hallucination.

you’d had the biggest crush on chan ever since he’d been assigned to you as your tutor. he was easily the most attractive guy you’d ever seen- icy blue eyes, broad shoulders, toned arms, and thick blond hair that fell naturally into his face in soft, effortless waves. normally you went for the quieter, boy-next-door type, but something about chan was different. there was an edge to him, a confidence and a recklessness that drew you in and made your heart race.

out of all the students he tutored, you seemed to be the one he grew closest to. your sessions always ran longer than planned, drifting from schoolwork into late-night conversations and laughter. so when he asked you one evening if you wanted to come over to his apartment for a private study session, your nerves lit up with excitement.

you liked him more than you were ready to admit, and the thought of being alone with him made your stomach flutter. you spent extra time getting ready, choosing a tight top and a short skirt, adding a touch of strawberry-scented lip gloss, hoping he might notice the effort, even if just a little.

when you knocked on his door, he was dressed in a white shirt that stretched across his muscular arms and toned chest, and the look he gave you when he cast his gaze over your body made your heart thump. he couldn’t stop looking at your thighs, the way your mini skirt barely stopped past your ass. fuck, were you doing this on purpose? 

“hi chan,” you greeted him with a hug, and he got a whiff of your apple shampoo as you wrapped your arms around him. 

he had to draw in a deep breath as he felt your boobs pressing against his torso- afraid that the blood would rush to his cock from the way you were being so touchy. 

“i thought we’d work on some political theory,” he said, trying to distract himself from how fucking good you looked. 

you nodded shyly, too consumed by the thought of how big his arms felt around you, how his hands brushed against your waist. you couldn’t believe he was hot and smart- to be honest you didn’t really care much for your political science class but seeing him made you work harder. 

as you bounded down the hall to the living room, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the way your little skirt swished against your ass—revealing the pair of lace panties you were wearing. he decided you were definitely trying to do this on purpose. 

it was boring, going over different democratic processes, and you felt yourself yawning as he droned on and on. all you could think about was how much you wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss him… or perhaps do more. you’d never seen a cock before, but you wanted to know what it felt like- to suck one, perhaps…

“are you listening to me?” you heard the voice of chan call out, bringing you back to earth. 

“sorry,” you pursed your lips, casting an apologetic look. 

chan shook his head, but decided to let you off- after all, there were more interesting things he could be doing this evening. your skirt had hiked up around your thighs, and you could see him staring. your cheeks turned pink, embarrassment flooding to them. 

“are you bored?” he inquired, and you tilted your head ever so slightly. 

“y-yes,” you admitted, eyes glancing down at your feet. 

being aware that he was looking at you had made you nervous- suddenly you felt very conscious of the fact that you were wearing a tiny skirt, and that your shirt was stretching against your breasts. chan leaned in closer to you, breath brushing against your cheek. you could see desire brimming in his icy gaze, and felt one of his hands snake to your lower back. 

“what do you want to do instead?” he murmured. 

your lip trembled, he was so close to you, his hand moved down to cup your ass- you were so innocent, the way you were bashfully gazing up at him. 

"um…” a giggle escaped your lips. “i don’t know…”

he cocked a brow, smirk crossing his lips. he didn’t believe that, not with the way you were dressed, not with how you didn’t try to push him away when he squeezed your ass. 

“you sure about that?” you shook your head in response, pretty eyes filled with nervousness. you were waiting for him to say something. 

chan felt his cock hardening as you shifted a little, hand accidentally brushing against his crotch. his lips parted, and he brought your own against them, enveloping you in a kiss. you opened your mouth, letting your tongue brush against his, making pretty noises as he kissed you hotly. 

you’d never gone further than a few drunken makeouts with boys, so when you moved into chan’s lap you were quite surprised at the feeling of something hard poking against your thigh. when you pulled away, cheeks flushed, chest heaving from your pounding heart, he had a lustful look drawn upon his face. 

“look at that, you’ve made me hard,” chan whispered against your ear, his hand still pawing at your ass. 

“sorry,” you were still red, but you felt a wetness beginning to form between your thighs. 

“mhm, i don’t think you’re very sorry, are you, princess?” he teased, nipping at the soft skin of your neck. he wondered if you’d ever been given a hickey before. 

“no…” you admitted, lashes fluttering. 

how cute. the way you were all rosy-cheeked and nervous at the sight of him being hard. he let out a low groan as you moved your hips down against him- unconscious of what you were doing, of course. you only realised what you were doing when you felt his boner pressing right against your cunt. 

“you know… i could get you some extra credit if you do something for me.” he offered. you perked up at the thought of that- extra credit. you really hated your political science class. 

“what do you want me to do?” your brows were furrowed, an innocent look painted upon your features. 

“you know how to suck cock?” he asked, and you shook your head, drawing your lips into a thin line. 

you wanted to do it, though. you wanted him so bad that your panties were soaked, and you were sure he could feel it. the way you were moving your hips ever-so-slightly and clenching your thighs to ease the tension. 

“course you don’t…” he thumbed the flushed skin of your cheeks, a smile creeping upon his lips at the thought of corrupting you. “gonna teach you how, yeah? i'm your tutor for a reason.”

your eyes widened, and he couldn't help but sigh at how fucking innocent you were. but he saw a level of desperation inside of you too, a need for him and his cock. 

“now, princess, you're going to get on your knees, yeah?” his voice was soft as he directed you, pulling you off his lap so you could kneel before him.

when you'd obliged him, you gazed up at him, dumbfounded, and he took your hand and guided it to his bulge. he was so hard- painfully so- and the way you were looking at him, so eager to please, only made him throb all the more. 

“see how fucking hard you've made me?” you nodded, giggling with delight as you palmed his clothed cock.

“i wanna suck it now,” you said, a little demanding. 

he smirked, and moved your hand to the waistband of his jeans, directing you to unbutton them. you obeyed, and slid his jeans down to reveal his black chrome hearts boxers- a man with taste, obviously. he looked even bigger now through his underwear, and you audibly gasped, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth with a hunger.

“is it gonna fit?” you asked anxiously, brows arching. 

“course it will, princess,” he remarked, thinking about how much he'd love to see you gagging around him with those pretty pink lips of yours- he loved how they'd tasted of strawberries when you'd kissed him- so deliciously innocent.

you tugged at the waist and off his boxers, and when his cock sprang out your mouth stretched open in shock. he was so big. like, unbelievably big. not that you’d ever seen a cock before but you couldn’t fathom how it was supposed to fit in your mouth. the tip was red and leaning against his shirt until you reached out to grab it with your hand. 

“it’s so pretty,” you smiled up at him, singing praises. 

“yeah? you wanna put it in your mouth?” he suggested, and you gnawed nervously at your glossy lips. 

“what exactly do i have to do?” you inquired, furrowing your brows. you looked so cute and confused that he had to clench his thighs to stop himself coming at the sight of you. that would be humiliating. 

“give the tip a lick, princess,” he guided, and so you obliged. 

you moved your head down, one hand gripping the base. you liked how it felt in your hand, warm and pulsing. you could almost giggle at the feeling, you wanted to take it all the way down your throat so bad but he was just too big. you stuck your tongue out, and gave the tip an experimental lick, licking up all the precum that coated it. 

chan let out a soft groan, moving his hand to smooth your hair as a gesture that you were going well. you licked the tip again, and then gazed up at him, eager to see his response. his mouth was stretched around another sound of pleasure, and his hips twitched ever so slightly at the feeling of your wet tongue. 

“it’s like a lollipop,” you giggled, and he felt himself throb at your innocence. you just couldn’t help being so cute, could you? so fucking naive that you were in university and you’d never even sucked cock before! 

“now, i want you to take me properly,” he began, and you watched as he instructed you. “wrap your lips around me, yeah? see how far you can go.”

you obliged, making sure to push your top lip behind your teeth, realising that would probably hurt the sensitive skin of his shaft. you moved your head as far down as you could go, and when he hit the back of your throat you gagged and your eyes welled up with tears automatically. 

his cock twitched in your mouth. you’d barely taken in two inches of him and already your mouth was full, lips stretched wide, pretty eyes watering. he watched you attempt to push yourself further, but it was too much, and you gagged again. 

“too big,” you whined, a few tears trickling down your cheek. 

he swiped them away with his thumb, and shook his head. 

“you gotta move your head up and down, princess,” he guided you back to wrap your lips back around the tip. “try use your tongue too, laying it flat against the shaft as you bob your head.”

you moved your tongue against his shaft as you bobbed your head up and down, and watched as he let out a breathy moan. you attempted to take him further again, this time you reached about half way before gagging and having to pull him out. 

“i’m sorry,” you whimpered, but he simply stroked your cheek and beamed down at you. 

“you’re doing so well, princess. you can use your hand if the rest won’t fit,” he murmured, and you gave a nod of understanding. 

you used one hand to grip the base while the other stroked him up and down, and wrapped your lips back around his cock. it was easier now, you didn’t have to worry about taking the other half- and it was a big half- down your throat, so you laved at him as much as you could, saliva coating his veiny cock. 

“fuck,” he groaned, feeling his balls tighten as your tongue slid over a particularly sensitive vein. 

your eyes rolled back as you pushed him to the back of your throat, hollowing out your cheeks so as much of him could fit. your core flooded with heat, you loved having his cock in your mouth so much. you adjusted your hips a little to try and ease the tension, but it was no use, so you just had to put up with the dull ache as you continued to suck him off. 

chan moved your hand at the base of his cock, and guided it to his balls. you fondled them gently, watching as his features were dancing with satisfaction, eyes fluttering prettily. 

“good girl,” he said between groans. “taking my cock so well, so good…”

you smiled best you could, though it was hard with his cock down your throat. you felt him throbbing in your mouth, and pulled him out for a brief second so you could move your tongue up and down his shaft. 

“want you to come in my mouth,” you informed him with an impish grin, moving to slide your tongue down the underside of his cock. 

“wasn’t planning on coming anywhere else… yet,” he laughed softly, threading his fingers through your hair as you swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock. 

he was close, hips bucking into your palm as one hand massaged his balls. you were a quick learner, which was surprising considering you were quite the opposite when it came to political science. perhaps he’d just have to tutor you in this, instead. 

“mhm, gonna…” his mouth stretched around another groan. ‘come.’ 

your lips were wrapped around him once again, and with an elegant thrust he emptied himself in your mouth. hot spurts of cum trickled onto your tongue and down your throat, the pearly stuff tasting slightly salty. 

you giggled, pulling him out and watching the excess dribble from his tip. you opened your mouth wide and stuck your tongue out, showing him all the cum that pooled on it. 

“swallow it,” he commanded. 

you obliged, feeling it trickle down your throat. you poked your tongue out again and took the head—which was now extremely sensitive—licking up the rest of the stuff from his leaky tip. 

“so good,” you moaned, swallowing it all down. 

he couldn’t believe how hot you were, plump lips wet with saliva, your eyes gazing at him as you swallowed every last drop of his cum. 

“i’ll make sure you get an A on this assignment,” he smiled, pulling you up to sit in his lap. 

chan:

minho:

changbin:

hyunjin:

The sky over the city has been learning to bruise for years.

It hangs low and heavy most afternoons, the kind of gray that tastes like old iron and bad decisions. Rain comes like a reprimand now and then, but it never quite cleanses. It only widens the cracks. In the last seven years those cracks have started to swallow people who shouldn't have disappeared at all--kids in their teens, some barely out of school uniforms, some with futures that smelled of exams and cheap coffee and impossible hope. They vanish in the space between one breath and the next. Sometimes there are bodies. Sometimes there is nothing but a rumor and a smear of blood smeared into someone else's alibi.

No one wants to touch these unsolved cases anymore. Officers who try end up with more than bruises or cuts….. they end up with teeth pushed in, lungs filled with someone else's winter, or nothing left at all to identify them in the end. The word "cursed" has a stupid gravity here--a gloomy shrug passed around precincts like a dangerous secret. You hear it in the stations where the fluorescent lights buzz and the coffee tastes like ash…. You hear it whispered under breath when a lieutenant passes a file across a cluttered desk and refuses to look at you in the eyes.

"Case's a magnet," one of the old cop said once in the hallway. "You get close and it chews you out till one can swallow."

And then the academy did the thing nobody sane would do: they handed the file to students.

Not a seasoned detective, not a squad of hardened officers with nothing left to lose and everything to gain. The academy made the bad joke official--final-year interns would handle the HAVOC case as their last 'field' assignment, sounded more of some homosucidial manic who believed this could be a 'great' idea. They put it on the table in a room where the light came in thin and cautious through blinds, and told everyone with military bluntness that this was what would secure a scholarship, a recommendation, a job placement. Just as if the prize could be measured in points on a rubric. You could see the calculation in their eyes: push the bright and the expendable into the grinder and justify budgets that would otherwise be cut.

You don't care about their calculations, you never did. You care about the shape of the file, folded to the size of a baby bird's wing on the desk before you, the official stamp heavy and smug across its front. You care because on the page where details are crammed into sober type, your mother's name is a shadow you chase with a pen and a glare. You care because they promised justice once--and you have always refused to accept the bargain where cash and influence buy some custom silence. You care because when they handed that file to your cohort, they handed you a target as much as they handed you a fucking chance.

You walk through the academy--its corridors long, its posters thick with slogans about integrity and discipline--and you move like someone who doesn't belong to the rituals of smiling greeters and flawless uniforms. You keep your shoulders small and sharp against the swell of other students whose nervousness tastes like milk. They glance at you, sometimes curious, sometimes wary. You notice none of it. You are used to being noticed and being ignored. The two things happen to you in the same breath.

You prefer it that way.

You are the kind of person who has no real friends by design. People are liabilities. Attachments are snags. Love is for soft people and for those who will exchange pain for permanence. Your mouth has always been blunt; your answers have always been a kind of weapon. When people tell you to soften, you always sharpen. When people call you reckless in gentle tones meant to be kind, you demonstrate that the word is a compliment. It has to be. You survived because you took risks other people wouldn't, because you learned to put one foot into the dark and wait for it to become light. Maybe that is what your mother would have called courage. Maybe that's what the rest of the world calls stupid.

You carry a lifetime's worth of reasons to believe everyone is selfish. When your parents divorced you learned how to split loyalties into neat piles. When your mother was taken from you--taken by a little boy with a smile too practiced for his age and a sentence that ended with "released"--you learned how certain systems devour culpability for so called convenience. The language of the law tasted like stupid fucked vows, but the substance inside was a rot. Some things do not add up to justice; they add up to an economy of silence. You swore you would not be the kind of person to accept that.

When your name is called in lecture and the professor looks directly at you with an exhausted politeness, you look back without the rehearsed grin most students wear. You answer like an incision--clean, quick, efficient. The professors like you because you make sense in capricious classes. They imagine they can measure you on a curve and be pleased.

Then they hand you HAVOC and smile like they're proud of themselves.

"You got the Havoc file," someone whispers. Eyes narrow. You can feel the heat that moves through the room--equal parts excitement and fear. You do not speak.

They tell the room the rules later, words sliding off their tongues like practiced eau-de authority. Two interns will be paired, male and female, for fieldwork: it looks better in public, they explain. Safety optics, they say. The academy's brass will be in the gallery with their polite faces. One pair scholarship. One pair recommendation. One chance to be signed to the station across the river.

And then they announce the name you did not want to hear ever beside yours.

"Hwang Hyunjin," the moderator says, voice bland.

You look at Hyunjin like looking at a loaded gun catalog--calm, precise, and dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with lip service. He is the kind of man who wears silence like armor. Tall, with a face that seems carved rather than composed, his jawline a geometry you don't indulge in… though pretty enough to crush over yet wanting to punch. People misinterpret him--some call him icy, others call him brilliant, many even 'hot'. You call him a person who hates the idea of needing anyone. He says the world takes in and chews up people who make noise. He is someone who learned to be quiet and precise because shouting gets you dead.

You had chosen that file like you choose everything: by dispassionate logic and a small, lethal hunger.

And there he is--standing like a test you did not plan to take. He doesn't smile when your names sound in the same sentence. He doesn't need to. His eyes find yours, level and cool, and there is the sharp, immediate thing that crawls into your skin: competition. The kind of competition that has been breathing at the back of your neck for years.

This isn't the first time either of you has circled this prize. You have been scheming for the same internship for as long as you've been able to count. You have tried to sabotage him. He has tried to sabotage you. Small things at first--misdirected reports, "accidental" data deletions, encouraging a witness to "forget" a scheduled testimony. Not because either of you are cowards--because this is the kind of war a system raises and expects. And you've both been schooled in how to play it.

Now the war gets professionalized because the academy wants it to look like bravery when it's probably desperation.

They explain logistics. Surveillance units will be down. Access to certain databases will be restricted. You will be given redacted files and half-loose leads. If you succeed, the world will clap politely. If you die, they'll write a press release about the price of courage and move on. Though they never mentioned anything about the death, you both knew it laid there.

Hyunjin's voice is low when he finally speaks to you. Nothing sharp, no joke. Just the careful tilt of a man who avoids unnecessary speech.

"You're reckless," he says, no more than a statement of fact.

You consider answering with sharp words, each of them as knives, but you don't. The thing about him is that he knows the same language you speak. He knows a life that exists in measured advantage. He knows what it is to lose someone and then decide to be better prepared so it never happens again. The problem is you detect that the thing behind his eyes is some kind of unlit fire--precise, thoughtful, lethal in a way he doesn't advertise.

"That's one way to put it," you say. "And you are sanctimoniously careful."

He smiles--an even fraction of a movement that doesn't reach his eyes. "I call it being thorough."

"Thorough? Or cowardly smarter?" The words slide out before you can catch them.

He pauses. His face changes just enough to make a row of students behind you shift in discomfort. "Watch your mouth," he says, but there is no threat in the cadence. It's a warning whispered into a room full of strangers.

You are both adults. You can both play clean. But you don't.

You have your reasons: the file, your past, your bone-deep refusal to be ignored.

He has his reasons: a syllable of a story you haven't yet teased open--one about a sister, a night, a sharpness that made him sign into a life where violence was a necessary vocabulary. Maybe that is why he hates partners--why he prefers the map of his own instincts.

You stare at the slim, red-stamped file on the table as if it might produce answers if you look long enough. It smells faintly of ozone and paper, and it has the kind of weight that could be measured in hushes. There's a list of the so-called "four pillars"--names that mean nothing to the general public but everything to those who keep blacklists in their pockets. The leaders are not directors in any formal sense; they are teenagers in uniforms and uniformed ruthlessness, the kind of wealth and territory that insulates them from consequences. They are kids with privileges and wars of their own, the kind of kids the city pretends don't exist until their mess lands at the feet of someone who must clean it up.

No officer has come back from a full attempt to unmask them.

You don't do it for bravado. You don't do it for the banners the academy will unfurl when you return. You do it because the word "justice" grew up hollow in your mouth and you want to put something solid there, even if it's only a shard.

The first field briefing feels like a waking nightmare translated into policy. Maps spread on the table, hours of CCTV footage reduced to brief, flickering clips that show shadow and movement and the occasional camera angle that believes it's captured enough. Witness statements contradict each other like lovers squabbling over memory. There are gaps where there should be answers--locations with missing footage, phones that stop working, interviews that end abruptly when someone who knows too much unexpectedly loses their keys.

You and hyunjin are supposed to cover different tracks and meet in the middle to compare notes. The academy's brass assigns you a liaison officer who has a mouth full of nervous smoke and an ego that smells of beige. He tells you all the things that will keep you safe. You're not supposed to break protocol. You're not supposed to go alone. You are not supposed to look like frightened kids.

"Don't be heroes," he says, because saving face is still a job skill when your employer is the law.

You want to laugh. It comes out as a raw, small sound. "Why would we be heroes?" you ask. "We don't work for the academy's press releases."

hyunjin's gaze finds you again. It lingers. "Because some of us think the world is worth one more honest fight." His voice is quieter, and for the first time you see the thing behind the careful mask. There is no pretense in that sentence--only logic and an energy that says he has been counting losses when everyone else has been counting wins.

"Don't be cute," you snap, and you both know the word is as much a shield as it is a dare.

From across the room, the other students watch with the kind of curiosity reserved for fights about to boil over. You relish their discomfort. You find something calming in the friction. It means you are alive enough to care.

"Riot," he says then, low enough that if it were not for the way his voice has been steady all afternoon, you would have missed it. The word sits in the air between you like a match. He said it with a smirk, not out of endearment yet, but for the small, precise aggravation he knows it will cause.

You freeze for half a heartbeat. Your spine goes cold and hot at the same time. The nickname is perfect in a way that angers you. You know your face betrays you because his mouth twists at the corner as if he's already enjoyed the reaction. "Don't fucking call me that."

"Why? Because it reminds you of things you don't want to own?" He leans back on his heels, hands cool in his pockets. He looks like a man untroubled by the world dissolving around him.

You close your eyes and let the breath slide out slow. Of all the names he could have chosen, he chose one that cuts. You have been called worse. You have been called everything from "reckless" to "a cancer" in clinical reports. But "Riot" has a taste of something visceral, like the echo of a bomb-sound in the mouth. It paints you as dangerous and beautiful, all the things you've tried not to be in a world that punishes both.

"Keep your distance, Hwang," you say. Your voice is a cold blade. "And your stupid nicknames."

He smiles then--a slow, private expression. There is the outline of a man who would rather invent a private war than commit to a public peace. "I prefer to call it keeping you alive."

"Save your sanctimony," you reply. The way your words land is both a challenge and a promise: I will not be trivialized. I will not be owned.

Outside the briefing room, the sky finally breaks and rain comes down hard enough to drum against the windows like someone impatient for answers. The HAVOC file lies between the two of you, indifferent and waiting.

You leave the room carrying your pack and a hollow, bright anger in your chest--an anger that does not bargain with fear. You were not made for ease. You were not made for the kind of warmth people advertise on evenings with lower stakes. You were made to take the things that are broken and find out what they are capable of. Hyunjin walks beside you, as composed as always, and the nickname trails after you both like smoke.

If the academy expected two bright, hungry students to fail spectacularly, they misread hunger for weakness. You both are hungry in different ways. And if this city is cruel enough to teach minors how to become weapons for the powerful, you will be the two kids who refuse to become another statistic.

"Riot," he says once more, when you are almost at the doors. This time there is no smirk. The word is softer, like the sound of a promise he hasn't yet learned to articulate.

You don't answer. You don't have to. You already feel your own heart doing a thing you refuse to name. The cold part of you despises it. The other part--the part that keeps you breathing when everything else goes quiet--is curious.

And curiosity, you know, usually comes with a cost.

The rain hasn't stopped since you left the academy. It clings to your jacket in cold, uneven patches, as if reluctant to let you go back into a world that prefers clean answers. In the weeks since they handed you the HAVOC file, the city has been quieter in the wrong ways. Sirens still keened, but there was a different kind of silence sliding under doors now--a hush like someone holding a sharp knife and waiting to see if it would be worth the trouble.

They send you out in pairs like recruits in a horror film. Pairing male and female is a neat PR trick, they said--optics matter when you want taxpayers to sleep soundly. In practice, it means you and Hyunjin move through cordoned-off scenes with the rest of the interns, cameras craning like indifferent birds, officers leaning on their batons with the gravity of strangers who have seen more than they should have. The HAVOC case smells of stale cigarette smoke and wet concrete and a metallic tang that never quite leaves your nose after a body.

The body in front of you is small and folded around itself like a used rag. A young adult, maybe twenty, maybe a little younger--age is always a guess once the blood and bruises rewrite the measurements of a person. The cool light above the corpse makes his skin look waxy, like paper left in sun for too long. There are holes in his jacket where something rough tore through--threads snapped like thoughts. His face is an open, unreadable mask…. the mouth slack, the eyes fixed on a ceiling that isn't there. The way his hands are placed, the angles of his limbs, the bruises crawling like ink blooms across his skin--someone wanted the scene to speak in a language of terror.

You kneel close because that's what you do…..observe. You press gloved fingers against the hollow of his throat though you know the pulse was long gone before you got here. You run your hands along the hem of his shirt where a ragged edge tells a better story than any witness ever will. Blood has dried into sediment, and when you brush it with the tip of a swab to lift DNA, it flakes off like old red dust. The smell that lifts with it is something sour and chemical, a scent you both know too well and don't dare name yet.

"Acid burn," one of the techs says without looking up. There is a flatness to the diagnosis, as if naming it makes it less terrible. But it doesn't. It sharpens the picture, someone poured a burning chemistry into the boy's mouth or used a substance to eat at him from the inside out. Whatever was done was deliberate and experimental in its cruelty. It wasn't chaos. It was design….

You think of your mother and the small, stupid rituals you kept afterward. How you used to sweep the same corner of the kitchen until your hands bled just to prove you could still feel something. The memory sits in your throat like a stone--a looping film you made yourself watch until you didn't recognize when impulsive love had been erased by law. He was a small thing in a corridor of old lies, a boy who smiled too easily and then didn't smile at all. He had been found with a cigarette lighter still warm in his palm the night your mother died. The official reports wrote down the word "young offender" and then drew a neat line through responsibility. Two years in a juvenile facility and then out like tidewater, and that was that. The system made it clean. You made it a scar.

Hyunjin is quiet at your side, the scratch of his boots the only betrayed sound in the field. He watches the techs like someone tracking a calculus problem. His hand moves to a pen and the notebook he keeps as if making grocery lists, but the handwriting is compact and precise, logical in a way that's designed to catch anomalies like mice in a pantry. He doesn't flinch at the gore. He reads it the way he reads people: distance first, then calculation, then the tiny flicker of what matters.

"How long since death?" he asks, voice low.

"Depends," the ME answers, eyes on the monitor like he's wincing at what the screen shows. "Internal tissue necrosis's progressed to a semi-cultured state. Secondary infection likely cycotic. Roughly twelve to eighteen hours, maybe more. Whoever did this had time and wanted it to be slow."

Slow is a word that should carry methodical cruelty. You imagine the man waking up and tasting the rust of his own belly, trying to scream, and the person who held the bottle watching like a scientist. It is the kind of violence that claws at you from the inside.

"Any witnesses?" Hyunjin asks.

"None credible yet," the officer says. "We got a minor in custody last night. Sixteen. Caught nearby with match burns on his palms. He confessed."

"Confessions happen," you mutter. "But they always seem to happen on track. Suspiciously convenient."

The officer's mouth tightens. "Convenient how?"

You don't bother to look satisfied when you press the last of the swabs into a vial. Certain truths are small and sharp. "Because whoever benefits from a quick closure wants it quick," you say, and hyunjin's eyes flick to you with that same cold gravity you saw in the briefing room. He hears you like a man who listens for patterns under noise.

They allow the interns to question suspects tonight--some twisted rite of passage. The brass wants to see you interact, wants to know if you have the smell of a professional. You agree to it for reasons that taste like adrenaline and something like duty.

The interrogation room is fluorescent bright and smells of bleach. The chair opposite is empty for a moment like a promise. Then they bring him in--the minor, sixteen, whatever his age reads. He walks in with hands cuffed and a face the color of blankness. The boy is not scared. He is not guilty in the way you had expected the guilty to be. His shoulders are loose, and his eyes are small, sharp, and entirely detached.

The moment he sits, the world changes. Hyunjin folds his hands on the table. You sit with your back straight, fingers steepled, watching him the way hunters read a twitch in the bushes.

"Name?" Hyunjin says, the word a scalpel.

"Jiho," the boy answers with a small, bored tilt. There was nothing. No tremor, no clue. His voice is quiet but steady..too steady. He does not attempt a plea. He does not beg.

"Why did you do it?" you ask because the armor of efficiency requires a reason. People leave traces.

Jiho shrugs, a small, disinterested motion. "I didn't."

"Then why were you found near the scene? Why do you have burns on your hands?"

He looks at his hands as if for the first time, flexes the fingers. There is a thin white mark along his palm where a match or a hot element might have touched it. "Matches," he says. "I do stupid things with fire. Kids do stupid things."

Hyunjin opens the file for the boy, flips through the school records like he's reading a book that will cough up the necessary lines. There is a texture to the way he works--a patience that fits the danger they are in. "There are witnesses who say you were seen passing a bottle to the victim at three in the morning."

Jiho laughs, a sound like a small bird with a broken wing. "Witnesses lie you know."

You press. The officer manning the intake watches like it's both a hunt and a show. You use the technique the professors taught: slow escalation, controlled silence, leaving space for the suspect to fall into his own voice. You vary the questions, the tone. Hyunjin is surgical, a cold pressure. You push like a current against a dam.

jiho's responses are either clipped or blank. At one point you catch a flicker of something when you mention the name of a rival pillar school. His pupils dilate a fraction, then return like nothing happened. He opens his mouth and says, "They told me to give the statement. They said I'd get less time."

"Who told you?" Hyunjin leans forward so the tip of his pen threatens the boy's fingers. There's steel on the paper-edge of his voice.

Jiho looks at Hyunjin with a smile that makes a hollow in your chest. "A man. In a car. It wasn't even a man; it was a voice. It told me what to say. It said if I said nothing they'd leave me alone. It said they'd take care of my family."

You feel the air go thick. Hyunjin's jaw tightens, the way it does when he's counting losses like calculus. "A voice?"

"The voice said—" Jiho's expression slips for the briefest second. "It said they'll make sure I only go to juvenile anyways. That I'll be fine. We'll be fine. Mainly my parents will be fine"

"Fine for whom?" you ask, watching his face like it's a map you could read if you had enough light.

Jiho shrugs again, the world inside him a vase of broken things. "Fine."

There's nothing like a child answering as if the terrible truth is normal. There are no tremors, only an odd acceptance like someone reading instructions for a task. The more you push, the less defense he has; he is smooth in a way that bites. When you ask him if he feels guilty, his mouth flattens. "Guilt is overrated," he says. "It hurts. You can choose not to feel. It's a trick."

Hyunjin's hand makes a small movement as if to reach out and break the boy's jaw. Instead, he keeps his hands folded and writes. You can see the fury in his eyes though, he hates witness blanks, the kind that say nothing because it is safer. He knows that "safe" often means another person dying.

"Who benefits from these confessions, Jiho?" Hyunjin asks calmly.

He tilts his head, considering you both. For a moment there is something almost like pride on his face. "People who own things. People who buy silence. People who get paid to make roofs for those above." His voice is flat. "Minors get whisked and cleaned. They dig their own holes and the people above them don't get their hands dirty."

"Who are 'the people above'?" you press. "Names."

He smiles then, too bright and too old, like a light bulb about to break. "I don't know names. I know places. I know cars. I know a voice. Sometimes the voice is a laugh. Sometimes it's an old man's cough. Names are expensive…hence even we dunno."

It is the way he says "names are expensive" that makes the officer's hand drift toward his radio. No one likes thinking of a system so tangled with cash that identity can be bought out of consequences. Hyunjin slides his to his lip, metal glinting. He looks at you, and in that look there is a thousand small calculations: how much of the boy's history can be trusted, where the leaks might be, who in the academy would want this wrapped neat and gone.

You let your hand rest on the table, feeling the chill through your gloves. "How many times have you been instructed?"

Jiho counts on his fingers in a lazy way, as if performing a child's trick. "Three. The first time it was a bottle. The second time it was a laugh. The third time they gave me a phone number and said to say what they told me on the call."

Hyunjin's lips thin. "Did the voice ever ask you to hurt someone specifically?"

"Sometimes they said hit them. Sometimes they said take them. Sometimes they gave a promise of 'protection.'"

There is a calculus here you did not expect. The minors are not autonomous killers. They are animals trained to take the heat while people with gloves and names get the clean leg up. You feel bile rise; the world's arrangements have teeth and they smile while they bite.

Outside the interrogation room you sense other eyes. Someone is watching you, and it's not just the officer with the radio. The surveillance feed shows someone sitting in the cafeteria with a camera phone, a hood up, like the modern breed of voyeurs. You have that visceral feeling that comes when predator and prey cross paths and notice each other. The glance is quick, then gone. You mention it to Hyunjin when you step into the hallway.

"Someone's watching," you tell him, and his expression changes from concentrated patience to cool alarm.

"Who?"

"You tell me you saw nothing, Hwang." Your voice is tight around the name, but there are flares of something else underneath—annoyance, the edge of a warning. "Someone's following the pattern of our movements."

He runs his hand through his hair once, a small private thing. "So did you," he says dryly, because he knows how to turn cautions into weapons. But the smirk is brief. He is listening harder now, the way someone waits for a storm to change its mind.

