping from his hair, face focused and determined. The score was tied, and the clock showed only 30 seconds left. The entire arena was on edge, the noise deafening.
Yunjin rubbed your arm gently. “Hey, he’s got this he’s been playing like a beast all season. And even if they don’t win, he’s still going to be okay, you’re here for him, that's what matters.” You nodded, but your heart was racing. Your free hand stayed on your belly, feeling Bambi’s gentle kicks as if the baby could sense your nerves. The final seconds ticked down agonizingly slow.
The opponents had the ball. A quick pass, a shot missed. Heeseung grabbed the rebound, his movements sharp and fast. The crowd erupted. He dribbled down the court, eyes scanning for an opening. With only 5 seconds left on the clock, he drove toward the basket, leaped, and released the ball in a perfect arc.
Time seemed to slow
The ball sailed through the air
It swished cleanly through the net
The buzzer sounded
The arena exploded
Your team had won by one point
You jumped to your feet, tears of relief and joy spilling down your cheeks. Yunjin screamed beside you, hugging you tightly. The crowd was chanting Heeseung’s name as he was swarmed by his teammates on the court. He looked up toward the stands, eyes searching until they found you. Even from a distance, you saw the pure joy and relief on his face.He pointed at you, mouthing “For you” before his teammates pulled him into a group hug. You cried harder, hand on your belly, whispering to Bambi, “Your dad did it, little one he really did it.”
The celebration on the court was chaotic and beautiful. Heeseung eventually broke away from his teammates and jogged over to the sidelines, looking up at you with the brightest smile you had ever seen. Security let you down to the court edge, and the moment you reached him, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off the ground despite your bump. “We did it,” he whispered against your hair, voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” You hugged him back tightly, laughing through your tears. “You were incredible I’m so proud of you.”
He kissed your forehead, then your lips, right there in front of everyone. The crowd cheered louder at the sight heeseung didn’t care. He held you close, one hand on your belly, the other on your back. “Bambi’s dad just won the matcg ,” he said with a watery laugh. “And maybe just maybe the NBA is next.” You smiled up at him, heart full. “Whatever happens, we’ve got this all three of us.” The scout was somewhere in the stands, but in that moment, none of that mattered. Heeseung had won the game, and you had won each other.The future felt brighter than ever.
The team had to stay back for a post game meeting with the coach and the scout, so you, Yunjin, and Soobin decided to grab dinner together. The three of you went to a quiet, cozy restaurant near campus the kind with warm lighting and comfortable booths. Yunjin ordered all your favorite pregnancy safe dishes, making sure nothing was too spicy or heavy. Soobin kept the conversation light, cracking jokes about the game and how Heeseung had looked like a superhero in the final seconds. You tried to laugh along, but your mind kept drifting back to the court, to Heeseung, and to the scout who had been watching him so closely.
After dinner, they dropped you off at your apartment. Yunjin hugged you tightly before you got out of the car. “Text us when Heeseung gets back, okay?” she said. “And try not to stress too much. He played amazingly today.” Soobin gave you a gentle smile from the driver’s seat. “You’ve got this both of you rest up.”You nodded, thanking them, and waved as the car drove off. The moment you stepped inside your apartment, the silence hit you no messages no calls. Your phone screen was empty except for a few notifications from friends congratulating you on the win.
You paced the living room, hand resting on your belly, anxiety gnawing at you. What was the scout going to say? Would Heeseung even get a chance at tryouts, or would he get selected straight away? You would be happy, so happy even if it was just tryouts. He had worked so hard he deserved this.
An hour passed then another thirty minutes. You sat on the couch, knees bouncing, checking your phone every few seconds. The silence was deafening. You imagined the worst, the scout saying Heeseung wasn’t ready, that the loss had hurt his chances, that the pregnancy rumors had reached him. Your heart ached thinking about how devastated Heeseung would be.The apartment door finally opened.You jumped up and ran to the front door, heart pounding.
There stood Heeseung his face looked downcast, shoulders slightly slumped, hair still messy from the game. Your heart dropped. You thought the news was bad. You stepped forward without thinking and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You did great today you played your heart out I’m so proud of you. Whatever the scout said, it doesn’t change that we’ll figure it out together.”
Heeseung stood still for a second, then his arms came around you, holding you close. You felt him exhale shakily against your hair. Then he whispered into your ear, voice breaking with joy “I’m selected.” You pulled back, eyes wide. “What?” Heeseung’s face broke into the brightest, most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Tears glistened in his eyes as he laughed a happy, disbelieving laugh and carefully picked you up, twirling you slowly and gently, mindful of your belly.
“I’m selected,” he repeated, voice thick with emotion. “The scout loved my performance. He said I have real potential, he thinks I have a real shot.” You laughed through happy tears, wrapping your arms around his neck as he held you. “Heeseung I’m so proud of you , you did it you really did it.” He set you down carefully, but kept his arms around you, forehead resting against yours. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispered. “You being there today, cheering for me, believing in me, it gave me strength. I love you, I love you and Bambi so much.” You kissed him, soft and full of joy, tears mixing with your smiles.
The joy in the apartment was palpable, filling every corner of the living room like sunlight breaking through clouds after a long storm. You pulled back from the hug just enough to look up at Heeseung, your hands still pressed against his chest, feeling the rapid, excited thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. His eyes were shining with happy tears that refused to fall, his smile wide and unrestrained, the kind of pure, boyish grin that made your own heart skip.
The news that he had been selected for the NBA felt like a dream you had both whispered about late at night but never fully dared to believe would arrive so soon. Months of grueling practices, early mornings, and late night strategy sessions had finally paid off. “Oh my god,” you said, laughing through your own tears of happiness as you cupped his face. “We should celebrate this properly, should we throw a party? Invite everyone—Yunjin, Soobin, your teammates, your coach, my parents. We could order a ton of food and just let it all out!”
Heeseung chuckled warmly, the sound deep and rich, as he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He shook his head, still smiling that dazzling smile, his thumbs gently brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped your face with both hands, tilting your chin up so your eyes met. “I want to celebrate with you first, baby just us. Let’s go somewhere really nice tomorrow night, a quiet, upscale restaurant with a view, dress pretty for me, please? I want to spoil you a little.”
You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, a shy smile tugging at your lips as butterflies fluttered in your chest alongside the gentle kicks from Bambi. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’d like that alot.” Heeseung leaned in and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a long moment, his lips warm and reverent against your skin. “Good,I’ll make the reservation right now so it’s perfect.” He pulled out his phone briefly, tapping away with one hand while the other stayed firmly on your waist, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.
You both eventually settled back down on the couch, the excitement still buzzing warmly between you like electricity. Heeseung kept one arm wrapped around your shoulders and the other hand resting on your rounded belly, gently rubbing small, soothing circles over the fabric of your shirt. Every so often, he’d pause when he felt a little kick or movement, his eyes lighting up with awe. “Feel that?” he murmured, pressing his palm a bit firmer. “She’s celebrating too our little Bambi is already so strong, just like her mom.”
After a comfortable, contented silence stretched between you broken only by the soft hum of the city outside the window he asked, voice low and thoughtful, “Is there anything left to add in Bambi’s room? Any extra furniture or decor we should get before she arrives? I was thinking maybe that soft cloud shaped night light we saw online, or those blackout curtains with the little stars”
You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder and breathing in the familiar scent of him clean soap mixed with the faint trace of his cologne. Shaking your head, you replied, “We have spent more than enough already, the room is beautiful as it is she is going to love it. You shouldn’t spoil her too much, Heeseung. She’ll have you wrapped around her tiny finger the second she’s born.”
Heeseung grinned, his eyes sparkling with that signature mischief you loved so much. “I can’t guarantee that,” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your bump. “What if she wants the softest blankets, the cutest little outfits in every color, and all the storybooks she could ever dream of? I want her to grow up knowing she’s loved beyond measure, safe and cherished just like her mom makes me feel every single day.”
You laughed softly, the sound light and full of affection, before leaning further into him. Heeseung pulled you closer without hesitation, his strong arms enveloping you as he captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was full of all the love, gratitude, and overwhelming joy he couldn’t quite put into words the taste of salt from happy tears, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, his fingers threading gently through your hair. The kiss lingered, turning tender and unhurried, as if the rest of the world had faded away.
You both stayed like that for a long while, wrapped up in each other on the couch. His hand never left your belly, and you traced lazy patterns on his chest, talking quietly about the future: the tryouts, what it might mean for your little family, the names you’d already picked out as backups, and silly dreams about teaching Bambi basketball one day.
Eventually, the exhaustion of the emotional day caught up with you. Your eyelids grew heavy, and Heeseung noticed immediately. “Time for bed, love,” he whispered, helping you up with careful hands. He guided you to the bedroom, tucking you in gently under the soft sheets, fluffing the pillows just the way you liked them. He changed quickly into comfortable sleep clothes before climbing in beside you, pulling you into his arms once more. One hand rested protectively over your belly, his thumb brushing back and forth in that soothing rhythm, while the other stroked your back.
“Sleep well,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a final kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow night is going to be a good one. Just you and me, celebrating how far we’ve come. I love you both.” You closed your eyes, safe and warm in his embrace, the steady beat of his heart lulling you. A content smile played on your lips as you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of emerald dresses, city lights, and the bright future ahead.
The next morning, you woke up slowly to the soft morning light filtering through the sheer curtains of your new apartment. Golden streaks painted the walls, and the faint scent of last night’s lingering cologne still clung to the pillows. Your hand automatically reached across the bed for Heeseung, fingers seeking the familiar warmth of his body, but the space beside you was empty and already cool to the touch. You sat up carefully, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand, a small frown forming as the realization settled in.
That was unusual.
Heeseung almost never left without waking you without at least a warm kiss pressed to your forehead, a soft murmur of “I’ll be back soon, love,” or the gentle brush of his fingers over your belly. The apartment felt too quiet without the sound of him moving around the kitchen, the low hum of him talking nonsense to Bambi through your skin, or the quiet clink of mugs as he prepared your morning tea. A faint ache of absence bloomed in your chest.
You pushed the blanket aside and carefully swung your legs over the edge of the bed, one hand resting protectively on your rounded seven month bump. The weight of it had become familiar now, a constant, grounding presence. As you walked into the living room, the hardwood cool under your bare feet, you noticed a small white note left on the kitchen counter, weighted down by a glass of water and a plate with a carefully prepared light breakfast two slices of lightly toasted bread, a small portion of sliced fruit ( strawberries and banana, your current favorites ), and a cup of warm ginger tea still faintly steaming. Typical of him. Always thinking of what your stomach could handle these days.
You picked up the note his handwriting was neat and precise, but the message was strangely short.
I’ll come pick you up at 7, get dressed and be ready <3 — Heeseung
That was it. No “I love you.” No “Have a good day, baby.” No explanation about where he had gone so early, or why he had slipped out before the sun had fully risen. You stared at the paper for a long moment, a small knot of nervousness forming low in your chest, just beneath the gentle flutters of Bambi shifting. Heeseung was being weird.
Last night he had been emotional after the selection news soft, overflowing with love, holding you like he never wanted to let go. This morning he had vanished without a word and left nothing but a brief, almost formal instruction. Something about it felt intentional like he was carefully planning something and didn’t want you asking questions that might ruin the surprise.
You sat down at the small dining table and slowly ate the breakfast he had left for you, trying to push down the restless feeling in your stomach. Part of it was the usual pregnancy nerves hormones making everything feel sharper. Part of it was the lingering excitement from yesterday the scout’s call, the selection, the dream that suddenly felt real enough to touch. And part of it was simply Heeseung’s unexplained absence, the quiet that felt too heavy. Throughout the day, the nervous energy only grew.
You tried to keep yourself busy. You organized a few things in the apartment folding the soft blankets that had arrived for Bambi’s room, rearranging the growing stack of tiny onesies and socks your parents had already started sending. You worked a little more on the final sections of your capstone, typing out paragraphs only to reread them three times because your mind kept drifting. Every so often you caught yourself staring at the clock, the quiet of the apartment pressing in.
What was he planning? Why did he leave so early?
Why did the message feel so different from the way he usually spoke to you?
By afternoon, you found yourself checking the time more often than usual.
5:30
6:00
6:30
You stood in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, carefully choosing an outfit. He had said “get dressed and be ready,” and the way the words had been written so deliberately that made you want to look nice for him. You chose a soft, elegant white maternity dress that flowed gently over your curves. The fabric was light and breathable, the neckline modest yet flattering, the skirt draping beautifully around your seven month bump without clinging too tightly. It made you feel pretty, almost bridal in its simplicity. You left your hair in loose waves that framed your face, added a touch of makeup soft pink on your lips, a little mascara and slipped on comfortable white flats.
By 6:50, you were ready and sitting on the edge of the couch, one hand resting on your belly, the other holding your phone. No new messages from him. No calls. The nervousness sat heavier in your chest now, a quiet tightness that made your breathing a little shallower.
What if something is wrong?
What if the scout called him back and the news had changed?
What if he’s pulling away again the way he used to when things felt too good to be true?
You shook the thoughts away and took a slow, deliberate breath, rubbing small circles over your belly where Bambi gave a soft answering kick. “It’s okay, Bambi,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “Daddy’s just being weird today, we'll figure it out together.” At exactly 7:00, there was a soft knock on the door.Your heart jumped hard against your ribs.
You stood up carefully, smoothed the white fabric of your dress over your bump, and walked to the door. When you opened it, Heeseung stood there in a dark, perfectly tailored suit, looking impossibly handsome and a little nervous himself. The soft porch light caught the sharp lines of his jaw and the quiet intensity in his eyes. Those eyes softened the moment they landed on you taking in the white dress, the way it framed your growing belly, the slight uncertainty on your face.
For a second, neither of you spoke.The evening air was cool against your skin. Somewhere down the street a car door closed. The quiet stretched, charged.Then he offered you his hand, palm open, a small, almost shy smile curving his lips.“Ready?” he asked quietly, voice low and warm. You nodded, still unsure what was going on, but you placed your hand in his anyway. His fingers closed around yours, steady and familiar, grounding you instantly. Whatever he had planned you were about to find out.
The restaurant Heeseung had chosen was elegant in a quiet, understated way that felt deliberate rather than showy. Soft golden lighting spilled across crisp white tablecloths, catching the edges of crystal glasses and the gentle curve of silverware. The low murmur of other conversations blended with the distant notes of a piano playing somewhere near the back of the room something classical and unhurried, the kind of music that settled into the background without demanding attention. A single candle flickered between the two of you, its flame steady, casting a warm, shifting glow across the small table and the space between your hands.
Heeseung pulled out your chair with careful hands and waited until you were fully settled before taking his own seat across from you. Throughout the dinner he kept looking at you not the quick glances of someone checking in, but long, quiet looks that lingered. His eyes were soft, full of that particular kind of overwhelming love that always made something tighten in your chest, as if your heart had momentarily forgotten how to beat properly. Every time you caught him staring, a small, almost shy smile would tug at the corner of his lips before he looked down at his plate again, as though the intensity of his own feelings had caught him off guard.
But he was also fidgeting.
His fingers kept tapping lightly against the side of his water glass in an uneven rhythm. He adjusted the cuff of his dark suit jacket more than once, smoothing fabric that didn’t need smoothing. At one point he reached across the table and took your hand, holding it for several long seconds, his thumb brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that felt almost reverent then he let go again, as if the contact itself had become too much to hold onto all at once.
You tilted your head, watching him carefully over the soft candlelight.“Is something wrong?” you asked, voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond your table. Heeseung looked up, momentarily startled, then shook his head with a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite erase the nervous energy still humming around him. “No,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong i just… like looking at you that’s all.”
He tried to shrug it off, but the restless edge never fully left him. Still, the conversation between you stayed warm and easy. You talked about the quiet of the apartment that morning without him, about the way Bambi had been especially active after lunch, rolling and stretching in small, determined movements that made the fabric of your white dress shift. He asked how your back felt after the long day, whether the ginger tea he’d left had settled your stomach. At one point his voice softened further as he looked at you over the rim of his glass.
“We’ve come a long way,” he said quietly. “From everything that used to feel uncertain to this to you to her.” His gaze dropped briefly to your belly before returning to your face. “I don’t think I ever really believed we’d get here this soon.” You smiled, the words settling warmly beneath your ribs. “Yes,” you answered. “We did and we’re still going further.”
The rest of the dinner passed in a gentle haze of soft conversation, shared smiles, and the quiet pleasure of simply being near each other. When the check was paid, Heeseung stood and offered you his hand. His palm was slightly warmer than usual against yours as he guided you back through the restaurant and out to the car waiting under the soft streetlights.
The drive home was quiet in the best way. He kept one hand steady on the steering wheel and the other loosely holding yours across the center console, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over your knuckles. Every so often he would glance sideways at you, that same soft, almost nervous expression still present on his face as if something important was waiting just ahead and he was trying not to let it show too early. The city lights slid past the windows in long, blurred streaks of gold and white. Outside, the night felt calm. Inside the car, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken.
When you finally reached the apartment building and stepped out of the elevator onto your floor, Heeseung walked slightly ahead of you. He unlocked the door with careful fingers, then turned and gently took your hand again, his grip light but certain. “Close your eyes for a second,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper you did.
He guided you carefully inside, one hand at the small of your back to steady you, the other still holding yours. The soft click of the door closing behind you sealed the quiet of the hallway away. For a moment there was only the sound of your breathing and the faint, sweet scent of flowers already beginning to fill the air. When he whispered, “Okay you can open them,” you slowly lifted your lids. The apartment had been transformed.
Fairy lights were strung carefully across the ceiling and along the walls in soft, deliberate lines, casting a gentle glow that made everything look warmer, softer, almost dreamlike. Flower petals soft white mixed with the palest pink were scattered across the floor in a gentle path that began right at the entrance and curved forward, inviting. The air smelled faintly of fresh blooms and something warmer underneath, familiar and comforting, like the scent of home itself made sharper by the care that had gone into arranging it.
Your breath caught in your throat. Heeseung didn’t say anything at first. He simply took your hand more firmly and began leading you along the trail of petals. They guided you through the living room, past the couch where you had fallen asleep in his arms the night before, and down the short hallway until they stopped right in front of Bambi’s nursery door.He opened it slowly.
Inside, the nursery glowed with the same soft fairy lights, their warm light reflecting off the pale walls and the carefully arranged furniture. More petals were scattered across the wooden floor in a loose circle near the center of the room. A few small candles safely placed on the low shelves, away from anything that could catch flickered gently, their flames steady and calm. The room looked even more beautiful than usual quiet, peaceful, full of quiet promise. Everything about it felt intentional, as if the space itself had been holding its breath for this moment.
Heeseung led you to the middle of the room, where the petals were thickest. Then, still holding your hand, he slowly lowered himself onto one knee.
Heeseung stayed on one knee in the middle of the softly lit nursery, his hand still holding yours as if it were the only solid thing keeping him steady. The fairy lights cast a gentle, golden glow over his face, catching the faint sheen of moisture already gathering in his eyes. For a long moment he simply looked up at you really looked taking in every detail as though he needed to memorize the exact shape of this second before he spoke. His chest rose and fell with a careful breath. The quiet of the room pressed in around you both, broken only by the soft crackle of the candles and the distant city hum beyond the windows.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and a little unsteady, rough at the edges with emotion he no longer tried to hide.
“I love you,” he said, the words coming out like a confession he had been carrying for years. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone more than basketball more than any dream I used to chase alone. I want to spend the rest of my life with you— not just the good days, not just the easy ones. I want every morning when your hair is messy and you’re half asleep. I want every hard day when you’re tired and scared and need someone to hold you up. I want every quiet night when the world feels too loud and the only thing that settles it is the sound of your breathing next to mine. I want to be the person you lean on without thinking twice. The one who holds you when things feel too heavy. The one who never, ever lets you face anything alone.”
He swallowed hard, his eyes already glistening. A single tear slipped free and traced a slow path down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away.
“When I first met you, you were just miss morals to me. The girl next door who kept yelling at me to turn the music down. The one who rolled her eyes every time I opened my mouth and looked at me like I was the last person on earth she wanted to share a hallway with. I thought you hated me and maybe part of you did. I was loud and careless and full of myself, and you saw straight through it. But somewhere along the way you became everything. You became the first thought when I wake up and the last one before I sleep. You became the person I want to come home to, the person whose laugh I want to hear when everything else feels wrong. You became the love of my life — the only one I want to build a future with.”
His thumb brushed gently over the back of your hand, trembling slightly. Another tear followed the first.
“Today it reminds me of the first time I asked you to marry me. Right after we found out you were pregnant. I was scared and hopeful and so sure that marrying you was the right thing to do because I already loved you more than I knew how to say. And you turned me down. You said marriage needed more than just a baby. You said it needed love and trust and knowing each other all the way through. You were right I didn’t understand it then the way I do now. I thought love was enough if it was loud and certain. But you taught me that real love is quieter. It’s choosing someone every single day, even when it’s hard. It’s growing together instead of just holding on.”
He let out a soft, shaky breath, the sound almost a sob. More tears fell freely now, catching the fairy lights like tiny stars on his skin.
“I promise you I’ll take care of Bambi. I’ll strive every single day to be a better father and a better husband — not perfect, just better. I want her to grow up seeing how much I love her mother. I want her to know that she was wanted from the very first moment, that she was chosen, that she has two parents who will fight for her and for each other no matter what comes. I want our family to be real not because we have to stay, but because we choose each other over and over again. I want her to see what it looks like when someone loves another person so completely that even the hard days feel like home.”
He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small velvet ring box. His fingers trembled as he opened it, revealing a simple, elegant ring that caught the soft light of the fairy lights and held it. The band was delicate, the stone modest but clear, chosen with care rather than extravagance.He looked up at you, tears fully in his eyes now, voice barely holding together. “Will you marry me? Will you let me spend the rest of my life learning how to love you better every day?”
Your own tears had already started falling, warm and steady against your cheeks. Your free hand covered your mouth as a soft, watery laugh escaped you half joy, half the overwhelming weight of everything you had survived together. For a second you couldn’t speak. The fear, the growth, the nights you almost walked away, the mornings you chose to stay all of it settled in your chest at once, heavy and bright. Then you nodded, voice breaking into a whisper that still managed to fill the room.
“YESSSSS Yes, I will.” ( FUCKKK YEAHHH, bawling as im editing this )
Heeseung’s face broke into the most beautiful, relieved smile you had ever seen wide and open and shining through the tears. He carefully took your hand and slid the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and reverent, as if he were afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too quickly. The metal settled against your skin, cool at first, then warming with your pulse. The moment it was in place, he rose to his feet and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply soft at first, tasting of salt and joy, then fuller, pouring every unsaid promise into the press of his mouth against yours. His hands cradled your face, then slid down to rest over your belly, holding both of you as if the three of you had always belonged in this exact space.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you still crying and smiling, breath mingling in the quiet.
In the soft glow of the fairy lights, with white and pink petals scattered like quiet confessions across the nursery floor and the steady, living presence of your daughter moving gently between you, the years that had once felt uncertain suddenly folded into something whole. All the almosts and the nearlys and the nights you both almost gave up became the foundation of this one perfect yes. You could feel it in the way his arms held you — not as if he was afraid you might leave, but as if he finally understood that you never would. And in that small, glowing room, with the future already breathing softly against your heart, it felt less like the start of a marriage and more like the quiet, inevitable homecoming of two people who had been walking toward each other the entire time.
summary | in which you are desperately in need of male models for a runway, your friends come to the rescue, only for them to choose the WORST options possible
themes | enemies to lovers, love triangle, fashion au
CW | cussing, good girl jokes, daddy jokes, jealousy (kinda?)
a/n: sorry i took so long to post this ya girl went camping 😋
pairing✧˖°. roomatesbsf!sunghoon x (f) reader (part 1 here)
synopsis✧˖°. after losing everything in high school, y/n starts college with walls built so high she can barely see over them. enter park sunghoon: her roommate's childhood friend who is frustratingly kind, impossibly patient, and determined to show her that love isn't supposed to hurt. a slow burn story about healing, late night convenience store runs, and learning that being someone's first choice isn't something you have to earn.
contains✧˖°. references to past friendship betrayal/heartbreak (from part 1) ; panic attack scene ; themes of abandonment and feeling unlovable ; low self esteem and anxiety ; eventual happy ending ; wc: 5.4k
notes✧˖°. i hope you guys like this part 2!! bro if i could get an ending like this irl, i would CRYYYYY. sigh when will it be my turn... if you like my stories, and want to see something specific, PLEASE send an ask!!
you don't remember the exact moment you decided that love was something that existed for other people.
maybe it was when you stopped checking your phone for messages that never came. maybe it was the hundredth time you walked past the canes on campus and felt something sharp in your chest. maybe it was just the slow realization that you had spent so long loving people who never chose you back that you forgot what it felt like to be chosen at all.
whatever it was, by the time you moved into your dorm room sophomore year, you had become very good at being alone.
you had your routine down. classes, library, coffee from the place on third that always burnt their espresso just a little, bed by midnight.
you didn't join clubs. you didn't go to parties. you kept your head down and your heart guarded and you told yourself you were fine.
you were fine.
you were fine until your roommate sooyeon came home one tuesday with a boy trailing behind her, carrying a box of textbooks that looked too heavy for his frame.
"y/n!" she called out, kicking the door shut with her foot. "this is sunghoon. he's my childhood friend from vancouver, he's transferring in this semester."
you looked up from your laptop.
the boy standing in your doorway was tall in a way that seemed almost unfair, all long limbs and elegant posture. he had the kind of face that belonged in a magazine, sharp and ethereal and slightly intimidating. he was looking at you with dark, serious eyes that softened almost immediately when you made eye contact.
"hi," you said, closing your laptop.
"hi," he said back. his voice was gentle, unexpectedly soft for someone who looked like he should be scowling on a runway somewhere. "i'm sunghoon."
"y/n," you said.
"she's quiet," sooyeon said, dropping her bag on her bed. "but she's the best roommate ever. doesn't snore, doesn't steal my food, doesn't bring weird guys over."
"sounds perfect," sunghoon said, and there was something in his tone that made your cheeks warm.
you looked away quickly, opening your laptop again. "i'm going to the library."
"it's eight pm," sooyeon said.
"i have a paper."
you didn't have a paper. you just needed to get out of the room before your heart did something stupid like start hoping.
you had learned your lesson about hoping.
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the problem with park sunghoon was that he didn't go away.
you expected him to be a one time thing, a childhood friend who helped sooyeon move some boxes and then vanished into the vast ocean of campus life. but he kept appearing.
first it was the coffee shop on third. you were waiting for your burnt espresso when someone stepped up beside you and you looked over to see him there, wearing a black turtleneck that made him look like he belonged in an art museum.
"hey," he said.
"hey," you said back.
"sooyeon told me you come here every morning."
"she did?"
"she tells me everything," he said, and then smiled. it was a small smile, careful and sincere. "she's worried about you. she says you don't have any friends here."
you felt your defenses rise immediately, sharp and automatic. "i have friends."
"really?"
"yes."
"when's the last time you hung out with them?"
you opened your mouth to answer and then realized you couldn't. your high school friends were gone, scattered by time and betrayal and your own inability to hold onto them. ava had stopped texting back. mia and jungwon were a closed chapter you couldn't bear to open.
"i'm fine," you said instead.
"i didn't say you weren't," sunghoon replied, stepping forward to order when the barista called next. "but if you ever want to not be fine with someone else, sooyeon and i are getting dinner tonight. you should come."
he didn't push. he didn't try to convince you. he just paid for his coffee, gave you one last look that felt like he could see straight through every wall you had built, and walked away.
you didn't go to dinner.
but you thought about it.
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he kept inviting you.
that was the thing that confused you the most. every time you saw him, which was somehow becoming more frequent despite your best efforts to avoid him, he would find some reason to extend an invitation.
"we're getting boba after class."
"sooyeon found this new study spot."
"i'm making ramen at our place, i always make too much."
you said no every time. you said no because you were busy, because you were tired, because you had learned that the only way to keep your heart safe was to keep it far away from anyone who might break it.
but sunghoon just kept smiling and saying "maybe next time" like he genuinely believed there would be a next time.
"why does he keep asking?" you asked sooyeon one night, staring at the ceiling from your bed.
"who? sunghoon?"
"yeah. i keep saying no."
sooyeon was quiet for a moment. "can i be honest with you?"
"no."
she laughed. "too bad. sunghoon is... he's careful with people. he doesn't open up easily. but he told me he thinks you're sad, and he doesn't like seeing sad people be alone."
your chest tightened. "i'm not sad."
"y/n," sooyeon said softly. "you're the saddest person i've ever met. and i don't mean that in a bad way. i just mean... you carry it really well, but you don't have to carry it alone."
you rolled over to face the wall so she couldn't see your face. "i'm fine."
"okay," she said. "but if you ever want to not be fine, sunghoon makes really good kimchi fried rice. just saying."
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the first time you said yes was a tuesday in october.
you had spent the morning in a lecture hall that smelled like wet carpet, listening to a professor drone on about theories you didn't care about, and when you walked out into the gray afternoon you felt so heavy you could barely breathe.
your phone buzzed.
sunghoon
convenience store run. i'm buying. you in?
you stared at the message for a long time. you thought about your empty dorm room, the silence that would greet you when you got back, the way your own thoughts got louder when there was no one else around to drown them out.
you
okay.
he replied immediately: really?
you
don't make me change my mind.
sunghoon
too late. i'm already outside your building.
you looked out the window and there he was, standing on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking up at your floor like he knew exactly where to find you.
your heart did something dangerous.
you grabbed your jacket and ran downstairs.