They process Ji-ho with a bureaucratic coldness--fingerprints, DNA, the ritual of paperwork that makes things sound manageable. But you and Hyunjin both know the ritual will be used as a veil. A minor confesses, a family is bought off, and the city sleeps because statistics are neat. The case moves in closed loops, and you are in the center of a wheel that is already stained.

You leave the station later that night feeling like something in your bones has been rearranged. The wet streets reflect neon with a cruel smile. The boy's words swirl in your head until they form a question: why would minors give themselves up so easily? Why would a teenager walk into a station and say, "I did it," like he's checking an item off a list?

It becomes obvious, sick and sharp. You imagine a staircase lined with people in suits, at the top of which sits some anonymous architecture of greed. They need the minors to be guilty because that absolves them. They need the narrative to stay small and local, to be wrapped up in juvenile justice and forgotten. The minors are shields. They take heat for a system that wants clean hands.

"Because they're promised something…or threatned," you say aloud as if the night needs a voice.

Hyunjin looks at you with something like understanding and anger braided into the same thread. "Promised protection for their families. Promised money. Promised a clean record. Or promised nothing and threatened until they folded."

They could be right. They could be all wrong. But the feeling in the pit of your stomach doesn't care for theorizing; it wants action. You think of sharp chemical burns and the way blood dries into a crust. You think of your mother and the boy with a cigarette lighter. The world has been buying silence and calling it judgment. You have been sold a bargain you refuse to accept.

In the dark as the rain hammers the city, Hyunjin stands close enough that you know the shape of him by touch and not just sight. His breath is even, measured. He says quietly, "This isn't a case you walk away from, Riot."

The nickname lands like a heavy thing you have to hold. You look at him, and despite everything the word carries, you feel something fragile unspool in the edges: not hope--not yet--but the first, dangerous stitch of partnership. You can hate him enough to keep yourself sharp. You can hate him enough to trust he won't flinch.

"Good," you say, and the single syllable is a promise and a threat. "Because I'm not walking away either."

Outside, the city yawns and shifts in its sleep. The minors keep being minors until they are made into weapons. The gears of HAVOC grind on, greedy and hungry and organized. You both know the calculus now: to expose the people above the minors, you have to swallow the system's contempt and fight from inside the teeth.

The first step is simple and monstrous at the same time--follow the voice. Find the car. Find the laugh. Find the names money has bought. Pull them into light by whatever means necessary.

As you walk through the wet streets, your gloves still smelling of something like iron, you think about names and costs. You think about how cheap names have become. You think about how expensive it will be to make the city remember that children are not disposable.

Riot. He said it like a joke, but the word is becoming a map. You tuck its weight into the small pocket under your ribs and step forward into the rain with Hyunjin at your side, both of you feeling like people who have just been given a match and told the building is dry.

-

The week after the interrogation was a slow, taut thing, like a muscle flexing and ready to snap. Rain kept its habit of falling, thin and acid on the city, and every streetlight looked like a judgment. You moved through the days with a hollow, precise purpose, trading sleep for coffee and the sharp, clean work of forensics. Hyunjin was at your shoulder more than he admitted--quiet, efficient, a constant measure in a world that felt unsteady--and when he wasn't there you felt the taut line of him like a promise. You told yourself you didn't want promises. You told yourself people were liabilities. You told yourself he was just another variable you had to calculate.

And then they brought Park Jihoon in, a man same age as you and hyunjin.

He arrived like sunshine poured straight into a crowded, damp room, a smile too practiced to be innocent and a face that had been carefully sculpted to disarm. His hair caught the fluorescent lights in a way that made a dozen girls in a neighboring class glance up and then apologize for being human. He wore the academy uniform like something custom-tailored--no rumple, no stain, no sweat. Everything about him screamed curated ease. He was handsome in the way models are handsome, the kind of handsome that feels like a story everyone wants to be a part of.

"Transfer student from Busan," the department head announced in a voice that meant business. He had the look of someone who never expected trouble beyond budget cuts. "Jihoon Park. Top of his class. Proven field readiness."

Hyunjin's face tightened at the name before Hyunjin spoke. "We're working in pairs," he said flatly. "We don't need extra people."

A pause. The head of department's eyes flicked over to Hyunjin with the bright, condescending patience of power. "Hwang, you can either manage the team, or you can step back. This case requires more manpower. You're being considered for leadership--you will either run it or you will let others show they can."

The phrasing was deliberate. The implication was brutal and obvious: step up and accept a new arrangement, or step down and watch the prize be handed to someone else. You watched Hyunjin's jaw move once, twice. He didn't like losing control. He pretended he did, sometimes--like a man who had practiced being calm like a meditation--but everyone who knew him knew the edges.

You thought you'd feel relieved by the headache of politics, but instead something like a slow, powdery heat rose in your chest. You had been fighting for this internship in ways the academy would never measure. You had sacrificed nights and threads of your life to get here. You'd deliberately ruined tests that would have made you draw less attention--because you knew how to play quiet--and you had kept your hands hard. You had watched Hyunjin before and made the conclusion that he was a man who deserved to be outwitted. You hadn't counted on the academy flattening the field by handing you a sunflower in the middle of a war.

When you told Hyunjin later that evening, the words between you were knives.

"He--Jihoon--he's perfect," you said, folding your arms across your chest like a shield. "The department wants him on my lead and they want you to--what?--lead them. Do you know what that means? You'll be chairing meetings I should be running."

Hyunjin's eyes were flat, tired. "It's a move to dilute us," he said. "They want plausible deniability--students running it while the brass can claim oversight. Or it's a power play to see who folds."

You looked at him with a mixture of irritation and something that prickled like fear. He watched you, his mouth a hard line. "Do you trust him?" Hyunjin asked.

You almost laughed out loud at the question. Jihoon had smiled at you earlier in the day and asked about your methodology like he had been reading the same books as you since childhood. His smile made you interesting to people in a way you didn't like. "He seems good at what he does," you said. The words left your body too easy, like a grenade thrown in a direction you hadn't intended. "He might be useful. Or he might be another pawn. Either way, we need allies."

Hyunjin's nostrils flared. "You trust people too easily," he said, and it was less accusation than observation.

You felt your throat constrict. "At least I'm trying to change," you shot back, sharper than you'd meant to be. "Unlike you. You'd rather die than take a risk at all."

The fight that followed was not cinematic. It was two people who had learned to hide small soft things attacking each other with blunt instruments. He said something about your refusal to rely on others. You said something about his refusal to live dangerously enough to be human. You both said words that landed like blows. You both left with mouths burning.

And for a full day after that you avoided him like a ritual. You told yourself you were focusing. You told yourself you would not be manipulated into needing someone who preferred to be alone.

Jihoon watched the fallout between you from a distance that looked worried and earnest. He visited the evidence room early in the mornings with technical notes and a manner that suggested competence. He moved between your team and Hyunjin's organized notes with the kind of facility that made him more useful than he had any right to be. He was an unsettling mix of charm and usefulness. He smiled at you like he wanted to be trusted, and you hated that you almost wanted to allow him to earn that trust.

strange incidents started, soon enough after y'all had started working on the case.

It began with small things. Two of Hyunjin's files--carefully annotated, hours of his work--went missing from the locked cabinet. You noticed the theft because you had a habit of reading his margins; they were like breadcrumbs you never meant to follow. The planned lead that had been your idea--an interview scheduled with a janitor at one of the elite high schools--was canceled minutes before the meeting. The witness who had agreed to testify went silent. You began to see the pattern: black holes where plans should be.

"What if someone is feeding the pillars information?" Jihoon suggested quietly one night as the three of you stood over a tangle of maps and CCTV stills in the lab. His voice was low and careful. "Maybe the leak is internal. Maybe someone knows our moves before we do."

Hyunjin folded his arms and watched Jihoon with a look that balanced suspicion and a begrudging calculation. "How much do you know about the academy's admin access?" he asked. "Who has clearance to shift entries on the system?"

"Plenty," Jihoon said. "But not many know how to cover their tracks well. Whoever is doing this knows how to make it look like juveniles are the only accountable ones."

You didn't like the way Jihoon talked like he was a natural ally, like he had seen this all before. He seemed to anticipate questions, as if he had rehearsed them. But if he had been the saboteur, why would he be useful enough to help then? The mind refuses easy answers. You have built your life on refusing them.

The true shock came the night the witness died.

You, Hyunjin, and Jihoon had rushed to a marginal apartment above an alley where a seventeen-year-old kid--someone who'd been living on the edges of the pillars' operations--had agreed to meet you at dusk. He had promised information about the voice that called orders, a clue about cars, a direction for you to follow. You arrived to find him huddled in the doorway, the glow of his phone splashing pale light across his face like a confession.

He blew out the light when he saw you and the three of you froze in mutual recognition like animals hearing a predator. The kid looked older than his years; there was a hardness to his jaw that didn't quite match the tremor in his hands. He gave you a little laugh that was all broken teeth. "You guys are too loud," he said. "Why can't you ever be quiet?"

He was dead before the words had time to become judgement. The sound of it - the chorus of a gunshot - came like a splinter. It exploded against the brick alley wall and the boy slumped forward with a little sound like a toy breaking. Blood fountained from his chest and painted the alley a younger, madder color. You saw Hyunjin move; he was at the boy's side in an instant, fingers working for a pulse while his face became a map of fury. Jihoon dove and grabbed the kid's phone, fanning the screen so the last message glowed before the battery died.

The assassin's steps had sounded like a person leaving the grain of the world. It was fast, clean, like the work of someone who had done it before. The shot was precise, professional. No one heard anyone else. It was impossible in the way professional murders are impossible - small, surgical, without fuss.

As sirens wailed in the distance, Hyunjin stood up, blood on his palms from his effort and his face stripped of softness. "Who benefits from this?" he asked through the teeth set of his jaw.

Jihoon crouched beside him and opened his hand. The kid's last message, now frozen in light, read: "They know." The rest of the message was a horror of ellipses, a fragment with an urgency that did not translate. "They know," Jihoon said, clenching the phone like it was a talisman. "Somebody is sweeping witnesses before we can protect them."

You felt hostile tears prick the back of your eyes--not for the boy, though he deserved grief, but for the fact that the system's teeth had found you. Your anger was electric and sharp. You wanted to smash something heavy and valuable. "They want to bury it," you said. "They want silence and a clean record."

Jihoon looked at you with an expression that suggested he understood pain. Maybe he had worn it himself, you thought. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck like someone ashamed. "We need to be careful," he said. "If the leak is internal, that means we're being watched. We should change our ops. Redact some things. Use decoys."

Hyunjin's gaze lingered on Jihoon in a way that was half suspicion and half appraisal. "Why are you so keen to help?" he asked. The question was small and brutal. Jihoon smiled, and there was a thing--grief? cunning?--in it. "Because this is wrong," he said. "Besides, I like being useful."

For a week you watched the three of you become a grinding, cooperative machinery of suspicion and fractured trust. Jihoon worked late into the night, translating CCTV timestamps into patterns. Hyunjin worked like a man calibrating an instrument. You ran interviews, prodded through underfunded shelters and manicured school halls, and kept your eyes open for the voice that gave instructions.

And then the warehouse happened.

It wasn't on any official list. The name clung to rumor like a stain. You drove across the river in a van that smelled of stale sweat and fear, the three of you packed together like smugglers. Hyunjin sat on the driver's side, palms white on the wheel. You had a tactical light and a plan--what little plan you could fit inside the beating drum of the unknown. Jihoon sat across from you, knees pressed to your elbow in a cramped intimacy that felt disrespectful and strangely honest.

"Check your radios," hyunjin said in the kind of voice that arranged order. "Stick to the plan. No heroics."

You swallowed, tasting iron that might have been fear or caffeine. "No heroics," you repeated. It felt like a lie. All of your best decisions had been heroics by other names.

The warehouse was a hulking thing on the edge of the industrial district, a place that smelled of grease and old oil and secrets. Its doors gaped out like a mouth. You moved in formation, light falling through dust. The place was staged--too many crates, too much empty space, the kind of theatricality that meant someone had rehearsed an audience.

The fire came without warning and with pathetic, and elegant fucking cruelty. At first it was just a smell, then a hiss, and then a ribbon of orange licked across a stray pile of wood. Someone had set napalm on slow burn, something designed to catch and then trap. Lights flickered and the warehouse's mechanism groaned. The automatic doors shut with a thud that made the van engine feel farther than the world. The ceiling's older rafters spurted sparks, and in the bellow of smoke you heard men shouting--laughing, maybe, like predators.

"its a trap!" hyunjin spat. "Get to the exits."

You moved with a precision that hid the adrenaline in your blood. Your lungs burned with the scent of smoke and chemical accelerants. You could feel your heartbeat in the tips of your fingers as you tore at a crate, trying to create some type of path. A stack of pallets fell and cut gashes into your forearm with rough splinters…. you felt the sharp, immediate warmth of blood as if your body had learned to announce pain like a trumpeter.

It was chaos arranged like a theater. Trained men moved from the shadows. You saw silhouettes move behind smoke--thin, practiced frames that knew how to hide. One man swung a pipe and caught Jihoon across the ribs. He went down with a grunt and the first pained oath you had heard from him since he arrived. You realized then he wasn't just a pretty face. He fought like someone who had been scrapping for his life for a long time.

Hyunjin was at your side in two steps flat, wedging himself between you and a man brandishing a knife that reflected the orange blaze. He moved like a machine that had learned to translate threat into math. He parried a strike meant for you and took the hit across his side, a line of warmth spreading under his shirt.

Pain became an instrument in the space between you. It was sharp and real and it taught you to move with a ruthless, horrifying exactness. You kicked, spun, snapped elbow into the jaw of a man who laughed and then didn't. The fire leaned around your ankles with a hunger. Sparks stuck to your jacket like a constellation.

Breath became a scarce currency, and the warehouse was an animal that wanted to swallow you whole. You felt rivulets of heat sliding down your neck and thought briefly, absurdly, of your mother and the small acts she used to claim ordinary life. You hated that thought because it made you tender.

Jihoon grabbed an extinguisher as if he'd known an opera of this sort and sprayed a narrow arc to push back the flames, the hissing foam cutting a tiny lane of visibility. Hyunjin hauled open a back door with a grunt and you all barreled through, lungs burning, coughing. You scrambled across gravel and the rain outside felt like kindness. You lay on the damp ground and looked up at the night sky, which had opened and offered nothing but rain and a cynical moon.

Someone had wanted to kill the three of you. The fire had been set with a knowledge of your legal windows -- the alarms would be delayed, the ladder of safety sabotaged. It was performance and execution rolled into one.

The sirens that finally reached you sounded far away and tiny and insufficient. You pressed your hands to your face and felt grit and blood under your fingers and thought for a moment that the world was a bad joke and you were the punchline. Hyunjin sat up, chest heaving, and when his eyes found you, they were the same cold, dangerous intelligence that had always kept you honest.

Jihoon coughed and laughed, a short, breathless sound like someone who had been spared but not unscathed. Bleeding from a cut on his brow, he looked like someone who'd been in a fight before and expected to be again. For reasons you couldn't name, the sight steadied you a little. He wasn't perfect. He had teeth and shock and the smell of burnt wool. He had hands that could be helpful and eyes that looked like they knew how to mislead.

"Who the hell set this?" you asked, voice raw with smoke and a kind of righteous fury.

Jihoon blinked, and for the first time you thought you saw something like shame. "Someone who knows our ops," he said. "Who knows our lines. We're being lured."

Hyunjin clenched his jaw. "Then we change the line," he said. "We move. We go off-grid. We stop using official channels."

You thought of the boy in the alley. You thought of the way witnesses evaporated like mist when you leaned in. The system had teeth, and the teeth were smiling. You looked at Jihoon, at Hyunjin, at the sparks still drifting like embers in the air, and felt a fierce certainty settle into you like a stone.

"This is a war now," you said, and the line of it tasted simple and inevitable. "We either learn how to fight dirty, or we learn how to die like some damn saints."

Hyunjin's hand rested on your shoulder for a beat longer than it needed to, an offer of weight. You didn't pull back. The name he'd given you--Riot--was still there, ragged and warm in your chest. You were angry enough to use it as armor.

When the ambulance lights turned the rain to a frantic blue and the world felt sharply, painfully alive again, you had a new decision folded in your ribs: trust no one, not even yourself. But something else had shifted too--a thread of alliance winding itself between three people who had no business trusting each other.

You rose from the pavement with gravel in your palms and the taste of smoke in your mouth and nothing resembling warranty in the world. You would live, you told yourself, for now. You would fight.

And if anyone tried to call that survival weakness, you'd tell them you'd never made peace with the word.

-

The week after the warehouse felt like someone had pulled a thread through the city and the whole thing unraveled a half-inch at a time. More names turned up on the victim lists, fewer faces in the crowd at memorials. The press called them "collateral youth," an elegant way to be disgusting for the cameras. You learned the language of euphemisms like schoolchildren learning swear words. It changed nothing. Bodies are blunt truth; euphemisms are polite knives.

Each death that followed had a pattern. They were not random kids caught in bad decisions. They had a common denominator: each corpse had recent ties to HAVOC. A courier. A small-time dealer. A kid who'd once been a look-out. Too PROFESSIONAL finishes--throat cuts clean, slashes blunt and practiced, sometimes a chemical blistering meant to send a message rather than kill. Every time the headlines splintered the city's attention for a day, the official line was the same--tragic, unfortunate, and contained.

you, hyunjin and jihoon started compiling lists like monks copying scripture, except the scripture was rot. The pillars weren't mythical anymore; they were territorial. You broke them down according to the files, the witness scraps, and the whispered threads into four centers of power: one for drugs, one for weapons, one for school politics (the corruption pipeline that groomed boys who'd been coddled into cruelty), and one--a shadow pillar--for hits and intimidation. Each pillar had names tied to schools, a home turf, a pattern of hiring minors as operatives precisely because the legal system let them be disposable.

hyunjin sat over the map in the lab with a lamp that cut out everything but ink and his face. He connected dots with a pen like someone compiling evidence against a god. Jihoon cross-referenced timestamps with social media posts, digging up kids' live streams where they joked about "favours" or "runs" without knowing the men in suits were listening, cataloguing them in a way that made your stomach sour. You sat between them, taking the most savage notes you could and feeling less and less the person you'd been when this started. The edges of you were sharpening in dangerous ways.

"Look," Jihoon said one night, pointing to a cluster of names. "The drug pillar's pattern overlaps with the weapons pillar in the east district. Kids move through the system like conveyor belts."

hyunjin nodded. "Makes it efficient. Keeps brass clean."

You watched them both--a duo that had become a triangle--and thought about what the system had cost your life. Then, because you have to keep some small human ritual or be hollowed out by the work, the three of you decided to break. Drink. Talk as people instead of as forensic units. You needed something that qualified as normal or you'd be eaten whole.

The bar you chose was the kind that pretended to be gritty and ended up feeling clinically curated. Low lights. Neon that left a bruise on the retina. You ordered something bitter and burned the back of your throat with it on purpose. jihoon teased drink names like his hands were playing an instrument. Hyunjin sat with his glass delicately, as if the liquid could melt him if he drank it too fast.

For the first time since the file was pressed into your life, jihoon wasn't an intruder. He was someone with a laugh that made hyunjin's jaw loosen and a way of reminiscing that made him feel like a person who had survived his own small wars and didn't want company in them. He told a ridiculous story about a professor who hung a poster of a cat wearing a lab coat in the middle of a crime scene lecture just to lighten the mood and then somehow it turned into a memorial. hoon laughed so openly you found yourself joining him.

hyunjin watched you from across the small square of table; there was a softness around his eyes you hadn't seen before. It made you uncomfortable and strangely relieved. You reminded yourself not to conflate comfort with safety. The night went on and the three of you bared small parts of yourselves--embarrassing mistakes, short-lived crushes you had not acted on--until the air between you felt, for the first time, less like a battlefield and more like the ones you can actually trust.

It was late when hyunjin walked you back to your building. the cold had thinned to a whisper and the streetlight threw a halo around his head that made him look like a statue someone had thought to bring to life. You were quiet until you talked yourself into a dare.

"Do you trust him?" you asked, voice low, as if the dark itself could hear.

hyunjin's jaw clenched. "I don't trust easily….riot"

"Are you going to tell me why?" you pushed, because you were done with shadows in answers.

He hesitated on the sidewalk. "Because I learned what happens when you need someone and they aren't there," he said finally. "Because you can be taken apart in small clever ways. Because I would rather not die for another person's mistake."

His voice was not ashamed. It was simply reading scripture. You watched his face as he unrolled small parts of his history: a sister, a night with too many quiet things in it. You didn't need the whole story to understand the geography of his fear--loss mapped into armor.

On the steps outside your building he gave you a word, not a sermon: an apology for snapping at you earlier that week. It was small and pure, a thing not offered often. "I was being paranoid," he said simply. "I didn't want you hurt. That doesn't excuse how I talked. I'm sorry."

You wanted to respond with sarcasm, with the shield you wielded like a blade, but something in the way he said "sorry"--clean, not theatrical--hit a place behind your ribs that had not yet healed. You found yourself whispering back, "I'm sorry too. For assuming."

He reached out, hesitated for a heartbeat, and then, like someone who'd practiced tenderness, patted your head--a ridiculous, almost paternal gesture that made your cheeks betray you with heat. "Don't summon trouble for the sake of a show," he said. "And... if you want, I can teach you how not to be a sacrifice."

Your pulse did a small, traitorous sprint. "Teach me to fight? You?" you scoffed, but you didn't step away. "Fine."

He grinned then, that tiny thing he allowed himself--like sunlight caught behind a shutter. "Good. We'll start tomorrow."

He left after that, the sudden cold wave washing over his shoulders as he melted into the night. You stood on your steps with a new bruise of feeling and you didn't know whether to pity him for having been earnest or to be thankful that someone was willing to slow the world down to the scale of you.

Over the next weeks the training became a ritual. Hyunjin had a way of touching your body with instruction that never felt violating--only focused. He taught you how to square your weight, how to sink your center when a punch came, how to redirect energy instead of meeting it head-on. He corrected your breathing so that when you struck, it was not just blind rage but precision… and if necessary for your own safety not give it a much thought but damage the opponent.. not 'kill' but ennough damage for the opponent to not be able to stand. 4 vitals. Hands. Arms. Feet. thighs.

The contact was close; sometimes your chest brushed his when you were correcting a grip. He smelled like mint and cold metal, like someone who'd been to hospital corridors too many times and come out alive.

"Hit here," he said once, tapping a small knot under his rib. "Not the face you want to, the soft spot you don't expect."

"You're perverse," you muttered, but then you hit his indicated point and he made the noise of someone surprised more by the efficiency than by the pain. It lit something that felt like permission.

jihoon came to the training sometimes, more like an observer than a pupil. But when he did, he apprenticed with a humble eagerness that should have irritated you but instead made you respect him more. He asked questions about pressure points, about legalities of self-defense, as if he wanted not just to fight but to be able to justify violence when it was necessary.

As the weeks progressed, you began to trust jihoon on a larger scale. He saved notes, cross-checked feeds, came with backup plans and contingencies. Hyunjin's initial distrust softened into a pragmatic appraisal--if jihoon was useful, then usefulness trumped suspicion. You resented how easy you found it to lean into that complacency, to presuppose that perhaps you had been smarter than you were.

But the world of HAVOC is cruelly patient. Plans can be meticulous, but there is always someone who knows how to read the thin black lines on your map and undermine them.

The new operation was surgical: an undercover sweep into an elite school suspected of being a recruitment ground. The idea had been yours--the logic that the pipeline started small, with petty humiliations elevated into loyalty, a slow conditioning. The plan mapped the entry, the observation points, a staged "parent volunteer" entry for you, and two shadows on the perimeter--hyunjin and jihoon.

You moved like ghosts through the school's corridors, disguised by this system's little theatrics--name tags, volunteer badges, a smile that didn't belong. You watched boys who looked like they had been fed on privilege and taught to despise the poor. You saw the invisible lines of power in how teachers turned a blind eye, the way security tolerated certain students. You filed it all away.

The sweep went as planned until it didn't. Someone had been watching--anticipating the volunteers. A secondary team, concise and brutal, tried to trap you in a supply closet meant to hide you. You felt the weight of a hand alight on your shoulder like a question. The next second the closet door flung and a man lunged with a knife aimed at your throat.

The world narrowed to a single point of sharp steel and instinct. Without thinking you turned and drove your knee into his pelvis with the technique Hyunjin had drilled into you, the move precise and horrifying in its intimacy. He doubled over with a curse. Another man swung a pipe and you ducked, felt the rush of air cut your hair and thought you smelled blood.

Jihoon was at the man's back before you had time to measure gratitude. He moved with a fluid violence that was alarmingly practiced, his shoulder slamming into the assailant and twisting him down in a way that made your own movements look amateurish. Hyunjin caught the other attacker with a clean elbow to the jaw and the fight dwindled as the intruders, outnumbered and possibly unprepared for the ferocity they had triggered, scattered into the school's shadows.

When the adrenaline dulled into real fear, you noticed jihoon standing a fraction too close and a fraction too calm. His timing had again been perfect, as if his watch was synchronized to your heartbeat's most vulnerable moments. You felt a prickle at the back of your neck you couldn't make sense of, then shook it off. He had saved you. That was what mattered.

Later, in the van while rain carved the streets into rivers, Hyunjin looked at Jihoon with an expression you couldn't parse. "You always show up at the right moment," Hyunjin said, the words not an accusation but a careful observation.

jihoon blinked. "I try to predict patterns. It's my job to be where things converge.'

hyunjin's lips thinned. "Or your job to be where things are arranged."

jihoon looked from hyunjin to you and then away, eyes unreadable for a moment. "Trust is built, not given," he said finally.

hyunjin studied him a long breath. Then, in a move that made you want to laugh with the absurdity of the world, he accepted it. "Then build," he said. "We have to move faster."

You wanted to tell them both that "build" wasn't a thing one could order out of a catalog. Trust was not transactions. You wanted to tell Hyunjin that his acceptance felt like compromise. Instead you stared at the drenched city and the thin small lights of cars and thought about the minors who had been sacrificed in the machinery of power. You thought about your mother and the boy in the alley. You thought about how many times "trust" had been sold as a currency you didn't have.

The van rolled on, tires hissing through the rain. You made a decision then that was simple and monstrous: you would keep the edge you had always owned, but you would let Hyunjin teach you to land the blade cleanly. You would let Jihoon be useful and keep your head clear. You would not let the world decide your apathy for you.

Out on the horizon, HAVOC's teeth gleamed like a promise. War had indeed begun, and you did not plan to be polite when you fought back.

The afternoon light through the station’s interrogation room felt jaundiced and false, as if the whole world had been painted the color of old bruises. You had convinced yourself you would stop letting the city get under your skin -- that you could keep the file in a cold box inside your head and only open it for work. The kid in the alley and the warehouse fire had made that impossible. The names were a litany now, and the living were shrinking into footprints you could follow, but it never made the weight any lighter.

Jihoon had been quieter these last few days, a low engine underneath the piles of evidence. He’d used connections you didn't know existed -- a student reporter indebted to him for a favor, the cousin of a janitor who owed a debt. He found you a small lead: a woman who had seen delivery vans unloading at odd hours, a woman who remembered faces and voices because her life had been built on noticing things.

You went to meet her under cover, not at the station where cameras and protocols would eat the sound of an honest confession. jihoon had arranged a neutral spot -- a cramped tea shop that smelled of fried garlic and honesty, a tiny place where the floors seemed to hum under the weight of people’s lives. The woman, a pale thing in a blue coat, sat with her coat tight around her like armor. Her hands were knotted in a way that told you she'd been practicing composure for years.

"You sure about this?" hyunjin murmured to jihoon as you all crouched at the corner table. Hyunjin's voice was low, not loud enough to startle the woman. hyunjin's eyes, though, were hard as flint. He watched the street like someone waiting for a storm to break and decided when the lightning would hit.

"Yes," Jihoon said. His tone had an edge you had learned to trust recently -- not because he was always right, but because he moved with the confidence of someone who could stand inside danger and not blink. "She might know where a van was parked by the station at two in the morning. She saw a--"

He didn't finish the sentence because the woman did.

"They come in small groups," she said without preface, voice paper-thin but steady. "They park near the market. They have young ones with them sometimes. They talk to the kids. They promise small things."

Hyunjin took notes, fingers a machine. You watched the woman like you watched a lab sample: delicate, fragile, holding the shape of an answer. Her eyes flicked to you with a kind of hunger -- the hunger of someone who had a map in her head and wanted it to lead somewhere good.

"Why tell us?" you asked, softer than you might have meant to be. It was a human question. People didn't give statements because they liked the cops. They did it because something inside them broke.

She shook her head. "I don't know who to tell. They said --" Her voice stuttered, and her hands shifted. You felt it then: the subtle pressure of fear, the kind that leaned on people's ribs until they bent. "They said if I ever told anyone, they'd take my daughter."

You felt the heat of your anger like a physical thing. This was the currency of HAVOC: intimidation, the use of family as leverage. You wanted to stand up and yell. Instead you sat there, gloved hands folded, and told her the small lie that would keep her safe and keep the information flowing.

"We'll protect you," hyunjin said. The promise was not pretty; it was a tactical line. But people believed it because sometimes they had to. In the corner of your eye you watched jihoon, and for a ridiculous moment you allowed yourself to see him as someone useful and, if not fully trustworthy yet, at least competent.

The woman agreed to come forward. jihoon made calls, arranged for safe transport to the station, and you all left with the fragile sensation of momentum. For the first time in days you let yourself think maybe, just maybe, a single thread could be tugged enough to unravel the larger fabric.

You were wrong.

You were on your way to the rendezvous point -- a dim underpass two streets over from the market -- when the scene slammed into you. The air tasted different, metallic and thin. hyunjin's jaw clenched in a way that made his Adam's apple bob. You had that low, empty sensation that a predator is ahead and already moving.

You arrived to find a sliver of chaos: the woman in a pool on the pavement, a small crowd recoiling like guilty birds. Blood glossed the pavement dark and obscene. Her blue coat was fanned around her like the petals of a bruised flower. Hyunjin dropped into motion, hands rough and urgent, fingers feeling for a pulse like someone with an exam to pass. The smell was a raw knot of iron and everything you had been trying not to breathe in.

jihoon moved past you like a shadow cut in muscle. He crouched, worked his fingers into the woman's wrist and pulses as if he could read the lasts of life. His face, usually composed, buckled for a moment; then he swore under his breath and pulled her closer to his chest.

"She--" Jihoon whispered, not looking at anyone. "She's gone."

You saw the exact moment the life left her -- a fog passing in her pupils, the slackening of muscle, the small let go of the hand around the paper cup. It was obscene in a way you had never expected. You had seen dead bodies, staged and clinical, but this was the brutal, immediate thing that made your hands tremble: a life cut off while you watched. The woman's eyelids flickered once, as if remembering something indulgent, then closed forever.

Jihoon didn't flinch. He lifted the woman in his arms like someone lifting a kitten, and for an instant he looked like a child holding a broken toy. Then the sound came out of him -- a ragged, animal thing -- and he pressed her closer in a way that made your stomach twist. You had thought him composed, but he was human in a way that made the world very raw. He buried his face in her coat as if the fabric could call something back.

You dropped to your knees without thinking, the pavement biting your palms. The world blurred with the sudden rain of your breath. For the first time since this mess had began, you broke. Not the steely, controlled breaking you had used in calculated grievances, but the kind that bends you to the ground and leaves you gasping because the thing you loved is anonymous and never coming back.

The sound of your own body shaking was indecent. You remembered your mother -- the small, domestic certainties -- and the way the system had laughed and walked away while you kept counting the cost. Now another woman… another mother.. was ledgered into the ruin and you felt fury and failure converge into something heavy and useless.

Hyunjin's hand landed on the back of your neck with a force that wasn't gentle, but inside it was a pressure that steadied you. His arms were efficient, the way he used them like a brace. "Get up," he said, voice rough, and you obeyed because you had to. He wrapped his jacket around you even though the rain had soaked his shoulders. He did it without a word, as if he had a box labeled "useful things" and this was one of them.

Jihoon sat on the curb, the woman's head in his lap, and when he looked at you, his face was a torn map. "We were too slow," he said. "We didn't get there in time."

Hyunjin spat the words like a curse. "Who the hell tipped them off?" he snapped, but there was an edge of something else under the anger -- a scared, small thing that feared the cost.

The crowd was thin and the police arrived with lights reflecting off wet asphalt. The detectives took over with a procedural neatness that felt like sarcasm. You wanted to scream that procedures were not enough. You wanted to bend over the woman's broken life and demand something bigger, but there was nothing left but the small ritual of evidence and statements.

The ride back to the station was a blur of drizzle and single syllables. You and Hyunjin sat close enough that your knees touched and neither of you moved away. You had been taught to be indestructible, but you were not. You let the quiet lay across your shoulders like a verdict.

That night, Jihoon insisted on coming with you when you asked him to drop you off at your place. He parked down the block; you walked through the narrow gate, with wet hair and a jacket heavy with grief. You didn't know why you had invited him in, only that you needed a small human warmth that would not be clinical.

Hyunjin stood on the stoop while Jihoon walked you to your door and didn't enter. He gave you the look of someone who had taken measure of his options and chosen anger. He didn't need to say anything; he just stood there until you slipped inside and the door shut.

Inside your small kitchen, the light was mercifully dim. You leaned against the counter and took off your gloves with unsteady hands. You thought about the woman's daughter, a face you would never see. You thought about how the city preferred its costs small and its tragedies anonymous.

Hyunjin came in then, like he belonged in a place he had no business being. He crossed the room in three steps and sat on the edge of your table, near enough to touch but not offering the intimacy you otherwise would have bristled at. You didn't know if he planned to apologize or if he had another motive tucked into the folds of all the things that made him Hwang Hyunjin.

"Thank you," you heard yourself say without the armor. It landed soft and real, a thing you did not often give. Thank you for standing when the woman died, thank you for not leaving me on my knees in the street.

Hyunjin's jaw moved; he looked away, not because he was awkward but because this was not a language he used. "It's not something to thank for," he said, blunt and true. "You would've done the same."

"Would I?" you challenged, because you didn't know the answer. You had been on your knees and not handed a body like a responsibility. You had been the witness, not the caretaker.

He reached out then, startling you with the suddenness of his action. His fingers brushed your cheek, wiping a streak of dried blood you hadn't noticed from earlier. The contact was small, intimate in a way that made your breath hitch. "I snapped earlier back then… i know we already talked about this but let me repeat it all over again…please," he said, eyes on your face now, vulnerable in a way that made you want to be sharper and softer at the same time. "I was being paranoid. I thought--"

"You thought I was weak," you said, before you could stop yourself. The point was a lance.

Hyunjin's mouth thinned. "no riot- I thought you trusted too quickly. I was afraid that trust would cost you everything."

"You were wrong about jihoon," you said. "He's been useful."

He closed his eyes for a beat. "I was wrong about him," he admitted, not with a concession but with the slow grinding of a man rearranging his assumptions. "But I don't want to be wrong about you."

There it was -- the thing you had feared in the back of the lab, the fragile confession that made your chest lurch. You didn't know how to name it, but the space between his words and his breath was full of small, dangerous things.

You stepped closer, the movement a dare, and for a sliver of a moment his eyes flicked to your lips. You felt your body respond in ways that had nothing to do with logic -- a tightening, an ache. The taste of nearly was sour on your tongue. You moved in, not completely, not a full kiss, just the suggestion of it -- a testing of the edges. Hyunjin met you halfway, breath shallow, hesitation and need making him human.

A shrill ring cut through the heavy air like a sliver. Your phone vibrated on the counter and hyunjin jerked back, breath stolen. You snatched it up, thumb fumbling. The screen read UNKNOWN CALLER. A small dread like ice crawled up your spine.

"Hello?" you said, making your voice steady.

A recorded voice answered, flat and final. "Back off or die."

The three words were little and monstrous. They landed against the kitchen tile like the sound of a judge's gavel. You could feel your heart battering against your ribs. Hyunjin's hands moved like a net; he cupped your face with both palms, thumb soft at your cheek.

"Is this case worth dying for….y/n? ….if one of us die we will lose the case" he asked, voice thick with something you couldn't name. It wasn't accusation. It was a prayer wrapped in steel.

You looked at him, at the fear thrown like a shadow over his eyes. For a moment you thought of everything you had sacrificed already: nights of sleep, the long bitter taste of grief that dulled in the edges but never left. You thought of the woman whose granddaughter would wail alone tonight. You thought of a city that traded kids like chess pieces.

"If we don't try," you said, voice low and certain, "more people will die. Innocents. Kids. Families. You know that. You know the system lets them go. We are the chance someone has to stop this…..we both have lost our dear ones cause of this.."

His fingers tightened for a second, not hurting, just enough to anchor you. Then he bent and pressed his forehead to yours, a gesture the world that had trained him in steel rarely allowed. "Don't make me lose you," he whispered.

You felt the swallow of something hot, like an animal's prayer. "Then don't let me die," you said.

He kissed the crown of your head, soft and almost too holy for the two of you. It was not a grand gesture. It was not cinematic. It was the kind of small, private thing that rewired you from the inside out. The kiss was an admission and a promise rolled into one damp breath.

You held onto that moment because the world on the other end of the call was a person that could be cruel. You held onto hyunjin's hands because they were honest in the ways the rest of the world was not. You felt fragile and enormous at the same time.

Outside, the rain and cold continued, indifferent and relentless. Inside, you had someone who cupped your face and feared losing you. It was a small scripture, but one that might keep you alive long enough to pull at the rest of the rot.

The phone lay silent on the counter, the threat recorded like a punctuation mark. You turned the screen away and let the two of you sit in the pool of kitchen light, hands still connected, breathing in and out in the same rhythm, as if learning to live in the same small space might someday be enough.

The city had learned to keep its teeth hidden when it rained. Tonight the rain hit like thrown gravel, hard and sharp, blurring the streetlights into smeared halos. You sat in the passenger seat with your hands folded around a paper cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago. The three of you had driven away from the last scene with a fragile victory--bits of evidence, leads that looked promising, a sliver of direction--and you had thought for a stupid, brief second that the tide might tilt toward you.

You were wrong.

The first sign of betrayal is always small and stupid. A missing file. A misplaced key. A light that goes out at the wrong second. The second sign is louder, meaner--someone wants you dead.

You heard the sound before you understood what it was. A terrible, grinding screech as the car's tires protested against metal teeth that weren't there a second before. Hyunjin's knuckles whitened on the wheel, his jaw a rigid line. The world narrowed to the pulse of his breath, to the strobe of brake lights behind you, to the way rain threaded itself through the car's wipers.

"Shit," Jihoon spat, voice clipped. You turned toward him, heart a drum against your ribs.

The car fishtailed like a wounded animal. For an instant there was the sharp, cinematic slack in time--metal groaning, the smell of ozone as electricity jumped, the violent mixes of bodies thrown forward. Your chest slammed into the seatbelt as if it were a trap snapping shut. Glass fractured in a spiderweb of white lines and the car rolled, just once, with a sick animal sound that lodged in your bones.

When the world staunched itself in a rotten, shaking silence, you were on the ground outside the car, rain sluicing across your face. People were a tangle of motion, voices high and material--Jihoon coughing, Hyunjin swearing under his breath, the car's engine a dead animal. Pain licked along your ribs where the seatbelt had cut into your skin; the cold kiss of something wet--your blood--traced a fine line where a shard of glass had nicked you.

You saw Hyunjin before you knew you needed to. He was halfway to you, his coat plastered to him, one hand already on your shoulder, pulling you back as if he feared you might decide to run toward the wreck for reasons neither of you could explain. His face was a carved thing--anger and relief and a kind of animal fear all braided ugly and beautiful together.

"Are you bleeding?" he demanded, voice rough as gravel.

"A little," you croaked, more surprised than alarmed. Adrenaline starved the panic for a while, leaving only a hum. You looked at him then and noticed the way his shirt clung to his side, darker with something that might be blood. The car’s metal screamed behind you, a sound like a wound being opened.

"Jihoon?" you asked, voice thin.

Jihoon lay a few yards away, propped against the curb, one leg at an odd angle. A smear of red across his forehead glinted like a slow sun. He stared at you, eyes hollowed, and then took the breath that made the world make sense again. "They tried to cut the brakes," he said, voice ragged. "Someone tampered. Whoever did this knew our route."

It hit you with a different kind of cold--sabotage, professional and cruel. It wasn't an accident. It was a message. They wanted you off the road. They wanted to end the three of you in a way that would be neat and bloodless.

Hyunjin's jaw worked. He moved with a lethal calm that made your stomach flip. He crouched by Jihoon’s side, hands already checking the injured man's leg, then moved like a lit match to you, fingers probing for hidden cuts, scanning the small islands of pain you’d been feeling with a precision that was exact and somehow intimate.

"I'm fine," you insisted when he paused, but the lie pulled at the edges. You let him wrap a sleeve around your shoulder anyway. He smelled like smoke and cold coffee and something that belonged to him, to the man who had learned to live with fear like a currency.

The medics arrived in a wash of blue light and efficiency. Voices around you turned professional and thinly polite. Your head rang with the taste of ozone and the bitter afters of adrenaline. At the hospital, while paramedics thumbed their way through an efficient ritual, you watched Hyunjin pace like a caged animal. The sight made something in your chest twist--how the armor cracked when it mattered.

Jihoon’s injuries proved more than superficial. A blunt impact to the head left him disoriented, and cuts along his arms were deep enough that the stitches would later count them like badges. The doctors moved with a blunt utilitarianism--stitches, saline, a dull exchange of medical words that meant "stable" without promising "whole."

You sat in the harsh hospital waiting room, fluorescent lights stealing color from your skin. The rain outside had turned into a persistent hush. You were exhausted in that brittle, scalding way. The flight or fight had been used and left empty in your body. You watched hyunjin in the way you might watch a storm gather--close, almost reverent, as if you could read the signs and know which direction to jump.

He slumped into a plastic chair, elbows on knees, hands steepled, not wanting to meet your gaze. You had been around him long enough to know that when he didn't speak, the thing behind his quiet was furious. The way his knuckles cracked against his palms was a metronome for his heartbeat.

"You shouldn't have been up front," you said finally, breaking the silence more to fill it than for any other reason. The words came out rough with smoke and unshed tears.

"I wasn't thinking of myself," he replied without looking at you. "I was thinking of you."

The honesty in his voice made something you were not used to crack. You had spent years building walls made out of sarcasm and distance. He was the first person to find the cracks without mocking them. You hated him for it and loved him for it in the same, small sentence that sat like poison.

He looked at you then--really looked--and the sight made you feel naked in ways you didn't like. "You know why I am like this," he said, and the room pressed close. "My sister--"

The story had been hinted at before, a dark thread in his expression. But tonight his words pushed through the dam.

"She was 18," he said. "She got mixed up with some kids who thought they were untouchable. One night she went out to celebrate ones birthday and never came home. They found her in an alley three days later... overdose, they said. 'Experimental cocktail,' they called it. Two minors were arrested…both 17 years --sentenced, whatever legalese they used--and out in less than three years." He laughed bitterly --"Less than three years. I watched the system fold around them like a bed around a body and not shred the money under their mattresses. I joined because I promised I wouldn't let another person walk out of my life and leave me with only vocabulary."

His hands curled into fists. "I thought if I understood every mechanism--labs, evidence, process--if I learned to predict the next move, then maybe I could stop it before it reached someone I loved."

You saw him then in the way a portrait reveals a face behind a gaze. He was an instrument constructed from hurt and a white-hot need for control. "I couldn't get her back," he said, voice raw. "But I can at least stop the people who make kids toys and hands….."

The confession left a hollow like a footprint. You felt your own scabbed scars answering back. You couldn't keep his story separate from yours; there was a tethered similarity to how you counted losses and purchased revenge with the currency of competence.

"Your turn," he said after a long breath, as if some balance must be maintained.

You had never wanted to speak of your mother in school hallways or lab rooms. You had practiced not speaking about the small, raw details because words made them real and reality had a way of denting you. But when he looked at you with that open, dangerous need to understand, the sentence came like an exhale you could not hold in.

"She was taken when I was 19," you said slowly, watching a clock tick like it was a heart. "It was supposed to be a robbery. They said a kid did it--fifteen, some name I can't be bothered to remember. He hit her with a glass bottle, took her purse….when she tried to fight back he stabbed her with the same broken bottle…, and then everything went wrong….. and that time….i was out of the country…i got to know two days later that my only family is no longer with me. The courts painted the boy as a product of poor choices, gave him therapy, and then released him into an indifferent sunlight….. Two years later he was out. He smiled at the parole hearing like he wasn't the same boy who'd killed my mother….. That was the last time I believed in the system."

You felt the breath leave you in a small, quiet sound, the one people make when they let something heavy fall. "I decided then to be someone who couldn't be bought off by polite words, i always wanted to be a cop….i just now had a proper reason for chosing …narcotics as my major feild" you finished. "I didn't want the world to hand out absolution like candy. So I learned how to hurt back in ways they couldn't erase with a signature."

Hyunjin's fingers tightened on the paper cup in his hands. "That's why you act like you do," he said. There was an edge to his voice that made you flinch. "You gave up trust because trust was the thing they used to kill people around you…. and yet wanted to try changing by trusting jihoon…. and you were right about him…. he isnt a traitor…"

"Don't talk like you know my motives better than I do-," you snapped, but the sharpness of your words had no heat…at all. It was a touchstone, a ritual among people who might one day be allies.

Silence pressed. The hospital hummed with ordinary emergencies, the world oblivious to the slow war you were fighting. After a while you both realized there was less need to speak and more need to plan. Jihoon’s condition was stable but necessary for the decision you had arrived at--he had been hurt because someone wanted him disabled or frightened out. That meant he couldn't be used in the way you needed him now.

"We'll do it without him," hyunjin said finally. The sentence was not dramatic. It was logistical, a piece of a plan. "No more official channels. We go rogue."

The idea landed like a stone in a small pool. You tasted its shape immediately--dangerous, real, inevitable. You had been trying to play chess inside rules that benefited the wrong people. The rules had become a feed for what was poisoning the city.

"No more rules," you said, not with the reckless swagger you sometimes wore as armor, but with the cold, mathematical clarity of someone who had counted the cost. "We stop asking permission."

He leaned close then, so close you could feel the heat from his breath like an incendiary. "We survive," he murmured. The word was simple, but there was a promise behind it, loaded and lethal.

You looked at him and felt a torsion in your chest, a thing you couldn't plan or predict. You wanted to tell him that survival was never enough -- that you wanted the teeth of this city pulled out so kids wouldn't be used like hand-me-down toys anymore. But you also recognized that to reach that big, ruthless justice you needed to make small, dangerous promises.

He reached out then, hand steady, and touched the side of your face like he had the night you first met. "I will not let them take you," he said, and the sentence was not theatrical; it was as certain as gravity.

You let the breath out slow, something like surrender shaping into a pact. You leaned forward and kissed him--soft at first, an exchange of warmth in the cool fluorescent air--not cinematic, not dramatic, only necessary. You could feel the tension in him uncoil just a fraction. When you broke apart, rain still ringing in the city sounds like an applause you didn't want, you nodded.

"Okay," you whispered. "We do it our way."

He kissed you back quickly, fierce in a way that felt like the promise of a life-line. Then he stood, squared his shoulders, and walked toward jihoon's room. There was work to be done and a leader to be found. The betrayal had been uttered with metal and intention. Now you understood the stakes in a different language.

Outside, the rain continued to pound the neon into soft halos. Inside, you had a plan that would not be blessed by any badge. You had two people who would be willing to cross a line for something they could not define with polite words. You felt raw and hollow and oddly armored. The seeds of betrayal had been planted and now, watered by blood and wind, they would bloom ugly and precise.

You were no longer ceding ground. You had decided, with a kiss and a promise, to take the fight into your own hands.

Rain didn’t fall that week. The sky over the city looked like brushed steel, stretched tightly enough that every breath felt like inhaling tension. Days passed like sharpened stones, dragging skin and patience along their edges. Jihoon was home, swallowed in sterile white walls and the muted hum of medical machines. His apartment smelled like antiseptic instead of coffee and music. The nurses moved like ghosts with polite voices. He barely spoke, only watched you and Hyunjin with eyes hollowed by pain, stitched across the brow like someone had attempted sewing the pieces of him back together.

The doctors’ warning had rung like a verdict: brutally damaged, restricted mobility, high-risk complications, external involvement suspected. Translation: stay the hell away if you don’t want to get him killed again.

And the authorities, wearing polite concern like a badge polished every morning, had spoken with practiced distance: "For his safety, please maintain distance. Any contact may put him in further danger."

Hyunjin had nodded with a calm so artificial it felt like a mask welded to his skin. You had walked out of the hospital on legs that felt borrowed.

Two weeks had passed since the crash. Two weeks since glass carved thin scars across your ribs. Two weeks since Hyunjin kissed you back like survival and you returned the promise. Two weeks since someone decided ending the three of you would be easier than letting you interfere.

Hyunjin’s apartment became war headquarters. Files stretched across the table in rigid geometry. Photos pinned to the wall. Red thread crossing intersections of motive and threat. Your handwriting in angry black marker, his in razor-thin strokes.

He stood by the window that night, one hand braced against the glass like if he pressed hard enough he could crush the skyline.

"They knew where we were going," he said finally. His voice wasn’t angry. It was worse: controlled. Contained like dynamite held between teeth. "Someone tipped them off. Someone close. Someone inside."

You shook your head, pacing the length of the room with hands folded into fists tight enough to ache. "No. You’re reaching. It could’ve been coincidence. Surveillance. Someone following us from the warehouse. There are a hundred possibilities before we start looking at our own people."

Hyunjin turned slowly, eyes shining in the dim light. He looked exhausted but terrifyingly lucid. "Coincidence doesn’t cut brake lines exactly two blocks before the curve. Coincidence doesn’t stage an attack the one night Jihoon wasn’t armed and we decided to take the back road. Coincidence doesn’t know the details of our route hour to hour."

You felt the words like cold water across your spine. You tried to speak again but the logic had teeth now. All the times their plans had failed inexplicably. All the times they showed up too late. The crash where you should’ve died. Jihoon bleeding on asphalt. The way Havoc always stayed one step ahead.

Your breath shook out of you before you meant it to. "So you’re saying someone in the department is feeding Havoc information." Saying it felt like swallowing broken glass.

Hyunjin stepped closer. "I’m saying we’re being played. And if we don’t change the game, they’ll bury us next."

Silence hit hard enough to bruise.

"Fine," you finally said, throat tight. "What do you want to do?"

Hyunjin’s expression sharpened, the decision already carved into him. "Two plans. A fake one we perform publicly. One everyone can see, trace, leak. And a real plan? Just you and me. No notes. No traces. No assistance."

"And Jihoon?" you asked, though you knew the answer. You could feel it waiting like a dark river between your ribs.

"He’s out. For his safety and ours. If they know he’s compromised, they’ll assume he’s useless. That buys time. And he needs to rest before he ends up in a grave."

The thought tore at you. But you pictured jihoon’s blood on the curb. You pictured his uneven breaths, the way his hand trembled when you touched his shoulder before leaving. You pictured the light fading from his eyes if he saw another bullet coming.

You nodded. "Okay. We do it your way."

Hyunjin’s gaze softened a fraction. "Good."

The warehouse smelled like dust, sweat, and rusted metal. The lights overhead flickered in that unnerving way old bulbs do, turning everything sepia and shadow. The gym mats felt cold beneath your palms as you stretched, muscles stiff from tension and lack of sleep. Hyunjin stood in front of you barefoot, dressed in a black training shirt clinging to lines of muscle you had tried hard to ignore since the hospital night.

He tossed a pair of gloves to you. "Put them on."

You did. He watched your movements like he was cataloging each breath. When he stepped behind you to adjust your stance, his hands slid along your arms, firm, guiding, too close. A charge ran through your bones that had nothing to do with fear.

"Again," he ordered. "Hit harder."

You swung. Your knuckles cracked against the heavy pad he held. The impact shook up your arm. Again. Again. Your breath turned ragged as sweat slid down your spine. Hyunjin barely flinched with each hit, muscles absorbing the shock.

"You’re hesitating," he said quietly. "Hesitation will get you killed riot."

"I’m not hesitating," you snapped.

"Then prove it."

He dropped the pad and took stance in front of you. "Attack me."

You blinked, startled. "What?"

"Come at me. If you hesitate, I’ll put you on the ground."

"That’s supposed to motivate me?"

"It’s not supposed to be pretty. Real fights are ugly."

You lunged. He moved like smoke, catching your wrist with effortless precision, twisting until your balance faltered. You hit the mat hard enough the air punched from your lungs.

"Get up," he said, tone unyielding.

You pushed up, fury licking the edges of your vision. You swung again, sharper this time, aiming for his jaw. He blocked easily, hooked a foot behind your ankle, and sent you crashing down again.

"Fuck you," you spat, chest heaving.

"Good. Use that. Anger works if you control it."

You charged without thought. He sidestepped, caught both your wrists, pinned them above your head against the mat with one hand. His body hovered inches above yours, heat radiating through thin fabric. Your breaths collided in the narrow space between you, fast and uneven.

His eyes burned into yours. "You almost got me that time."

"Let go," you hissed, but your voice had lost its edge.

"Make me."

Your knee shot up instinctively; he twisted his hips just in time and your leg slid past him. His grip tightened. Your heart hammered against your ribs so hard it hurt.

His voice dropped, dangerously low. "If you want to survive, you need to learn where it hurts most. Throat. Eyes. Solar plexus. Groin. Knees. Shins. Use every dirty trick you have. Fight to destroy and escape. Not to win….this isnt some childs play to win. Its a survive or die… and learn to play dirty."

You swallowed hard. His breath ghosted your jaw.

"Try again."

This time you aimed for his collar bone, swung with controlled fury. You clipped his jaw instead, knuckles splitting against his skin with a sting like fire. His head snapped slightly to the side, a drop of blood forming on his lip.

He smirked.

"Better."

You felt heat spread through you that wasn’t just exertion. You went again, shifting weight suddenly, trying a sweep kick. He dodged, grabbed your waist to stop your fall, and your body collided with his. Your teeth cracked into your lower lip hard enough to tear skin.

You tasted blood.

Hyunjin froze, expression darkening. His hand cupped your jaw gently now, thumb brushing your split lip. The switch from combat to tenderness was whiplash.

"You’re hurt," he murmured, voice quieter than you’d heard in weeks.

"It’s nothing."

"It’s not nothing." He reached for the first aid kit, pulled ointment, dabbed on a cotton swab, and stepped close again. His fingers steadied your chin. "Hold still."

The sting made you wince. His eyes flicked up, something unreadable in them. He wiped the blood slowly, carefully, as if each touch meant something neither of you wanted to say aloud.

"I swear to god," he whispered, leaning close enough that his breath warmed your skin, "if you ever put yourself in danger like that again, I will make sure you regret it….never attack in a way which will risk your fall."

You stared at him, breath caught. "Is that a threat?"

"No," he said softly. "It’s a promise."

The air between you felt electric enough to set the building on fire. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

The board in front of you showed a clean architecture of lies. Operation Scorch -- fake. Operation Blackwater -- real. Two entirely separate missions mapped out in different colors. The first sloppy and predictable, easy to intercept, designed to leak. The second silent, invisible, unsanctioned, lethal.

Hyunjin crossed his arms. "Tomorrow we stage the briefing publicly. They’ll think we’re planning to hit their chemical lab in Donghae district. They’ll move resources to block us there. And while they’re playing defense--"

"We track the courier shipment leaving their safehouse at midnight," you finished, eyes narrowing. "Cut the network from the inside. Sever the head."

"Exactly. No backup. No witnesses. Just you and me."

You inhaled slowly. Fear crawled up your ribs. But beneath it lived something hotter: precision.

The phone buzzed. Hyunjin put it on speaker.

Jihoon’s voice was weak but steady. "Tell me everything. I might not be there, but I’m not out…. we are a team… you know?"

Hyunjin glanced at you, silent question in his eyes. You nodded.

You gave Jihoon the brief outline. The fake plan, the real target, the extraction route, the contingency options.

Jihoon breathed heavily, then exhaled. "They won’t see it coming. Be careful. Both of you. And for the record--" his voice cracked, "--don’t die without me. I get to kill at least one of these bastards too."

Hyunjin smiled slightly. "We won’t die. Not so soon."

You stepped closer to the table, hand hovering over the map. Your fingers touched the marked red circle.

"Soon," you said. "We start hunting back."

War was coming. And this time, you weren’t running.

You were setting the trap. And Havoc would walk straight into it.

— 2 months later. —

Execution day dawned like a threat. The sky was iron, low and flat, as if the city itself had taken a breath and was holding it in. You felt it in your bones the moment you stepped outside--an animal tension that tightened around your throat and made each sound vibrate too loudly. Hyunjin walked beside you with the same rigid precision he'd worn like armor since the crash; his movements were economical, every muscle a calculation.

Jihoon moved ahead of you both with the practiced ease of someone who had rehearsed this life in the mirror: smile, helpfulness, disarming small talk. He carried the tracker in his hand as if it were a talisman, thumbs flicking across the screen. You had thought him necessary and human. You had thought he might be a steadying factor in the chaos. You would come to regret how easily trust had been given. You had begged jihoon not to join but the stubborn asshole never agreed and now here he was. Though you hadn't expected him to heal in 2 months but again you knew he must be just ignoring the pain, thats the kind of freak he is.

The warehouse sat at the end of a dead-lined street in the industrial quarter, hulking and skeletal beneath a web of cranes and telephone wires. Its corrugated doors were rusted at the seams; faint script peeled off the metal like dried skin. Inside, the cold tasted of oil and old fires. You told yourself this was the plan--the fake plan, the visible bait. Everybody would see you move toward Donghae district. The pillars would respond. They would shift resources. They would show their hand. Or so the fake map had promised.

Jihoon pushed the door open with a soft grunt that scraped metal on metal and the sound stabbed your nerves. You stepped into a cathedral of shadows. High rafters dripped condensation and the overhead fluorescents hummed like anxious insects. The air was already thin with dust and exhaust. Hyunjin signaled, routine and clean; you felt the hum of the team, the choreography of careful steps. For a moment you felt the tiny, absurd comfort of motion--the world reduced to tasks and checklists. It was a lie. You should have known it was a lie.

The ipad in Jihoon's hand went blank as if someone had smacked the world with a palm. The trackers blinked into static. The lights fizzed and went out. Total darkness hit like water. It wasn't the dim you could see through. This was total, bone-deep black that erased the edges of your skin.

You heard it before you could see: the staccato of boots on metal, laughter too high and clean. Voices in the rafters whooped like predators excited at the beginning of a hunt. The dark had a smell now--a chemical tang that set your throat burning. Then something dropped from above. A canister struck concrete with a ringing crash and a plume of clouded gas blossomed, thick and white and mean. It swallowed light and air and everything you’d been trusting.

Your lungs fought it. Your chest tried to expand and found nothing but a film. Hyunjin's hand clamped around your wrist, an iron anchor, and his breath was a harsh instrument right against your ear. "Stay with me," he snarled, voice close enough that you could taste it. "Don't collapse."

You coughed, the sound a ragged, useless thing. Your vision smeared into double images. You could feel someone behind you--a shape, a hand--before your knees betrayed you. A rough force shoved your body, then you found your arms pinned, rope biting into skin. They wrestled you into a chair with the practiced speed of people used to handling bodies, not bargaining. Your mouth and nose were still under the weight of those fumes that clung like wet cloth. You forced your eyes open harder and the world tilted; Hyunjin had not been so fortunate.

You caught the sight of him only for a flash--the arc of a metal swing, the sickening thunk of impact, the ragged way his head snapped. Someone grunted and he fell, not limp but folded, forced down with brutal efficiency. He clawed, cursed, rose again. He was strong enough to choke people and easily survive, but again the gas had made his nervous system too weak. Then a boot slammed his ribs and the sound popped in the silent chamber of your skull like a pistol. Hyunjin's knees hit wet concrete; his breath tore from him like it had been shredded. Your hands stretched against the ropes in the poorest performance of defiance you’d ever managed. You could not turn toward him to do anything but watch as he was reduced, as if someone was laboring to steal the way he breathed.

Lights slammed on so hard your eyes screamed. The brightness cut every shadow into small, ridiculous pieces and in that white flash you saw them: kids. Too many kids. Four pillars' worth of young faces, hollowed or cruel, set like chessmen in cheap masks. They moved with smooth violence, knives and pipes glittering. They were teenagers who didn't blink when hard things happened. They were weak and terrible by the world's design. They were also terrifyingly precise.

And then a man stepped forward where you could see him properly….. Jihoon. He was clean, untouched, no broken bones, no stitches, no hospital scent clinging to him.

Not the man you had worried about in your grief. Not the man you had thought had risked himself for you or hyunjin. He wore a smile like a blade and his calm made you sick.

"Surprised?" he asked with the infuriating ease he had once used to charm a room. The applause of the kids was obscene; they clapped as if in a theatre.

Hyunjin looked up at him like a man who had been gutted and was surprised that his insides still made sound. For a breath, Hyunjin's eyes--those keen, calculating eyes you had come to rely on--widened as something like stunned recognition cracked the surface. He mouthed words you couldn't hear over the thud of your own heart. Then he spat--blood and something like contempt--directly at Jihoon's shoe. The little glob hit leather and slid down like a red accusation.

Jihoon merely laughed. The laugh landed in the air between you like a slapping noise, smug and small. "How dramatic," he said, and it was the kind of voice a man uses when he's enjoyed learning someone else's anatomy by trial. He crouched until he was eye-level with Hyunjin, the smile slow and patient. "You always were careful. You always measured the field. You were always the lettered one, the smart one who thought a pen and a notebook could stop knives. Admirable."

Hyunjin's jaw clenched until the vein at his temple pulsed hard. He tried to stand and a dozen hands forced him down. A pipe swung and caught his side; the exhale from his mouth was a single sound. You wanted to close your eyes from the way his pain radiated outward--felt as if it could be captured on skin like static electricity. The boys held him down, joyless as soldiers topping off a score. The violence was orchestrated, careful and private; it had been planned to hurt as much as to break.

Jihoon's face turned toward you then, and his tone narrowed like a blade. He spoke to you with an intimacy that made bile gather like ice in your mouth. "You were a problem for so long," he said. "Really. Hyunjin with his eternal calculations… and you--so principled, so stubborn. You refused to be what they told you were allowed to be. So we decided to accelerate evolution."

"You," Hyunjin spat through broken teeth, "you were with us. You bled for us."

Jihoon shrugged like a man acknowledging trivia. "I bled when I needed to," he said. "And I planned plenty as well. Do you have any idea how many times your little operations nearly exposed me to suspicion? I had to stage my own demise to slip further into their shadows." His smile was a predator's…. you had trusted the wrong man…. you had accused hyunjin for thinking he is too paranoid about jihoon...

When he said it, a small fissure of memory cracked open behind your eyes: the car accident--glass like a constellation, the sound of metal folding, the sirens, the smell of burned insulation, the man thrown away from the car who had looked like Jihoon like something discarded. You could feel the old cold panic re-ignite; the sense that you had been living inside a story someone else authored.

Jihoon leaned back on his heels and lit a cigarette as if in a commercial for malice. The small flame painted his face in an orange that looked absurd and regal in the warehouse light. He exhaled like a man savoring wine. "You remember that night?" he asked gently, and his tone had the mock-sympathy of a surgeon. "The crash? The 'damage' that took months to heal? You were so kind to tell us you were going to keep your distance because of it. Such heroes."

"No," you said, even though your voice trembled. "No, Jihoon. That was you. It cannot be--"

"It wasn't," he sang. "It was a man who only looked like me. A pleasant fellow, paid a tidy sum to take a nine-volt battery to the ribs and impersonate fragility by letting himself get injured. He bled. He didn't recover. Instead at the hospital I laid there with fake injuries and cuts where as tha guy… died. You cried over bandages. You fussed. You believed the performance. You believed me. You loved me like a salve."

The words hit with cold steel. The cruelty of it landed not only in your mind but behind your eyes like a tiled slap. Hyunjin hissed something, a raw string of sound that might have been a curse or a curse's echo. He had fought hard enough to buy you time that night while Jihoon's double bled on the curb. He had kept faith with what he believed was genuine danger; he had trusted his read of a man built of contradictions. He had been wrong.

Jihoon flicked his cigarette toward the concrete and watched the ember roll like a small, useless planet. "You see, there have always been five pillars, not four" he said conversationally. "Your little legends always simplified things. Four needed to look like puppets because children are convenient scapegoats. But there is always a shadow pillar that ties the others together. Someone with access, someone who can whisper into ears, someone who knows when to cut lights and when to send a messenger."