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"you're different than i expected," sunghoon said, handing you a strawberry milk from the convenience store cooler.
"what did you expect?"
"someone colder."
you took the milk and didn't know what to say to that. you had spent so long building walls that you forgot people could still see over them.
"i'm not cold," you said finally. "i'm just... careful."
"i get that," he said, selecting a banana milk for himself. "can i tell you something?"
"no."
he smiled. "i'm going to anyway. when i first moved to vancouver, i didn't speak any english. i was so scared of saying something wrong that i didn't say anything at all for like, three months. my mom thought i was broken."
"were you?"
"maybe a little," he admitted. "but mostly i was just trying to protect myself. i thought if i didn't say anything, no one could make fun of how i said it."
he paid for the drinks and handed you yours, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. you pulled back like you'd been burned.
"what changed?" you asked.
sunghoon held the door open for you, waiting until you were both outside in the crisp autumn air before answering.
"i met sooyeon. she didn't care that my english was bad. she just kept talking to me until i talked back." he took a sip of his milk. "sometimes the right people make it safe to stop protecting yourself so much."
you looked down at your strawberry milk, at the way your hands were wrapped around the bottle like it was something precious.
"i don't think i'm very good at letting people in," you admitted quietly.
"that's okay," sunghoon said. "i'm very patient."
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the second time you hung out was his fault too.
you were in the library until midnight, hunched over a textbook that was starting to blur together, when someone slid into the chair across from you and you looked up to find sunghoon there with two cups of coffee.
"you look like you need this," he said, pushing one toward you.
"how did you know i was here?"
"sooyeon has a very big mouth."
you took the coffee. it was from the good place, not the burnt espresso place, and it was exactly how you liked it.
"you didn't have to do this," you said.
"i know," he said, opening his own laptop. "i'm not doing it because i have to. i'm doing it because i want to."
"why?"
he looked at you then, really looked at you, and you felt seen in a way that made you want to run away and stay exactly where you were all at once.
"because you always look like you're waiting for everyone to leave," he said softly. "and i don't want to be another person who leaves."
your throat tightened. "people always leave."
"not everyone."
"most people."
sunghoon was quiet for a moment, then he reached across the table and tapped your textbook. "what are you studying?"
you let him change the subject because it was easier than explaining that you had already lost everyone you ever loved, that your heart was held together with tape and denial, that you didn't know how to believe in forever anymore.
"psychology," you said.
"trying to figure yourself out?"
"trying to figure out why people do the things they do."
"like what?"
"like..." you paused, staring at the coffee cup. "like how you can know someone for years and they can still surprise you by being cruel. or how you can love someone and they can still choose someone else."
sunghoon's expression shifted, something careful and knowing in his eyes. "you're talking about your friends. from high school."
your head snapped up. "sooyeon told you?"
"she mentioned it. not the details, just that something happened. that you lost people you trusted."
you looked down at your hands. "i don't really talk about it."
"you don't have to," he said quickly. "i just want you to know that you can. if you ever want to."
you didn't say anything. but you didn't get up and leave either, and sunghoon seemed to take that as a victory because he opened his laptop and started working on his own assignments, sitting across from you in comfortable silence until the library closed.
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november came with cold rain and shorter days.
you started expecting him.
that was the dangerous part. you started looking for him in the coffee shop, listening for his voice in the hallway, feeling disappointed when you opened your phone and there were no messages from him.
you were falling into old patterns, and you knew it, but you couldn't seem to stop yourself.
"you like him," sooyeon said one night, grinning at you from her bed.
"shut up."
"you do! you light up when he texts you."
"i don't light up."
"y/n, you literally smiled at your phone yesterday when he sent you a picture of a cat."
"it was a cute cat."
"the cat was ugly."
you threw your pillow at her.
but she wasn't wrong, and that was the problem. you were starting to feel things again, starting to hope again, and every instinct you had was screaming at you to run before you got hurt.
the thing about park sunghoon was that he made it hard to run.
he remembered everything. he remembered that you hated mushrooms but loved bell peppers. he remembered that you preferred cold weather to hot. he remembered that you got quiet when you were upset and that you laughed with your whole body when something was actually funny.
he remembered that you had been hurt, and he was so careful with you because of it.
"you're too nice to me," you told him one night in december.
you were walking back from a late dinner, your shoulders brushing as you navigated the icy sidewalks, and he was carrying your bag because he insisted it was too heavy for you even though you had carried it yourself a thousand times before.
"i'm not being nice," he said. "i'm being normal. you just haven't had enough normal to recognize it."
you stopped walking. he took two more steps before realizing and turning back to look at you.
"sunghoon," you said, and your voice was smaller than you wanted it to be. "why are you doing this?"
"doing what?"
"this. all of this. the coffee and the dinners and the walking me home and the remembering things. why are you doing all of this for me?"
he looked at you for a long moment, snow starting to fall around you, and you saw something vulnerable in his expression that mirrored your own.
"because you look at me like you're waiting for me to disappoint you," he said quietly. "and i keep hoping that if i don't, maybe you'll start looking at me like i won't."
your heart cracked open.
"sunghoon..."
"i know you're scared," he said, stepping closer. "i know you think everyone leaves eventually. and maybe i'm being presumptuous, assuming i could be different. but y/n, i want to be different. i want to be someone who stays."
you felt tears prick at your eyes and you hated yourself for it. "you don't even know me."
"i know enough," he said.
"i know you take your coffee with two sugars. i know you get quiet when you're sad instead of loud. i know you pretend you don't care about things because caring has hurt you before." he reached out, hesitated, then gently brushed a snowflake from your hair.
"i know you're worth knowing more. if you'll let me."
you stood there in the snow, looking at this boy who had somehow found his way past every defense you had built, and you felt terrified and hopeful and alive in a way you hadn't felt in years.
"okay," you whispered.
"okay?"
"okay," you said again, stronger this time. "you can... you can try. to know me more."
his smile was worth every risk you were taking.
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january brought a new semester and a new routine that included sunghoon in all the spaces he had been missing before.
he walked you to class. he saved you a seat in the dining hall. he texted you good morning every day without fail, not because he had to, but because he wanted to be the first person you heard from.
you started to believe him.
that was the terrifying part. you started to actually believe that maybe, possibly, he meant what he said. that he wasn't going to vanish. that he wasn't going to wake up one day and realize you weren't worth the effort.
"you're different," sooyeon observed one night when sunghoon had walked you home and you were lying in bed with your heart still beating too fast.
"what do you mean?"
"you smile more. you actually leave the room. you don't look like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop all the time."
"i'm still waiting," you admitted. "i'm just... trying not to."
sooyeon was quiet for a moment. "he really likes you, you know."
"he likes me as a friend."
"no," sooyeon said, and there was something knowing in her voice. "he likes you as more. he's just waiting for you to be ready to hear it."
you rolled over to face the wall, your heart hammering against your ribs. "i'm not ready."
"okay," sooyeon said softly. "but when you are, he's going to be there. that boy has been crazy about you since the day he met you."
you closed your eyes and tried not to hope too hard.
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
the panic attack happened in february.
you had been doing so well. you had gone two whole months without thinking about jungwon or mia or the caniac combo or any of the ghosts that still haunted your late nights. you had started to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were healing.
and then you saw them.
you were at the mall with sooyeon and sunghoon, wandering through the crowds while sooyeon looked for a birthday gift for her sister, when you turned a corner and there they were.
jungwon and mia.
they were holding hands. they were laughing at something on her phone. they looked happy in a way that made your chest constrict with something sharp and bitter and old.
you stopped walking.
sooyeon kept going, chattering about something, but sunghoon noticed. he always noticed.
"y/n?" he asked, following your gaze.
you couldn't breathe. you couldn't move. you were suddenly back in high school, back in that bathroom stall crying until your throat was raw, back in that moment when you realized you had lost everything.
"hey," sunghoon said, stepping in front of you, blocking your view. "hey, look at me."
you couldn't. your vision was tunneling, your hands were shaking, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears like a drum.
"breathe," sunghoon said, and his voice was calm and steady and right there. "you're okay. you're safe. just breathe with me."
he took your hands in his, grounding you with the warmth of his skin against yours.
"in," he said, breathing in slowly. "and out."
you tried to follow him, tried to match your breathing to his, but your chest felt too tight, like there was a weight pressing down on you that you couldn't shake.
"in," he said again, and his thumbs were rubbing circles into your palms, gentle and rhythmic. "and out. i've got you. i'm right here."
sooyeon had noticed now, had come back to stand beside you, but sunghoon didn't move. he stayed right there, holding your hands, breathing with you, until slowly, slowly, the panic started to recede.
"there you go," he said softly. "that's it. you're doing great."
your vision cleared. you could breathe again. you realized you were crying, tears streaming down your face in the middle of the mall, and you felt mortified.
"sorry," you choked out, trying to pull your hands away. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry..."
"don't apologize," sunghoon said, not letting go. "don't you dare apologize. you didn't do anything wrong."
"i ruined our day," you said, your voice breaking. "i'm so embarrassing..."
"you're not embarrassing," he said firmly. "you're human. and you had a human moment. that's allowed."
you looked up at him then, at this boy who had seen you at your most vulnerable and was still standing there holding your hands like you were something precious, and you broke.
"i loved him," you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "jungwon. i loved him for years, and he chose her. my best friend. they both knew how i felt and they chose each other anyway. and i lost everything. everyone. they all left me."
sunghoon's expression softened into something unbearably gentle.
"come here," he said, and he pulled you into his arms right there in the middle of the mall, holding you against his chest while you cried.
you buried your face in his sweater and sobbed, all the grief you had been carrying for years finally spilling out. you cried for jungwon, for mia, for ava, for the person you used to be before you learned that love was something that could be taken away.
sunghoon just held you. he didn't tell you to stop crying. he didn't tell you it wasn't that bad. he just held you and let you feel everything you had been trying not to feel.
when you finally stopped, when your breathing evened out and the tears slowed, he pulled back just enough to look at your face.
"they were stupid," he said quietly. "whoever they were, they were so stupid. because you..." he reached up, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "you are the kind of person people should fight to keep. not leave."
you shook your head. "i'm not. i'm too much. i'm too sensitive, too anxious, too..."
"too human?" he finished. "y/n, you're not too much. you were just loved by people who didn't have enough capacity to hold all of you."
your breath caught.
"you think you're unlovable because they couldn't love you right," sunghoon continued, his voice gentle but sure. "but that was about them, not you. you were always worthy of being chosen. they just weren't brave enough to choose you."
you stared at him, this boy who had somehow seen straight to the core of every fear you had, and you realized with startling clarity that you were falling in love with him.
"how do you know?" you whispered.
"because i'm looking at you right now," he said, "and i see everything. i see how hard you try, how much you care, how deeply you love even after being hurt. and i think..." he paused, his own voice getting unsteady. "i think i would be the luckiest person in the world if you ever looked at me the way you used to look at him. because i would never make you feel like you were waiting for me to leave. i would stay. i would choose you, every single time."
your heart stopped.
"sunghoon..."
"i know you're not ready," he said quickly. "i know you need time, and that's okay. i'll wait. i'll wait as long as you need me to. but i couldn't stand there and watch you think you were unlovable for one more second, because it's not true. it's never been true."
you reached for him then, your hands finding the front of his sweater, and you pulled him down until your forehead rested against his.
"thank you," you whispered. "for not leaving."
"never," he promised. "i'm not going anywhere."
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
the weeks after the panic attack were tender in a way you didn't know how to handle.
sunghoon didn't push. he didn't expect anything from you. he just kept showing up, kept being kind, kept proving with every action that he meant what he said about staying.
but something had shifted between you.
you started letting him in more. you told him about the caniac combo, about the late nights and the inside jokes and the way it had all fallen apart. you told him about mia, about jungwon, about the way you had learned to make yourself smaller so you wouldn't be too much for people.
and he listened. he listened like your words mattered, like your pain was real, like you were worth the time it took to understand.
"can i ask you something?" he said one night in march.
you were sitting on the roof of his apartment building, your legs dangling over the edge, sharing a blanket because the spring air still had a bite to it.
"okay."
"do you think you'll ever be ready?"
you knew what he was asking. you had been asking yourself the same question for weeks, ever since the mall, ever since he had held you while you cried and told you that you were worth choosing.
"i think..." you started, then stopped. you took a breath and tried again. "i think i'm scared that if i let myself love you, you'll leave too. and i don't think i could survive losing someone again."
sunghoon was quiet for a long moment. then he reached over and took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.
"what if i promised?" he asked. "what if i promised that i'm not going anywhere? would you believe me?"
"people break promises."
"i know," he said. "but i'm asking you to trust me anyway. i'm asking you to let me prove that i'm different."
you looked at your joined hands, at the way his thumb was tracing slow patterns against your skin, and you thought about how safe you felt with him. how seen. how loved, even though he had never said the words.
"i believe you," you whispered. "i'm scared, but i believe you."
he turned to look at you then, his eyes dark and soft and full of something that made your heart ache with hope.
"can i kiss you?" he asked.
your breath caught. "yes."
he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and when his lips finally touched yours it was gentle and sweet and exactly what you had been waiting for without knowing you were waiting.
he kissed you like you were something precious. he kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it. he kissed you like he meant every promise he had ever made.
when you pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling in a way that made your chest feel too full.
"hi," he whispered.
you laughed, breathless and giddy. "hi."
"is this okay?"
"this is perfect," you said, and you meant it.
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
april was for learning each other.
you learned that sunghoon was ticklish behind his knees. you learned that he hummed when he cooked and that he was terrible at making decisions before noon. you learned that he kept every photo you sent him, even the blurry ones, even the ones where you thought you looked bad.
he learned that you liked being the little spoon but would never admit it. he learned that you got cranky when you were hungry and that your love language was acts of service, even though you would never ask for help out loud. he learned that you still had nightmares sometimes about being left behind, and he learned how to hold you through them until morning came.
"you're easy to love," he told you one morning, tracing patterns on your back while you lay in bed together.
"no i'm not," you said, your voice muffled against his chest.
"you are," he insisted. "you're easy to love because you love so hard. you just needed someone who could match that."
you lifted your head to look at him. "is that what you're doing? matching me?"
"i'm trying," he said, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "i want to love you in all the ways you deserve. i want to be someone who makes you feel safe."
you felt tears prick at your eyes, but this time they were happy tears. "you already are."
he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, soft and lingering.