Every small failure you've suffered until this moment scrolled across your mind like the cheapest of slide shows: the witness who "changed his mind" at the police booth; the phone call that came one minute before your team arrived; the files that evaporated from locked cabinets; the car that fishtailed into a neat crash that should have taken nothing but you and hyunjin. Jihoon's casual confession rearranged each incident into a diabolical logic: nothing was coincidence, nothing was carelessness. Everything had been a design, and you were late to the revelation that the pattern had a hand inside it.

"You were the one leaving tips," Hyunjin rasped between clenched teeth, a sound that could have been a prayer or a plea. "You were... you were giving them to Havoc."

Jihoon's smile went small and satisfied. "Of course. I had more to gain from guiding things than from stopping them blindly. Minors do as they're told when you fashion a god from them. You stuffed a pretty narrative into your heads: minors are victims. It’s useful." He stepped closer, so close his breath warmed the sweat at your temple. "I didn't want the pillars to fall apart. I wanted them clean and efficient. I wanted your fear to do the work for me. And hyunjin -- oh hyunjin --you were so astute you didn't even see the simplest trick." He cocked his head, amused. "I fed his paranoia a truth about me. A plausible lie. He swallowed it and used it to justify following a ghost. A perfect loop."

Your hands tightened on the ropes until the fibers squealed. The pain sharpened your focus in a way that made anger manageable. "You used me," you said, and there was no question in your voice because you had nothing left for doubt. "You used us."

"Used?" Jihoon breezed. "We used each other. The city uses children. Adults use the law. Power uses silence. I only made the architecture explicit." He flicked his cigarette with a casual, final motion. "And tonight, I'd planned a show. A clean demonstration of how unstoppable we are. So they would not suspect the hand behind the screens."

You thought of Jihoon's face in the hospital room the night purportedly he slept with bandages. You had visited him with a bouquet of stupid, petty things because you'd wanted to soothe the man you'd thought was hurt. You had laughed at his jokes as if they were real. Had you been that foolish? The memory of the vanishings of your own certainty came over you in cold wash: the bruise of self-blame, the heat of betrayal, the electric, awful knowledge that no one could be trusted.

"Why involve Hyunjin….? you certainly look like you have a problem with me, cause i am the risk taker." you demanded, the question tearing out of you rough and raw. "Why hurt him?"

Jihoon’s expression turned nearly tender. "Hyunjin was the perfect catalyst. He would follow you into the dark to keep you safe. He would assume the risk and that would soothe your martyr complex. Hyunjin's love is a dangerous thing--he gives himself exhaustively. So I made him bleed enough to be softened and provoked. People act foolish when they are afraid for someone else… or even losing someone. Their reasoning becomes stew. Tell me--didn't you tell us he was 'too careful' the other night? How stupidly ironic."

A kid laughed in the rafters and the sound made you want to die of a small, bitter rage. Hyunjin made a sound that was half strangled and half defiant and spat in Jihoon's direction again; the act was both primal and meaningless. It didn't matter now what small rebellions were cast his way. The scenery had changed around him: trust had been eaten, chewed into a thing that looked like nourishment but tasted of ash.

Jihoon stepped away and raised his hand, and the kids around you moved like a hive obeying the flick of a queen's antenna. He turned once more, as if to take in the tableau of his creation, and then he spoke to you with the awful and clinical calm of a man who had rehearsed this cruelty.

"You thought you were doing something noble. You thought your hands could fix a system with evidence and courage. But here's the lesson: power bends the narrative. It chooses actors. It writes laws that let its actors be untouchable, because children are small and forgiving and because adults have bought their peace. You could have stopped me earlier--" his mouth thinned, venomous and sweet at once "--but you wouldn't. You are too human."

He paused, letting each of his sentences land like pebbles dropped into water. "And now? Now you get to see the truth. Now you get to understand that nothing in this city is by accident."

Around you Hyunjin's breath came shallow and irregular. His body trembled, not entirely from the blows he had been given but from the knowledge of how badly he'd been fooled. He had followed a lie because he wanted to keep you safe. The way his loyalty had been turned on him was an acid that ate from the inside. He had misread what he took for sincerity as real, and the cost was bleeding in front of both of your faces.

Jihoon crouched down until his face was inches from yours. His smile was patient and cold. "Look at you," he said softly. "So fierce. So easy to lead." Then his voice shifted to a tone devoid of ceremony, like a man closing a file. "The pillars will remain. Their work is clean now. Their kids are loyal. You two have been dismantled and humiliated. And the city will sleep tonight because its neat statistics will remain neat."

When he stood, he gave a little bow that sent a laugh through the circle of children like applause. The echo was obscene; the betrayal was complete.

Hyunjin managed to find a sound that was not only pain but a terrible, stripped-down rage, and he spat again into the air, into the face of the man who had betrayed them both. "You fucking bastard," he snarled. He made the words like a prayer and a threat. Then the boys hit him in the head and he went still…. too still.

You tasted iron and bile. The ropes chafed into your wrists like a second skin. Jihoon's shadow fell wide over you as if to smother what was left of the world you’d been trying to rebuild. He bent one last time and whispered into your ear, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

"Goodbye sweetheart," he said, the syllable simple and flat. "And thank you for your service."

He turned away and the kids dragged Hyunjin's limp form toward a bank of benches. The chaos had an economy; the cruelty had flow charts. They had built something efficient, neat and monstrous, and you were left bound to watch the edifice be celebrated.

Your breath came shallow; the aftershocks of the gas warmed your cheeks even as your eyes burned. The warehouse hummed with too-bright lights and the squeal of small shoes on concrete. The betrayal sat heavy inside you like a stone with teeth. You had believed, or at least you had trusted, and that trust had been used against you with the ease of a scalpel.

Outside, on the street beyond the warehouse walls, the city kept moving--cars, coffee shops, indifferent lives. Inside, your world had collapsed with the efficient cruelty of a plan designed not just to kill but to rewrite the script of how power worked. You thought of the smashed car and the man who had bled for a role. You thought of jihoon in your kitchen, laughing as if he were not a practiced performer. You thought of hyunjin, who had given everything to protect you and instead had been the bait on which jihoon's filigreed trap had been set.

The truth had been revealed in the most brutal way possible: trust was currency, and you had been spent.

They left you there, ropes biting, dreams splintered, Hyunjin's breathing a ragged thread behind you. And all you could do, even as dizzy rage and cold grief battled like two animals in your chest, was watch Jihoon walk out of the warehouse with the small, neat smile of a man who had won something he had wanted for a long time.

and then a sudden painful sting at the neck, the fluid pressure being injected in you, as you looked up, it was a girl… who backed off after the dose was done. She mubbled something like a 'sorry' which is all you could procces before your eyes went too heavy and the darkness drowned you in.

— a few hours later —

The world hit you all at once, again.

The sound of gunfire still rang inside your skull like a bell struck too hard, too close. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer slamming into your ribs, shaking you, forcing air into your lungs in fractured bursts. The metallic stench of blood coated the back of your throat, mixing with the cold, damp air that smelled like rust and concrete and fear. Your vision flickered in and out, blurring shapes into smears of black and red.

You tried to move, but your arms didn’t respond. Your legs felt like they were filled with wet sand. The drug crawling through your bloodstream was thick and venomous, paralyzing everything slowly. Your body was trembling uncontrollably, but not from the cold.

From helplessness.

From rage.

Hyunjin.

The image burned into your brain, refusing to loosen its grip. Hyunjin collapsing after the sound of metal cracking bone, after the pipe slammed into the back of his skull. His body folding like paper, hitting the concrete floor with a sickening thud. The blood spreading under his head like dark ink…..

And you could do nothing. Your scream ripped from your chest and vanished into chaos.

The floor beneath you suddenly gave way. There was no time to react. No time to understand what was happening. Just one violent drop and the sensation of gravity tearing you downward.

Then impact.

Agony detonated through your body from every direction as your skin split against something jagged. Hundreds of sharp glass fragments tore into your arms, your shoulders, your back, embedding deep like tiny blades. You felt your skin shred open, warm blood streaming down your sides and spine.

You tried to inhale, but the pain stole the breath from your lungs. You choked on it, tasting copper as it filled your mouth.

It wasn’t a floor you landed on.

It was a pit.

A trap.

And they threw you straight into it like trash.

A spotlight blasted on above you, so bright it burned your retinas, forcing your eyes shut. Jagged, glittering shards covered the entire bottom of the pit like a sea of knives. The glass shifted beneath you whenever you moved, slicing fresh wounds across your palms and legs.

Your body refused to cooperate. Fingers twitching, muscles spasming, everything numb and stiff. The drug coiled around you, squeezing tighter with every second.

You tried to turn your head, vision swimming, searching for any sign of Hyunjin. Instead, you heard voices echoing above you. Dark laughter. Mocking. Familiar.

Jihoon.

"Poor thing," he called out, voice dripping with poisonous amusement. "You always were too trusting. Too naive. And now look where that got you."

Your pulse thundered, hot fury bursting through every crack in your chest.

"Fuck... you," you slurred, voice barely recognizable. It tasted thick and heavy, like talking through wet cloth.

Jihoon chuckled. "Aw. She still talks. Cute."

You forced your head upward. Above the pit, blurred silhouettes surrounded hyunjin’s body, lying motionless across the cement floor now. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading wide, dark and reflective. His chest moved unevenly, slow and shallow.

He was alive. Barely. But alive.

Relief and terror crashed together inside you, ripping a sob from your throat. You tried to drag yourself upright, but glass dug deeper, slicing muscle. You almost collapsed again.

Jihoon’s voice shifted, colder, calmer. "The plan worked beautifully. You two made it easy. hyunjin always had doubts, but you? You wanted to believe. You handed everything to me."

Trembling, you forced your fingers to curl, gripping the shards beneath you. Pain flared white-hot. You welcomed it. Let it burn through the fog.

"You killed him," you whispered. "You killed the man in the accident. You--"

Jihoon cut you off with a snort. "Killed? No. Exchanged. The guy had the same build as me. Little make up work beforehand. A disposable decoy. He died beautifully though, didn’t he?… Oh never mind you didnt see him die"

You felt bile rise in your throat.

"He begged," Jihoon continued, casual, conversational. "Cried for his family. But that’s what loyalty means. Sacrifice."

You wanted to lunge at him, rip his throat open with these glass shards if you had to. Your muscles fought the drug, shaking violently.

Jihoon smiled down into the pit….honestly the pit wasnt that deep 1 feet approx but it was the shards which made it impossible. "Your mistake was assuming you were smart enough to see the whole board."

You felt something break inside you. Something important. Something that would never heal the same way again. The drug wouldn’t loosen. Your limbs were dead weight. Every swallow burned.

You needed to think. Salt. Metallic. Blood.

The memory sliced through your fogged mind like a blade. hyunjin’s voice from training: "If you’re drugged, shock your body. Pain can override sedation. Salt, adrenaline, anything that spikes your system."

Without hesitating, you opened your mouth and bit down on your own tongue. Hard. Harder. Until the wet pop of skin splitting filled your head and blood flooded your mouth, hot and metallic. You swallowed every mouthful, ignoring the wave of nausea.

The salt hit your system like electricity.

Your veins lit up. Your muscles spasmed violently.

Jihoon paused, looking amused. "Oh? Trying to fight it? That’s adorable."

You dug your palms harder into the glass, ripping them raw. Pain shot through your arms, clearing your head. you forced your body upward, shaking, staggering, grabbing onto the rough wall. Every shard cut deeper, sliding under your skin with every movement. Blood poured down your arms like dripping paint.

You climbed. Slipped. Clawed again.

The 1ft walls were jagged concrete, tearing open skin as you dragged yourself upward one broken inch at a time afterall your system was still healing. Your breath came in savage gasps, lungs burning, vision swimming, but rage pushed you higher.

Jihoon leaned forward, watching. Amused. Fascinated. "Look at you. A little monster, aren’t you?"

You reached out of the fucked pit, catching the side walls, ripping skin open to the inner muscels. You hauled yourself over, collapsing onto the concrete floor, coughing blood violently.

Men moved toward you, guns raised.

Too slow.

The moment one stepped close enough, you ripped a shard from your arm and drove it into his throat not too deep to kill but enough to make one believe that they are dying, He dropped like dead weight his hands trying to hold the pressure. You snatched his dagger from his belt before he hit the ground.

Two more rushed.

You spun, ducked the first strike, and buried the dagger into the second man’s knee, twisting until bone cracked and he screamed. He crumpled. The first swung a bat at your ribs. You caught it with your forearm, pain exploding, and used momentum to slam the dagger into his gut, and twisting.

You weren't killing, you were damaging.

The world swayed around you. Blood soaked your clothes, your hair, dripping into your eyes.

Across the room, Hyunjin lay motionless, breaths ragged.

You stumbled toward him. Jihoon blocked your path.

"Still breathing, huh?" he said, tone bright and cruel. He tilted his head. "What are you going to do now, sweetheart?"

You lunged.

Jihoon dodged easily, slamming his foot into your stomach. You hit the floor hard, coughing blood. He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, forcing your eyes up at him.

"You really thought you mattered to any of us?" he asked quietly. "This entire thing existed to break you. He was a bait even he wasnt aware of. That’s all. And you played your part perfectly."

Something inside you snapped. With a scream, you rammed the dagger upward, stabbing deep into his thigh. Jihoon screamed as blood spurted. You ripped the blade sideways, tearing muscle. Jihoon fell to one knee, and you didn’t hesitate--you slashed his forearm deep enough to cripple his hand, the tendons snapping like strings. He dropped, gasping, fury twisting his face.

You pressed the blade against his throat, your voice raw and shaking.

"If any one of you touches Hyunjin," you growled, tone low, feral, "I swear to fucking god, I will slit his throat right here. And then I’ll drag every single one of you bastards down to the hounds of fucking hell with me."

The room froze.

His men hesitated, guns half-raised, but uncertain. You spit blood onto the ground, shaking violently.

"I’m not bluffing," you hissed. "Try me. Touch him. I dare you."

Silence swallowed everything.

You tightened your grip on Jihoons hair, forcing his head back. Blood dripped from your chin, splattering onto his skin.

Breathing hard, coughing violently, your entire body trembled as you shielded Hyunjin with your body, vision narrowed to a tunnel of red as your blood entered your tear line.

No one moved. Not yet….. you knew you wouldn't be able to stand still for too long…. you had no way for calling the cops or medics.

The silence that swallowed the warehouse after your threat was thick enough to choke on. Every muscle in your body vibrated, blood dripping steadily from your palms and soaking the cement floor beneath you. The metallic tang in the air was suffocating, heavy with the scent of spilled blood and burnt gunpowder.

Jihoon struggled under your hold, breathing jagged, his leg trembling violently from the deep stab wound you carved. But his eyes stayed dark and venomous, lips curling into a pained smirk as though the situation still amused him.

"You won't do it," he whispered, voice rough. "You pretend to be merciless but you're pathetic. Empty threats from a broken little girl--"

You pressed the blade harder into his throat until blood surfaced in a thin crimson line. His breath hitched, and the room tightened like a noose.

"Shut the fuck up," you hissed.

A single sound split the tension--a distant siren. Then another. Then dozens.

The men surrounding you turned toward the entrance, guns raising again. Red and blue lights sliced through the shattered windows, sirens screaming so loudly the concrete walls shook. Tires screeched against asphalt, and heavy boots thundered outside.

For a moment everything moved in slow motion.

The warehouse doors exploded inward as the tactical team stormed in, flashlights slicing over blood, bodies, weapons. The men who had been seconds from ripping you apart dropped their guns and daggers instantly, hands rising. Orders shouted. Metal clattered.

Jihoon stiffened beneath you, something shifting in his expression that looked almost like fear.

The police swarmed the space, cuffing men, kicking guns away, forcing bodies to the ground. You dropped the knife as your vision blurred, your grip slipping. The sudden release of adrenaline hit you like a truck, and your knees buckled.

Hands grabbed you from behind as the world tilted dangerously sideways. Voices echoed around you, sharp and frantic.

"Two victims down--"

"Severely wounded--"

"Get a medic--now!"

But your eyes stayed locked on Hyunjin.

He lay motionless, blood pooled around his head, dark and thick, spreading slowly across the concrete like a dying river. Medics dropped to their knees beside him, rolling him carefully, lifting his shoulders, pressing gauze to his head.

"Pulse weak--he’s still breathing--pressure on the skull fracture--"

Your mouth opened but no sound came out. You tried to crawl toward him, glass shifting under your knees, but your arms collapsed beneath you.

The last thing you heard before the darkness swallowed you was an officer’s voice:

"Hwang Hyunjin requested emergency extraction protocol. Two hours expiration. We’re lucky we weren’t retrieving bodies. And he was smart enough to aware us about it of both would have died."

And then your body hit the floor.

Everything disappeared.

—

You woke to a violent gasp tearing itself from your throat.

Bright white light stabbed into your eyes. Machines beeped steadily nearby. The steady hum of hospital equipment filled the room, sterile and suffocating. Your body felt like molten lead, every movement burning. You tried to shift but metal clanged near your one hand.

You were handcuffed to the railing of the hospital bed.

Cold cuffs bit into swollen skin around your wrist, punctured and scratched from glass. Your palms were wrapped heavily in bandages. Your ribs ached, each breath a blade to the lungs. Your mouth was dry, the copper taste of blood still faint on your tongue.

You turned your head slowly--too slowly--and your eyes caught the sight that ripped your heart open.

Hyunjin.

He lay in the hospital bed across the room, countless wires and tubes connected to him, oxygen mask strapped across his bruised face. His skin was pale, almost gray, lips chapped, hair matted with dried blood. Bandages wrapped around his head and shoulder, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

If you didn’t see the small shaking of his chest, he could’ve been dead.

Your voice broke out in a whisper so shaken it barely formed words.

"Hyunjin…"

The door opened.

The Head of Department stepped inside. His polished shoes clicked against the floor, his immaculate suit sharp against the sterile white room. But his eyes--he looked drained. He stared at you for a long moment, jaw clenched.

"You’re awake," he said quietly.

You didn’t respond.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across his face. "Before anything else--you should know that Jihoon is alive. He’s in a secure wing under heavy surveillance. The others are detained. The warehouse is under federal lockdown."

The numbness crawled through your veins. "Why am I cuffed?"

"Standard containment," he replied. "Dozens of men left that warehouse immobilized. Some might never walk again. You crippled them."

"I kept them from killing Hyunjin," you spat, voice shaking. "And from killing me…. Its called self defense."

"I know," he whispered. "I know. And that’s why I’m here."

He stepped closer to the foot of your bed, lowering his voice so no one in the hallway could hear.

"This case goes far deeper than you think. HAVOC isn’t just a faction. It’s an operation funded by politicians, businessmen, police officers. Smuggling. Human weapons. Underground finance. It’s rot buried into the spine of the government itself." His eyes hardened. "You were never meant to uncover it. And Jihoon… he did what he was told. He was planted the moment you and hyunjin got close. We needed someone inside your unit."

Your stomach hollowed.

"You sent him to us?" your voice cracked. "You used us?"

His jaw trembled. For the first time, guilt surfaced.

"I tried to protect you. Assigning Jihoon was supposed to keep HAVOC off your trail. But the moment they found out hyunjin cared about you--you both became leverage of each other."

Your throat tightened.

"You’re asking me to let them win," you whispered.

"I’m asking you to survive," he corrected sharply. "Drop the case. Walk away. If you keep pushing, you won’t make it out alive next time. And I will not save you again."

Your eyes shifted back to hyunjin’s broken body, chest rising weakly under the tubes.

He almost died. Cause you took risks.

You weren’t sure which hurt more--the pain in your body or the pain in your chest that twisted with every breath.

"Fine," you whispered, voice breaking. "I’m done. I’m letting it go."

The HOD closed his eyes in relief. "Good. You’ll be released when cleared by medical. No charges. No record. But this case ends here."

He turned and left.

The door closed.

Silence swallowed the room again.

Hours crawled by. Nurses checked machines. Doctors rushed. Blood transfusions, whispered medical terms, the beep of heart monitors.

You sat upright, cuffed and motionless, eyes fixed on Hyunjin. You counted every weak breath. Every hitch. Every twitch in his fingers.

When the doctor returned later, she spoke gently.

"He’s stable. Critical, but out of immediate danger. He may wake up soon."

Something inside you collapsed with relief. Your vision blurred with tears as tension drained from your muscles.

And then--

A groan.

Soft. Broken.

Your head snapped upward. Hyunjin shifted slightly, eyes flickering open beneath bruised lids. His breathing stuttered. He scanned the room frantically until his eyes landed on you. The panic in his face shattered you.

"Where... where’s Y/N?" his voice rasped through the oxygen mask, painful and desperate. "Is she… is she okay? I need to see her--please--"

Your heart twisted violently. You stood from the bed, ripping the IV line from your arm so hard the needle tore skin. The monitor screeched angrily as you limped forward, dragging the cuff against the railing until you ripped the metal bar out of the bed frame with a surge of adrenaline….

Hyunjin froze, breathing hard when he saw you.

You stood before him--bandaged, bruised, sliced, dried blood staining your neck and hair, tiny tiny glass still embedded in your skin in glittering specks. In a hospital gown. Your voice cracked into a broken smile.

"I ain’t leaving," you whispered. "I haven’t annoyed you enough yet, Hyunie."

His shoulders sagged as relief washed over him, muscles relaxing for the first time. His eyes glistened.

You sat beside him, your fingers brushing his cooling hand gently.

"I let the case go," you murmured. "I’m done. I’m not risking you again. Not ever."

Hyunjin’s eyes widened, shock freezing his face. He turned toward you sharply despite the pain.

"No," he breathed. "No--Y/N--we’re too close. We’re right fucking there."

"Hyunjin, I almost lost you!" you snapped, voice cracking. "You were lying in your own blood, not breathing right--I’m not watching you die for this."

He grabbed your hand, grip weak but desperate.

"We finish what we started, Riot," he whispered fiercely. "Or everything we went through was for nothing."

"No," you shot back. "I’d rather die than step back into that."

"Then I’ll do it alone."

The world stopped.

Your blood turned to ice.

You stared into his eyes--eyes filled with unbearable determination, pain, fury, and something terrifyingly close to love.

"Hyunjin, don’t you fucking dare."

"You choose," he said softly but deadly. "We do this together. Or I walk back into hell without you."

Your jaw clenched, anger burning hot and sharp through your chest.

"You asshole," you trembled. "You manipulative--stupid--beautiful fucking asshole."

He held your gaze. You broke.

"Fine," you hissed. "Fuck you. We finish it."

Hyunjin exhaled shakily, his thumb brushing your knuckles, eyes softening.

"Good girl."

Your heartbeat stopped, heat flooding your entire body. And just like that-- The war was far from over. The corruption was deeper than blood. And the real hunt had just begun.

— 11 months passed. —

11 long, silent, bone-deep exhausting months where the world pretended everything was normal while you and hyunjin lived through the aftermath of hell.

The news cycle stopped talking about the case after a few weeks, burying it under celebrity gossip and political scandals. The university officially announced that the internship challenge had ended successfully. Every participating student passed, names printed neatly on congratulatory banners, including yours and his. Your record was marked innocent and unattached to anything legally concerning. Jihoon was declared permanently imprisoned without parole. Cameras stopped following you. The whispers around campus died. Police surveillance pulled back. The hospital released both of you after 1 month to recover privately.

To everyone else, the storm had cleared.

But you knew better.

Broken ribs had knitted themselves back together under layers of tape. Burns healed under thick sheets of treated gauze. The cuts carved by glass faded into scars along your back, your thighs, your palms. The bruises beneath your jaw changed from purple to sickly yellow to nothing. You learned how to sleep again, how to breathe again, how to pretend your lungs didn’t still remember the sound of Hyunjin choking on his own blood.

And Hyunjin... hyunjin healed slower, though nobody would dare say it aloud. The head injury took weeks to stabilize, the first few nights spent hooked to machines, breath clipped and uneven. His skull had been partially fractured where the iron pipe struck, his heartbeat dangerously irregular for days after. Now he walked like himself again, but sometimes when he turned quickly, his vision blurred. Sometimes his hand trembled. Sometimes when he thought no one was watching, he pressed his fingertips to the scar hidden under his hair, jaw grinding with silent rage.

But the most terrifying part was the quiet.

Neither of you talked about the night in the hospital. Not the handcuffs. Not the blood. Not the plea you made. Not the moment he grabbed your shaking fingers and said, in a voice rough enough to tear skin, "We finish what we started, Riot."

You never refused again after that. Even though part of you wanted to. So by day, you played the role the world wanted.

The bright, dedicated top-ranking student training under Seoul’s most promising forensic lieutenant--Hwang Hyunjin. You worked cases, filed reports, attended classes, and smiled politely when professors praised your participation. Hyunjin stood beside you during briefings, sharp-eyed and professional, no trace of the storm beneath his ribs.

But the sun set eventually.

And that was when the real work began.

Every night, without fail, the two of you disappeared from the radar. No police backup. No official documentation. No safety net. Just dim warehouse lights, stolen case files, maps pinned on walls with red string cutting across them like veins.

You sat across from him countless nights, hunched over tables covered in documents thick with dust and corruption. His hair tied loosely, sleeves rolled up, forehead furrowed hard enough to leave creases. He barely spoke unless it was necessary, except when his gaze lifted to your face, lingering half a second too long, checking to see if you were breathing.

And you… you studied every move he made, trying to read the thoughts he never said. Trying not to remember how it felt to nearly die with his name choking out of your throat. Trying not to think about whether he regretted pulling you into this world.

One night, you placed a faded hospital report on the table, sliding it toward him.

"Look at this," you said, voice rough from hours of silence.

Hyunjin glanced up, eyes narrowing before scanning the first page. Then the second. His jaw flexed when he reached the third.

"It says Jihoon had fractures in three ribs and two fingers the night he was arrested," you continued, leaning back, crossing your arms. "But the x-ray signature doesn’t match the hospital database. It’s a fake. The injury report was filed before the police even transported him to the ER."

Hyunjin exhaled harshly through his nose, brows drawing into a deep line.

"They covered for him."

"Yeah," you whispered, throat tightening. "The doctors lied. And the HOD covered the paperwork. He wasn’t hurt at all… just the stabs you left on him. All that act in the interrogation room? Every fucking second was staged."

Hyunjin’s hands curled into fists until his knuckles blanched white.

"That bastard worked under us the entire time. Watched us. Manipulated us. And I didn’t see it." His voice cracked the table surface like a blade. "I was supposed to protect you…."

The memory of blood pooling beneath his body flashed across your mind--hot, metallic, endless.

"You did," you said quietly, refusing to let your voice shake. "You always did."

His gaze lifted slowly, burning, unreadable. Silence stretched, thick enough to drown in. Then, without warning, Hyunjin sat back, shoulders sinking just slightly, like a man lowering a shield for the first time.

"You still have nightmares?" he murmured, eyes dropping to your hands--the scars, the tremors you tried to hide.

You swallowed.

"A few."

"Liar." His tone was soft, but sharp enough to cut. "I hear you pacing the hallway every night around three."

Your breath caught.

"You listen for me?"

"I always listen for you."

The confession struck the room like lightning, not loud but devastating, stripping the quiet bare. His voice was low, rough, breaking open something neither of you had dared touch.

"If you die, I die."

The words fell slow. Heavy. Real.

No dramatics. No theatrics. Honest in a way that hurt.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

You stared at him--at the man who had bled out under your hands, who had watched you climb out of a grave of glass, who would gladly walk into another for you.

"Hyunjin..." Your voice was barely audible.

"If you walk away," he continued, eyes locking onto yours with terrifying clarity, "I won’t stop you. But understand something clearly." He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. "I’m finishing this. With or without anyone’s help. And if it kills me, then so be it."

You froze. He wasn’t threatening you. He was telling the truth. That terrified you more than any knife or gun ever could. You clenched your jaw until it ached.

"You’re an idiot."

A faint, tired smirk ghosted across his lips--the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. "Probably."

"Fine," you snapped, grabbing the nearest file and slamming it onto the table. "We do it together. But if you ever pull that suicidal bullshit again, I will personally strangle you."

His smile sharpened. Dangerous.

"Knew you’d say that, Riot."

— Two weeks later, the breakthrough arrived. —

It was buried deep beneath years of falsified invoices and redirected shipment records--a list of signatures approving transport permits for chemical supplies tied directly to underground distribution sites. Every signature pointed back to the same person.

Not Jihoon.

Not the HOD.

Someone higher. Someone untouchable.

Hyunjin stared at the name like he expected the page to burn.

"The Deputy Mayor," he said slowly, disbelief hollowing each word. "He’s the one funding HAVOC."

You felt your stomach drop.

The man whose speeches plastered every billboard. The politician praised for anti-crime reforms. The public hero promising a safer city.

He wasn’t destroying HAVOC.

He was running it.

"It was never just a gang," you whispered. "It’s political. It’s systematic. It’s everywhere."

Hyunjin lifted his gaze to yours, voice raw.

"This doesn’t end with arrests. This ends in country war."

The room chilled, every light flickering. And for the first time... you didn’t feel afraid. You felt ready. You looked straight at him.

"Then let’s hunt."

Hyunjin’s lips curved into the slow, lethal smile you hadn’t seen since the night everything changed.

"Side by side?"

"Until the end," you answered.

His hand lifted hesitantly, fingers brushing yours, barely there but electric. Just two broken soldiers choosing the same battlefield again. His voice dropped, soft and dangerous.

"And we don’t die this time," you whispered to which he just ruffled your hair.

—

The night air was thick with gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood. HAVOC headquarters loomed before you like a jagged tooth, lights flickering as if warning you away. You and Hyunjin crouched behind the rusted van, scanning the perimeter, ears straining against the distant shouts and gunfire echoing from inside. This wasn’t some simulation anymore. This was real. Raw. Brutal. And there was no turning back.

Hyunjin’s hand brushed yours as he adjusted his grip on the pistol. “Stay close,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. His eyes, dark and dangerous, scanned the building’s entry points. The corners of his mouth lifted in that sly, unreadable smirk only he could pull off. “And Riot…” he added, using the nickname that had been baiting you for months, “don’t you dare do something stupid and get yourself killed.”

You snorted, crouching lower. “You think I need saving? Don’t flatter yourself.”

But neither of you had time for teasing. The plan was clear: infiltrate, disable the guards, neutralize the four pillars, and confront the deputy mayor--the puppet master behind it all. Guns clicked, footsteps echoed. You felt your pulse spike. Your fists tightened around the knives strapped to your thigh.

The first wave of guards emerged like wolves, shouting and firing. Hyunjin dove, sliding across the floor, kicking one squarely in the ribs while you rolled to the side, slashing another across the forearm. Blood sprayed; screams filled the air. You lunged at a man aiming at Hyunjin, stabbing him cleanly through the side, the dagger burying deep. He howled, falling into a heap, his hands spasming against the floor. You tasted adrenaline in the air--iron, sweat, the sharp tang of fear.

Hyunjin’s eyes found yours for a heartbeat--a flicker of pride, worry, and something else that made your chest tighten. But there was no time to dwell on it.

A sudden gunshot rang out, and Hyunjin stumbled, clutching his shoulder. Pain etched across his face as he fell backward, hitting the concrete with a sickening thud. “Hyunjin!” you screamed, but there was no stopping. Your instincts kicked in.

He crawled toward you, blood seeping through his jacket. “Go…finish it,” he spat through gritted teeth. “Don’t…hesitate…”

The deputy mayor stepped out from the shadows, flanked by the remaining guards. His face was pale, smug, confident, untouched by the chaos you’d unleashed. You felt a rage so intense it burned through every vein. He was the cause of all the suffering, the corruption, the endless deaths. You couldn’t let him breathe another second.

Adrenaline and fury fueled your movements. You lunged at him, striking first with your knife, grazing his chest, drawing blood. His eyes widened, shock registering for a fraction of a second before he recovered and lunged back. You fought with a precision Hyunjin had drilled into you--blocking, parrying, countering. Every move was deliberate, brutal, deadly. Your hands were slick with sweat and blood; your lungs burned.

A guard lunged from behind, but you twisted, elbowing him in the stomach and slamming him into the wall. The deputy mayor raised his weapon, but you kicked it away with a force that sent it skittering across the floor. The fight was chaotic, messy, raw. Every strike you made wasn’t just survival--it was vengeance for Hyunjin, for all the lives the pillars had destroyed.