"i love you," he said, the words falling easily between you like they had always belonged there. "i know it's soon, and i know you're still scared, but i love you. and i'm going to keep loving you for as long as you'll let me."
your heart felt like it might burst.
"i love you too," you whispered. "i'm scared, but i love you. i love you so much."
his smile was the sun coming up.
"that's all i need," he said. "your love and your trust. i'll earn both every day for the rest of my life if i have to."
"you don't have to earn it," you said, realizing it was true. "you already have it. you've had it for a while now."
he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair, and you held him back with everything you had.
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
may brought warmer weather and the end of the semester.
you were sitting on the quad with sunghoon, watching students bustle past with coffee and textbooks, when your phone buzzed.
you looked down and felt your stomach drop.
it was a text from a number you didn't recognize, but the message made it clear who it was from.
hey, it's mia. i know you probably don't want to hear from me, but i'm sorry. for everything. i hope you're doing well.
you stared at the screen for a long moment, feeling old wounds ache with phantom pain.
"everything okay?" sunghoon asked.
you showed him the phone. he read the message, his expression unreadable.
"what do you want to do?" he asked.
you thought about it. you thought about the years of hurt, the bathroom crying, the slow healing that had brought you to this moment with this boy who loved you right.
"i think," you said slowly, "i think i'm going to say thank you."
"thank you?"
"yeah," you said, typing out a response. "because if she hadn't hurt me, i wouldn't have ended up here. with you. learning what real love feels like."
you hit send before you could second guess yourself.
thank you for the apology. i'm happy now. i hope you are too.
you put your phone away and turned to look at sunghoon, at this beautiful boy who had chosen you every single day since the moment you met.
"you know what the worst part was?" you said. "feeling like i was unlovable. like there was something wrong with me that made everyone leave."
"and now?"
you smiled, taking his hand in yours. "now i know that wasn't true. i just needed to find someone who knew how to stay."
he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
"i'm not going anywhere," he promised, like he had a hundred times before, like he would a thousand times more.
"i know," you said, and for the first time in years, you actually believed it.
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
the first time you brought him home to meet your parents, your mom pulled you aside in the kitchen.
"he's different," she said.
"what do you mean?"
"he looks at you like you're the only person in the room," she said, smiling. "like you're something precious. i've never seen anyone look at you like that before."
you felt your heart swell with something warm and bright. "he's the best person i know, mom."
"i can tell," she said, squeezing your hand. "he's a keeper, that one."
you looked through the doorway at sunghoon, who was helping your dad set the table and looking completely at ease despite your dad's terrible jokes.
"yeah," you said softly. "he is."
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
the night before summer break, you and sunghoon were lying on the roof of his apartment building again, looking up at the stars.
"are you going to miss me?" you asked, tracing patterns on his chest.
"every second," he said. "but it's only two months. and then we're back here, together, for another whole year."
"and after that?"
"and after that," he said, turning his head to look at you, "however long you want. forever, if you'll let me."
you propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him in the moonlight. "you really mean that?"
"i really mean that," he said, reaching up to cup your face. "you're it for me, y/n. you're my person. i knew it the first time i saw you, sitting on your bed with your laptop, trying so hard to convince everyone you didn't need anyone."
"i didn't need anyone," you said, smiling.
"and now?"
"now i need you," you admitted. "but not in a desperate way. in a... you make my life better way. in a i choose you every day way."
his eyes went soft and fond. "that's all i've ever wanted. to be chosen by you."
you leaned down and kissed him, slow and sweet and full of everything you had learned to feel again.
love wasn't supposed to hurt. that was the lesson sunghoon had taught you. love was supposed to feel like safety, like home, like someone seeing all your broken pieces and deciding to stay anyway.
"thank you," you whispered against his lips. "for teaching me how to be loved."
"thank you," he whispered back. "for letting me."
you lay back down against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and you thought about how far you had come. from the girl crying in a bathroom stall, convinced she was unlovable, to this: lying under the stars with a boy who looked at you like you were the whole universe.
you were chosen.
you were loved.
and for the first time in your life, you actually believed you deserved it.
⋆˚✿˖°
an✧˖°. feedback is always welcome, as well as reblogs!! i hope this wrapped up the first part well LOL. be on the lookout for a plug!jay fic coming ur way along with (HOPEFULLY) a jake and seonghyeon fic!!!
── It’s not part of the leader's job description that you had to accompany the youngest member to lose her virginity in her boyfriend’s dormitory. Clearly, you didn’t sign up for this, but you’re not going to let the youngest walk into a boy’s dorm alone either. So for the upcoming rumors this night might spark; you just hope that her boyfriend’s dick game would be good.
Unfortunately, you’re not the only one who’s babysitting their hornball youngest, and fortunately, it seems like your co-member wasn’t the only one who’s going to get dicked tonight.
Idol! Heeseung x Idol! Reader
word count: 9.6k
listen to: secrets by the weeknd, if walls could talk by 5sos, heaven and back by chase atlantic, acquainted by the weeknd.
tags: smut, porn with little plot, attempt humor, a bit of fluff, one night stand, kinda strangers to something, unnamed characters, kinda manhater! Reader, inexperienced but not a virgin! Reader, Heeseung’s still in enhypen (ouch), Riki being a menace, Heeseung is on babysitting duty too, fictional group and name. Usage of korean words for formality.
cw: smut, porn with little plot, p in v sex, softdom! Heeseung x sub! Reader, service dom! Heeseung, protected sex (yay!) oral (f receiving), fingering multiple orgasms, hair pulling, make-out, dry humping, praise, petnames, subspace, squirting, #evanmonstercock. I might have forgotten other tags though.
Asul’s note: this has been in my gdocs drafts since february, abandoned it, and then…. March 10 happened LMAOOOO i was thinking whether to abandoned this completely or change heeseung’s character but fuck it, this is fiction so let me live. Also I revised this with a hangover, so inaccuracies, grammars and shits are really off. Not proofread, shitty smut ahead, but oh well, enjoy.
But you were their choice. You were the oldest. The trainee with the longest training period. The ace, all-rounder — you name it. You’re that mysterious trainee who had garnered quite a popularity during your pre-debut days. Appearing in your senior’s music video and modelling for brands gave you exposure. It made everyone anticipate your debut and you actually have been preparing for a debut — they just needed the right members for you.
As soon as you debuted in a six-member group, you immediately carried the weight of being the leader and center of the group. It was a responsibility that was given to you without a second thought.
There was pressure, of course. You have to guide your members in music shows, interviews, and variety shows, give them advice and such, and be that someone who they can lean on. The good thing was, the adjustment felt natural, given that you’ve been taking care of them during your trainee days.
Your members looked up to you. You’re the eldest member. Their loving and caring sister who listened to their worries. The one who gives them advice whether it be improving their skills or just something small or irrational, you’re there to listen to them. You assure them that you’ll be there for them, no matter what happens.
Well, except for one thing.
You have boundaries too. You didn’t mind going out late-night for some snack run or listening to their worries despite the lack of sleep — but becoming one’s babysitter when it comes to unnecessary side quests that could ruin the group’s image? That’s where you draw the line.
But here you are, parking your manager’s car (which you borrowed and hopefully don’t get recognized by your fans) in the underground parking of a dormitory building. You could feel your hands cold and sweaty, nervous about what you’re about to do — actually, what your member is about to do.
The youngest, whose smile was wide, giggled as she removed the seatbelt of her seat. She looked at you like you hung the stars in the skies and you’re internally cursing yourself why her cuteness is your weakness.
“Thank you so much, unnie! I’ll be back before twelve I promise —”
“What do you mean? I am coming with you,” you cut off, which made her excited expression turn into something horrified.
“But you didn’t need to!” she exclaimed, ears red in embarrassment, but you rolled your eyes.
“I agreed on one condition, and that is I am coming with you inside their dorm, there’s no way I am letting you walk into a boy group’s dorm alone,” you explained.
“But they’re nice! You’ve met them!” she defended and yes, you did meet them, numerous times, at music show hallways and show festivals but those were just a few seconds greeting and bowing to each other.
In that scale, you barely know them at all.
“They’re still boys,” you pointed out before removing your seatbelt and glancing at her once again. “What? Are you going to sit there or do you want to go up?”
“This is embarrassing,” she mumbled under her breath as she opened the door of the car and left.
“Just be thankful that I had agreed to this,” you snarled at her and although your tone was filled with irritation, you’re not mad at her, of course, you could never be mad at your members. The situation was just annoying and too surreal for you.
Your group’s youngest is finally now an adult and the next thing you knew, she wanted to experience sex — with a boy group member of all the people out there, of course, why are you even surprised? It’s a common event in the industry. The hidden romance, one-night stands, and hookups within idols.
It shouldn’t surprise you at all. After all, you had that same experience too, during your rookie days with a senior who’s two years older than you. Let’s just say that the experience was disappointing enough that you never did it again and at the same time, you had to warn your members about boy group members.
Despite that, you’re not in total control of them and their bodily desires. Mistakes happen and experiences differ, giving them a heads-up and advice should suffice. If ever their first time would be a failure, that’s not your problem at all, at least you told them so.
The other members had gone through the same thing too, results differed from each of them but now, it’s the youngest member’s turn to do so. You couldn’t fathom the thought but she’s already twenty! Things like this are pretty normal and yet, your leader instincts convinced you to be more protective of her compared to the rest.
Maybe, you just couldn’t accept the fact that the youngest is not your baby anymore. It seems like yesterday you’re helping her with her homework during trainee days but now she’s going to have sex with a male idol. It’s like putting a gun on your head.
Oh well. You convinced yourself that this is bound to happen either way. The only thing you should worry about is for her to not be caught, hence why you insist on accompanying her…all the way to the dorm. It was a reach but you’re not going to let her enter a boy group’s dormitory alone too. A boy group’s dormitory feels like a den of lions in reality.
You watched as she pressed the ringbell of the door, shaking on her feet like a child filled with sugar rush. She was giddy and excited, her smile was wide and bright that it reminded you of the first time you went to your ex-boyfriend’s dormitory.
You just wished that she doesn’t end up like you.
The door opened a minute later. Revealing to you a tall man wearing a casual loose shirt and sweatpants. His eyes landed on your co-member and you saw how his smile brightened as he greeted her.
“Come in,” he said, opening the door wider, letting the two of you in, wherein he greeted you for formality and you reciprocated it immediately.
“I hope you don’t mind that I brought her with me,” your youngest shared, her voice high-pitched and sweet, obviously, sweetening her way to her boyfriend.
“Oh, it’s okay — please, make yourself at home,” Riki said to you before he guided you towards the couch. You sat there, the leather creaking against your weight.
You watched as Riki went to the kitchen area, and returned with a bottle of water, some sweet pastries and a fruit cup. He told you that he had bought it for you, which you find sweet. Thanking halfway, Riki told you that you’re free to watch movies or maybe play games on their tv — just feel at home. He repeated.
“We'll be in Riki's room now,” your fellow member said, excited and jumpy as she held her boyfriend’s hand, and just like her, Riki seemed giddy about what they’re going to do.
God, looking at them, you feel like a parent whose daughter is going out on her first date, except she’s going to do something worse. The image probably’s going to scar you for life.
“Okay, be safe,” was the only thing you said, before you watched them go to the first door in the left hallway which you assumed was Riki’s room.
Silence immediately follows through. You were accompanied by the stillness that devoured you in just a minute. The only thing you could do was grab the fruit cup and eat it. Hoping it’ll ease your tense body that’s nervous for your youngest. She said they’d be done around twelve — which means you have four hours to kill time.
Your peaceful moment was cut-off when you heard the door open. You freezed when footsteps became louder and louder until from the other hallway, a man stepped out, confused and surprised to see you.
The first thing you did was stand up, bow and greet him, since he was your senior. He seemed surprised by you but immediately greeted you and gave you a bow too.
“Heeseung, from Enhypen,” he introduced, exiting out of the hallway and going within your proximity.
“I know, I’m y/n from Krave,” you introduced back, and his eyes widened.
“Oh! You sang ‘more’ right? That song’s been in my playlist since then,” Heeseung shared with a smile.
You smiled at the thought. “Thank you for listening to our songs sunbae.”
“Please, drop the sunbae, we’re in our dorm — also you can talk to me casually, we’re same-aged right?” the man replied casually.
You nodded, “right. Okay.”
“You wanted something to eat? I’m going to make ramen, do you want some?” he offered and you shook your head.
“It’s okay, I already had a fruit cup, and I’m on a diet too,” you told him.
He eyed the food on the table for a second before he remembered. “So I supposed the girl Riki’s with, is your member?”
You chuckled before nodding, “Yeah, I couldn’t let her go here alone, it kinda scares me.”
“I understand your sentiments, but Riki’s a good kid,” he pointed out.
“I know, I was just being careful, she’s our maknae, that’s why I’m too protective towards her,” you explained.
“Of course you are.” he smiled before going towards the kitchen. That made you sit on the couch and focus on your cup but minutes later Heeseung showed up once again.
“I felt lazy cooking tonight, so might as well accompany you,” he sat casually next to you like you two were friends. You were startled, but Heeseung didn’t seem to notice your flustered self as he opened the pack of gummy bears that he grabbed instead, then offered you some which you declined.
You took the water bottle and took a few sips on it. The living room was quiet and serene, a deep contrast to whatever the hell was happening inside Riki’s room. You couldn’t help but to look at your watch, it’s barely an hour passed — why is time slow here suddenly?
“You alright?” Heeseung asked, and you only smiled bitterly.
“Yeah, I’m good,” you lied before taking another few sips and then placing it back on the table. You focused on the fruit cup while Heeseung’s halfway with his candy. The two of you fell into an awkward silence once again.
“Can I ask why you are here?” you asked out of nowhere, curiosity lingering in your mind. “Are you and Riki, dormmates?”
“Well, I’m on babysitting duty too,” Heeseung said with a chuckle. “Everyone else is in the other dorm but Riki insisted that I stay in case of…emergencies, I don’t know what he meant but maybe he felt more at ease if I’m around.”
“That’s kinda sweet, he looks up to you,” you pointed out but Heeseung laughed at your words.
“It feels surreal that he’s going to do the deed. It seems like yesterday, he’s this small duckling who sleeps on my bed because he couldn’t sleep in his bed alone.” Heeseung shared, and you nodded, sharing the same sentiments that he does.
“I feel the same way,” you agreed. “They’re growing up aren’t they? It’s kinda scary. Growing in this industry isn’t helpful either.”
“I get you, that’s why it’s better to guide them and be always there right?”
“Right,” you nodded, ending the talk with you shoving another slice of apple into your mouth. Heeseung shoved a few jellies in his mouth, letting both of you settle with the dead air that came suddenly.
“So…do you do this with your other members?” Heeseung asked out of nowhere, and you shook your head as an answer.