Then, a sudden movement. Hyunjin groaned, staggering to his knees, face pale and wet with blood. He had been shot again--this time grazing his side. Rage surged through you, blinding and intoxicating. “You son of a--!” you screamed, turning back to the deputy mayor with a feral precision. You moved faster than thought, slashing across his arms, cutting tendons, watching him howl in pain. You struck at his legs, then his hands, crippling him systematically, just like you had done to Jihoon months ago.

Blood splattered your face, searing your eyes, and you tasted copper with every breath. The deputy mayor collapsed to the floor, limbs useless, but his eyes still burning with fury. You held the knife to his throat, chest heaving, shaking from exhaustion, pain, and adrenaline. Guards tried to move toward Hyunjin, and you let out a roar of pure rage. “One step closer, and he dies. Got it?”

They froze. For a moment, the world narrowed to you, Hyunjin, and the trembling deputy mayor. You crouched beside Hyunjin, cupping his face in your hands. His breathing was ragged, sweat and blood coating his skin, but he smiled faintly at you, a mixture of pride and pain. “You…didn’t hesitate,” he rasped, voice weak but steady.

You shook your head, trembling, anger mixing with relief. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

He coughed, a wet, harsh sound, and you cursed under your breath. “I almost lost you…”

“You didn’t,” you whispered fiercely, pressing your forehead to his. “Not while I’m still standing.”

The chaos around you continued, but the deputy mayor was neutralized. The remaining guards had been subdued or fled. You looked at Hyunjin, saw the bruise forming across his cheek, the blood-soaked shirt, and felt a fierce protectiveness boil over. For once, you didn’t care about the danger to yourself--only him.

Emergency sirens wailed in the distance. The police had arrived, thanks to Hyunjin’s contingency plan once again. Cuffs clicked around the wrists of the deputy mayor and his remaining enforcers. You finally allowed yourself to breathe, chest heaving, legs trembling.

—

The world did not quiet after the gunshots stopped. If anything, the silence that followed was louder -- a ringing in your skull that felt like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. HAVOC did not die quietly… it collapsed like a rotting building finally giving way, crashing under the weight of truth that had been buried for years.

News vans lined the courthouse steps like vultures waiting to feed. Reporters shoved microphones like weapons into every face passing the barricades, desperate for blood, for revolution. And they got it.

The recordings you and Hyunjin leaked detonated like a bomb. The screams of victims, the crack of violence, the confession of dirty officials laughing about children thrown into trafficking rings… played publicly for the entire nation. People froze where they stood. Phones slipped from hands. Gasps tore through crowds. Mothers collapsed to their knees. Fathers screamed in rage. Streets flooded with citizens carrying signs, fists raised, demanding names, demanding heads. Riots erupted in every city. Government lines severed. The country shook like an earthquake had ripped through its spine.

HAVOC was over.

But the victory felt nothing like triumph. Not after what it cost.

Hyunjin had survived -- barely. You replayed the moment he fell every time you closed your eyes. The sound of the bullet tearing into him. His body collapsing onto yours. The warmth of his blood flooding your palms. The way his breathing stopped, stuttering into terrifying silence. You remembered screaming until your throat tore raw. You remembered begging him not to leave you, your voice broken, your face soaked in tears and blood.

You remembered believing you’d never hear his voice again.

Even now, standing outside the hospital with metal cuffs chained around your wrists, fingers bruised and knuckles split, that terror sat heavy in your lungs. The cops escorting you said nothing. Cameras flashed like lightning. You kept your chin high, refusing to break again in front of the world.

The door to his room opened, and the world fell silent.

Hyunjin looked up from his bed, hospital gown draped over bandaged skin, hair messy, lips pale, dried blood staining the edges of his jaw. His eyes locked onto yours and froze -- wide, terrified, disbelieving. He struggled to sit up despite the wound in his abdomen, face contorting in pain.

"Y/N..." he breathed, voice shaking. "Why are you-- why are you cuffed? What did they--"

The officers held your arms firmly. You ignored them. You took two steps forward until you reached the edge of his bed. Hyunjin’s eyes darted between the metal restraining your wrists and the hardened expression on your face. He swallowed, voice cracking.

"Are they going to take you away? Are you-- are you going to prison because of me?"

His fear shattered something inside you.

You didn’t think. You leaned in and cupped his face between your bound hands, fingers trembling as they brushed his cheeks. His breath caught. His eyes widened further.

Then you kissed him.

Not soft. Not cautious. Desperate. brutal. shaking. It tasted like blood and tears and the kind of love that comes from almost losing someone forever. Hyunjin inhaled sharply against your lips, his hands flying to your waist like he needed to anchor himself to reality. He kissed you back hard enough to steal the air from your lungs.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, your voice came out rough and cracked.

"You don’t get to fucking die for me, okay?"

Hyunjin let out a broken laugh, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. "I’m not going anywhere."

The officers shifted, awkward and unsure now, because the entire room felt thick with something sacred and raw. You turned to them.

"Are we done?"

It took only another 48 hours for the truth to detonate.

Public testimonies. Evidence files unleashed. Witness after witness stepping forward. Mothers who lost children to the ring HAVOC ran. Teens who escaped trafficking but lived half-alive. Parents who weren’t allowed to bury bodies. The world watched the courtroom like a televised apocalypse.

The four remaining pillars of HAVOC were dragged away in chains, faces beaten, unable to hide now. Every one of them was sentenced to life without parole. The Head of Department -- who had been orchestrating the coverups -- was exposed and arrested on live broadcast. People cheered. People sobbed. People screamed until their voices broke.

And the Deputy Mayor, wrapped in half a body left after what you’d done to him, was wheeled in strapped to a medical stretcher. He stared at you through swollen, purpled eyelids, the empty stare of a monster who realized he finally couldn’t run.

Sentenced to rot in a cage until the day his bones turned to dust.

The courtroom erupted. People chanted your names. Reporters fought for angles. Officials fled like cowards.

Hyunjin stood outside the courthouse steps, accepting an Honor Award for Bravery. He held the medal but stared at it like it was something toxic. When they asked him to speak, he stepped to the microphone, eyes scanning the crowd until they found you standing in the back, still bruised, still bandaged, hands finally free of cuffs.

"I’m not accepting this for myself," he said, voice steady. "This means nothing if I don’t say the truth. I would be dead without Y/N. And neither of us would be alive if we hadn’t fought together. So if you think I’m the hero-- you’re wrong. She is."

Gasps rippled. Cameras flashed.

You held his stare, chest heavy, throat tight.

That day, the Ministry publicly cleared your name.

"Y/N is innocent. The evidence proves she acted in self defense against attempted murder attempts on multiple occasions. She is a survivor -- not a criminal."

The nation erupted.

And after years of waiting, you finally received closure.

Your mother’s killer -- a man who had hidden behind the HAVOC network for years -- stood across from you in a private confrontation. His eyes were hollow, dark bruises clinging to him fading arrogance. he sneered weakly when he saw you, as if he expected fear.

But you didn’t flinch.

"I hope you rot," you said calmly, voice sharp enough to cut steel. "And I hope every second feels like hell."

he looked away first.

A week later, a funeral was held for the victims. Thousands attended. Families held pictures and candles, whispering names lost to violence. Hyunjin held your hand so tightly your fingers ached. When the lights dimmed and flames flickered in the wind, you leaned into him, tears silent and heavy.

"I’m so proud of you my riot," he whispered against your hair.

— One year passed —

The darkness faded slowly, replaced by healing instead of scars. You and Hyunjin spent nights learning how to sleep without nightmares. You learned what peace sounded like. You learned what loving without fear felt like…. you learned how to let him hold you when needed.

You graduated together-- walking down the stage hand in hand, medals on your uniforms and applause shaking the hall. When the Narcotics Bureau announced your full-time appointment, the chief smiled.

"Rookies with the highest success record we’ve ever seen. Try to not destroy an entire criminal empire on your first month this time."

Hyunjin smirked. You elbowed him.

Later that night, the rooftop of your new apartment building stretched quiet and open beneath the stars. The city lights shimmered below, peaceful instead of violent now. Hyunjin stood behind you, arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. Your shared apartment keys glittered against your joined hands.

"We actually made it," you whispered, breathing in the cold night air.

He turned you around, the softest smile curving the lips you once thought you’d never see alive again. He cupped your face gently this time, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if memorizing every inch.

"I hated you," he said quietly. "Until I loved you."

You laughed once-- breathless, watery, overwhelmed -- before his voice dropped lower, raw and real.

"And now I can’t breathe without you…. I love you, baby"

You kissed him again under the stars, slow and deep and certain. His hands held your hips, your fingers curled in his shirt, the night swallowing both your shaky breaths.

"Hm, I love you more hyunie" you mumbled to which he pressed his lips on your forehead.

Afterall you both had survived hell.

THE END.

--

explicit warnings: loss of virginity (jeongin), intercourse, phone sex, masturbation, fingering, oral (f and m receiving)

a/n: i've been working on this for quite some time and may i say: you better brace yourself for one hell of a rollercoaster ride (i'm sorry)

₊˚⊹∘•····································•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•·····································•∘⊹˚₊

you’d known him long before the world did.

back then, he was just jeongin, the boy who always laughed with his whole face, who leaned into you when he talked, who remembered every small detail you ever mentioned even when you forgot you’d said it.

somewhere along the way, without either of you noticing, he had become the person you shared everything with. the one you messaged first thing in the morning and last thing at night. the one who made even the boring parts of life feel lighter.

you would meet after school, hating that you didn't attend the same one. you'd sit on the swings long after the sun dipped behind the buildings. he used to bring you those cheap convenience store drinks you liked, pretending it was a coincidence that he always chose the exact flavour you wanted. sometimes he’d pluck the straw wrapper off and tuck it behind your ear, saying you looked “distinguished” until you swatted him, both of you laughing too loudly in the empty playground.

he trusted you more easily than he trusted most people. he told you things he didn’t tell anyone. dreams, insecurities, the pressure he felt even before debuting. all of it spilled out in those quiet spaces you created for each other. and you listened, always listened, because his feelings mattered to you in a way you never questioned.

there were nights when he’d show up at your doorstep without warning, hair a little messy, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. he’d ask if you wanted to walk around the block with him, claiming he “just needed fresh air,” but you always knew he needed company more than anything. he’d match his steps to yours, bumping your shoulder every now and then as if to make sure you were really there. once, when a stray cat darted in front of you, you startled and grabbed his arm. he didn’t let go even after you both stopped laughing.

he was your friend. your closest friend. the kind you couldn’t imagine losing. and you never once thought the ground beneath you could shift.

after he debuted, you were there. not physically beside him, but watching from your tiny laptop screen, knees pulled to your chest as his face appeared under the stage lights. you remembered the nervous trainee who used to practice vocal runs under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening, and now he stood in front of thousands, smiling like he finally believed he belonged there.

you would always text him after concerts, fingers shaking because you were so damn proud.

« you did amazing, jeongin. i’m so happy for you. i knew you’d get here. »

he answered hours later, a rushed selfie, cheeks flushed from adrenaline.

« did i look okay? i thought of you during the encore... i always do. thank you for watching. »

the months that followed slipped past quickly, swallowed by his schedules, rehearsals, tours, and promotions. you had expected him to get busier, but not this busy. some nights you waited for a text that never came, only to wake up to a string of tired selfies he sent at 3am, apologising, always apologising, for being slow to reply.

still, you always told him you were proud. even on days you felt the ache of missing him like a bruise.

when the group started gaining popularity, you’d send him little congratulations, screenshots of articles, blurry clips from music shows, messages like:

« you’re everywhere these days. you deserve it. »

« your vocals in the live performance were insane, i’m so proud of you i could cry. »

« don’t forget to eat, okay? you look tired. »

he’d respond whenever he could. sometimes with long rambles about the stages, the fans, the crazy schedules. sometimes with nothing but a short voice note, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “thank you for being happy for me. it means more than you think.”

but as the year stretched on, the space between you widened. you stopped waiting for his name to light up your phone because you knew he was doing what he’d always dreamed of. you didn’t want to cling. you didn’t want to be another weight on his shoulders.

still, every time he popped up with a selfie, hair wet from practice, eyes warm in that familiar way, and those goddamn dimples, your chest squeezed with something quietly painful. he’d add little captions like 'thought of you when we passed your favourite café today' or 'i miss hanging out with you', and it softened the sting a little.

the distance didn’t happen all at once. it was gradual. slow. like watching someone you love walk down a hallway, turning around less and less as the door between you slowly drifted shut.

you told yourself it was okay. that this was what growing up looked like.

but some nights, staring at the small glow of your screen, rereading older messages, you wished, selfishly, that he didn’t feel quite so far away.

it took almost a year and a half before your schedules finally aligned again, like two planets drifting close enough to share the same orbit for a moment. he texted you out of nowhere. a simple « are you home tonight? » and you stared at the message long enough for the typing bubble to pop up again.

« never mind, i shouldn’t bother you. you’re probably busy. »

« but i really want to see you... »

you called him immediately. he laughed when he picked up, breathless, as if he’d sprinted to answer.

“i’m free,” you said. “come over.”

when he arrived, he looked both older and exactly the same. his hair was different, styled in a way you’d only seen on stage. his shoulders broader. his posture straighter. but his smile hadn’t changed at all, despite the braces that had come off.

you let him in, and he wandered around your new apartment, commenting on the new pillows, the new mug on your counter, the photos on your fridge. he noticed everything.

you ordered some takeaway and talked for hours, curled up on opposite ends of your couch, legs stretched out until your toes brushed his thigh. he didn’t move away. he never did.

you told him about university, about the projects stressing you out, the long nights in the library. he listened quietly, chin propped on his hand, nodding like every word mattered. he told you stories about tours, backstage chaos, the pressure, the loneliness in hotel rooms. you listened just as intently.

somewhere between the laughter and the comfortable silences, the conversation deepened. it happened the same way everything happened with him. naturally.

he stared at his hands for a long moment, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

“i feel like i missed so much,” he murmured. “i wasn’t here for anything. birthdays. exams. bad days. all of it.”

you nudged his foot with yours. “you were busy living your dream. i get it. i’m proud of you, jeongin." you said, smiling widely.

he looked up then, eyes soft, almost sad. “you always say that.”

“because it’s true.”

“i just… i don’t want you to think i forgot about you.”

your breath hitched a little, not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it, like the thought genuinely hurt him.

“I know you didn’t,” you whispered. for a moment, neither of you spoke. the room felt too small, too quiet, too full of everything unspoken.

he let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the couch, gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“there’s something i’ve been thinking about,” he said, voice almost too calm. “and it’s stupid, but… i don’t want to go into this chaotic life without… without having experienced some things.”

you tilted your head. “like what?”

his cheeks flushed, eyes darting away. “i’ve never kissed anyone, never slept with anyone,” he said quietly. “and i keep thinking about it. about… about wanting to know what that feels like.”

your heart suddenly beat faster. “so? what's holding you back?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“so,” he breathed, swallowing, “i keep thinking… i kind of want my first time to be with someone i trust.”

your pulse quickened. "jeongin–"

“i mean you,” he blurted, eyes still avoiding yours. “i trust you. and i keep thinking about… experiencing these things with you.”

the room felt warmer, your cheeks burning.

you hadn’t expected this from him. not from the boy who used to believe he wanted to become a priest, not from the boy who used to fall asleep on your shoulder during movie nights, not from the friend you’d spent years pretending you didn’t ache for.

his voice dropped, almost a whisper. “you don’t have to say yes. i just… needed to tell you.”

your heart was already answering before your mouth did. “i mean,” you said softly, “i can… help you.”

he finally looked at you then, eyes wide and hopeful and ...terrified, and you wondered how long you’d both been lying to yourselves.

his breath hitched, barely audible, but you felt it, a tiny tremor in the air between you. he turned towards you fully, one knee drawn up on the couch, his fingers curling slightly like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. you’d seen him nervous before, but never quite like this.

“are you sure?” he whispered. “i don’t… i don’t want to make things weird.”

you almost laughed. not because it was funny, but because it was so painfully him. always worried about you, about how you felt, even when he was the one confessing something that made his voice shake.

“i’m sure,” you said, softer than you meant to. and you were. you absofuckinglutely were.

the next few seconds stretched thin, the kind of moment that asked to be handled gently.

he leaned in cautiously, as if giving you every chance to pull away. his eyes flicked down to your lips, then up again, as if silently asking one last time. you nodded, almost imperceptibly, and that seemed to be all he needed.

his hand lifted hesitantly, then settled lightly against your cheek. his palm was cold and sweaty, his thumb trembling just a little.

“i’ve thought about this,” he admitted, barely breathing the words. “more than i should have.” and before you could process that confession, he closed the distance.

the kiss was tentative. a question, not an answer. his lips brushed yours like he was testing the feeling, memorising it. you felt his breath catch against your mouth. his hand slid back a little, fingers threading through your hair as if he’d always wanted to know what that felt like.

you kissed him back. gently at first, then a little more certain. his response was immediate, a small sound escaping him, surprised and almost relieved. he leaned closer until your knees touched, until there was no space left to pretend you were just helping him.

he pulled away only a fraction, eyes fluttering open. his cheeks were pink, his lips slightly parted.

you didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. your hand found the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him back in.

the second kiss was no longer shy. it was eager, lingering. he moved closer, almost climbing into your space entirely, lips fitting against yours more confidently this time. he kissed you like he was learning you. the pace you liked, the angle that made you sigh into him, the way your fingers curled in the hem of his sleeve.

and once he found the rhythm, he didn’t stop. not for a long while.

time blurred. your couch, the lamplight, the soft hum of the street outside, all of it disappeared under the weight of those slow, careful kisses. every time you pulled back for breath, he chased your lips again, like he didn’t want to lose the feeling.

his hands were starting to get more confident as they explored your body. they were everywhere and when he slipped one underneath your shirt, you inhaled sharply. his hand was cold against your heated skin. and suddenly, the world became blurry.

you couldn't remember the exact moment the kiss turned into something heated. maybe it was when his fingers dug into your skin, pulling you closer to him. you ended up on his lap, straddlig him, arms wrapped around his neck.

jeongin's tongue had found its way into your mouth, one hand trailing up from where he held your waist to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

your hips started doing the inevitable, rocking against him. you could feel him grow hard against you, soft whimpers leaving his lips between kisses. he bucked up against you, his hand grabbing your waist, guiding you as you started grinding.

"fuck," he murmured, head dipping low, hiding in the crook of your neck as uncontrollable moans left his throat. he let you dry hump him, not daring to imagine how good it would feel without the clothes seperating you. and he knew he needed to stop you sooner rather than later, not wanting to cum in his pants.

"can we–" his voice sounded shaky, eyes finding yours again. "can we move this to the bedroom?" he asked. you placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself when you got up. jeongin looked like a hot mess. hair dishevelled, lips pink and swollen, his chest rising and falling quickly.

you grinned confidently as you held out your hand, helping him up. his eyes stayed on you constantly as you led him to your bedroom. you stopped in front of the door, turning around. "did you bring um–"

he understood immediately, nodding his head, "yes! yes, hold on." he walked over to where he tossed his jacket earlier, grabbing a foil packet from his pocket.

you raised your eyebrows in amusement, "confident much?" jeongin blushed immediately, looking almost shy, "just hoped you'd say yes." he admitted and you couldn't refrain from smiling softly.

jeongin watched as you undressed yourself, terrified of blinking, terrified you'd vanish into thin air if he did. his lips were parted, completely in awe. all the times he had imagined what you'd look like naked, none of the images in his head came close to your beauty.

when you were stripped down to your underwear, you walked over to where he was standing awkwardly, gaze never leaving yours. "you're so beautiful." he whispered when you stood in front of him. you remained silent, taking his hands into yours and guiding them to the clasp of your bra. jeongin inhaled sharply, holding his breath as his shaky fingers fumbled with it, managing to undo it after a few attempts. he watched you carefully as you slid the straps down your shoulders, his cock twitching inside his trousers when your bare tits came into view.

you looked up at him, trying to read what was going on inside his mind. you could tell his thoughts were racing. "touch me, jeongin." you whispered softly.

his eyes widened as he looked at you, trying to comprehend what you just said. slowly, carefully, he lifted his hand, cupping your tit gently. his lips crashed into yours immediately, kissing you fiercely. you stumbled backwards until your legs hit the foot of your bed. you pulled him down with you, lips never leaving his.

"what–" he pulled away, swallowing hard, "what can i do to make you feel good?"

you guided his hand down, inside your panties. jeongin moaned as he felt your heat against his fingertips, your wetness. you moved his fingertips to your clit. and almost as if driven by instinct, he started moving them in slow circles. you moaned his name, followed by a soft "just like that."

he watched you intensely, watched how your body reacted when he increased the pressure, the pace, slowing down again, running his fingers along your slit to collect some juices before continuing to rub your clit. he placed soft kisses on your neck, all the way down to your breasts.

"jeongin–" you moaned. his head shot up immediately, "yes?"

"i want you inside me."

he suppressed a groan when he heard you say it. he slowly removed his hand from your heated cunt, starting to undress himself. you moved up on the mattress, getting comfortable, watching him with a smirk on your face.

jeongin caught your stare, blushing again. you grabbed the foil packet he had tossed on your nightstand earlier, opening it. he suddenly felt way too eager when he crawled on top of you. you reached down between your bodies, giving his cock a few strokes before rolling the condom on it.

"are you sure you want–"

"yes. fuck, yes." he cut you off. "are you?" you bit your lip, nodding gently.

jeongin smiled. an honest smile. before he kissed you, hand cupping your face. you lined him up at your entrance and he slid inside you ever so slowly. he moaned loudly, way before he was fully buried inside you. you wrapped your arms around him, kissing his forehead as he started moving. his thrusts were slow, careful, scared to do something you wouldn't like. but before he could ask if what he did was alright, you wrapped your legs around him, moaning in his ear. this was enough to make him feel confident.

he wanted to tell you how amazing you felt, but no words came out, only breathy sounds as he pumped his cock in and out of you. his hand moved to your tit, squeezing gently. he was definitely a tits over ass person.

suddenly, his thrusts became uneven, "oh god, i think i'm gonna– fuck, i'm sorry." he groaned.

"that's okay, jeongin. let go for me." your words threw him right over the edge. he collapsed on top of you, moaning against your skin as he filled the condom. you held him close, still trying to catch your breath.

jeongin pulled out of you, removing the condom and knotting it shut. "i'm sorry." he repeated, disappointment settling in his voice. "no, jeongin, don't–"

"can i–" he cut you right off, "can i try to make you come?" you blinked a few times, heat coiling in your lower stomach. you nodded eagerly. jeongin grinned, sliding one arm under your head, pulling you against him. he kissed you slowly, his free hand trailing down your body, leaving feather-light touches, giving you goosebumps.

when he got to your core, he started rubbing your clit the way he learned you liked. you moaned into his mouth, your hips bucking against his touch.

he moved his hand further down, slipping one digit inside you. "fuck!" you threw your head back, biting your lip. "it's so fucking soft in there." jeongin mumbled without realising. he started to move his finger in and out of you a couple of times before adding a second one. "oh god, jeongin!"

it almost embarrassed him how much hearing you moan his name turned him on. when he curled his fingers inside you, somewhat accidentally, you clenched your legs, curses leaving your lips. "did you like that?" you weren't able to respond because he did it again, more confident this time.

he smirked, quickening his pace. the wet sounds of his fingers fucking your cunt mixed with your moans which got louder by the minute. he felt as if he was in trance, pumping his fingers in and out, curling them every now and then, craving the way your body reacted. when you felt your orgasm approaching, you clenched around his fingers. he felt it, moaning at the feeling.

"jeongin, i'm gonna–" he leaned down, kissing you eagerly, slipping his tongue in. you moaned into his mouth, repeatedly. he continued doing precisely what he had been doing to get you here, close to your high. until you finally threw your head back and came around his fingers.

he took it all in, the way your body shook, your legs clenched around his wrist, hips bucking violently against him.

this was probably the hottest thing he's ever experienced. and he already knew...

“i didn’t think… it would feel like this.”

you swallowed, breathing heavily. “like what?”

he let out a breathy laugh, tilting his forehead to yours. “like i want to do it again.”

you laughed softly, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him down for a deep kiss.

eventually he rested his head on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck, his voice small and unbelievably sincere. “thank you,” he murmured.

you smiled into his hair. “for what?”

“for being the person i trust most.”

you closed your eyes. don’t fall, you told yourself. don’t read into this more than you should.

but then he whispered, so quietly you almost missed it: “and for making my first time something i’ll never forget.” your heart sank and lifted all at once.

you held him there, knowing you’d remember it too, knowing things between you had already begun to shift in ways neither of you were ready for.

"so..." he said, trailing his fingertips over your stomach, "can we?"

"can we what?"

jeongin's expression suddenly looked way too smug. "do it again?"

this night, neither of you slept. too invested in exploring every inch of each other's body.

in the morning, when he left, you stood at the door with the ghost of his kisses still on your lips. and you had no idea when you’d see him again.

he’d only been in town to visit family, a rare few days carved out of a schedule that barely let him breathe. you hugged him goodbye, pretending not to notice the way he lingered, how his eyes dipped to your lips for the briefest, dangerous moment before he forced himself to step back.

and he already regretted it. regretted not having kissed you one more time.

you stood at your doorway long after he disappeared, your fingers brushing your mouth like you could still feel the imprint of him there.

you tried to go about your day, tried to be normal, but your mind kept circling back to the kiss. to his breath against your cheek. to the way he’d whispered 'i want to do it again'. every time you remembered it, something warm and confusing pooled in your chest.

and then the messages started. they weren’t unusual. selfies from practice, tired updates, short “miss hanging out with you” texts, but they felt different now. you felt different now. and every time your phone chimed, your heart did this stupid, stumbling thing like it was trying to break free.

you told yourself it was nothing. he’d asked you for help. he trusted you. that was all.

but weeks passed and you knew that you couldn’t pretend forever. you would have to talk about it. anout your feelings. and the very thought made your stomach twist.

so one night, after hours of debating with yourself, you finally typed:

« can we facetime? i… want to talk about something »

you hovered over the send button for a full minute before pressing it. he replied almost immediately.

« give me one sec. »

your heart thudded against your ribs. you imagined him somewhere in the dorm, surrounded by noise and people and his busy new life. you imagined your message cutting through all that.

and you were right.

jeongin was currently sitting at the dorm's dinner table. he was seated between changbin and hyunjin, bowl in one hand, chopsticks in the other when he looked at his phone and read your message.

his chopsticks dropped onto the table mid-bite, already pushing his chair back. behind him, minho yelled, “hey! finish before you run off!”

han shouted, “who’s calling?”

jeongin ignored all of it, bowing a little as he stood. “sorry. it’s important.”

seconds later your phone lit up with an incoming facetime call. his name flashed across your screen, familiar and terrifying all at once.

you swallowed, steadied your breath, and answered.

the video connected, and there he was, hair a little messy, hoodie half-zipped, breathing as if he’d literally run to his room for this.

“hey,” he said softly, eyes warm in a way that made your throat tighten.

and just like that, the memory of his lips on yours flooded back so vividly you almost forgot how to speak.

“so… what did you want to talk about?” he asked, voice gentle, like he could already sense the storm brewing in your chest.

you inhaled slowly, steadying yourself before the words tumbled out in a shaky whisper. “that night,” you said. “i haven’t… stopped thinking about it.”

his eyes widened just a fraction, the tips of his ears turning pink. “oh,” he breathed, and then, with a small, bashful smile, “neither have i.”

the air thickened. your hands trembled slightly out of sight. “i… i don’t mean to bother you,” you stammered, eyes darting away from the screen. “it’s just– i keep thinking about it. about what it means.”

jeongin went quiet. not the awkward kind of quiet... the heavy kind. the kind where you could see thoughts flickering behind his eyes, shadows and light shifting across his expression as he searched for the right words.

finally, he exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.

“it means everything.” your heart nearly burst.

he said your name then, achingly sincere. “god, it meant everything to me. but–"

there it was. the word cut through your chest like a blade. your breath stilled. your shoulders tensed.

“but what?” you whispered.

he looked down, jaw clenched, eyes avoiding the screen like he couldn’t bear to see your reaction.

“my life is such chaos right now,” he said. “i’m being pulled everywhere, every hour of the day. and trust me, i want nothing more than… than you.” he paused, swallowing hard. “just thinking about it makes me want to run back home and be with you.”

your pulse tripped, hope blooming painfully in your chest. “but–" he said again, quieter, “i can’t. at least not right now.”

the sting was immediate. your vision blurred at the edges. you forced a small, steady smile, one you knew he’d see right through, but it was all you had.

“i absolutely understand, jeongin,” you managed, voice thin. “i didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“no, no, you didn’t,” he rushed out, shaking his head. “you didn’t do anything wrong. i just–" his voice cracked. “i just don’t know how all of this will turn out. and for that i’m so sorry.”

you said nothing. you couldn’t. you were too busy blinking back the tears threatening to fall. you truly understood, suddenly not even knowing what you had expected. this was the only logical outcome imaginable.

he must’ve noticed, because he whispered your name like it was something fragile. “don’t ever think i don’t want you,” he said, voice trembling.

and little did you know: it hurt him just as much as it hurt you. maybe more.

as grateful as he was for everything he’d achieved, there were nights he lay awake wishing he hadn’t debuted, wishing he’d stayed a normal boy in your hometown, wishing he never had to lose you in the process of becoming someone else.

your voice cracked when you finally spoke. “i’ll miss you, jeongin.”

his expression softened into something devastatingly tender. “i’ll always be here, jagi,” he whispered. “missing you every second of the day.”the nickname made your heart twist painfully.

you both smiled fragile smiles. the kind that held more longing than either of you dared voice.

“goodnight,” you whispered.

“goodnight,” he murmured back, eyes lingering on you until the screen faded to black.

and just like that, the line disconnected, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the echo of everything that almost was.

for a little while, nothing changed. despite the painful honesty of that facetime call, jeongin still texted you regularly. he still sent silly selfies from practice rooms, voice messages of him humming half-finished melodies, blurry photos of his dinner with a caption like 'it’s not as good as the food we used to get'.

you pretended everything was as before. he pretended it too. but slowly his schedule began swallowing him whole.

days passed where your phone stayed silent until well after midnight, buzzing with messages he sent from dark vans or cramped studio rooms, moments where he finally had a breath to spare. sometimes he’d apologise, sometimes he wouldn’t, but you always answered with warmth.

« don’t worry, i know you’re busy. »

« you’re doing amazing, jeongin. »

« i’m so proud of you. »

you never let him see how much it hurt. how much you missed him. how each unread hour tugged painfully at your chest.

he deserved his dream. you’d always believed that, and you refused to let your longing weigh him down. even if losing him as your closest friend was the price you paid for supporting him.

the drifting wasn’t dramatic. it was slow, like watching a tide pull something precious just a little farther each day.

his messages became rarer. the months slipped by, then melded into a blur of years. you supported him through all of it. every comeback, every show, every award.

you bought every album, always reaching for his version first. you collected foxi.ny merch like a ritual, proudly displaying it even when it made your chest ache. whenever you pulled his photocard, you texted him excitedly, telling him the universe was on your side today.

and almost every morning, you left him a simple message:

« drink water today, okay? »

« you're doing amazing, jeongin! »

« you looked really happy on stage. keep going. »

he read every single one. always.

sometimes he opened the message within seconds. sometimes hours later. but he always read them, and his heart twisted every time. because he wanted to reply, wanted to give you even a fraction of the warmth you poured into him, but he didn’t know how.

guilt ate at him. he felt like he was constantly failing you, failing at being the friend you deserved. so many nights he stared at your messages, typing and deleting replies, unable to find words worthy of your patience, your loyalty, your love he wasn’t allowed to claim. and when he couldn’t find the right words, he’d say nothing at all.

you didn’t know that. you only saw the silence. and so you misinterpreted it. you thought you were overwhelming him. too much. too clingy. too attached to someone who didn’t owe you anything.

so your messages slowly became less frequent, but your support never stopped. you still cheered for him from the sidelines, still clung to the pieces of him you could reach.

but he noticed. every time your name appeared less often in his notifications, a small, sharp ache spread in his chest. he wanted to fix it. but he didn’t know how.

and between the two of you, the distance widened, not because you wanted it, not because he wanted it, but because neither of you knew how to bridge the gap without hurting the other.

you were hunched over your desk, surrounded by notes, empty mugs, and the kind of exhaustion that made your vision blur around the edges. it was well past 2am, the kind of hour where even the silence felt heavy, when your phone suddenly buzzed violently against the wood.

you flinched, eyebrows knitting together. nobody texted you at this hour. or called.

when you saw his name on the screen, your heart stuttered so hard it hurt. you stared at the call for too long, frozen, breath caught in your throat.

finally, with trembling fingers, you answered. “jeongin?” your voice came out soft, worried. “is everything okay?”

there was a tiny pause, but then his voice sounded tired, fragile in a way that made your chest tighten.“did i wake you?”

“no,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “i’m still glued to my desk. i have an important exam next week.”

silence followed. you could hear his breathing, the soft rustle of sheets, like he was curled up in bed.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered. “i don’t mean to bother you.”

“you’re not,” you said quickly, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. “honestly, i’ve been at this for too long. a little break sounds nice.”

you smiled, because his voice alone was enough to ease the pressure in your chest.

“you didn’t answer my question,” you murmured. “is everything okay?”

another pause. and then, suddenly: "i miss you.”

your breath caught.

“i always do,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “but it’s especially bad right now. i… i went through your messages.” your heartbeat picked up. “you did?”

“yeah,” he exhaled shakily. “i always do that when i can’t sleep. reading them usually calms me down but tonight it just… made everything worse.”

your hand tightened around your phone. "what do you mean?” you whispered.

“i got this stupid snapchat reminder,” he said, letting out a humourless laugh. “from four years ago. the night we–"

he stopped.

you glanced at the date on your screen, realisation washing over you like cold water. four years.

four years since his first kiss.

four years since you’d pressed your lips to his, breathless and terrified and wanting.

four years since you had sex not once but multiple times that night.

you smiled softly, a little heartbreak tugging at the corners of your mouth. “i remember,” you whispered.

he let out a shaky breath. “i can’t stop thinking about it. about you. about how you felt.”

your chest tightened painfully, but your voice stayed gentle. “jeongin…”

“i know, i know,” he said quickly, like he was afraid he’d crossed a line. “i shouldn’t bring it up. it’s late. you’re busy. i just– i needed to hear your voice."

but something had already started to spark inside you. the memories of that night flashing back. his lips, his hesitant fingers exploring your body. and involuntarily, you let out the tiniest sound that sounded almost like a moan.

you've been too caught up in your studies lately. you couldn't remember the last time you were able to let go and make yourself feel good. which was probably why your body acted the way it did.

jeongin didn't miss the soft sound. his breath hitched, "fuck, what was that?" he tried to sound amused, but the truth slipped past. he was extremely turned on.

"sorry." you whispered softly.

"no! i–" it was silent for a bit before he finally said, "do it again." you blinked repeatedly, he probably could have heard it through the phone. "what?"

"do it again." his voice was low in your ear. "please." he added.

you bit your lip and pressed your eyes shut, your mind still trying to comprehend what was happening right now. and you let out another sound similar to the one before. only this time it was his name you moaned.

his pants suddenly felt way too tight, his already semi-hard cock was now fully erected. his hand shot to his waistband, his thumb hovering over the facetime button hesitantly. "i need to see you." he almost groaned as he pressed it.

you gasped, slamming your phone down on your desk after you accepted the video call. "jeongin, i look like absolute shit." you quickly tried to make your messy hair look decent, realising you weren't even wearing make up.

"please." he pleaded. you sighed, finally giving in. jeongin had already seen you on your worst days. when you were sick, when you were feeling like garbage, when you were stressed.

so you propped your phone aginst the book you were currently using for your revision. a soft, warm light surrounded you. jeongin could swear his heart was about to jump out of his chest, his cock twitched inside his pants.

"fuck, you're so beautiful." he breathed. you shook your head, blushing. the only thing illuminating his face was his phone. but you could still see the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

"jeongin..." you started, voice teasing. "are you turned on?" you propped your elbows on your desk, leaning forward, knowingly granting him a nice view of your cleavage. his eyes immediately shot down, his jaw clenched visibly. "please tell me if you don't want this."

"what if i... do want this?" you asked, biting down on your pen you were still holding in your hand. jeongin smiled. a smile that was nothing like you ever seen before. there was something wicked all over it.

"if you do want this, then quit teasing me." his voice was lower than usual. dangerously so. "or what?" you asked, twirling the pen between your fingers.

"or i will spank that attitude out of you the next time we see each other."

your eyes widened at his bluntness, the confidence. your pen fell to the desk, your lips slightly parted. you blinked, trying to comprehend the words you just heard coming out of his mouth. "jeongin?!"

smugness was written all over his face. he was indeed pleased by your surprise. "i've been thinking about so many things i'd like to do to you."

heat pooled in your lower abdomen. "now be a good girl and take your shirt off." almost immediately, your hand shot to the hem of your shirt, before you could start thinking about it. that authority in his voice...

his hand slipped inside his boxers, palming his erection as he watched you take your shirt off. god, he missed those tits. he moaned softly, wishing he could just teleport himself to you. he would in a heartbeat. "jagi, touch yourself with me."

you gasped, taken aback by how confident he had become. this was no longer your innocent jeongin. the one whose hands had trembled so badly the first time he had unhooked your bra. who had constantly asked you what you liked and how you liked it. who had blushed from the mere sounds you had made.

but you didn't feel shy. not around him. he made you feel wanted. so you leaned back in your desk chair, hand slowly sliding down your body, eyes fixed on the screen as you undid your trousers. jeongin shifted, sliding his boxers down, freeing his cock.

as soon as you slipped your hand inside your panties, he started stroking his dick, eyes never leaving you, not even for a second.

you drew slow circles on your clit, biting your lip to suppress the moans threatening to escape your throat. "let me hear you." jeongin breaths already sounded laboured. his thumb spread the pre-cum all over his tip before he stroke his cock faster.

you let soft whimpers fill the room as you ran your fingers down your slit, wetting them with your juices before slipping one inside you.

"god, i want to eat you out so bad." jeongin groaned. you threw your head back against the back of the chair, moaning at his words and the sounds of him stroking his cock on the other side of the screen, your wet sounds mixing together.

"i've tried being with other girls but no one ever felt as good as you did." though you certainly didn't want to imagine him with someone else, what he said still did something to you.

you placed one foot on your chair, granting you a better angle. your moans were coming out uncontrollably now. "that's it. make yourself feel good for me." it was insane what a great effect his words had on you. you were already feeling your orgasm approach, imagining his long fingers buried deep inside you.

"fuck, jeongin, i'm gonna–"

"yes." he growled immediately. "god yes, please come for me." and you did. you so did. his words sending you right over the edge.

he watched your legs shake, his name slipping past your lips repeatedly. his balls twitched. he kept his eyes on you for as long as possible, before throwing his head back, moaning your name once before he shot his load all over his stomach.

you removed your hand from your panties, catching your breath before reaching out to grab a paper tissue, cleaning your fingers. jeongin watched you, breathing heavily. "i wish i could lick them clean."

your eyes shot up, meeting his, "god, you're so hot, jeongin."

"sh. don't make me horny again." he mirrored your action, reaching for the paper tissues on his nightstand, putting his phone aside to clean the cum off his body.

"sucks i wasn't there to prevent this mess. would have swallowed all of it." jeongin grabbed his phone, saying your name in a low, warning tone.

"sorry, i'll stop now." you giggled. he was silent for a bit, just looking at you. "i'm sorry. i don't want you to think i only called you because i was horny. i just needed someone who feels… real.”

your throat burned. “well, i’m here, jeongin." you said softly. “always.”

the conversation drifted then. you told him about your exam, about the stress, about how much you missed him too. he told you about tour exhaustion, the pressure, the insomnia, the loneliness he tried so hard to hide.

he admitted he hadn’t spoken to anyone about how overwhelmed he felt. you admitted that hearing him call you made your heart ache and heal at the same time. and slowly, as the minutes stretched into an hour, his voice began to fade, growing sleepier.

“are you still there?” you whispered.

“mmh,” he hummed faintly. “don’t hang up.”

your eyes softened. “i won’t.”

you listened to his breathing, steadying. slowing. evening out. and then, the softest sound, a tiny snore. you smiled, exhaustion melting away into something warm and fragile.

“goodnight, jeongin,” you whispered, even though he couldn’t hear you anymore.

you waited a moment longer, letting your heart hold onto the moment, before finally ending the call, the quiet room feeling heavier now that his soft breaths were gone. he had fallen asleep with your voice in his ear. and you stayed awake far too long, wishing things were different.

the weeks after that late-night phone call felt strangely different, as if the thread between you and him had been tugged closer. jeongin really did try. even when he failed, even when days passed without a single text, you could feel the effort in the way he always came back to you.

a “good morning” here.

a tired selfie from the van.

a voice note of him laughing at something one of the members said.

it wasn’t constant. it wasn’t enough to fill the ache he’d left behind over the years. but it was him trying, and that alone was enough to pull all the old emotions back into the light.

then one afternoon, your phone buzzed with a message that made your breath catch.

« we’re having a concert near your city next week. »

« i put you on the guest list. »

you stared at the screen, heartbeat thundering, an uncontrollable smile tugging at your lips.

« you did?? » you typed back.

« of course »

« you better come. »

so you did. you got ready with shaky excitement, tucking your favourite foxi.ny plushie into your bag like it was a good-luck charm. when you arrived at the venue and took your vip seat, the view felt unreal.

you snapped a photo, sending it to him with a quick caption: « look where i am. »

his reply came instantly.

« you’re really here?? »

« enjoy the show! »

« i’ll be trying to look for you. »

« make sure to come backstage after! »

your cheeks hurt from smiling.

the concert was incredible, even more breathtaking up close. you cheered, sang, jumped, laughed with the stays around you, all of them sweet and excited, never suspecting that the boy they were screaming for had once fallen asleep listening to your voice.

you tried to keep your eyes on him without being obvious, but every time he drifted to your side of the stage, your heart raced.

when it was over, you made your way to the backstage entrance, nerves fluttering inside your stomach. the security guard eyed you suspiciously until you gave him your name. he spoke into his earpiece, waited, then nodded.

“you’re clear. go ahead.”

the hallway beyond was quiet, empty in a way that made you hesitate. you took a few unsure steps, turning left, then right, realising you had absolutely no idea where you were supposed to go.

so you texted him.

« i’m inside… but completely lost. »

you had barely pressed send when the sound of fast footsteps echoed through the corridor.

before you could even lift your head from your screen, someone collided into you, arms wrapping around you with such force it pushed a soft gasp from your chest.

you froze for half a second, then melted. because even though he was drenched in sweat, even though his breathing was uneven from running, even though the smell of the stage still clung to his clothes…

he still smelled like him. comforting.

“you came,” he breathed into your shoulder, arms tightening for just a moment more. your heart twisted. and before you could answer, he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes shining, cheeks flushed, smiling like you were the best thing he’d seen all night.

“so that’s her?” a familiar voice chimed from behind jeongin. you turned just in time to see chan strolling towards you, grinning like he’d known you for years. jeongin pulled back reluctantly, stepping to your side, still close enough that the warmth of him lingered against your skin.

“hyung, this is…” jeongin said, giving your name softly, almost reverently.

chan offered his hand with a bright, easy smile. “chan. pleasure to meet you. heard a lot about you.”

your eyes widened, heart stuttering. “you… did?” but chan’s grin only widened, impossibly smug.

before you could question it, he nodded towards a door down the hall. “come meet the others.”

jeongin moved beside you, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back, barely touching, but enough to send shivers straight up your spine. he guided you into the room like you were something fragile he wanted to protect.

the rest of the members were scattered around the dressing room, stretching, chugging water, leaning against surfaces, looking exhausted but happy. and yet, when you stepped inside, all eyes flicked towards you.

it felt surreal. you already knew their faces, their voices, their dynamic, but only through screens and jeongin’s stories. watching them laugh in real life, hearing the way they joked with each other, seeing the softness that didn’t always show on camera… it made you smile without even trying.

they welcomed you instantly. felix came up first with a warm hug that nearly knocked you over, while seungmin introduced himself like a polite prince. hyunjin asked if you had enjoyed the concert, minho teased jeongin for sprinting down the hall, and han offered you a water bottle like it was a treasured gift.

you laughed with them, talked with them, waited with them as staff moved around packing up equipment and their vans began lining up outside. it felt natural and strangely easy. like stepping into a world you had only ever seen from afar but somehow belonged in.

eventually, you all headed towards the exit together, a quiet stream of tired boys and buzzing energy. han looked over his shoulder at you and jeongin. “will you guys join us for dinner later?” he asked expectantly. before you could answer, chan appeared behind him, tossing a knowing arm around his shoulders.

“i think they have a lot of catching up to do, considering they’re... such old friends.” he shot jeongin a look. one that said far, far more than the words ever could, and patted his shoulder before steering han toward a waiting van.

your cheeks warmed. jeongin cleared his throat softly, eyes suddenly shy as he glanced sideways at you. “i thought maybe we could just… order some takeaway? like old times?”

like old times. the phrase tugged at something deep inside your chest, both nostalgic and aching.

you nodded without hesitation, a smile stretching across your face. “i’d love that.” his eyes softened, relief washing over him in a quiet exhale.

a staff member opened one of the smaller vans, and jeongin gestured for you to get in first. you climbed inside, the cool night air brushing past you, and he followed after, settling into the seat beside you.

as the door slid shut and the van pulled away from the arena, you felt his knee bump gently against yours. not quite an accident, not quite intentional.

the van ride back to the hotel was quiet, but not in the way that made your stomach knot. it was that soft, shared quiet that felt like slipping into an old sweater: familiar, worn-in, comforting.

jeongin leaned back against his seat, head tilted just slightly towards you. he looked exhausted, hair damp from sweat, eyeliner smudged just a little, chest still rising in faint post-performance breaths. you didn’t want to bother him, didn’t want to ruin the peacefulness settling between you, so you simply watched the passing streetlights blur across the window.

but every time you looked up, every single time, he was already looking at you. a soft, tired smile tugged at his lips each time your eyes met. not embarrassed. not shy. almost… relieved. like seeing you anchored him. neither of you spoke. you didn’t need to.

the van pulled into the hotel parking lot, headlights flashing briefly across the marble entrance. you both stepped out, thanked the driver, and walked inside. the lobby was quiet, the late hour wrapping everything in a muted hush. you followed jeongin to the elevators, shoulders brushing, hands close but not touching.

one of the staff members came up to jeongin, handing him a big envelope.

"what's that?" you asked when the staff was gone. jeongin sighed in annoyance, "confidentiality agreement."

you grinned, "are they scared i'll tell the press about all the embarrassing things you did as a teenager?"

the elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open. you stepped inside together. the moment the doors closed, he moved. so fast you barely registered it.

his hands slid to your waist, fingers gripping like he’d been holding himself back for hours, no, years, and suddenly your back hit the elevator wall with a soft thud.

before you could even gasp, his mouth was on yours. it wasn’t a gentle kisd. not like the first time, not like the kisses in your living room years ago. this was messy, filled with desperation, with aching.

you melted instantly, hands curling into the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, breath mingling with his as the elevator hummed around you.

“i think they're more scared about you telling the press this.” he murmured against your lips, kissing you again before you even had the chance to answer. your knees went weak.

“missed you so much,” he breathed, voice ragged, hands tightening at your waist like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

you kissed him back with the same intensity. all the longing, all the confusion, all the years of almosts pouring out through your trembling lips. the elevator seemed too small, too bright, too warm. you could feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest, could feel the urgency in every touch.

ding.

the elevator doors slid open. you both froze, breathless, lips still inches apart, his hands still gripping your waist. your chest heaved. his eyes were dark, blown wide, mouth pink and kiss-swollen. neither of you moved. for a moment, it felt like time itself paused.

his hand found yours as you stepped out of the elevator, fingers curling around it with a certainty that made your heart race.

he led you down the hallway, stopping in front of a door near the end. his hand trembled slightly as he slid the key card through the lock. the light turned green, and he pushed the door open, flipping on the dim entryway lamp.

“come in,” he murmured, voice rough from the kiss. “make yourself comfortable.”

you slipped inside, glancing around the simple, neat hotel room. two armchairs near the window, a bed pushed neatly against the wall, bags half-packed near the desk. you sank into one of the armchairs, trying, and failing, to calm the pounding in your chest.

jeongin dropped his backpack onto the bed and the envelope on the nightstand. he grabbed his phone, tossing it to you with a soft thud. you fumbled, barely catching it.

“order us something?” he asked, eyes warm. “passcode’s… uh–" he told you the numbers, cheeks faintly pink. “i’m gonna take a quick shower.”

before you could respond, he grabbed a towel and slipped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. you exhaled slowly, staring at his phone on your lap.

then you unlocked it. the screen lit up instantly with notifications, not from fans or staff, but from the stray kids' group chat. you tried not to pry, not wanting to invade his privacy, but the preview messages were impossible not to see.

[chan]: « who stole my socks »

[seungmin]: « who'd want your stinky socks? »

[felix]: « not me this time »

[han]: « ordering pizza! who wants some? »

[minho]: « pizza? how boring... »

[han]: « ordering pizza and not sharing with minho. who wants some? »

[minho]: ordering fried chicken and not sharing with han. who wants some? »

[seungmin]: « someone tell jeongin to stop running through hallways »

[hyunjin]: « he sprinted like anime main character »

[felix]: « was he running to HER?? 👀 »

[chan]: « don’t tease him he’s fragile »

you clapped a hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh. the knot in your chest loosened just a little.

you opened uber eats and scrolled through options, trying to decide. you were about to pick one when you heard the bathroom door open.

you looked up and your breath caught.

jeongin stepped out, hair dripping, a towel slung around his neck. he wore a plain white t-shirt and loose sweatpants, the simplest outfit you’d ever seen him in, yet somehow he looked… beautiful.

soft. fresh. dangerously real.

a drop of water slid from his hair down his jaw, catching the low light.

“did you pick something?” he asked, voice still warm from the steam.nyou swallowed, suddenly forgetting every food option on the app.

he looked at you with that tired, gentle smile again. and for the first time in years, he felt close enough to touch, close enough to want, close enough to fall for all over again.

jeongin looked at you with that soft expectancy, like whatever you said next actually mattered. you took another second, maybe two, letting yourself admire him. the way his damp hair fell over his forehead. the faint flush on his cheeks from the hot shower. the smell of soap and something warm and unfamiliar settling over you like a blanket.

you blinked rapidly, snapping yourself out of the trance and staring back down at his phone.

“um–" you murmured, scrolling aimlessly. “fried chicken or…” the words died on your tongue. because he moved closer.

slowly, but close enough that you caught the scent of his body wash. he knelt beside your chair, one arm braced on the cushion near your knee as he leaned in to look at the screen.

“or?” he asked softly, his voice brushing against your skin. your eyes were no longer on the menu. they were on him. the soft fall of his hair. the tiny droplet running down his neck. the gentle raise of his eyebrows when he realised you weren’t talking anymore.

his gaze shifted up, meeting yours. your breath caught. you didn’t think. you didn’t plan. you didn’t care. your hand shot forward, grabbing the front of his white t-shirt just above his chest. the fabric bunched in your fist.

“what–" he started, eyes widening, but you were already pulling him in.

your lips crashed into his, messy and desperate, the hunger of years finally breaking loose. he froze for half a heartbeat, surprised, breath hitching against your mouth, and then he melted into you with a soft, helpless sound, his hand flying up to your cheek as he kissed you back just as fiercely.

your pulse roared in your ears. the phone slipped from your lap. his body pressed closer, knees digging into the carpet as he leaned up into you like he needed your lips to breathe.

you felt him smile against your mouth before he kissed you deeper. like he’d wanted this. like he’d dreamed of this.

"fried chicken or me." you replied confidently.

“god,” he whispered between kisses, breath warm against your lips, “i knew you’d make me lose my mind.”

the moment your lips met his again, it was like every year of longing, confusion, heartbreak, and hope snapped into place all at once. every suppressed feeling breaking free in a rush that neither of you could have stopped even if you’d wanted to.

his hands were on you instantly. they were hungry. desperate. claiming.

one slid to your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed the assurance you were real. the other cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he kissed you harder, breath mingling with yours in dizzying, uneven bursts.

you tugged him closer by his shirt again, pulling him up from the floor and into you, lips moving against his with a kind of emotion you’d never been brave enough to show before. he stumbled forward, catching himself with a hand on the backrest beside your head, the other staying tangled in your hair as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

he let out a shaky sound into your mouth, half laugh, half whimper, like he’d finally reached something he’d been running towards for years.

your fingers slid up his chest, over the damp fabric, up to the warm skin of his neck, pulling him down again, swallowing his breath with your own.

his hands roamed. your waist, your back, the side of your ribs, touches reverent and desperate all at once, like he was relearning the shape of someone he’d missed every day without admitting it.

his arm slid around you, pulling you up, making you stand in front of him. he was towering above you as he pulled you closer against him. when your bodies collided fully, he let out a breathy moan.

"jeongin, please–" you whimpered as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and started kissing down your neck. "please what, jagi?" he sucked on the soft skin, making sure to mark you as his.

you arched your back, pressing your front flush against him. jeongin finally pulled away, examining the mark he left on you before he looked at you, raising his eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"shouldn't i sign this confidentiality agreement thingy first?" you teased, hands sliding under his shirt. your eyes widened when you felt his hard abs under your soft palms. jeongin noticed, the corner of his mouth curling upwards, the grin inevitable. oh, he was aware how much he'd changed.

"you really want to waste the next hour going through the agreement?"

it took every bit of strength to remove your hands from his abs and walk over to the nightstand where the envelope sat. "i should, shouldn't i?" you asked, tracing your fingertips along the edge.

you looked back at him over your shoulder, catching him eyeing you down ever so quickly. you licked your lips, holding his gaze.

"i swear, if i don't have your naked cunt on my mouth within the next ten minutes, i'm gonna combust."

your mouth dropped open so fast, you couldn't stop it. you stared at him in disbelief. he made his way over to where you were standing. his hand slid under your chin, closing your mouth. "you still think of me as the awkward 19 year old boy who couldn't even look at you without almost cumming in his pants, huh?"

you blinked a few times, swallowing hard before your mind finally caught up. you shook your head, breathing hard. he traced his thumb over your lower lip. "good. because i'm not."

you held his gaze as you took his thumb in your mouth, pressing your tongue against it, sucking gently. jeongin groaned, enough for you to finally gain back your confidence. you dropped to your knees. his erection was highly visible, pre-cum already having stained his grey sweatpants.

you didn't waste any time before you grabbed the waistband and pulled his pants down. jeongin inhaled sharply. you licked one long strip all the way from the base to his tip before wrapping your mouth around him.

his hands shot to your hair immediately, letting out the filthiest sound as his hips bucked into you involuntarily. "fuck." he groaned as you started to move your head, your hand coming up to fist what couldn't fit.

jeongin was already in a state of ecstasy, still unable to comprehend what was happening. you flicked your tongue across his tip, making him tighten the grip in your hair. he was trying his hardest to refrain from bucking his hips into you, you could tell. so you looked up at him, eyes as sweet as ever, as you whispered, "fuck my mouth, jeongin."

his gaze shot down, eyes dark. "don't say things like that." he said through clenched teeth. but you just let your hand fall down, sticking your tongue out and opening wide as you looked at him. jeongin took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring before he finally snapped. he used the grip on your hair to hold you in place as he started to buck his hips into you. you closed your lips around him, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

"fuck, i forgot how good your mouth feels." his thrusts became quicker as you tried to bob your head in sync. filthy praises left his lips every now and then. throwing his head back as groans and wet sounds filled the room. he loved making you choke on him, shoving his cock deep down your throat.

you moaned around him, almost sending him over the edge. he pulled out of you and you took a deep breath, trying to get in as much oxygen as possible. a long strip of saliva connected the two of you. "you need to stop or i'm gonna cum."

you grinned, "so? shoot your load down my throat then." his hand twitched, about to smack that smugness out of your face. instead he pulled you up, grabbed your throat and kissed you forcefully. his tongue slipped into your mouth, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

he started peeling off your clothes. "tonight, i'm gonna cum all over that beautiful body of yours." he said as he finally pulled your panties down, arms sliding around your waist, guiding you towards the bed.

he threw the blanket on the floor before he pushed you down onto the mattress, settling between your legs. he kissed the insides of your thighs, moving his lips dangerously high. "you have no idea how often i dreamed about doing this." his mouth was mere inches away from your aching core.

though you had spent the entire night exploring each other's bodies those many years ago, he hadn't eaten you out. and all those years, he felt like he had been missing out.

as much as he would have probably enjoyed teasing you, his mouth was on your clit almost instantly. your clenched your legs around his head. he slid his arms around them, holding them in place as he started flicking your tongue over your sensitive bud. "jeongin." you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. he pressed his face harder against you, devouring you.

he had eaten out girls before, curious as to what it felt like, but nothing came close to you. you tasted better than he had ever dreamed of, your wetness already soaking his chin.

he explored further, licking down between your folds before pushing his tongue inside you. your hand shot down to grab his hair, pushing him harder against you.

jeongin felt like this was right where he belonged. with his face buried nose deep in your soaking cunt. his hips bucked into the mattress, eager for the tiniest bit of friction as he moaned against your core.

he moved his tongue back up, sucking on your clit. you already felt your orgasm approaching, rocking your hips, moaning his name. "are you gonna come, jagi?" jeongin asked softly. your head shot up, as you watched him dip his head again, tongue on your clit, eyes on you. "fuck, yes. don't stop."

and he didn't. he kept eating you out, the flick of his tongue finally sending you over the edge. as your orgasm washed over you, you clenched your legs around his head and he absolutely loved the feeling of that. he wouldn't have cared if you'd have broken his fucking skull that way.

when your body came down from your high, jeongin didn't stop. quite the contrary. his fingers found your entrance, one digit slipping into you. you breathed his name but he didn't respond. he just kept his mouth on you as he plunged a second finger into you. "jeongin!" you moaned louder this time and you swore you could feel him smile against you.

he moved his fingers at a steady pace, curling them right where you needed them, remembering everything from the first time he had his fingers buried deep inside you. only that now he additionally had his mouth on your clit.

the mixed sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you and the sucking on your clit filled the room. your vision went blurry, already feeling overstimulated but loving every second of it.

"come for me again and i will fuck you, jagi." his breath was hot against your core, his voice low. and with a few more curls of his fingers, stroking your walls in just the right way, you came undone.

jeongin was grinding his cock against the mattress. "god, i don't want to fucking stop." he murmured as he lifted his head. he looked like a mess, your juices all over his face, all the way down to his white shirt, now clearly stained.

you were still trying to catch your breath, when you whimpered, "jeongin, please." he got up, quickly removing his shirt and rummaging through his backpack. you couldn't keep your eyes off him. his muscular back, his strong arms. he truly had become even more handsome, though you had doubted that was even possible.

then he turned around, walking back towards you, your eyes taking in his chest and abs. you bit your lip, keeping in mind that this was still the same boy you had fallen in love with years ago.

jeongin opened the foil packet, rolling the condom on his cock. he hovered above you, his fingertips tracing your cheek ever so softly. "there are so many positions i want to take you," he murmured, "but right now i just need to see you."

you slid your hand around his neck, pulling him down, kissing him passionately. jeongin lined his cock at your entrance, pressing his lips to yours when he finally pushed in.

you moaned into his mouth, the familiar and at the same time unfamiliar, considering how much time had passed, feeling of his length stretching you. there was not much time to adjust, he was too eager to finally feel you again. and as your bodies moved in sync, his hands roamed over you, memorising every inch of you, reclaiming every inch of you.

his lips trailed down to your tits, one hand kneading gently as he slid his tongue over your hardened nipple. you arched your back to have him closer to you. your legs wrapped around him, allowing him to go even deeper. you threw your head back, as he fucked you into the mattress. his name left your lips repeatedly. and when he felt your walls clench around him, he grabbed your face, making you look at him. his free hand slid down between your bodies, finding your clit immediately. and then it happened way too fast. the wave of your third orgasm crashing over you.

"fuck i–" his thrusts became uneven, his groans intensified, "i don't think i'm gonna last much longer."

the fog in your brain started to lift, you rocked your hips into him with all that you got. he pulled out of you, removing the condom quickly before he shot his load all over your stomach, all the way up to your tits, your name on his lips.

he collapsed next to you and the two of you lay there for quiet some time, catching your breaths.

when he finally regained control over his body, jeongin got up and fetched a damp cloth from the bathroom. he stood at the foot of the bed, grinning at you. "you look absolutely gorgeous covered in my cum."

you snorted but couldn't help the smile forming on your lips. he cleaned you tentatively, fingers still tracing your body even after he had already thrown the wash cloth aside.

then he kissed you again, unbearably tender, his lips brushing yours like they were confessing for him. years of distance, of almosts, of late-night calls and unread feelings poured out of both of you in every breath, every brush of lips, every trembling exhale.

when he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you again, his eyes were glassy, chest heaving, hands still holding you like you were something precious.

“i’m not letting you slip away again,” he whispered, voice raw, forehead pressing to yours. “not this time.”

he got into bed behind you, pulling the blankets over both of you, then wrapped himself around you instantly, an arm snug around your middle, his chest pressed to your back, his legs tangling softly with yours. his hold was firm, almost possessive, but not in a way that scared you. it felt like safety. like he was anchoring himself to you after drifting in open water for years.

you exhaled slowly, your body melting into his warmth.

jeongin tucked his face into the crook of your neck, breath tickling your skin. his lips brushed your shoulder. once. twice. a soft, almost shy kiss.

you shifted, turning slightly to face him. he tightened his hold as if panicking at the thought of you moving away.

“hey,” you whispered, your palm resting against his cheek. his eyes opened, half-lidded, sleepy, but full of something heavy, something tender he didn’t bother hiding anymore. he leaned forward and kissed you again, his lips barely moving against yours like he was savouring the feeling.

you giggled softly against his mouth, and he smiled. one of those quiet, boyish smiles that made your chest ache.

“come here,” he murmured, voice low from exhaustion and emotion alike. you slid closer until your forehead was against his. he kissed it gently, fingers tracing up your arm with feather-light touches that made you shiver.

“i can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered into your skin. “i keep thinking i’m gonna wake up and this will all be gone.”

your fingers threaded into his hair, brushing lightly over the still-damp strands. “i’m not going anywhere.”

he sighed. a sound full of relief and lingering heartbreak and hugged you tighter. “good,” he breathed. “because i don’t think i can ever let you go again.”

you stole another kiss. he followed it with one of his own. then another. and another. quick, warm pecks that made you smile against his lips.

his thumb stroked your hip, his other hand traced the curve of your spine. your legs tangled comfortably beneath the blankets.

the room faded into a warm blur, your bodies fitting together naturally, like they always had.

“you feel like home,” he mumbled, kissing the corner of your mouth. your chest tightened. “you do too.”

he hummed contentedly, nose brushing yours, lips finding your cheek, then your jaw, then the tip of your nose. he kissed you almost absentmindedly between sleepy breaths.

you ran your fingertips along his jaw, down the side of his neck, over the steady rise and fall of his chest. he shivered, pulling you impossibly closer.

“stay with me,” he whispered, not a plea but a promise. "always,” you answered.

the soft rhythm of his breathing gradually slowed, syncing with yours. his touches grew lazier, fingertips tracing aimless shapes on your waist, then stilling as he drifted towards sleep.

the last thing you felt was his lips brushing your temple. barely a kiss, more like a final thought. and the last thing you heard was a sleepy whisper against your hair:

“i love you.”

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a/n: this man is absolutely wrecking my bias rn😮‍💨

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chan:

you noticed him fading before he ever admitted it. chan had always carried too much; responsibility, pressure, the weight of people counting on him; but you used to be the one place he let himself rest. with you, he breathed easier, laughed softer, leaned into your touch without thinking.

until he didn’t anymore.

weeks passed where he came home long after midnight, collapsing onto the couch instead of into your arms. he apologised without emotion behind the words, kissed your forehead only when you leaned in first, and told you he was fine even when his eyes looked hollow.

you tried to reach him, “chan… are you okay?”

he’d smile that strained smile. “just work. i’ll be better after this.”

but “after this” became tomorrow. then next week. then never.

the night he ended things, it wasn’t because he stopped loving you. it was because he loved you so deeply he thought letting you go would protect you.

he came home looking like a ghost of himself, dark circles, stiff shoulders, hands trembling from exhaustion he refused to acknowledge. you had dinner waiting, but he barely looked at the table.