“Only to her, you could see how protective I am, right? How about you? I’m sure your other members have brought girls in your dorm,” you asked him back and just like you, he shook his head in response.
“Numerous times, but this is the first time I did babysitting duty, which is weird since I thought Riki would like some privacy like the others, so I’m surprised that he asked me to stay,” he explained.
“His first time right?” Heeseung nodded at your question and you were a bit relieved since that means they’ll be each other’s first. The thought was kinda cute for you.
“Well, it’s her first time too, I guess they’re still scared…but determined,” you stated, earning a short laugh from Heeseung.
“I like how you described it that way,” he pointed out, making you chuckle.
But your conversation halted when a bunch of lewd, sinful noises came out of Riki’s room. Your eyes widened as the filthy sound slid inside your ears.
“Oh my god,” that was the only thing you could say, while Heeseung laughed at your reaction.
“Here, this should help us cover up the noise,” Heeseung opened the television and clicked whatever channel’s available. He turned on the volume louder, hoping that it’ll muffle the noise.
But it was still too loud. Their dirty talks, the incoherent sounds, and how the bed banged against the wall. It made you extremely uncomfortable that you were frozen in your place.
“Why are they so loud!?” you huffed in annoyance. “Oh my god! I couldn’t bear to hear it.”
“I guess Riki got some game,” Heeseung chuckled and you scoffed.
“That is such a boy respond of you.” you told him and he looked at you, offended.
“Woah hey, that hurts you know?”
“You seemed not offended by it.”
“A little, but I do admit it’s kinda gross hearing them do ‘it’” Heeseung answered.
You didn’t say anything but instead, turn on the volume louder but still, the sounds wouldn’t leave your ears, making you groan in annoyance again.
“I wanted to tell them to lower it down but that’s too much,” you complained once again before rubbing your face in hopes to remove all of the sinful sounds your ears had heard.
Heeseung’s eyes never left you. He noticed how inaudibly uncomfortable you were. He couldn’t help but to look for a solution to it.
That is if you’re willing to agree to it.
“I know this might sound like a sketchy suggestion, but do you want to come to my room?” Heeseung asked out of nowhere.
You turned your head towards him, surprised. “What?”
“My room? It’s on the opposite side, so the sound would be muffled but we can just turn on some music so that it’ll bury the noise further.” Heeseung pointed to the other hallway that contained a few doors. It was far from Riki’s room but you hesitated to answer.
It’s a fucking trap. You insist. Heeseung may look all-innocent with his soft voice and bambi-like eyes but you have to constantly remind yourself that he is still a guy at the end of the day. God knows what he’d do to you in his room.
But for desperate measures? Maybe it’s not that bad at all, he did say that it’s a sketchy suggestion, Heeseung knows that his offer sounded weird to you. But would you rather listen to your co-member get dicked for the following hours? No fucking way.
“Fine,” you answered and you noticed how Heeseung’s eyes widened.
“Really?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes, but just so you know, I know hapkido,” you told him that it made him stop, stared at you, and nodded slowly.
“Thank you for the heads up.”
You stood up first before he did. You followed him towards the opposite hallway, away from Riki’s room, and fortunately, his room is at the end of the hallway.
“It’s not that cool, just giving you a heads up,” Heeseung shared before opening the door and letting you inside.
It was huge yet minimalist. The typical room setup — a bed, closet, drawer cabinet, and of course, a pc setup complete with a computer chair. There weren’t any decorations, the only odd thing about his room was the stack of gaming keyboards on his floor.
“Nice…room,” you commented. It smelled like his perfume along with some fabric conditioner which you didn’t mind at all. You stood at the corner awkwardly before Heeseung closed the door then proceeded towards his pc.
“I’ll play some music, see? You could barely hear them,” Heeseung said as he opened a music browser and looked for some songs. That’s when you noticed the noise was barely audible — it was almost mute which made you relax for a moment.
“Any suggestions?” he asked as he scrolled through Spotify.
“...Maybe some pop music?” you answered.
“I’ll just play some The Weeknd,” he clicked one of his playlist, and a familiar song from the said artist filled the whole room, completely burying the obscenity that’s happening a few rooms away.
“You listen to him?” you asked.
Heeseung nodded with a smile. “Huge fan — oh, you could sit on my bed, I don’t mind,”
“Only if you don’t sit beside me,” you said as you made your way towards his bed. It was soft and clean, Heeseung looked like he didn’t mind that you were in your outside clothes too.
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll just relax here,” he insisted, sitting on the gaming chair. He made himself relaxed, with his legs criss-cross on the seat while he leaned against the backrest.
Silence devoured you two. The only noise you could hear was the song playing from his speaker. You two stared at each other, not moving nor talking, which you found relaxing and yet, you couldn’t help but to notice how Heeseung stared at you way too long than he should.
“You seem guarded,” he observed and that made you let out a nervous chuckle.
“Why should I not? I am in a boy group member’s room,” you shared.
“First time?”
“No, of course not, just reminds me of my first time though,” you answered honestly.
“Care to share?”
You pondered for a moment. “You won’t laugh?”
“I promise, scouts’ honor,” Heeseung said, even crossing his heart which made you laugh.
“Are you even one?”
Heeseung faintly shrugged, “Well, we did an en-o’clock episode about it, does that count?”
“Whatever but long story short, I dated a senior of ours, been going out for months and then decided to just let him be my first…but it was so fucking bad then he dumped me three days later.” you shared.
“What the fuck?” it was the only thing that came out of Heeseung’s lips. Disbelief written on his face.
You nodded at his reaction, “after that I cursed every boy group member and their ability to charm girls but underperformed when it comes to sex.”
“...You didn’t get to cum, I assume,” you nodded at his words.
“Aside from that, it didn’t feel intimate to me, it’s like, he’s just using me to get off,” you added.
“Wow, and he had the audacity to dump you?”
“Yeah, it was so bad that it didn’t even last an hour, no foreplays, just a short makeout — he was just eager to get his dick wet!”
Heeseung laughed at your story but you didn’t feel embarrassed nor offended by his laugh, he seemed amused by how you detailed your experience. That’s when he finally understood why you’re so protective over your co-member, you just didn’t want them to experience the same thing that happened to you.
“You didn’t meet anyone after that?” Heeseung asked.
You shook your head as answer. “Well, obviously, he broke my heart. So I rejected any idols who asked for my number, plus with the continuous tours and comebacks, I didn’t have any time at all, my focus was on my group.”
“So, that was the last time you had sex, I’m assuming,” Heeseung pointed out.
“Yup.”
“Never thought about it again?” he asked.
“You heard my story, if I’d do it, I’d do it with…I guess someone who’s not an idol?” you said with uncertainty.
“His dick game was really that bad?”
That’s when you agreed. “So fucking bad, I’d like to think that all male idols are that bad.”
“Not me though.” Heeseung casually replied.
His words made you scoff in disbelief. “Of course you’d say that,”
“Well, you wouldn’t know unless you actually tried it,” he pointed out.
You halted for a minute. Eyebrows furrowed at him. “What?”
Heeseung looked at the clock, “we have a lot of time to spare before midnight, I was suggesting that you might want to, relax for a bit,”
You stared at him appalled while Heeseung seemed so casual about what he just said.
“Are you asking me to have sex with you?”
“You could say no if you want to, but the offer’s open,” Heeseung answered and you rolled your eyes before another scoff escaped your lips.
“You’re just like any other male idol,” you stated.
“Have you slept with other boy group members?” Heeseung asked tauntingly that it made you quiet for a moment. He smirked, infuriatingly and yet, you remained seated.
“Right, so why would you stick with that one experience? Come on, not attached to this one, unless you’re the type to have emotional attachment when it comes to sex, I’ll let you off the hook,” Heeseung convinced.
Has the room always felt warm? You don’t know why there’s chills on your nape and your hands clamming with sweat. Why is there a sudden shift in the air and your heart’s racing rapidly, that in a blink, you felt convinced.
“What’s in for me?” you muttered.
“Like I told you, maybe you should relax for a moment, you’re tense and guarded,” Heeseung pointed out.
“I should be tense, my youngest’s having sex with her boyfriend, I’m in Enhypen’s dormitory — specifically inside your room, who knows your sasaengs are lurking around your place and caught us sneaking,” you explained.
“You’re safe here, don't worry, and right now, just think of yourself, just for four hours, think of yourself not the eldest and leader of Krave, just you,” he insisted and something about the way he talked almost made you fold for him.
“I’m starting to wonder how many girls have you persuaded and slept with by just how you convince me,” you said.
The smirk on his lips widened, teasing. “Oh, so you’re convinced? Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re the second girl I’ve ever slept with.,"
You stared at him for a moment. Heeseung tilted his head sideways, observing you and yet his stare didn’t have any weight on it. He looked at you like you’re the brightest moon tonight — not just a girl he seemed to eager to fuck.
That thought made you spin. He looked so alluring that you’re lost for words. Then he gestured to you to come to him. You don’t know why but you stood up, went to him and your hands intertwined with his.
“I’m not gonna push you if you don’t want it, you could take a rest on my bed and I’ll wake you up after they’re done, but you know, I could make you release stress in some other ways too,” he explained, tone filled with genuinity that your heart betrayed you that moment because sleeping with him is just an option.
You can say no to him. He’s giving you a choice to say no, but he’s also offering you to relax, let yourself melt and remove all the tense feeling in your shoulders. Just you. Heeseung said. Not the eldest member of your group, not the leader who’s on babysitting duty tonight.
“Are you sure about that?”
“A hundred percent, I won’t ask you if I am not sure,” he smiled. “And don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
“You better give me a good reason to trust you Lee Heeseung.” you whispered to him.
“And if I told you that once you got a taste of me, there’s no turning back now?”
You hummed and he pulled you close, losing your balance and hoisting you up to straddle on his lap. You gasp at his boldness and yet, you didn’t move nor struggle.
Because a part of you was dying to feel what good sex feels like. Hearing your fellow member’s sex life and stable, healthy relationships with their significant others, you wonder when you will experience that same kind of bliss again.
If Heeseung, one of the popular k-idols in the industry, is offering you good sex especially with that body and face, who are you to say no?
“You’re with me?” he asked, brushing the stray hairs away from your face. You nodded, staring at him made you bite your lip and he seemed amused by how you’re still maintaining your composure.
“I need words sweetheart, do you want this?” he repeated.
“I…do, please,” you muttered, almost mute, and yet, you felt determined.
With your words, Heeseung’s smile turned into a smirk, hands brushing your cheek as his stare lingered for too long. “Good, let’s take it slow baby.”
Heeseung closed the gap first. Your breath halted the moment his lips landed on yours. It was soft, thick, tasting sweet and citrus like the gummy bears he was eating earlier. His arms wrapped around yours tighter as he pushed himself deeper against you, earning a choked sound from you.
He broke out of the kiss, worried as he looked at you to find any discomfort. “Too fast?”
“No, just surprised,” you answered, giving him a smile, in which he sighed and chuckled.
“Good, that’s good, just follow my lead, alright?” With that, he kissed you once again, same as the pace earlier, giving you time to adjust and sink everything that you’re here, on Heeseung’s lap, making out with him.
That’s when you moved, hands finding security on his shoulder as you moved your lips to respond to his. You could feel him smirking against you, but you pay no attention to it but instead, let your lips move along the rhythm he made.
Suddenly, the room felt hot and you became more hyperaware of Heeseung. It wasn’t just his mouth that’s moving around, you could feel his arms that used to be around your waist, slowly caressing every skin it could trail, making you flinch when his cold hands went underneath your shirt, just around your back then returning to the soft plush of your waist.
Your heart was racing at what would come next, especially when you could feel something rigid and hard underneath. The sudden awareness made you shift your position, earning a groan from Heeseung.
“Sorry —” he shuts you off with a kiss before darting his attention towards your jawline, wet, loud kisses planted over your neck where you were most sensitive. You whine at his action, hands gripping his shoulder hard and still, you didn’t push him but instead, you let yourself fall under his touch.
“No marks please,” you whispered to him as you felt him sucking the skin near your collarbones. You felt him laughing against it before he lifted up his head towards you.
“Don’t worry baby, I won’t cause you any trouble,” he winked at you after his words and you could swear you felt your cheeks flush.
“It’s getting hotter here isn’t it?” Heeseung teased as he played with the hem of your shirt. “Would it be nice for us to loosen up, right?”
“Right,” you croaked before slowly, your shaky hands found the end of your shirt and without any thought, you stripped it off, leaving you in your bra.
You noticed how Heeseung’s eyes stayed on your chest for a good minute, clearing your throat, he shifted his look towards you before a chuckle left his lips.
Heeseung did the same, throwing his shirt somewhere, baring to you his lean, naked torso and defined muscles that seem well-cared by him. You’re not new to male idols and their tendency to expose their body, but seeing Heeseung’s naked body this close made you flustered all of the sudden.
“Can I?” he asked as his hands played with the strap of your bra. You didn’t answer him but instead unclasped the clothing all by yourself. Your heart was loudly pounding and tightening as you shrugged off your bra before letting it fall on the ground.
Heeseung captured your lips once again, and this time he was more impatient — there was a sudden strike of hunger in the way he kissed you. Torrid, reckless but still, it ignited the heat pooling inside you, hence, you battled against his lips. It felt more dangerously addictive that you couldn’t help but to lean downwards on him, hands cupping his cheeks to get a better taste.
Heeseung seemed pleased with your hunger, letting you dominate him as he busied himself with your breasts. Playing with the right side, he felt how you mewl on his lips, giving him a more plea to play with it. Heeseung flickered the hardened buds with his thumb, making you gasp as you felt the shock traveling towards your body.
The sensation slowly turned you into a needy collection of nerves. Everything’s burning and painful, especially on your core, that you couldn’t help but to buck your hips against Heeseung’s thighs. The sudden thrust halted Heeseung — and so did you.
“Shit,” you cursed, embarrassment washed all over you because of the act. “Did I — sorry, I couldn’t —”
“Hey, it’s okay, just surprise,” he assured, biting his lips because your eagerness actually felt wondrous for him. He could feel his sweats tightening, and there’s that urge for him to free his cock from its strain, but with you, he wanted to take things slow and messy.
“Do that again for me, pretty, can you?” he asked, hands on your waist as if he was guiding you to move your hips once again.
You rolled your hips slowly this time. A loud gasp left your lips as your core grinded directly on his hard cock. Your clit was getting rubbed against your wet panty that you couldn’t help but to move once again, finding friction despite the clothed barrier between you two.
“Fuck — more, harder baby, feel how hard cock against you right?” Heeseung moaned, making you move harder and deeper, too lost in the sensation that you never felt before.
“It’ll be better if we take off our clothes baby, is that okay?” Heeseung suggested, making you stop.