“can we talk?” he asked, voice quiet in a way that made your stomach drop. you nodded, heart pounding.

he sat opposite you, elbows on his knees, head bowed like a man preparing for a confession he hated. “i can’t keep doing this,” he said softly.

your breath stilled. “doing what?”

he looked up, and the sadness in his eyes almost broke you more than the words that followed. “hurting you.”

you shook your head quickly. “you’re not–"

“i am. i don’t show up anymore. i’m never here. i can barely take care of myself, let alone be what you deserve.”

“chan, that’s not–"

“i’m tired,” he whispered. “i’m so, so tired. and i don’t want you to carry that weight.”

you felt your eyes sting. “i don’t care about the weight, i care about you.”

his jaw clenched like the words physically hurt him. "that’s why i have to do this.”

your chest tightened painfully. “do what?”

he looked at your hands, lying helplessly in your lap. then he looked away. “let you go.”

the silence that followed seemed suffocating. you stared at him, unable to process the words because he didn’t sound like someone who wanted to leave, he sounded like someone forcing himself to.

“chan… don’t do this,” you whispered.

his eyes squeezed shut. “i have to.” your throat closed, and for a long moment neither of you spoke.

finally, you whispered, “if you think this is what’s best for you… i won’t stop you.”

his shoulders sagged like the agreement broke him in half. you both nodded in mutual understanding.

you hugged him before he left. his arms wrapped around you with desperate, trembling force, trying to memorise the shape of you.

when he finally let go, he couldn’t look at you.

he walked out with silent tears slipping down his face, regret already settling hot in his chest.

and just like that, you lost him.

you didn’t know how badly he fell apart. his suffering was quiet, invisible unless you knew how to look.

he slept even less, if that was possible. hours spent mixing songs turned into staring blankly at the computer screen. the studio couch became his bed. the studio floor became the place he broke.

he played your playlist on repeat, almost ashamed of just how much he missed you.

the other members found him sitting with his head in his hands more than once. “mate… are you okay?” felix would whisper. chan would smile tightly.

“i’m fine. just tired.” but his voice always cracked on the last word.

he stopped drinking coffee because it reminded him of the mornings you’d surprise him with his favourite order. he stopped going home because the silence in every room felt like punishment.

he told himself letting you go was the right choice. he told himself you were better off. but every night, when the dorm was quiet, he whispered into the darkness: “i miss you.” and he hated himself for it.

three weeks passed before he finally broke.

it was 2 am, rain tapping against your window, when you heard the hesitant knock.

you opened the door, and chan stood there soaked in rain, eyes red and tired, hoodie clinging to his skin. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. maybe weeks.

“hey,” he whispered, voice shaking.

“chan,” you breathed, stepping aside. “come in.” he didn’t move. instead, he looked up with the devastation of someone who had lost everything.

“i’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “i’m so sorry.” your heart clenched. “come inside. you’re freezing.”

he shook his head, rain dripping down his face like tears merging with the storm. “i shouldn’t be here.”

“but you are,” you whispered. he swallowed hard. “i tried. i tried so hard to convince myself that lettng you go was the right thing. that i was giving you freedom. that i was protecting you from me.”

your breath hitched. his voice dropped to a trembling whisper. “but all i did was hurt us. and i think… i think i broke myself in the process.”

you stepped closer. “chan–"

he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a shaky breath. “i can’t do it,” he whispered. “i can’t live like this. i can’t sleep. i can’t think. i can’t function without you.” tears blurred your vision.

he finally stepped inside. one step, just enough to reach you.

“i ended us because i thought you deserved someone who wasn’t drowning,” he said. “but losing you is the thing that finally pulled me under.”

the honesty in his voice shattered the last pieces of your resolve. you reached out and touched his cheek, your own hand trembling against his cold skin. he leaned into your hand instantly, breath stuttering.

“chan,” you whispered.

his face crumpled, and he collapsed into your arms, hands gripping your shirt, forehead buried in your shoulder, chest shaking with sobs he’d been holding back for weeks.

“i’m sorry,” he cried softly. “i was wrong. please let me try again. i’ll do better. i’ll show up. i’ll be here. i can’t lose you.”

you held him tightly, feeling him break and rebuild against you. and as you held him in the quiet of your living room, rain still whispering against the windows, you knew: he didn’t come back because he needed saving. he came back because he finally understood he didn’t have to save the world alone.

you could do it together.

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minho:

you didn’t expect him to agree so easily. when you told minho you felt alone in the relationship, like he wasn’t really present, like you were reaching for someone who always stepped just out of reach, you expected confusion, denial… maybe even a fight.

instead, he went still. he looked down at his hands, jaw tense, and quietly said, “okay.” and that one word sliced right through you.

you tried to smile, tried to be strong, tried not to show how much it hurt that he didn’t try to stop you. and he tried to hide the way his fingers shook as he let you go.

the breakup was mutual. emotionless on the surface. but the second you walked out his door, minho felt something inside him collapse.

he didn’t fall apart dramatically. minho never did. instead, everything simply… dimmed. he laughed less. smiled less. spoke only when spoken to.

he stopped humming during chores, something he’d always done without thinking. the cats padded after him with worried eyes, sensing something was wrong. he pet them absentmindedly, but even they knew it wasn’t the same.

he couldn’t sleep. his bed felt unfamiliar without your warmth, too big and too cold. he lay on his back every night staring at the ceiling, feeling like something vital had been ripped out of him.

the boys noticed before he did. han poked his head into minho’s room. “hyung… are you okay?”

minho didn’t look up from where he sat on the floor, folding and refolding the same blanket.

“i’m fine,” he said. but his voice didn’t sound fine and his eyes didn’t look fine either.

and then, one night, everything shattered.

he was cleaning the kitchen, wiping surfaces he’d already wiped twice, when he opened the top cupboard to grab a teacup. and there it was. your favourite mug.

white ceramic, tiny strawberries painted around the rim. you always reached for it first. you once joked that drinks tasted better in it, and he had rolled his eyes but secretly always washed it carefully so you’d have it ready.

he froze. his heart dropped so quickly it hurt. his chest felt too tight.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice cracking. he reached for the mug with trembling fingers. the moment he touched it, everything inside him collapsed.

he sank onto the kitchen floor, mug clutched to his chest, forehead resting on his knees as silent tears spilled down his face.

he had been holding himself together with cold logic.

it was mutual,

it was the right thing,

you deserved better,

you were tired, and he couldn’t blame you.

but holding your mug broke the illusion. you weren’t just “someone he used to date.” you had been his home. his peace. his soft place to land.

without you, he was wandering. and he didn’t know how to come back.

that’s when he stood up, grabbed his keys, and left without thinking. he walked the whole way to your apartment. fast, like something was chasing him.

or maybe like he was afraid he’d lose the courage if he slowed down.

by the time he reached your door, it was 1am. he knocked once. then twice. then waited, heart pounding hard enough to hurt.

you opened the door in sleepy confusion, rubbing your eyes. “minho…? what are you doing here?”

he didn’t answer. he couldn’t. he just stared at the mug in his hands, your mug, like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “I, uh…” he whispered, voice thin and unsteady. “i found this.”

you blinked. “minho… it’s one in the morning. couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow?”

he shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving the mug. “but it’s your favourite,” he whispered.

and then his voice cracked, shattering right along with him. “i don’t want you not having your favourite mug. you… you deserve things that make you happy.”

tears welled in his eyes faster than he could blink them away. “because you– you made me happy,” he choked out. “and i tossed that away instead of fighting for it.”

you stepped closer, heart tightening painfully. “minho…”

he finally looked at you. his face broke. “i don’t know what happiness feels like anymore,” he whispered, tears streaming freely. “not without you.”

your eyes stung. you reached out, touching his arm gently. “come inside,” you murmured.

he nodded shakily, stepping into your living room like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to exist there anymore.

you guided him to sit on the couch, taking the mug from his hands and placing it gently on the table. he wiped his face with trembling fingers, failing to stop the tears.

“why didn’t you say something?” you whispered. he looked down.

“i thought you were tired of me,” he said quietly. “and when you asked to break up, i thought… that was your decision. that i had no right to fight it.”

“you could’ve told me you were hurting,” you murmured.

he shook his head. “i didn’t know how. i didn’t want to drag you deeper into my mess.”

you placed your hand over his. he inhaled shakily, fingers curling around yours like he’d been starved for the touch.

“you were my home,” he whispered, voice breaking again. “and i think i just realised it too late.”

you squeezed his hand. “minho…”

“i know i shut you out,” he said, tears slipping down his cheeks despite his attempts to stop them. “i know i was cold. i know i made you feel alone. i hate myself for it.” you moved closer, brushing your thumb across the back of his hand.

“i’ve been trying to fix it,” he whispered. “to fix myself. to become a man capable of being in a relationship. but the more i tried to imagine doing it without you… the more impossible it felt.”

he lifted his eyes, a pleading look in them. "i know i have to fix myself." he breathed, “but i don’t want to fix things with someone who isn’t you. i can’t.”

your heart twisted painfully. you reached out, cupping his cheek gently. he leaned into your touch instantly, eyes fluttering shut, breath trembling.

“minho,” you whispered, voice soft but steady, “i'm right here for you.”

his eyes opened, shining with hope and fear all tangled together. “can we… try again?” he whispered. “properly this time. no walls. no pretending. just… us.”

you nodded slowly, pulling him into your arms. he sank into you with a broken sob, arms wrapping around you like he’d finally found his way back home.

and in the quiet of your living room, just you, him, and a tiny strawberry mug, you felt him soften against you, finally letting himself feel everything he’d been hiding.

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changbin:

you didn’t mean for it to become a fight.

you were tired. changbin was exhausted. and exhaustion has sharp edges when neither of you knows how to say what you’re feeling.

it started small, another late night in the studio, another canceled plan, another promise he didn’t have the energy to keep.

“binnie,” you said gently, “we barely see each other anymore.”

he sighed, rubbing his temples. “i know, but i’m trying. i’m doing everything i can.”

“i feel like you’re choosing work over us.”

his jaw tightened. “i have to work. you know that.”

“i’m not asking you to stop,” you whispered, feeling the sting behind your eyes. “i’m asking you to show up. just a little.”

he groaned in frustration, lashes trembling with exhaustion. “i’m doing my best, okay? i don’t know what else you want me to do.”

“i want you,” you said. “i want you to try with me the way you try with everything else in your life.”

he froze. and then, for the first time, he snapped.

“maybe i don’t have anything left to give.”

you inhaled sharply. he realised immediately what he’d said, but the damage was done.

your voice dropped to a whisper. “maybe… maybe we shouldn’t keep doing this.”

changbin stared at you defensivelly. and because he felt cornered, even misunderstood, he blurted: “maybe we shouldn’t.”

the room went silent. your heart cracked. his expression crumpled a second later, regret already flooding his features.

but the words were out. and neither of you knew how to pull them back.

you nodded slowly, voice small. “maybe we need a break. or… or more than that.”

he swallowed hard. “if that’s what you want.”

“binnie–"

“if you’re tired,” he whispered, “i won’t hold you here.”

and that was it. a mutual break up, born of fear, and two hearts that didn’t know how to fight for themselves.

you walked away with shaking legs. he stayed where he was, hands in fists, breathing unevenly.

the breakup destroyed him quietly. the other members noticed quickly. he’d sit in the studio staring at a blank screen for an hour without touching his equipment.

he couldn’t write. couldn’t rhyme a single line. every lyric tasted like regret. he avoided sleep because every dream felt like losing you again. and late at night, when he was alone, he recorded voice notes, hundreds of them. apologies. confessions. pleas. he’d whisper things like:

“i’m sorry.”

“i didn’t mean it.”

“i miss you.”

“i need you.”

each one shaky and miserable. he never sent any. until one night, when he was too tired to think, too hurt to be careful.

his mother had called that night, and when she asked how you were, he broke. he couldn’t finish the call, tears falling silently.

after the call, he collapsed onto the studio couch, pressing a fist to his mouth to muffle the sounds.

he recorded another voice message, his most raw yet. the one he didn’t mean to send.

you were brushing your teeth when your phone buzzed.

voice message from changbin

your hands trembled as you pressed play. his voice filled the quiet bathroom. it sounded hoarse, broken.

“i miss you. i miss you so much i can’t breathe. so much that i record these stupid voice messages every fucking night but i never have the guts to send them. i didn’t want to break up. i was just scared. i was tired. i didn’t mean it. i never meant it. i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry. i don’t know how to live with myself knowing i’m the reason you’re hurting.”

you covered your mouth, tears flooding your eyes.

“i’d do anything, anything, to fix this. i don’t want anyone else. i just want you. i’m so stupid. i let you walk out because i was too proud, too scared, too tired. and now i can’t stop thinking about you. please… please forgive me. i still love you. i always loved you.” the message clicked off.

silence followed. seconds later, another text came in:

« please don’t listen to that. »

« i didn’t mean to send it. »

« i’m sorry. »

« just ignore it. please. »

your heart twisted. you typed with shaking fingers.

« binnie… can we talk? »

he responded instantly.

« yes. please. i’m already on my way. »

when you opened the door, changbin looked wrecked. eyes red, cheeks blotchy, hoodie thrown on in a rush. his gaze met yours and he froze, like he almost didn’t believe you were really standing in front of him.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean to send that.”

“did you mean it?” you asked softly.

he swallowed hard. “every single word.” you stepped aside. “come in.”

he did. hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. you stood in the middle of your living room, facing each other. his lip trembled. “i didn’t want to break up,” he said, voice cracking. “i was tired and scared and i thought… if i pretended i was okay, you wouldn’t worry.”

“binnie–"

“i know i messed up,” he rushed. “i know i pushed you away. i know i hurt you. i know you didn’t deserve that. i know i should’ve talked to you instead of snapping. i know.” his eyes filled again.

“but–” he whispered. “i can’t live without you. i can’t pretend i’m fine. i can’t fix anything if you’re not with me.” your throat tightened. he took a step closer, “i want to be better,” he whispered. “not for work. not for anyone else. for you. with you. if you’ll let me.”

you reached out slowly, brushing his cheek with your fingertips. your voice trembled. “binnie… come here.”

he broke. he stepped into your arms, wrapping himself around you like he’d collapse without the contact. his fingers clinging to you like his life depended on it.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered against your shoulder. “i was so stupid. i love you. i love you so much.”

you held him tighter, feeling his heart beat against yours.

“we’ll go slow,” you murmured. “we’ll rebuild. together.” he nodded against your skin, tears still falling.

in that moment you both understood something:

you didn’t need perfect. you just needed each other. and for the first time in weeks, changbin let himself believe he wasn’t too late.

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hyunjin:

hyunjin didn’t fall out of love. he just... fell deeper into everything else.

dance practices that ran too long, art pieces he obsessed over for days, choreography he couldn’t get out of his head, emotions that spiraled into quiet storms inside him, storms he never let you see.

when you tried to talk to him, he didn’t hear you.

when you tried to tell him you felt lonely, he nodded distractedly. when you reached for him, he reached for something else.

you told yourself he wasn’t choosing his work over you. but the ache in your chest whispered otherwise.

the night everything cracked, you weren’t fighting. you were trying.

“hyunjin… can we talk?” you asked softly, finding him hunched over his sketchpad, hair falling into his eyes. he sighed, not looking up. “can it wait? i’m in the middle of something.”

your heart sank. “it always has to wait." whispering, you added, "i always have to wait."

that made him pause, but he didn’t lift his head.

you stepped closer, swallowing hard. "i feel like i’m losing you.”

that got his full attention. he turned slowly, eyes tired, face pale from hours of not resting.

“you’re not losing me,” he said immediately, a hint of panic flickering in his voice. “i’m just busy.”

“hyunjin,” you whispered.

his jaw tightened. “I’m doing my best,” he muttered. “you know how much I have going on.”

“i’m not asking you to stop,” you said, voice trembling. “i’m asking you to let me in. to be present. to see me.”

he stood up suddenly, frustration spilling from every tense line of his body. "i am trying!” he snapped. “but i can’t lose focus every time you feel neglected.”

the words shocked you.

he froze, eyes widening the second he heard himself, but panic only made things worse.

he stepped forward, voice rising with emotion rather than anger. "i can’t deal with this right now– i can’t lose you, don’t you get that? i’m already drowning, and i can’t– i can’t handle the thought of you leaving too!”

his fear came out sharp. and it hurt.

“i’m trying to stay,” you whispered. “but you’re pushing me away.”

“i’m not–"

“hyunjin,” you said softly, stepping back, “we’re breaking.” and that did something to him.

anger drained instantly, replaced by horror. "no,” he whispered. “don’t say that. please don’t say that.”

“we need space,” you said gently, “before we destroy something we care about.”

he shook his head desperately, tears pooling. “please, don’t do this. i’ll do better. i’ll change. just– don’t leave. don’t–"

his voice dissolved into something raw and terrified. your own eyes filled. you cupped his cheek gently, and he leaned into it like someone starved for comfort.

“i love you,” you whispered. “but we’re hurting each other.”

his breath hitched. he nodded, but only because he was too broken to fight anymore.

and when you left, he didn’t chase you. not because he didn’t want to, but because he was too afraid of pushing you even further away. the door clicked behind you, and he sank to the floor.

the days after the breakup were agony. he broke quietly.

he filled sketchbooks with drawings of you. your smile, your eyes, your silhouette, the way you held a mug in the morning, the way your hair looked in sunlight.

the first drawings were soft. then they became messy. shaky. darker. and darker. each stroke carried regret.

he cried while painting, hands trembling, tears falling onto the paper and smudging the ink.

he danced until his body ached. he rewatched old vlogs and paused whenever your voice appeared in the background. he stared at the door like he half-expected you to walk through it.

he avoided colour in his paintings. his world looked grey... because without you, nothing felt alive.

he told the other members he was okay. he wasn’t.

three weeks after the breakup, he finally gathered the courage to see you. thought not with empty hands. but with a framed drawing.

it was a portrait of you. you glowed in soft strokes, warmth radiating from the paper that didn’t exist in his world anymore.

he stood outside your door for two full minutes before knocking.

you opened it, startled. “hyunjin…?”

he looked at you like he’d been underwater for weeks and just reached the surface. “can we… talk?” he whispered.

you stepped aside. he walked in slowly, holding the frame with careful, trembling hands.

when he placed it on your table, your breath caught. it was stunning and at the same time... heartbreaking.

“i made this for you,” he said, voice soft "i didn’t know how else to say everything i should have said before.” you turned to him gently. “hyunjin… why now?”

his lips trembled. his chest rose in a shaky breath.“because i’m so, so sorry,” he whispered. “for pushing you away. for letting fear swallow me. for letting anger talk instead of my heart.”

you took a step closer. he blinked rapidly, tears spilling. “losing you felt like losing myself,” he whispered. “and i didn’t realise how much of my world you held together until it all fell apart.” you swallowed hard. “hyunjin…”

“you were my inspiration,” he said quietly, voice breaking on each word. “my muse. every drawing, every dance, every moment i felt alive, i didn’t realise it was all connected to you.” your heart shattered.

“after you left,” he continued, “the colour left too. everything i made looked wrong. empty. grey.”

he let out a shattered breath.

“without you, i lost the art i used to love so much. without you,” he whispered, “it’s like all the colour drained out of my life.”

you couldn’t hold back anymore. you reached up, cupping his cheeks in both hands. he leaned in instantly, eyes closing, breath shaking as if your touch alone was enough to undo weeks of pain.

“i never wanted to lose you,” you murmured. his voice cracked. “i know. and i’m terrified i’ve realised all of this too late. that i ruined the only safe haven i’ve ever had.”

you shook your head, wiping his tears gently. “you didn’t ruin it,” you whispered. “you were scared. but you’re here now.”

hyunjin’s hands came up to hold your wrists lightly.

“please,” he choked out, “give me a chance to try again. i want to be present. i want to love you with my whole heart, not lose you to it.”

you pulled him into your arms. he collapsed into you. body trembling, arms wrapping around your waist with a desperation he had tried so hard to hide.

you held him close, feeling his heartbeat against yours, feeling the way he clutched you like you were the first streak of hope returning to his world.

and in that moment, wrapped around each other in the quiet, you knew he meant every word. he lost you once. he wasn’t going to lose you again.

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jisung:

it started with small things: postponed plans, late replies, distracted smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes. he’d sit beside you on the couch, knees touching yours, but his mind would be miles away, tangled in anxieties he never voiced.

jisung never wanted to be a burden. so he hid everything.

you felt him slipping through the cracks of his own silence, becoming a ghost in the very spaces he used to fill with laughter. nights he used to spend rambling about nothing turned into nights where he retreated into himself. you tried to talk. you reached out. but jisung was good at pretending. too good.

until the day you couldn’t pretend with him anymore.

“hannie,” you said softly, finding him on the bed, headphones around his neck, eyes unfocused. he blinked up at you, startled. “mm? what’s up?”

you sat beside him, fingers tight in your lap. “we need to talk.” he froze, shoulders tensing. “that sounds… bad.”

“i’m worried about us.” jisung let out a small, shaky laugh, the kind that wasn’t happy at all. “yeah. i kind of… figured that.” you didn’t smile. his face fell further.

“i feel like i’m fighting for two people,” you whispered. “and you barely let me see you anymore.” he swallowed hard, gaze darting away. “i’m just… tired. stressed. it’s not you.”

“but it is us,” you said, voice trembling. “i don’t feel like you trust me with anything anymore.”

he flinched. you saw guilt wash over him like a shadow. “i don’t want to drag you into my mess,” he whispered. “i don’t want to scare you away.”

your heart cracked. “jisung, you pushing me out is what’s hurting me. not whatever you’re feeling.”

he sniffed, eyes shining. “i don’t know how to talk about the stuff in my head. i don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“we’re already breaking,” you said softly. and when he didn’t deny it, when he didn’t even try, your chest caved in. you exhaled shakily. “i think… maybe we need space.”

there it was. said out loud. too loud in the quiet room.

jisung’s face crumpled, but he nodded slowly, painfully. like each movement stabbed. “i don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

“i don’t want to lose you either,” you breathed. “but we’re hurting each other by pretending everything is fine.”

he wiped his eyes quickly, embarrassed, even now. and with the intense emotions he was experiecing, something slipped past his lips. something he said without thinking. “okay. fine. maybe it's better for my career anyway.”

you swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, "better for your career?"

jisung only just realised what he had said. "i didn't mean it like tha–"

you shook your head, holding your hands up in defence, "you know what. maybe you're right. maybe it is better for your career to be single. to not have someone you need to worry about."

"fuck. no. i didn't–" but you weren't listening. too hurt, too emotional to focus on his words. you were already getting up, gathering your things.

he didn’t reach for you. he let you walk out of the room even though it shattered him.

the weeks following the breakup weren’t kind to him.

jisung kept functioning, because that’s just what he did. but under the surface, he was unraveling.

he’d sit at his desk with his notebook open, staring at blank pages that refused to fill. every time he tried to write, your face appeared in the space between words.

late at night, he’d scroll through your old messages, fingers hovering over the keyboard. he typed a hundred messages he never sent.

i miss you.

i’m sorry.

i shouldn't have said what i did.

i should have communicated properly.

i didn’t want to lose you.

he deleted them all.

some nights he’d cry quietly into his pillow, body shaking, biting his lip to stay silent because he didn’t want anyone worry.

he thought he wasn’t worth the effort. he thought you’d be better off without his chaos. he thought this was the right thing.

but missing you hurt in ways he didn’t know how to breathe through.

three weeks later, you heard your name whispered outside your door, followed by a hesitant knock.

you opened it to find jisung standing there, hoodie half-zipped, hair messy like he kept running his hands through it.

“hey,” he breathed, voice small.

“hannie…” you whispered, heart clenching.

“can– can we talk?” he asked, anxiously twisting the sleeve of his hoodie between his fingers.

you let him in. he hovered near the door, unsure if he was welcome to take up space. you waited. jisung always needed a moment to gather courage. finally, he took a shaky breath. “i messed up.”

“jisung–"

“no, please,” he said softly, eyes pleading. “i need to say it. i’ve been rehearsing this for days.” you nodded.

he swallowed hard. “i thought… if i kept everything inside, i’d be easier to love. i thought if i wasn’t too emotional or anxious or… me… then you wouldn’t leave.”

his voice cracked. “but all i did was push you away. i shut you out because i was scared, and i hate myself for it.”

you stepped closer, gently. “jisung, it wasn’t only you–"

“it was,” he whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks. “you were trying so hard. and i just… let you carry both of us because i was too scared to admit i needed you.”

your eyes softened painfully. “you didn’t have to be perfect. i never expected you ti."

he shook his head, frustrated. “i know. now i know. but i didn’t want you to see me fall apart. i didn’t want to be a burden.”

you reached for his hand. he stared at the touch like it was a miracle. “you’re not a burden,” you said gently.

he looked up at you with breaking eyes. “but i treated you like you were better off without me.” you squeezed his hand. he choked on a sob. “i miss you,” he whispered, voice trembling. “i miss talking to you. laughing with you. even just sitting in silence with you. the world doesn’t make sense without you in it.”

you took a shaky breath. “jisung…” he stepped closer. carefully, like he didn’t trust himself not to fall apart if you pulled away.

“i want to try again,” he said, voice soft but sure. “not by pretending i’m okay. not by hiding. i want to talk. i want to be honest. i want to let you in even when i’m scared.”

his lip trembled. “and i… i want to come back. if you’ll let me.”

“come here,” you whispered. the moment you pulled him into your arms, jisung collapsed against you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck as he let out a broken sob he’d been holding in for weeks.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered into your skin. “i’m so, so sorry.” you held him close, heart aching but softening, feeling the sincerity in every trembling breath he took. because this wasn’t the jisung who pushed you away. this was the jisung who finally understood he didn’t have to face the world alone.

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felix:

you never wanted to leave felix.

you loved him, in ways that didn’t need grand gestures to feel real. but felix carried his pain like a secret, and he hid it so well that you didn’t see the cracks until they were too big to ignore.

he always smiled for you. always reassured you. always insisted he was okay.

but late at night, when he thought you were asleep, you’d sometimes hear the tremble in his breath.

see the exhaustion he tried to bury. feel him pulling away even as he wrapped his arms around you.

you wanted to help. but every time you asked how he was doing, he gave the same soft lie:

“i’m okay, i promise.”

you weren’t asking for perfection.

you just wanted honesty. and he couldn’t give it. not because he didn’t trust you, but because he was terrified of burdening you. so you made a choice. not a breakup. just a break. space. time.

a chance for him to breathe without feeling like he was letting you down.

you told him gently, holding his hands between yours: “i’m not leaving, lix. i just want you to be able to take care of yourself without worrying about taking care of me too.”

he nodded, trying so hard to be understanding, but you saw the hurt in his eyes. the fear. the loneliness already setting in. still, he agreed. and for a little while, you believed it might help.

it didn’t.

felix spiraled faster without you. he didn’t tell anyone. he didn’t cry where people could see. he didn’t admit how badly he was doing. but chan noticed.

he cried in the shower because no one could hear him there. but chan heard the sniffles when he walked pass.

chan found him sitting on the couch one night, hugging his knees, staring at nothing.

“mate… talk to me.” felix wiped his eyes and forced a smile. “i’m okay, hyung. i promise.”

but chan wasn’t fooled. he waited a few days, hoping felix would reach out to you. he didn’t. so chan did.

your phone buzzed one afternoon.

a message from chan:

« hey. i know things are complicated. i’m not trying to interfere. but… felix isn’t doing well. and i’m really worried. »

you read it three times. your heart dropped.

another message:

« i think he’s worse without you. please… if you’re comfortable… maybe talk to him? even just once. »

you didn’t hesitate. you typed:

« thank you for telling me. i’ll reach out to him. »

you exhaled shakily and opened a new chat.

« lix? »

« would you… like to come over? even just to talk? »

there was no answer for a full minute. you thought maybe he didn’t want to see you.

« yes »

« please »

« i’ll come right now »

twenty minutes later, there was a knock.

you opened the door and almost cried at the sight of him. felix stood there with a small container of cookies in his shaking hands. his eyes were swollen, cheeks pink from crying or running, or both. his hoodie was wrinkled, his hair messy, his breath uneven.

“hi…” he whispered.

“hi,” you whispered back. “come in, lix.”

he held the container out to you with trembling fingers.

“i, um… made these. i know they’re your favourite. i just… i wanted to bring something nice. something that reminded me of you.” you took the cookies gently, placing them on the counter.

“felix,” you said softly, “you can tell me the truth.”

his lips pressed together hard, like he was trying to hold in weeks of pain. his voice came out cracked.“i’m not okay.”

you stepped closer, heart aching. “i know.” and that was all it took. he broke. tears spilled down his cheeks as he sucked in a shaky breath, hands shaking violently now that he wasn’t hiding.

“i thought… i thought you were rigjt about giving me space would help,” he whispered, voice raw. “but it made everything worse. so much worse.”

you reached for him. he leaned into you instantly, forehead pressing to your shoulder like he was finally home.

“i missed you,” he sobbed. “every day. every night. i couldn’t sleep. i kept thinking about the break, and i convinced myself you were happier without me.”

your heart shattered. “lix–"

“i lied,” he confessed, voice trembling. “i lied every time i said i was okay. i lied because i didn’t want you to see me like this. i didn’t want to scare you away.”

you brushed a tear from his cheek. “you never had to hide from me.” he choked on a breath. “but i did,” he whispered. “because i didn’t trust myself. i was scared. i was overwhelmed. and instead of telling you, i shut you out. and it hurt you.”

his tears fell faster now. “i’m so sorry,” he breathed. “i didn’t want to lose you. and being away from you… it felt like losing the only person who ever made me feel safe.”

you cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears that kept coming.

“felix,” you whispered, “look at me.” he lifted his eyes. you stroked his cheek softly. “you can trust me with your heart. with your fears. with everything.”

something inside him broke open at that. he grabbed your hands, pressing them against his chest, over his racing heartbeat.

“then let me try,” he whispered desperately. “i don’t want to pretend anymore. i don’t want to hide. i want to tell you when i’m hurting, when i’m scared, when i feel like i’m not enough.” he took a shaky breath. “i want to give you all of me,” he said. “the truth. the fear. the love. everything. i want to learn to let you in, because you’re the only one who ever made me feel entirely safe.”

your chest tightened painfully. you pulled him into your arms fully. and felix melted, arms wrapping around your waist, face buried in your neck, sobs shaking his small frame.

he clung to you like you were the only solid thing left in his world. you held him tightly, whispering into his hair: “i’m here. and i’m not going anywhere.”

his hands fisted the back of your shirt.

“please… don’t give me space again,” he whispered. “i don’t want space. i want you.”

you smiled through your tears, pressing a kiss to his temple. "then no more breaks,” you murmured. “we face everything together now.”

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seungmin:

you didn’t break up with seungmin because you stopped loving him. you broke up with him because loving him had started to feel like loving a shadow. something present but unreachable, something quiet but heavy.

seungmin wasn’t cold or careless or ignoring you. he was overwhelmed. and when he was overwhelmed, seungmin shut down.

he stopped talking about his day. he stopped letting you in. he stopped offering even the small smiles he used to give you for no reason at all.

one evening, sitting across from him at your kitchen table, you realised you’d been watching him grow quieter for months.

you loved him. but you were tired of feeling like a ghost beside him.

“seungmin,” you said softly, “we need to talk.”

he looked up, expression neutral, those calm brown eyes always so hard to read. “about what?”

“us.” he stilled. you took a shaky breath. “i don’t think we’re doing well.”

he didn’t deny it. didn’t argue. he just lowered his eyes. “i know,” he said quietly.

your chest tightened. “i love you. i really do. but i feel like i’m always on the outside. like you never let me close enough to help you or comfort you or even know you.”

he shifted, jaw clenching. you waited for him to contradict you. to reach for you. to ask you to stay. instead, he said the words that destroyed you in the gentlest voice possible: “maybe… breaking up is the right thing.”

your heart cracked. "seungmin…”

“you’re right,” he said, shoulders slumping. “i don’t know how to talk. i don’t know how to let people in. and i don’t want to hurt you by being this way.”

your throat tightened. “i’m not asking you to be perfect. i’m asking you to try with me.”

he looked away, eyes glistening just barely. “i don’t know how.”

you hugged him before leaving. he hugged back, but you felt him hesitate right before you pulled away, as if he wanted to hold on but didn’t know how to ask. when you walked out, he stared at the door long after it shut.

seungmin didn’t fall apart. he woke up at the same time every morning. went to practice. ate meals. talked to the members when they talked to him. but everything felt off. his laugh sounded thinner, like something essential was missing. he paused mid-sentence sometimes, forgetting what he was saying because his mind drifted to you.

his room felt too quiet. his bed too big. his days too repetitive without your presence breaking his routine with warmth he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.

he saw your toothbrush still in his bathroom the next morning. he froze. he stared at it for so long that felix walked by and gently asked: “you alright?”

seungmin blinked, swallowed, and nodded. “yeah. i’m fine.”

he spent the next week trying to convince himself the breakup was the right choice. logically, it was. emotionally, it gutted him.

he didn’t smile with his eyes anymore. the boys saw it. everyone saw it.

seungmin was functioning. but he wasn’t living.

you hadn't seen him till the break up. but then came the day you ran into each other again.

you were both in a small convenience store, reaching for the same kind of instant ramen at the same time.

your fingers brushed. and in that single second, seungmin’s entire world tilted off its axis.