“Oh…if that’s okay with you,” you told him.
“Whatever you want, baby, I’d like that too,” he answered and you found yourself getting off his lap.
You unbutton your shorts and push it down in an awkward manner, kicking it off along with your socks while Heeseung stood up from his seat and untied the drawstrings of his sweats. He left himself in his playboy boxer and your eyes wouldn’t leave the sight.
The print indicated that he was big. His cock was already standing tall, hard and straining against the cloth but it seemed like Heeseung didn’t care about it, not when he pulled you towards his bed and made you sit on his lap again. Now, in a more thinner barrier of both undergarments, you could feel him further — the length, its hardness, and how warm it is against your clothed cunt.
“Have you ever tried this one?” he asked, making you burst out in a fit of laughter.
“Did you say that on purpose?” you raised an eyebrow, hands brushing his messy blonde hair.
“You looked nervous, hope it’ll lessen the tension,” Heeseung observed and your lips thinned into a small smile.
“Well maybe I am slowly starting to be convinced,” you whispered to him, you felt him shift underneath, hands tightening on your waist while your hands caressed his face.
He smirked, “Convinced what?”
“That your dick game is good,” you teased before closing the gap. Heeseung reciprocated it immediately, kissing you like there’s no tomorrow as you started to move your hips in a slow, precise motion where your cunt grinds through his thick shaft.
“Can I?” he asked in between your kisses, his hands trailing around the curve of your ass, and you nodded eagerly, letting him squeeze the soft flesh as he guided you to hump further on him.
The anticipation heated in your body further. There’s that weird churn that slowly rises from your stomach that you could no longer ignore. Moving on your own, you humped on Heeseung’s lap like a rabbit in heat, while simultaneously capturing his lips in a more torrid and passionate manner.
You could feel it, your body getting sticky with sweat, Heeseung’s deep groans every time your cunt brushed on his shaft. He felt you on the edge that his hands found its way towards your waist and helped you move more precisely on his lap.
“Want to see you get off just from humping on my cock,” Heeseung stated in between your kisses. He stopped and looked up to you, and you observed how starstruck he was. The thought made you whine as your hips never stop, chasing after that broiling heat on your core.
“Shit! — H-heeseung,” you whimper, already a mess as your eyes turned glassy while your body’s becoming too sensitive. You shifted yourself higher, nudging his head with your clit, making both of you moan in unison.
“Right there baby — fuck! Look at your panties, all wet and ruined for me.” Heeseung taunted as he kissed the shell of your ear, the act felt sweet and fluttering against the obscene act you two were doing.
“O-oh! oh my god — I —”
“Go on baby, come for me,” his words felt like a command because in just a second, something snapped inside your stomach and a never-felt sensation took over your body. You freezed at the sudden feeling, holding tightly on Heeseung’s shoulder while he watched you fall apart on top of him.
“Great?” he asked while you were sinking in what just happened.
“I — wait…wow,” you muttered, catching your breath while your body tense around him. Slurring mindlessly as you still haven't processed your orgasm while Heeseung watched you patiently.
“You alright? Do you want to rest for a bit?”
“What about you?” you asked, seeing that he’s still hard and aching.
“Oh me? Don’t worry, I’m just giving you time to rest and process everything,” from there, his gaze sharpened, something on him shifted. “We were just getting started after all.”
“I should get you off too,” you convinced but he shook his head.
“Y/n, this is all about you alright? Don’t worry about me,” he insisted.
“That sounds unfair.”
“We have hours for me to get off sweetheart, but for now, let’s just help you relax,” he didn’t let you rebut more. The next thing you knew, your back thud against his bed’s mattress before he hovered over you.
Your heart stopped for a moment, gazing at him who’s naked, sweaty, yet insanely, godlike as he stared at you as if you’re his meal tonight.
“Just lay there and be pretty for me,” he smirked and your heart was beating at the thought of what he was about to do.
You watched as he gazed upon you for a second before rolling out his tongue, and started flickering your nipples while his other hand rolled the other side — all while maintaining eye contact with you.
“Hee —” you weren’t able to finish your sentence when he latched his mouth on the right mould of your breast. Sucking the nipples hard and needy before releasing it with a loud pop.
Heeseung abandoned your breast that moment. Leaving a lighthearted kiss in the middle before he started kissing your underboobs, then darting towards your stomach, until his mouth reached your navel — and then he stopped, eyeing on your panty before looking at you as if he was asking for permission.
Oh.
“You’re gonna go down on me?” you asked, flustered.
“Do you not want me to?” he asked you back.
“No, just — fine, I trust you,” you answered, nervous and yet, curious at the feeling of someone going down on you.
“If it’s too overwhelming just tug my hair twice or thrice,” Heeseung instructed and that made you let out a chuckle.
“Why does it sound like you want your hair getting pulled?”
But Heeseung quickly hushed you, “that’s between you and me sweetheart.”
Without a word, his hands trailed on the waistline of your panty, tugging it down in one swift movement, leaving you completely naked. Instantly, you closed your legs but Heeseung casually grabbed your thighs, pushing it open for him.
He stared at your puffy, still sensitive pussy, twitching at nothing before glance at you, looking naive and innocent as you lay gorgeously in his bed. Heeseung swore he almost cum at the sight. He could feel his hard cock aching to be released, twitching harder due to its sensitivity, but he chose to ignore it as he lay down flat on his stomach.
You weren’t able to do anything when he grabbed your legs and pulled you closer to him. His fingers found their way to your entrance, sliding on its lips up to its clit where he felt your legs shudder at the sudden contact.
Heeseung didn’t say anything — the next thing you felt was his tongue swiping upright on your cunt. The sudden action made you moan so loud that it echoed inside the room. You slapped your mouth hard in embarrassment while Heeseung chuckled faintly before giving your core another fat stripe.
“Don’t cover those sounds pretty, let me hear it,” Heeseung ordered, looking up to you with his eyes sharper than earlier. Your heart started to pound as you quickly nodded to his words. Heeseung seemed satisfied, lowering his head once again to devour your cunt with much devotion — leaving you breathless and spewing a series of breathy moans.
The sensation felt new to you, more intimidating yet hot to the core. It didn’t help that you could hear how lewd and loud Heeseung fucks your cunt using his tongue. The wet, slurping sound should’ve disgusted you but the feeling was undeniably heavenly that it made your toes curled.
“Holy shit, Heeseung!” you screamed, too loud and whiny as you grabbed a fistful of his hair before tugging it once. The action made the man groan against your pussy, sending shockwaves on his cock — feeling it more needy and aching against the flat surface of his bed, Heeseung could help but to grind his cock against it. It was begging for release that his hips started to move on its own.
The two of you are too lost in chasing one’s pleasure. Heeseung’s tongue never left your pussy not once, burying his face further as he focused on flickering that little bundle of nerves, and at the same time, his hips continued rocking back and forth chasing his own high. It didn’t help that you’re pulling his hair harder than before, the sensation only made his cock throb harder as everything’s becoming too much on his side.
You came first, in a soft high-pitched whine as Heeseung removed his tongue and instead, sucked your clit hard. His tongue rolled around the bud as his lips drank every juice your cunt released. He didn’t stop, not even when you’re tugging his hair too tight that his scalp’s burning, it just edges him off, grunting against your cunt as his hips continue rocking against his bed.
Just in a snap, his orgasm came unexpectedly and he visibly shook, cum staining his boxers as he released nonstop after all that painful edging. His grunts were held back as Heeseung held on to your thighs tight enough that it’ll leave a bruise. You didn’t even notice that he had come, so immersed in your own pleasure that the next thing that only occurred in your almost sane mind was how Heeseung sat up on his bed, messy yet satisfied.
“Can you take more, pretty?” he asked, smirking as he moved to take off his soiled boxers, not even giving you a warning about his next move.
Your eyes went wide that it might pop out of its socket.
To say that he’s big is an understatement. Heeseung’s huge — hung, fucking hung that you froze at its sheer size. You barely remember your ex-boyfriend’s cock but suddenly, he doesn’t matter anymore, not when this one night stand had given you more than one orgasm compared to him.
“You look scared,” he teased and you didn’t react immediately.
“Will that fit?” you said, stuttering.
“We’ll make it fit,” he said as he sat next to you and before you could complain, Heeseung placed you in between his legs, his hard cock poking your back that you’re very hyperaware of.
“Think you could give me more pretty? Let’s relax that silly head of yours, alright?” he whispered to yours as his hands trailed on your breasts, cupping it lightly while the other one stretched its way towards your pussy.
Heeseung didn’t ask for any permission at all, using his hind legs, he pushed your legs open for him, trapping your still shaking legs along with your sensitive pussy.
The first touch was light, featherlike, ticklish that a contented moan escaped your lips. Heeseung’s hands traveled on your clit, rubbing circles around it — not too rough nor too fast, just the right amount of tease that you resisted against it.
“Don’t struggle baby, just relax, are you still sensitive?” he asked softly, cooing as he rested his cheeks on your temples.
You nodded, and yet, your pussy’s still throbbing. It still hurts, gaping for something big enough that it’ll fill you completely.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No, I want it inside,” you answered.
“My fingers?” he asked, his delicate digits gathering slick around your pussy, protruding your entrance, almost teasing that you sighed in annoyance.
“Your cock…Heeseung, please,” you told him.
“Oh baby, as much as I want to, we got to prep you pretty girl,” he gives you a kiss on the temples before plunging one finger inside — completely contrasting the action earlier.
“We have to make sure it’ll fit your tight pussy, don’t we?” he teased, chuckling dark and low, as his finger thrusts in and out of your cunt, before sliding another one, catching you off-guard as his slender digits did scissoring actions to open your walls more.
With your cunt still sensitive from the previous orgasms, every move and curl gave nothing but continuous spasms on your body. You were squirming like a worm around Heeseung, breathing heavily as your hold on his arms tightened.
“Heeseung please,” you cried, not knowing what your plea was until he poked a specific area that made you arch your back naturally — that’s when he knew, chuckling like a tease he was before he hushed you by kissing the tears rolling down on your eyes.
“Is it too good pretty?” Heeseung asked and you don’t know what to say other than to cry louder. Whining like a kicked-out puppy as your nails dig on his skin deeper.
“You’re still tense baby, I could feel you clamping on my fingers,” he said with a gentle tone and yet his fingers were curling that area nonstop, faster and hastily that it’s bringing another intense feeling inside your cunt.
“I don’t think I could do it anymore,” you whispered to him before another moan knocked out of your lips.
“You can,” he said with confidence. “You’d do it for me, right?”
“Heeseung —”
“You’ll do it for me,” he ordered and his words did nothing but to push something out of you.
That’s when Heeseung felt it. The warm gush of liquid that your cunt released, completely messing his fingers.
“Fuck,” he said in disbelief as the smile on his face became wider.
“Oh my god, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know — god —” you weren’t able to finish your words when Heeseung kissed you hungrily, teeth clashing and tongue tasting every skin his lips could feel, making you whine at his intensity.
And as he broke out, he could see how red and swollen your lips were, making him satisfied as he leaned down for more, that’s when you held onto his shoulders, reciprocating his hunger while his fingers continued thrusting inside your cunt.
“Make a mess for me pretty, keep fucking doing that,” he commanded, curling that spot that made you squirt nonstop. He continued abusing that spot until his bed’s completely wet and your thighs were nothing but a mess, mixed with every slick and juice your pussy had released.
Without any words, you’ve reached your orgasm. A high-pitched scream echoed inside his room as your legs shook at the intensity. Heeseung didn’t stop even when your eyes were turning white, in fact, he was humming teasingly as he saw you all worn-out and melting under his touch.
“Don’t sleep on me pretty,” Heeseung said as he pulled out his fingers out of your sensitive pussy, making you cry at the sudden loss. He gently lays you down as he lets you rest for a moment, giving you ample time to breathe and relax before the real deal.
Heeseung reached out on his side table, opening the second drawer, he pulled out a strip of condoms and with much precision, snapped one and ripped the wrapper open.
He rolled the condom around his length, moaning in satisfaction as he began stroking his hard shaft, preparing himself as he crawled back to you who seemed to be still in the high of your previous orgasm.
Heeseung relaxed you for a moment, leaving soft, short kisses on your jawline and downwards your neck, giving off a ticklish sensation that made you moan quietly.
“Ready pretty?” he whispered while continuing to leave kisses on your sensitive skin.
“Hmm,” you hummed unknowingly but Heeseung didn’t stop at all.
“Words pretty, come on,” he gestured and the only thing you did was hold onto his shoulders as another whine left your lips.
“Ruin me Heeseung,” you said to him and something about what you said shifted something in Heeseung’s mind.
“Baby, you don’t know what you’re asking,” he said with a smirk. “You’re already ruined, look at you.”
He didn’t let you say another word. Heeseung pulled you into his grasp, his hard length, standing tall and proud, poking your inner thighs that you were suddenly jolted into reality.
“You don’t know that I’m just holding back from ruining you further,” Heeseung taunted, stroking his cock on your entrance. The fat tip slides teasingly on your entrance. It was warm and fuck — does it feel wondrous yet dangerously teasing. It didn’t help that Heeseung’s rubbing it at your clit at any chance he could have, making you whimper at his actions.
“Put it inside please, please Heeseung,” you whimpered, almost a cry as your hands tightly held onto his bed’s sheets.
“Relax for me first,” he ordered, spreading your legs further before gently nudging the blunt head of his dick on your entrance. He almost cursed. He could feel how his tip’s barely inside and yet, your cunt’s already hugging it tight.
Heeseung pushed it in, slow and careful, stretching your cunt open for his cock. He slides slowly, letting you adjust to its girth while your hands had crumpled the sheets hard, absolutely clueless that his fat cock’s going to rip your walls apart.
He went all the way, completely filling your pussy all the way to the end. The thought of it gave nothing but severe chills on you, and yet, you never felt this level of bliss before.
“You with me?” he asked and you nodded feverishly.
“You’re big,” you babbled, and Heeseung only stared before letting out a soft laugh.
“I’ll start moving, alright?” he said.
“Hmm, please move,” you told him.
Heeseung slowly moved his hips. You could feel him thrusting inside you slow and gentle, careful not to hurt you as slowly, the pain inside your core was being replaced with the pleasure of how his cock penetrated your walls all the way in.
“More please,” you blurted out.
“More?” Heeseung teased as he grabbed your legs, placed the right one on his shoulder and the other one wrapped around his waist. The new position gave him more leverage to pound inside your tight pussy, and this time, Heeseung’s not holding back anymore.
The room’s hotter than before, and everything smelled like perfume, and body fluids. Everything’s becoming too much for you as your moans and the lustful sounds coming from Heeseung’s mouth mixed along with the way his thighs slapped on your cunt hard — additional to that, The Weeknd’s still playing in the background.
You don’t know that you’d be able to reach this level of high. Suddenly, you couldn’t think of anything other than how Heeseung pounded on you senselessly like an animal in heat, and yet, it feels so damn heavenly. You could feel your body melting on the bed, grip on his sheet loosened and your eyes were getting drowsy, drowned in the ecstasy of the act, while Heeseung didn’t say a word as he kept on ramming his cock inside your tight cunt.
Christ. Your head’s spinning and you’re slowly levitating with the way Heeseung’s cock slides in and out of your tight pussy. Heeseung noticed it quickly, how light you feel now, only soft moans and whines escaping your lips. You were getting numbed and that only made his cock twitch in satisfaction as he pounded inside you harder than before.
“Feels good angel? Look at you drunk on my cock, you’re barely even moving,” Heeseung taunted. Seeing you unmoving, eyes turning white as your body shakes, his mind is slowly getting into him. He thrusted harder, more precise at a certain spot that had you moaning unknowingly.
Heeseung’s fucking you into oblivion. You don’t have total control of yourself anymore. You just placed every single amount of yourself into him while he continued to plunge his cock all the way. Both of you were already messy. Sweat mixing, and obscenity could be heard with how his cock squelched as he pounded on your dripping pussy.
If that wasn’t enough, Heeseung reached for your clit, stroking it lightly that you jolted at the pleasure. You screamed hard and loud, shouting his name as the churn in your stomach became too hard to deny at all.
“Going to come now angel?” Heeseung asked, hovering at you, almost folding the leg on his shoulder. His thrust never stopped, pounding inside you at that sharp yet precise movement that it’s the only thing you could sense despite being overstimulated.
A whimper was your answer and that was his only cue, he focused on ramming your cunt. Bruising your cervix at every brush it makes. Your walls became more tighter and warmer, clamping around his cock that Heeseung could feel his orgasm brewing too.
“Fuck pretty —” a mixture of groan and whimper escaped his lips as he bites his lips hard, wounding it as his cock twitch sensitively.
“Heeseung —”
“Gonna come too baby, you with me?”
You nodded, eager and greedy to chase your high. Heeseung’s hands grabbed your waist and without any thought, lifted your torso as he pounded inside you nonstop as if you were just a fleshlight to him.
The coil snapped and in just a second, both your orgasms came. Echoes of moans and cries filled the room, as your body shook feverishly at the intensity. Your legs had lost its strength, falling on the side while Heeseung gripped on your waist tight, releasing his cum inside the condom before pulling out without any thought.
He stroked his cock messily, rubbing his slit to release more of his cum, completely staining his hands and your stomach while you catch your breath. You didn’t complain further as you felt his warm cum mark you completely.
Seconds turned, minutes passed and Heeseung laid on his back next to you. Both of you were totally ruined. Hair disheveled, bed wet with the mixture of fluids, as the high remained in your body and mind.
“You with me?” Heeseung asked out of nowhere.
You hummed as an answer. “I don’t want to move.”
That’s when Heeseung sat up from his place, glancing at you whose eyes were drowsy.
“Go take a rest, I’ll just get you some water,” Heeseung said, brushing your hair so lightly that you couldn’t help but to lean onto it.
Slowly, your eyes closed and as Heeseung watched you fall in your deep slumber, he gave you a short kiss on the cheeks before standing up to clean himself.
-
You don’t know what time you woke up.
All you know is that you’re clothed now, the sheets were already cleaned and replaced, and there’s even a blanket thrown over you.
You tried to sinked-in where you are right now, recalling everything that happened earlier as you glance at the person who’s sitting on his computer chair, mixing some tunes on his pc — that’s when it hit you.
“Oh my god,” you mumbled, and yet, that’s enough for Heeseung to turn around and look at you.
“You’re awake,” he said, relieved.
“What time is it?” you asked, looking around his room for a clock.
“It’s two-thirty,” Heeseung casually replied and yet, your eyes widened.
“What!?”
“Well, you were knocked-out dead after we…and Riki also let his girlfriend rest, so we didn’t want to bother waking you up.” Heeseung nonchalantly explained.
“Shit, my manager’s going to kill me,” you said before standing up but almost stumbled because your legs were numb and your pussy’s sore. If it wasn’t for Heeseung who caught you immediately, you were probably on the floor now.
His arms were on your waist, helping you stand carefully while you muttered curses under your breath.
“Huh, I guess the sex didn’t help you relax at all,” Heeseung observed, seeing how agitated you were.
You stopped, remembering why you ended up oversleeping. The two of you stared at each other for a second, and that’s when you felt your heart beating fast again as the rush of blood flushed on your cheeks.
Then you remembered how he was earlier. The sex, his dick — and how he took care of you after the act. You couldn’t believe that Heeseung’s real, and you just had sex with him earlier. He really didn’t lie when he said his dick game was good.
“Sorry, I overreacted again, where is she?” you asked, guilt washing on you.
His hand loosened on your waist. He hummed, “She’s still asleep, Riki said if you woke up, we could wake her up now, would you like that?”
“Of course, thank you.”
“No problem, let’s wait outside, alright?” he suggested and you nodded. Immediately, you two went outside, returning to the living room where it’s audibly quiet now.
“Heeseung,” you called out, almost stuttering. Heeseung turned around and looked at you.
“Thank you, the sex did help me, I slept like a baby afterwards, thank you,” you said softly, almost embarrassed and yet, Heeseung smiled sweetly.
“Dick game that good?” he teased and you only chuckled.
“Yeah, fortunately,” you admitted and Heeseung laughed at your answer.
Not a few minutes later, Heeseung returned to the living room with your co-member and Riki. your worries fade out when she looks happy and satisfied that you didn’t pry further. She bid goodbye to her boyfriend, hugging him as if it’ll be the last time they’ll see each other.
Young love. You thought, watching them, that you didn’t notice Heeseung standing beside you.
“Hey,” he said, making you glance at him.
“Hi,” you smiled.
“Here,” he handed you a folded paper and you looked at it confused.
“What’s this for?” you asked, opening it and seeing a number and Heeseung’s name on it.
“Just in case you have babysitting duty again,” he winked. “Or not, you know where you’ll contact me.”
You stared at him and he gave you a smile, you returned it immediately as you placed the paper in your short’s pocket, because who knows, maybe you’ll do another babysitting duty again, so might as well inform him beforehand, right?
in which: you get tired of feeling like your boyfriend doesn’t love you anymore. but a couple months later, you accidentally text him instead of your friend, Minji. the text leaves Riki confused since he thought you hated him and you thought he moved on.
with: Newjeans’ Kim Minji & Enhypen’s Nishimura Riki
a/n: i don’t really like this one i feel like i got really lazy lmao but whatever. as always, every like & reblog is very much appreciated and i hope you enjoy!! (especially my little riki jackson picture🤭)
warnings: angst , slow burn , some swearing - lmk if i missed anything!!
one two three four five six seven
you spent the next thirty minutes pacing your apartment, thinking saying yes to Riki coming over was a bad idea.
but the knock on your door came before you could even think about telling him not to come.
the truth was, though, you did want him to come. you just didn’t know what to say to him. how to explain.
your feet moved before your brain caught up and you swung open the door.
there stood your ex boyfriend, Riki, looking disheveled and stressed.
“hi,” you whisper, stepping aside so he can come in.
“hi,” he whispers back.
you shut the door behind him and just stand in silence in your hall for a while, neither of you knowing what to say.
you swallow hard.
“you wanted to talk.” you finally say.
“yeah…”
“so talk.”
he pauses for a moment, his eyes fixed on one spot on the wall beside your head as he thinks about what to say.
he knows he messed up and he knows this might be his only chance to change things and make it up to you. he needs to do this right.
“did you mean what you said?” he asks quietly, finally meeting your gaze again.
“about missing you?” you ask, however you know exactly what he means.
he nods.
“yeah.”
he exhales and you notice the way his shoulders drop upon hearing your whispered admission.
“i miss you all the time, Riki.” your voice shakes. “i miss seeing you, i miss talking to you, i miss telling you about my day. i miss you being the first person i text when something happens.”
“i’m sorry for letting you go, y/n.” he steps forwards and his hands twitch as if he wants to reach out and touch you. he doesn’t.
“why did you?” you blink up at him, finally asking the question that’s been sitting on the tip of your tongue since you opened the door and saw him standing there.
“i thought i was doing the right thing.” he says but he shakes his head as he does. he knows it wasn’t.
“ignoring me was the right thing to do?”
he reaches out and takes your hands in his. “no, by not making you stay with someone that made you feel alone. you didn’t deserve that, y/n.”
“you don’t get to decide what i deserve, Riki.” you exhale shakily and intertwine your fingers with his. “you don’t het to decide whether i’d be better off without you and then leave me to deal with it.”
“i know, i know.” he whispers, nodding slowly.
“no, you don’t. you broke my heart and now you’re acting like it was for my own good.” you almost laugh when you hear how stupid it sounds saying it out loud. “i just wanted you back, Riki.”
“i’m here now.” he tries to reassure you even when he’s close to breaking. “fuck, i was always here. i never stopped loving you.”
“then why did it feel like you did?”
“because i was stupid.” he exhales and steps closer, dropping his forehead against yours.
“i don’t want you to decide things for me anymore. i just want you.”
“i should’ve just told you instead of pushing you away, i-“ he stops himself when his voice gets more and more shaky with each word.
“i still love you.” you whisper, pressing your forehead more firmly against his.
“i love you too.”
a beat.
“i want to try again, y/n.”
“try what?”
he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. “us. if you’ll let me.”
you think for a moment.
“can i trust you not to do that again?” you tilt your head slightly. “i need to know you’ll tell me if it gets too much. i need to know you’ll want to see me when you don’t have practice.”
he nods quickly. “let me prove it to you.”
—
a/n 2: i think the next part is most likely going to be the final part of this so i just wanna say thankyou for all of the support and new followers!! i really do appreciate it, it means more than you think. i’m 100% going to do more of these so if anyone has a specific member / storyline please feel free to lmk in my asks or comment on this post!! again, tysm!!🤍
in which: you get tired of feeling like your boyfriend doesn’t love you anymore. but a couple months later, you accidentally text him instead of your friend, Minji. the text leaves Riki confused since he thought you hated him and you thought he moved on.
with: Newjeans’ Kim Minji , Enhypen’s Nishimura Riki & Enhypen’s Park Sunghoon
a/n: FINALLY WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE!! as always, every like & reblog is very much appreciated and i hope you enjoy!!
warnings: angst , slow burn , strong language , one tiny sewer slide joke - lmk if i missed anything!!🫶
hot take maybe but riki isn’t an idiot and everyone reducing him to one and saying shit like
“oh he just doesn’t know”
“how could he have known?”
while kanye west’s issues are WIDELY-RECOGNIZED, especially amongst his own supporters, just to defend riki for openly supporting that man is just disrespectful on so many levels. you’re trying to make riki look dumb to justify him hyping up kanye west when he shouldn’t have and that’s not only ignorant, but RUDE and demeaning towards riki himself.
he has proved time and time again that he is an extremely emotionally intelligent and mature person, so for someone to strip that from him just to be able to excuse what he said (which was wrong by the way), is such a lame thing to do.
engenes holding his hand and boymom-ing this entire situation, acting as if riki isn’t a GROWN ASS man AND a PUBLIC FIGURE who should be thinking before he does shit like this are the absolute worst and don’t actually care about riki’s development as a person.
i’m not saying that riki is the spawn of kanye west himself and that he shares his values, but if he is comfortable speaking in official content about a man with such a disgusting history, then things need to change— and that goes for ALL the enhypen members, because they’ve also mentioned problematic artists (drake, chris brown, justin bieber) in the past.
this fandom has spent too much time letting these men go off the hook even when they fuck up, like the breast cancer event and heeseung saying the n-word (because he definitely did say that shit i’m not going to argue about that), and it’s so disturbing seeing how much grace you give them considering you don’t know them at all.
i am a supporter of enhypen, and i’m an ult riki bias, and it is BECAUSE of that that i say the things i do, because as fans, we should be looking out for these idols and that really starts with educating them when they need to be educated. recognizing your faves’ wrongdoings is not a crime, and neither is accountability. doing both and actually getting the members to see what they do wrong is what makes them better people, and better artists.
maybe i’m too woke, but ignorance is always something i will not tolerate and speak up about, no matter how subtle it is, because nobody should ever put kpop over their ethics and morals. stop treating riki like a naive child and get him to own up to his mistakes.
in which: you get tired of feeling like your boyfriend doesn’t love you anymore. but a couple months later, you accidentally text him instead of your friend, Minji. the text leaves Riki confused since he thought you hated him and you thought he moved on.
with: Newjeans’ Kim Minji , Enhypen’s Nishimura Riki , Le sserafim’s Kazuha Nakamura & Enhypen’s Park Sunghoon
a/n: added some writing to this one (not much) as well as the texts, i hope you like it!! as always, every like & reblog is very much appreciated and i hope you enjoy! 🤍
warnings: angst , slow burn - lmk if i missed anything
one two three four five
you got dressed into your favourite sweater and your most comfortable pair of jeans before doing your hair and makeup.
you wanted to feel pretty. yeah, you’re only going shopping, but that’s not the point. you’ve been sitting in you’re apartment for so long that you almost forgot how good you look when you make an effort.
Riki never cared about perfect hair and makeup. he always said you were perfect without. and you mostly agreed with him.
sometimes, you just wanted to feel it though. you wanted to go outside and feel the eyes on you, the stares.
what’s different now is that you don’t have an arm around your waist. you don’t have his body practically shielding you from the world. you just had your girls and that’s enough.
the entire time you were out, all you could think about was him. how his hair felt between your fingers when he needed comfort after practice, how his arms felt sliding around your waist from behind as you stood at the stove and cooked dinner for the two of you, the way you never felt alone. not when he was there.
Kazuha lifted pretty tops and held them against your chest and Minji swiped a couple of different lipsticks against your wrist. none of that took your mind off of him, though.
you just wanted him back.
you’d done it, though. you ended things even if, deep down, you didn’t want to.
you told yourself you had to. it was for the best. for both of you. being with him didn’t exactly make you happy but you were happy enough just knowing that he was yours. that’s what made you regret it most.
as you walked through the mall, eyes glued to the ground, your mind raced with memories the two of you shared together.
the time when he set up a picnic at the park. there was your favourite drinks, snacks, and him. he had brought blankets “just in case it got chilly”, a polaroid camera so he could keep the memory in his wallet, and him. when it started to get late, he held your hand and kissed the side of your head as he guided you towards his car. he drove you back to his place and kissed all over your face before he let you get out of his car.
that time, last summer, when you went to the theme park together and he was hungry. he bought sugar doughnuts and slushies. however, the idiot that he is, he tripped and spilled the slushies all down his shirt. you didn’t even help him. you just fell to your knees laughing while he stood in front of you shivering from the icy drinks clinging to his shirt.
you remember when it all changed. he told you management had changed their schedules so they had practice basically every minute of their free time. none of his members agreed with it but what could they do?
but i keep coming back (like a revolving door)⭑sjy
sim jaeyun has the bad habit of never really staying in one person's arms for long. but then again, you've never really liked good habits.
pairing: sim jaeyun x f!reader
cw: romance, suggestive themes & allusions to sex (they're fwbs), actor!jake, mildly toxic to each other but it's only because they're both cowards, jealousy, r folds like origami when it comes to him but he's not that much better when it comes to her either, they're both avoidant, emotionally constipated idiots in love.
wc: 2.8k+ (2853 words in total)
notes from asher: so so so sorry for how ia i've been :(( academics and some personal stuff has been getting to me, & ive been in a bit of a writing slump for enha and was only working on stuff for my f1 blog... but here's smth i wrote bc this idea and jake's latest looks from the concerts dragged me out of my writer's block, so i hope you enjoy it along with this new type of formatting i've been trying out for my shorter, independent works :) my masterlist
JAKE SIM, YOU HAD TO ADMIT, HAD A WAY WITH THE LADIES. It was obvious from the way he smiled, really. A cute, charming, awkward little grin that often reminded you of the boy-next-door.
The way his eyes twinkled with mirth and fondness didn't help, and paired with how often his hair refused to listen to his stylist and stuck up in almost all of the cardinal directions possible, he was the human embodiment of a golden retriever that you couldn't help but adore.
A bright, charmingly stupid golden retriever that could make your life topsy-turvy because he decided that the space between your arms was the place he wanted to run to when everything seemed like it was too little and too much at the same time.
Also an unfortunately, blitheringly attractive and sexy golden retriever who fled from you as soon as he felt the coast was clear, before the first rays of dawn could bleed into the sky.
The kind of person who knew you from the inside out just as well as you knew him, and kept your heart suspended in a limbo somewhere in between ‘Will he?’ or ‘Will he not?’ every time he came over, batting at it like the entire arrangement was a game that amused him.
Still, even as you watch from behind the curtain, the screams echoing around the hall chosen as the venue for the latest stop of the press tour of his latest project, The Two of Us, reminds you of the sway and charm he holds over millions of women (and a good amount of men as well, you're sure) around the world.
And much like everyone else screaming their throats raw as they cheer for him, you happen to be one of them.
Except, it's your hotel room that he's come here from tonight.
What a shame it is for the others, your eyes rove over the crowd, that they won't have to deal with him coming over and then leaving before the stars have begun to fade.
Leveling one last, final look at him, you turn around and leave. The sounds of your footsteps are quiet compared to the noise on the other side of the curtain, but they seem awfully loud in the silence of your mind. The boarding pass seems rather warm where it's tucked into your purse, bleeding into your skin as a reminder of what you're about to do.
The night air is cold, the chill seeping into your bones when you finally step out of the building. The screams and the cheers are a distant echo, and your vision has adjusted to normality again, thanks to the lack of obnoxious camera flashes aimed at your face.
The life of a celebrity wasn't easy, you shuffle into the backseat of the cab that stops for you by the curb, but then again, nothing is ever easy.
Being Jake Sim’s not-quite-lover-not-quite-friend, suspended somewhere in between, especially wasn't easy. Even then, you'd made it work for so long.
But now, it was time to leave.
Leaving something behind always came with a price. That was something you were well aware of, something that was standard in this industry. But you needed a minute, some time to yourself. To reflect, to see where you had come to, and what you had become.
The city passes hazily with the cab’s windows, disappearing as soon as it came by. An awfully familiar routine by now, of course. So you close your eyes, and rest against the seat, despite the way that the leather scratches at the delicate skin of your nape, still sporting a few little bruises from the last time he'd held you.
The heart really is a fickle little thing.
⋯
“You flew back earlier than I thought you would,” Jake’s voice is warm, but still laced with that quiet curiosity you've come to know so intimately as he shuffles around in your kitchen in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and one of your aprons three days later. “I was looking forward to showing you around the city for a bit.”
“And get spotted by the paparazzi that follow you around like hungry hounds?” You snort into the glass of orange juice in your hand. “For someone so smart, Jake, you're absolutely so dumb at times.”
“Forgive me for trying to be a good friend then,” Jake rolls his eyes, setting two crisp, perfectly fried sunny side eggs onto your avocado toast, “and you're already well-known as a person in my inner circle. I'm pretty sure one of your fan pages has more followers than I do.”
“Jealous much?” The corners of his mouth quirk up at your quip, as he takes off the apron before coming to join you at the kitchen counter. “If I was jealous of something as silly as that, I'd be a much different man than I am today.”
You roll your eyes, swiping one of the cherry tomatoes off of his plate. Jake says nothing, but the subtle way he angles his plate towards you speaks enough for him instead. “You're such a hazard, Jake.”
He finally laughs at that, his shoulders shaking with the force of it, the skin over them glowing golden under the lights of your kitchen, as he eats his own avocado toast with you at two in the morning on a Tuesday. Jake catches your gaze again, and the surety in his eyes thrums your heart faster under your ribs. “Yeah,” he grins, licking off a crumb of scrambled eggs from his thumb. “I am.”
“But you come back anyway.”
You throw one of your own tomatoes at him. He catches it with one hand, still mid-bite, still laughing. “You know I'm right.”
Of course he was.
Jake Sim was a bad habit.
Has been since the day he came to you after his first breakup in the spotlight.
But you keep coming back.
And he's well aware of it, the bastard, as he gives you that same charming grin.
Just like a revolving door.
⋯
Jake’s arm is warm as it lays draped across your waist.
Moonlight filters through the blinds of the windows in his bedroom in scattered fragments, illuminating parts of the room. Your eyes find the clock on the nightstand first, the digital display blinking back a 3:45 AM at you in big, red numbers.
The trophies on his shelf are dark, but a few of them shine gold in the moonlight whenever it passes over them. The city is quiet at this time of the night, the only sounds being those of the occasional passing car.
You should leave before the morning. Before someone sees the two of you together.
Before you stay long enough that you end up wanting more than you can have.
Jake shuffles closer to you, his arm tightening around your middle as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. The unruly tufts of his hair brush against the bare skin of your shoulders, his skin radiates warmth as it touches yours, and his hand slides into yours, lacing your fingers together.
“Jake,” your voice is low, as if being a tad bit louder will break the tranquility that has settled over Jake's apartment. “Jake, I need to go.”
He merely huffs, before his eyes flutter open, the deep brown of his irises staring back at you. “What's the time?” He murmurs sleepily, pulling you closer. “It's still late.”
“It's almost four,” you mumble, sitting up, and Jake lets you. But his eyes still track you with an intensity that seems so familiar yet new at the same time, watching you reach for your phone. “… Where's my shirt? Shit, I still have to book a cab. Who's showing up at four in the morning?”
Jake’s nimble fingers pluck your phone from your hands, setting it aside. “Then stay. I'll drop you off later.”
“I'm sorry,” you blink, gaping at him. “What did you just say?”
Jake rolls his eyes, sitting up properly himself. “I wasn't aware that I took away your hearing along with your voice earlier.” Your ears burn at the reminder of what the two of you had been upto earlier, the bruises on your throat still blooming to their full glory. Still, you don't look away from him, and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more than what it already had been from sleep and your hands.
“Stay,” he repeats, a single eye glowing amber as the moonlight passes over his face. “I'll drop you off in the morning.”
“In the morning,” you echo, raising an eyebrow, and he nods. “When everyone can see us together?”
“I know a few shortcuts,” he shrugs like it's no big deal.
“You've never done this before,” your voice is quiet, and Jake’s hand reaches out to wrap around yours again, his thumb rubbing circles into your palm.
“I'm aware,” he mumbles, lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles. “Better late than never, then.”
“You've always been the one who leaves.”
“That's why I'm asking you to be the one who stays.”
You stare at him. He meets your gaze without hesitation, something quiet, something sure swimming in his eyes. Despite how much you try to pull away, your heart’s a bit of traitor, and immediately picks up the pace at which it drums away under your ribs.
“Why now?” The question is quiet, soft-spoken. Yet it carries the burden of a thousand suns, and Jake seems to feel the weight of them all at once. For a moment, you expect him to back off, to tell you that he was joking, that he didn't mean anything—but he only exhales softly, closing his eyes for a brief second, before turning back to you.
His hand is still warm from where it holds yours.
“Because I couldn't stand it any longer.”
The confession is equally quiet, soft. But you see it in the way his shoulders slump just the slightest, the tension bleeding out of his muscles like it was a secret he'd grown tired of carrying.
You don't say anything.
Jake takes your silence as consent to continue.
“I couldn't stand all of it any longer. I couldn't stand seeing your face in another's, even as I held her in my arms as my girlfriend and watched the world call us ‘the perfect couple’ and plaster our faces everywhere,” His voice is raw in a way that you've never heard before, and it makes your breath hitch despite the way your pulse is slowly climbing to a crescendo. “Couldn't stand waking up next to her, only to be disappointed that it wasn't you I saw. Couldn't stand that I heard you when she spoke, that I'd bring her things that I thought you would like. I despised it all.”
His eyes meet yours again, and there's a kind of frustration that you've never seen before—something that reminds you that he really is an actor, given how he must've skilfully hidden it from you so far along.
“What I despised the most,” his breathing grows ragged, and his grip on your wrist tightens, “is no longer being able to tell where she ended and where you began.”
You're sure you're no longer breathing.
Or maybe you've forgotten to, entirely. You're not sure which of the two it is.
But Jake doesn't allow you the respite of recovering.
“But even that didn't hurt as much,” he continues, one hand coming to cradle his head as if the very memory hurts him to recall, “as having to watch you go on dates with another man did. It never would hurt as much as it did when I had to listen to you speak like you were already imagining a future where you were his.”
“You have no right to do this to me.” Jake laughs at your answer, but it's a hollow, empty sound. “I know,” he rasps, and for a moment, he looks more manic than man. “I know I'm entirely to blame for it, but fuck, if it doesn't hurt.”
“I waited for months, Jake. Months. I hoped and I hoped, and then I hoped some more. But the moment I start to step away, you want to pull me back in?” The anger and resentment from all the time that has passed begins to bleed into the fissures his confession has left behind. “This isn't fair of you. Not one bit. And now you do all this, despite how you felt, all because you couldn't stand the thought of me being another’s?”
“Because that picture,” he breathes out. “I hated it. I hated the way you smiled with him. I hated that he seemed to make you happy, when I knew I could be so much better for you instead.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, as you mull his words over in your head. You're aware of what picture he's talking about—the one where you're in the arms of the tennis player you'd been seeing. The one that you'd matched with when your friends had grown tired of watching you silently mope over Jake, and had made a profile for you on some dating app you don't even remember the name of.
“Is that why you called me today, Jake? Because you wanted to remind yourself of what you could be?”
What you do remember is the fact that you'd made it exactly five dates, before Jake had called.
“Yes.” Jake’s gaze is unreadable when he finds your eyes again, but the hold on your hand doesn't loosen.
“You're an asshole, Sim.”
The corners of his mouth quirk up just the slightest.
“But you still came to me anyways.”
You hold his stare for a moment longer.
“Yes,” the word is quiet, softer than the night outside. “I came back to you anyways.”
Jake’s other hand comes up to cup your face, running his thumb over your cheek.
“Because I'm a coward who doesn't know where to draw the line.”
His lips brush against yours, his breath mingling with yours once more. “Then don't,” he murmurs, “there doesn't have to be one.”
“What if I run?” He plants soft kisses along your jaw.
“Then I'll run with you.”
“I should be saying goodbye.” You’re already leaning into him, hands finding their place in his hair as he moves to lay you down on the bed again.
“You can,” he murmurs against your skin. “I'll come over to say ‘hello’ later.”
“You're a bad habit, Jake.”
His eyes are warm as he hovers above you, and they twinkle with such affection and love that it hurts to see.
“It's in my favour that you've never really liked being good.”
Then his lips are back onto yours, and you're melting into his touch, in the exact same way you have all this time, all over again.
Jake Sim, you had to admit, really did have a way with you.
⋯
The morning is warm and loud, sunlight replacing the cold of the night. The hustle and bustle of people is louder now, though it hasn't reached its peak yet. Your eyes find the clock again, the LED display now reading 6:30 AM in the same red numbers.
Jake is still fast asleep next to you, his arms wrapped around you like a snake to a branch. You find a moment to take him in. Watch the way his chest rises and falls, the way his lashes flutter against his skin when he shifts in his sleep. The way the thin silver chain of his necklace is so warm against your skin now. The way the few messy stands of his hair move up and down with every breath he takes. The way his skin is bruised and bitten in the same way your own is.
“If all you're going to do is stare at me, you might as well sleep again.”
“Unlike you, I've actually got work to do.”
Jake snorts at your response, before his eyes open. A smile is already beginning to form at the corners of his mouth, tugging them up. “Are you always this grumpy in the mornings, or is it just today?”
“Find out for yourself, Sim.”
He laughs, pulling you closer to him as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Better idea, actually.”
The day begins to bleed through the windows, bathing everything in golds and ambers and yellows. Jake’s heartbeat is a steady rhythm that drums under your ear, as your head rests on his chest. He places a few more kisses into your hair, before his eyes land on the clock.
“There's twenty minutes to seven,” he murmurs into your ear. “Think we can get back to your place faster than the paps can?”
“That depends,” you brush your lips against his jaw, “on how fast you can drive.”
Jake grins, all warmth and bright and stupidly charming.
synopsis: jake sim has spent years mastering the art of tuning people out: hate comments, criticism, comparisons. it works, mostly. until @vrstppnlocket. what starts as petty online fights with a random stan account over his f1 debut slowly turns into late-night conversations he tries not to get attached to. sure, he could mute her, block her, unfollow her… but he can’t seem to delete her.
contains: f1-driver!jake, obsessed!jake, ragebaiter!y/n, social media!au, kind of enemies to lovers, so much banter, slow burn, fluff, comedy. ft. enha's hyung line + katseye's sophia.
warnings: y/n is a jake anti!!, swearing, inappropriate jokes, poor attempts at humor, i’m not an f1 expert, use of faceclaim for reader, ignore dates and timestamps pls!
🏎️ jay's series | previous
a/n: AAAAAAND SCENE! ok i feel like this fic was missing the f1 part so i really enjoyed writing this one. gotta say this canonically happened to my close personal friend arvid lindblad and i was so sad for him. 😭 guys u might kill me for this but i'm not really planning on writing the call ... JDNANJ MAYBE i'll post it as an extra or just leave it to your imagination ... idk!!!