"seungmin... hi." you whispered. he swallowed hard. “hey.”

your voice was soft and devastatingly gentle. he hadn’t realised how much he missed the way his name sounded coming from your lips until he heard it again.

you talked only briefly, basic things like:

how have you been?

good… you?

busy.

yeah… me too.

then, before either of you could talk yourselves out of it, you hugged. a short hug. a polite one. barely more than a brush of bodies. but the moment his arms wrapped around you, something inside him shattered. your warmth. your heartbeat. your scent–

your scent. god.

he inhaled without meaning to, chest rising sharply, and his knees nearly buckled. it hit him harder than the breakup ever had.

you pulled back first, smiling nervously. “it was good seeing you, seungmin.”

“yeah,” he said softly. “you too.”

you walked out into the sunlight. he stood frozen in the aisle long after you left. something inside him, something he’d buried neatly under routine and rationality, rose violently to the surface.

and that night, for the first time since losing you, seungmin couldn’t sleep.

at 1:47am, your phone buzzed.

« you looked beautiful today »

you blinked at the screen, heart stuttering.

two minutes later:

« god, i forgot how fucking good you smell »

you covered your mouth with your hand, breath catching.

then, not even a minute later–

« i’m such an idiot »

« i didn’t get it until i saw you again. i didn’t get how much i missed you. how much i wanted you »

« i thought i was okay. i thought i handled things well. but then i saw you »

your pulse raced.

« now i just i want you back. i want to fix what i broke. i know i was distant. i know i shut down. i know i made you feel alone. i’m sorry »

his texts came slowly, like each one took everything in him to send.

« if you don’t want to hear this, tell me and i’ll stop »

« aah fuck i’m shaking typing this »

you didn’t reply. couldn't. you just stared at the screen, too stunned, too emotional, too… hopeful.

then the last message appeared:

« do you… want to meet for coffee? and… talk? i want to talk. really talk. none of that quiet bullshit i did before. »

« just coffee. nothing more unless you want it »

your breath trembled. your fingers hovered over the screen. heart pounding, you typed:

« yes. i’d like that. »

his reply came instantly.

« okay. tomorrow? please? »

« tomorrow it is »

you lay back in bed, staring at your ceiling, your heart beating so loudly you were sure the neighbors could hear it. and somewhere across the city, seungmin sat on his bed, phone clutched to his chest, finally letting himself feel everything he’d been suppressing.

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jeongin:

you never fell out of love with jeongin. neither did he. you just weren’t growing at the same pace.

jeongin was learning how to be an adult in a world that demanded too much, too fast. new responsibilities. new pressure. new expectations. new insecurities.

he wanted to be enough. for himself. for you. for everyone.

but the harder he tried, the more he withdrew, feeling like he was always a step behind, always disappointing someone, always one moment away from proving he wasn’t ready for the love you gave so easily.

you didn’t see him losing interest. you saw him losing himself. but he was too scared to tell you that. so you were left to guess. and guesses hurt.

the breakup didn’t come from a fight. or anger. or exhaustion.

it came from a quiet moment at your apartment, the two of you sitting on opposite ends of the couch, neither touching, neither speaking.

you finally whispered: “jeongin… are you happy?”

he hesitated too long. your heart dropped.

“i love you,” he said, voice small. “i’m just… overwhelmed.”

“why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered. he shrugged helplessly. “i didn’t want you to see how confused i was. how… unprepared.”

you swallowed. “so where does that leave us?” he looked down at his hands, twisting them nervously. “i don’t know.”

you felt tears rising. “maybe we need to take a step back.”

he froze. eyes wide. “…a breakup?” he whispered.

“i don’t want to,” you said. “but i feel like you need space to figure out who you are. and i can’t force you to grow faster than you’re ready to.”

he swallowed hard. “and you think growing without you will help?”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t have to.

he nodded after a long, painful pause. “okay,” he whispered. your vision blurred. “okay.”

it was mutual. it was logical. and it hurt more than anything.

when he left, he kept his face composed.

but the second the door closed behind him, he pressed his forehead to the wood, fighting the sob that clawed up his throat.

the days after the breakup were quiet. too quiet.

jeongin acted fine. to anyone else, he looked like he was handling it maturely. but the people who really knew him could see the truth.

he lost focus during practice, messing up easy steps. he checked his phone constantly, staring at your chat without opening it. he wanted to message you, say something, but he didn’t know what.

at night, he lay awake replaying your voice, your smile, the look in your eyes when you suggested breaking up.

one night, hyunjin found him sitting on the roof, legs pulled to his chest.

“you’re thinking too loud,” hyunjin said softly. jeongin let out a shaky breath. “i messed it up.”

“you didn’t.”

“it feels like i did.”

hyunjin just put a hand on jeongin’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “it's never too late to talk it out.”

but jeongin shook his head. “my life is pure chaos right now.”

hyunjin sighed quietly. but jeongin wasn’t wrong. he wasn’t able to give you the life you deserved. and you deserved someone who was.

until one night everything finally clicked. he was cleaning his room, reorganising his shelves, trying to distract himself, when he came across something of his... of yours. the hoodie you always borrowed. it smelled faintly like your perfume.

he lifted it slowly. held it against his chest. and broke.

he sat down on the edge of the bed, hugging the hoodie, shaking with quiet sobs he’d been holding in since the breakup. “i miss you,” he whispered into the fabric. “i miss you so much.”

that’s when he realised with brutal, undeniable clarity he didn’t want to grow without you. he didn’t want to fix himself alone. you've been with him through every bad time, you didn't deserve to be left alone now.

he wanted what you had, what was still there. he wanted you. all of you. pain included. fear included. the messy parts included. he wanted to learn how to love with you. he wanted to find himself with you by his side.

he grabbed his phone before he could talk himself out of it.

« are you awake? »

you replied instantly.

« yes. do you need something? »

he stared at your message, heart pounding.

then he typed:

« yes. you. i want to see you. please. »

when you opened your door, jeongin stood there looking like a man who had made up his mind.

“hi,” he whispered.

“hi,” you murmured. “come in.”

he stepped inside slowly, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves. you sat together on the couch again, but this time, the silence was thick with unspoken emotion. “what happened?” you asked gently.

he took a shaky breath. “i made a mistake.”

your heart clenched. he turned towards you fully, voice trembling.

“i thought i needed space to figure myself out. but all i did was figure out that i don’t want to do any of it without you.”

he continued, "i’m scared,” he admitted. “i’m scared i’ll disappoint you. i’m scared i’m not mature enough. i’m scared i’m not everything you deserve.”

you reached out. “jeongin–"

“but i’m more scared,” he whispered, “of losing you forever.” your eyes softened painfully.

he swallowed hard. “i love you,” he said, voice cracking. “and maybe life will get in the way from time to time. but that's just how it is. the world i live in demands so much of me, but the only thing i demand of it in return is having you by my side.”

he moved closer. “please,” he whispered. “give me another chance. i’ll do better. i’ll talk more. i’ll let you in. i’ll try even when it’s hard. just… don’t walk this path without me.”

your chest ached with something heartbreakingly hopeful.

you reached out and cupped his cheek. he leaned into your palm instantly, closing his eyes, a soft broken sound leaving his lips.

“jeongin,” you whispered, and he fell into your arms, literally leaned forward until he was wrapped against you, trembling, holding you like a lifeline.

you stroked his hair gently as he breathed you in, the tension melting out of him for the first time in weeks.

“i’m here,” you murmured. “i’m not going anywhere.”he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes shining with relief and love.

“thank you,” he whispered. “i won’t waste this time. i swear.”

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you and seungmin had slipped into each other’s lives so quietly that you couldn’t remember when it stopped feeling new and started feeling natural. it was just… him. and you. orbiting each other like it was the easiest thing in the world.

there were your late-night convenience store runs: you were crouched in front of the snack aisle, debating between two different kinds of crisps, when seungmin nudged your shoulder with his knee.

“you’re not choosing a life partner,” he said, voice amused, “just pick one.”

“this is a life-changing decision,” you argued without looking up. “what if i regret it later?”

“you always regret everything later,” he replied bluntly, but there was a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. you grabbed the chips closest to you and held them up. “fine. these.”

“you’re going to complain about them in ten minutes,” he said, grabbing a second bag and tossing it into your basket. “so let me save myself the trouble.” you turned, staring at him with mock offense. “wow. bold of you to assume i’m that predictable.”

“you are,” he said plainly. “but it’s cute.” you felt your cheeks warm immediately, and he pretended not to notice, though he couldn’t hide the softness in his eyes when he looked away.

or your shared afternoons in cafés: you were tapping your pen against a notebook, trying to focus, when seungmin reached over and gently pushed the pen out of your hand.

“you’re going to make me lose my mind,” he muttered. you blinked. “i thought you said you didn’t get distracted easily.”

“i don’t. except when you’re doing… whatever that was.” he frowned, then added reluctantly, “it was loud.”

“you could’ve asked nicely,” you teased.

“that was nicely.” you laughed and his expression immediately melted, the annoyance fading like it had never existed. he kept looking at you for a second too long, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“what?” you asked.

“nothing,” he said, shaking his head, but his eyes were bright in that way they only were around you. “you just… make weird noises sometimes.”

“is that your way of saying you enjoy my presence?” you leaned your cheek into your hand. he scoffed. “don’t push it.” but he smiled again. though involuntarily. the kind he never gave anyone else.

or when he walked you home in the cold: the wind was sharp enough to sting, and seungmin noticed you tugging your sleeves over your hands. without a word, he slipped his scarf off and wrapped it around your neck. you froze.

“minnie–"

“don’t argue,” he said quickly. “your nose is already turning red. you look like you’re about to cry.” you swatted at him weakly. “i do not.”

“you do,” he insisted. “in a pathetic way.”

“wow. thanks.”

but he was grinning now and he reached out to gently tug one end of the scarf, adjusting it.

“it suits you,” he added softly. your heart fluttered so violently you were glad he wasn’t looking directly at you.

he started walking again, but when you bumped his shoulder with yours lightly, he didn’t move away. he bumped you back, gentler.

“you’re warm,” you murmured.

“you always say that,” he replied.

“well… it’s true."

there were the lazy evenings on your couch: seungmin was sprawled on the other end, long legs brushing yours because your couch wasn’t nearly big enough for him. he didn’t seem to mind. his hand absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your blanket as he scrolled through his phone.

“you could sit properly, you know,” you said.

“this is properly,” he argued.

“you’re taking up the whole couch.”

“you don’t need much space.”

you threw a pillow at him. he caught it easily, a low laugh slipping out before he could stop it.

“you’re mean today,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“me? never. i’m honest.” he glanced at you, eyes softening. “you like that about me.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but he raised a brow like he was daring you. “…fine,” you mumbled.

“thought so.”

his teasing grin faded into something gentle, something he didn’t usually let anyone see. he watched you for a quiet moment, then looked down quickly, pretending to focus on his phone again. but the smile stayed on his face.

and then there were the many, many times his blunt edges softened around you: he teased you, yes. he was blunt, yes. but with you, there was always softness under it. warmth he never bothered hiding anymore.

and whenever he caught himself smiling, he always looked away, ears just the slightest bit pink.

as if you didn’t already know it was because of you.

you replayed it in your mind as you walked, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, breath fogging in the cool air. you were on your way to meet your friend, but all you could think about was how seungmin had said goodbye the night before.

it had been another warm, easy day with him. he had walked you home, as usual. you had teased him about something stupid he had said, he’d rolled his eyes but stayed smiling in that way that made your chest feel stupidly soft.

when you reached your door, he opend his arms.“come here,” he had murmured, the slightest tug of his lips betraying how much he wanted the hug.

you stepped into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. it was normal for him, hugging you like that, but this one… this one felt different. his hands lingered on your back a little too long. his breath brushed your ear. neither of you moved.

when he finally pulled away, his face didn’t go far. suddenly his nose was inches from yours, his lips parting like he had something to say, something he wasn’t supposed to let slip. and then his eyes flicked down. unmistakably. to your mouth. your heart had stuttered violently.

he seemed to catch himself, blinking, clearing his throat before stepping back with forced casualness. “uh… good night,” he’d said, voice quieter than usual. “night,” you’d whispered, too stunned to say anything else.

and now, with the memory still warm in your chest, you almost felt hopeful. foolishly hopeful.

you spotted your friend waiting outside the café, waving enthusiastically when she saw you. you smiled and joined her, trying to steady the nervous flutter in your stomach.

“you look happy,” she said immediately, linking arms with you. “did something happen?” your heart tripped over itself. you hadn’t planned on telling her yet, but the moment she asked, the words just bubbled up.

“okay… don’t laugh,” you said, fiddling with your sleeves. “but i think i like seungmin. actually, i’m pretty sure i’ve liked him for a while.” her face fell so fast it almost stunned you.

“oh,” she said, pressing her lips together sympathetically. “sweetie.” your stomach tightened. “what?” she gave you that soft, pitying look you’d seen her use on people she didn’t respect.

“i just… i don’t know how to say this without sounding mean,” she started, her voice sugary and slow, “but he doesn’t like you like that.”

your breath caught. “what? how– what makes you say that?”

she sighed heavily, like she was tired of carrying this burden for you. “i just… know. he’s talked about it before.” your chest went cold. “he… talked about me?”

“yeah.” she nodded solemnly. “he told me he only sees you as a friend. and that he wishes people wouldn’t read into things. he even said some things about how you can be… clingy? i didn’t want to tell you because it sounded harsh.”

the world pulsed for a moment, sound blurring at the edges.

clingy?

you shut your eyes, inhaling shakily. the memory of him looking at your lips moments before suddenly felt foolish, embarrassing. you had imagined it. you had to have imagined it.

“i’m really sorry,” she added, reaching for your hand dramatically. “i just don’t want you to get hurt.” you nodded weakly, not trusting your voice. something in your chest twisted painfully.

and for the first time in a long while, the warmth you always carried around seungmin flickered.

you got home and collapsed onto your bed without even taking off your jacket. everything felt heavy; your limbs, your chest, your thoughts. her words echoed in your skull like a bruise being pressed over and over again.

he doesn’t like you like that.

he only sees you as a friend.

clingy.

you didn’t know which part hurt the most. maybe that you had allowed yourself to believe, even for a second, that the way he held you last night meant something. you felt stupid. embarrassingly stupid.

when your phone buzzed, you already knew who it was.

seungmin: « how are you? »

your heart clenched so sharply you had to press a hand to your chest.'you couldn’t do it. not with her voice still poisoning your thoughts. you turned your phone face-down and stared at the wall until the screen went dark again.

he messaged you later that evening.

seungmin: « are you free tomorrow? »

you swallowed hard, staring at the notification until your vision blurred. you didn’t answer. your thumb hovered uselessly over the keyboard before you placed the phone down again.

a little while later your phone vibrated again.

seungmin: « or the day after? »

seungmin: « just any day, really. i might miss u a little »

you exhaled shakily, typing before you could overthink it.

you: « sorry i’m busy »

it was all you could manage without breaking, even through text.

he replied immediately, like he’d been waiting with the chat open.

seungmin: « since when are you busy? didn’t know you had any interests other than hanging out with your favourite friend »

normally, that would’ve made you smile. laugh, even. but now the words hit differently. like a hand closing around your ribs.

friend, there it was.

clingy. he said you were clingy.

your breath caught painfully. you locked your phone and tossed it aside like it burned. you didn’t text back.

the next morning, there was a new notification waiting as soon as you woke up.

seungmin: « hey, are you okay? »

you rolled onto your back, blinking up at the ceiling until your eyes stung. why did it hurt so much? why did he get to hurt you this much?

you didn’t answer.

hours passed before your phone lit up again, this time with his name across the screen.

seungmin is calling…

your heart lurched. you stared at it, frozen, until it rang itself out and the silence felt even louder.

a few minutes later:

seungmin: « did i do something? »

followed shortly by:

seungmin: « please talk to me? »

his worry bled through every word. you could almost hear his voice, frustrated in that soft way seungmin only got whe it came to you.

but your friend's words kept replaying, twisting like a knife. you put your phone on silent and curled into yourself. and for the first time since you’d known him, you didn’t want to be seen. by him, least of all.

the last two days turned seungmin restless in a way that scared even him.

you have gone quiet before, busy days, tired evenings, but never like this. never ignoring him. never letting his calls ring out. never giving answers that felt like walls.

by the third morning, he had checked his phone so many times his thumb hurt. every notification made his heart jump only to crash again when it wasn’t you.

he reread your last message more times than he’d admit.

« sorry i’m busy »

it didn’t sound like you. it didn’t feel like you. and the silence after felt even worse.

he ran a hand through his hair, pacing his apartment, the question looping over and over: did i do something? what did i do?

he grabbed his keys without thinking. he couldn’t just wait around, maybe he’d bump into you, maybe he’d get lucky, maybe–

he ended up outside a café he barely even liked. he just needed air. something warm to hold. something to distract him from the tightness in his chest.

when he stepped inside, he saw a mutual friend of yours. her eyes lit up in a way that made something in his stomach twist.

“seungmin!” she chirped, waving him over eagerly. “wow, this is so coincidental–"

he barely forced a polite nod as he approached, already half regretting walking in.

“you look tired,” she added, leaning forward as if waiting for him to ask about her day. “i’ve been so busy lately too, you wou–"

“have you heard from her?” he cut in sharply. her smile faltered. “what?”

“y/n.” even saying your name made his throat tighten. “have you talked to her?”

the annoyance flashed across her face before she smothered it with fake concern. clearly, she wasn’t used to not being the center of attention.

“oh… her.” she sighed dramatically. “yeah, we talked.” he leaned in a little. “and?”

she pursed her lips, hesitation theatrical and deliberate. “well… i think she doesn’t really want to be friends with you anymore.”

seungmin blinked. once. slowly. like the world had glitched around him. “…what?”

“i know,” she said, shaking her head sympathetically, “i told her she should talk to you properly, but she said she didn’t want to see you anymore.”

his heart thudded painfully. “that doesn’t make sense.”

“she said she thinks it’s better to distance herself,” she continued breezily, as if discussing weather. “so i guess that’s that.”

something hot and sharp flared in his chest. was it confusion, hurt, frustration? whatever it was, it all tangled together.

“she wouldn’t just–" he stopped, jaw clenching. “she wouldn’t say that.” the friend tilted her head. “i mean… people change.”

he stared at her, searching her face, trying to reconcile her words with the girl who hugged him like she never wanted to let go. the girl who laughed into his shoulder. the girl who made him feel like being honest wasn’t a curse.

none of it fit.

“i don’t believe you,” he muttered under his breath. her expression twitched for a second. before she recovered, plastering on a bright, sweet smile.

“it’s tough, i know.” she reached out suddenly, fingers brushing his arm in a slow touch. “but hey… if you ever need someone to talk to, we could go out for dinner later. just the two of–" he didn’t even hear the rest.

he stepped back, the contact making his skin crawl. his thoughts were already spiraling, your silence slamming back into him with twice the force.

“i have to go,” he said abruptly.

“oh wait, i wasn’t–" but he was already turning away, jaw tight, fists clenched, breath unsteady.

the moment he stepped out of the café, he walked fast, half running, really, without even realising where his feet were taking him. all he knew was that he needed answers. and suddenly, all that hurt and confusion was hardening into something different.

anger.

he didn’t remember most of the walk. one moment he was standing in that café, heart pounding, ears ringing with words that didn’t make sense; she doesn’t want to be friends anymore; and the next, he was outside, breathing hard, the cold hitting him like a slap.

his steps were fast and uneven, fueled by something rawer than confusion now.

every message you ignored, every call you let ring out, every clipped reply. they flooded back at once, settling wrong in his chest.

you wouldn’t do that.

not without a reason.

not without telling him.

and definitely not because you “didn’t want to see him anymore.”

the more he replayed his friend’s words, the angrier he got. at the situation. at himself. at whoever, or whatever had put this distance between you.

by the time he reached your building, his pulse was thrumming in his ears. he didn’t knock gently. he couldn’t. he rapped on your door, his breathing unsteady.

when you opened it, you looked exactly how he had feared; tired eyes, soft sweater, hair slightly messy like you had spent too long hiding inside your own thoughts.

his chest squeezed. you parted your lips to greet him, but–

“what the fuck?” he blurted. his voice cracked on the last word. your eyes widened, stunned into silence.

he ran a hand through his hair, pacing one step back, then forward, then stopping in front of you again as if unsure whether he wanted to yell, cry, or fall apart.

“seriously, what the fuck?” he repeated, breath shaking. “what did i do? what happened? why have you been ignoring me? why didn’t you just– just say something?”

you swallowed, throat tight, guilt weighing inside your chest like a stone. "seungmin–"

“don’t.” he held up a hand, voice breaking again. “don’t say you’re busy. don’t give me some bullshit excuse. just tell me what’s going on. please.”

you could hear everything in him. hurt buried under frustration, worry disguised as anger, fear threaded through each word.

he took a step closer, eyes glassy with something he refused to let fall. “i don’t understand,” he whispered, shaking his head. “we were fine. everything was fine. i thought–" he stopped, jaw tightening. “i thought we had something. something real.”

your breath hitched. “i hate how much i like you,” he said suddenly, the confession ripped out of him like it hurt, “because now it feels like it doesn’t matter. because you don’t even want to be my friend anymore?"

your chest throbbed. “seungmin, that’s not–"

“no, let me finish.” his voice was louder than usual, trembling at the edges. “i don’t get it. i don’t get what i did wrong. i’ve been going crazy the past few days trying to figure it out. and then i hear from our friend that you don’t want me in your life anymore and–"

“seungmin–"

“and if that’s really how you feel,” he pushed out, breath unsteady, “just say it. tell me to go. tell me to stop trying. tell me i’m an idiot for thinking you liked me. i’ll leave if you want me to. just don’t–" his voice cracked for real this time. “don’t leave me without saying anything. i can’t– i can’t handle that.”

you stood frozen in the doorway, tears already burning at the corners of your eyes, because every word he spoke was breaking you open and stitching the truth together all at once.

when he took another shaky breath to continue, to spiral deeper, to hurt himself more, you snapped.

“damn it, seungmin,” you said, louder than you meant to, voice trembling. “i like you, too.”

the silence that followed was deafening. his mouth fell slightly open, eyes blinking slowly like his brain had short-circuited.

you watched the anger drain from him in seconds, replaced by shock, realisation, something fragile and overwhelmingly hopeful rising in its place.

and for the first time in days, he didn’t try to say anything. he just stared at you. waiting. breathing your words in like they were the only thing holding him up.

his eyebrows drew together first. confusion, disbelief, a tiny flicker of hope he didn’t dare trust.

then his eyes widened just a little, softening at the edges, and you could almost see the moment the pieces fell into place.

the hug that lasted too long. the way you always brightened when he walked into a room. the shy smiles. your warmth. your silence these last days, not because you didn’t care,

but because you cared too much.

his breath hitched, chest visibly rising as everything clicked at once, washing over him so fast he had to steady himself on the doorframe.

“you…” he whispered, voice barely holding together.

“you like me?” the words came out fragile, like he was terrified the universe would yank the truth away if he said it too loudly.

you opened your mouth to answer, but you never got the chance.

a sharp, shaky exhale left his chest and suddenly his hands were on your face. warm palms cradling your cheeks, fingers sliding into your hair as if he had been holding back for years.

and then his mouth met yours hard. it felt desperate and it was breath stealing, his thumb brushing your jaw with trembling urgency. he stepped into you, crowding you back against the door with the heat of him pressed fully against you.

you gasped softly against his lips and that tiny sound made him groan, his fingers curling tighter as he kissed you again, deeper this time, lips sliding against yours with a hunger he didn’t bother hiding.

you clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the tension in his body melt into something fierce and full of longing. he broke the kiss only for a breath, his forehead pressing against yours, panting softly, his lips brushing yours with every exhale.

“i’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes dark and blown wide as he searched your face.

you didn’t have time to reply before he was kissing you again, slower now, but still intense, still full of everything he had been holding back. his hands slid down from your cheeks to your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring himself to you like he couldn’t possibly get enough.

you melted into him, warmth flooding through every nerve, everything finally making sense in the space between your mouths, in the soft scraping of his teeth on your bottom lip, in the way he breathed your name like it was a confession.

and for the first time in days, the ache in your chest disappeared, replaced entirely with him.

you eventually made it to the couch, though it wasn’t really walking. it was more like seungmin refusing to stop kissing you and you stumbling backward until the two of you collapsed onto the cushions in a tangled heap of limbs, breathlessness, and half-whispered laughter. he didn’t let go of you once.

even now, as the intensity simmered into something softer, his hands stayed on you, one warm against your waist, the other hooked around the back of your neck like he feared you would vanish if he loosened his grip.

you leaned against him, legs pressed together, your head resting against his shoulder. your heart was still hammering. you could feel his doing the same beneath your cheek.

for a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing.

then quietly you spoke. “seungmin… we should talk about what happened.”

you felt the way his muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn’t pull away. if anything, he held you closer. "yeah,” he murmured, resting his chin lightly on the top of your head. “we should.”

you swallowed, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. “she told me things. things that… made me think you didn’t want me around anymore. that you didn’t feel the same.”

his hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards him just enough so he could see your expression.

“what did she say?” he asked softly, though there was a sharpness under the words, a growing anger, simmering just out of sight.

you hesitated. but lying would be pointless now. “she said you didn’t like me like that,” you whispered, “and that you told her i was… clingy.”

his face went still. then dark. “i never said that,” he said immediately. “never. not even close.”

your chest tightened. “she said you were annoyed by how much time i wanted to spend with you.”

he scoffed under his breath in disbelief, but also something wounded. “if anything, i thought you were annoyed because i wanted to see you so often.”

your eyes widened. “what?” he let out a breathy laugh, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your forehead. “god, we’re idiots.” you smiled weakly. “yeah. we really are.”

he pulled you closer until you were almost in his lap, one arm circling your waist, the other smoothing through your hair.

“when i ran into her today,” he said, jaw tightening, “she told me you didn’t want to be friends anymore. said you wanted distance.” you sat up a little, brows furrowing. “she said what?”

he nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line. “and then she–" he broke off, almost annoyed he even had to say it, “she tried to ask me out.” your mouth fell open. “you’re kidding.”

“wish i was.” he traced slow circles against your hip, his expression softening despite his irritation. “i ignored her. walked out before she could finish her sentence.” you blinked, stunned. “she lied to both of us.”

“yeah,” he muttered, eyes never leaving yours. “and it almost worked.”

you exhaled shakily, leaning your forehead against his. “i’m sorry. i should’ve talked to you instead of disappearing.”

his hand cradled the back of your head gently. “i’m sorry too. i should’ve confronted you sooner. i just…”

he swallowed, voice going softer. “the thought of you not wanting me anymore... I couldn’t think straight.” you brushed your nose against his, and he let out the tiniest breathy laugh, relief dripping from the sound.

for a long moment, the two of you just sat there, wrapped around each other like you were making up for every second lost.

eventually, you whispered, “for the record… i never wanted to distance myself from you.”

he smiled. “good,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “because i’m not letting you go now.”

your heart flipped at the tenderness in his voice. you leaned in, kissing him softly. he met you halfway, his hands trembling just enough to make you melt all over again.

when you pulled back, he was looking at you with that look. pure affection, mixed with just a hint of mischief.

“so,” you said quietly, brushing your fingers over his chest, “what about her?” he raised a brow. “her?”

"yeah,” you hummed. “she does seem to want you all to herself. and here i am, stealing what's supposed to be hers...”

he shrugged, completely unbothered. “well–" he leaned in and kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then your lips, “sucks for her.”

your laugh broke into his kiss and he smiled against your mouth, pulling you in like he never planned on letting you go again.

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taglist: @inlovewithstraykids @leewayout @alondra6011 @smiileflower @iconicallyher ♡

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you’d been a trainee at jyp for long enough that the building felt more like home than your actual apartment ever had. the studio lights, the echo of music through thin walls, the familiar ache in your muscles, none of it ever bothered you. dancing had always been your anchor, the thing that made sense even when nothing else did. you never cared about being on stage as the main act or hearing crowds chant your name. being a background dancer was more than enough. as long as you were moving, you felt alive.

the only thing that could ruin your day at the studio was a certain someone. lee minho. even thinking his name made your stomach knot.

the incident had happened months ago, but your body still remembered the burn of humiliation like it was yesterday. you’d been practicing with a few of the stray kids members. a huge opportunity, one that made your pulse race with equal parts excitement and terror. your nerves got the best of you; you miscalculated a turn, stepped back too quickly, and slammed right into minho’s chest.

he recoiled instantly, eyes so sharp they could cut without lifting a finger. “watch your step,” he’d snapped.

it wasn’t even the words. it was the tone, the annoyance in it. like you’d committed an unforgivable sin by existing in the wrong square foot of space.

you’d stammered out an apology and practically sprinted away the moment the practice ended. from that day on, you avoided him like it was your second job. you switched practice rooms if you heard his voice echoing down the hallway, ducked behind corners, even pretended to take calls just to slip past him unnoticed.

minho was too good. too controlled, too intimidating, too aware of every movement around him. being near him made you hyper-aware of every flaw in your own dancing, like his eyes could strip you down to the bare bones of your technique and find everything lacking.

unfortunately, fate had a twisted sense of humor.

you found that out the morning the choreographer called you aside, eyes bright with the kind of news that was great for her and terrible for you.

“you’re assigned as a background dancer for stray kids’ upcoming comeback,” she said. you felt the world tilt. of all the groups...

you swallowed hard, nodded politely, and forced out a “sounds amazing,” even though absolutely nothing about this sounded good. because now you were forced to be around him.

you weren’t ready. but ready or not, minho was now unavoidable. and the studio suddenly felt a lot smaller.

the first practice session arrived far too quickly. you tried to convince yourself it was just another day, just another routine, just another instructor, but the moment you stepped into the room, that illusion shattered. minho was already there.

he stood in front of the massive mirror, arms crossed over his chest, posture straight, expression unreadable. the studio lights reflected off the glass, highlighting the sharp lines of his face as his eyes flicked between the dancers shuffling nervously inside. you slipped into the back, hoping his focus wouldn’t land on you.

maybe he forgot, you told yourself. maybe the bump, the snap, the embarrassment, maybe it all vanished from his mind the second practice ended that day. it had been months. you had avoided him with the skill of a seasoned spy. surely, hopefully, he wouldn’t remember you. but luck had never been your close friend.

when everyone finally settled, minho cleared his throat, the room instantly falling silent. there was something about his presence that demanded attention without raising his voice.

“i’ll keep this simple,” he said, gaze sweeping across the group. “there’s no room for errors. if you don’t meet the standard, you’re out. easy as that.”

a few dancers shifted uncomfortably. you swallowed.

“this is an important comeback,” he continued, tone steady. “so you better make sure to calculate your steps correctly.” his eyes locked onto you at the exact moment he said it. your breath hitched.

his eyebrow arched ever so slightly, a knowing glint in his gaze. the smallest hint of a smirk tugged at his mouth, not wide enough for anyone else to notice, but unmistakable to you. unmistakably intentional.

heat flooded your face so fast you hoped the mirrors didn’t expose it too clearly. you forced yourself to stare at the floor, or anywhere else that wasn’t him, but his eyes lingered on you a second too long. long enough to confirm one horrible, undeniable truth.

he remembered. and worse, he found it amusing.

finally, he turned away, walking over to the speaker system. he plugged in his phone with practiced ease, scrolling through files until he found the new tracks for the comeback.

the room was silent except for your heartbeat, pounding in your ears like you had just run laps.

as the music filled the studio, he didn’t look at you again. but you already felt marked. noticed. and you hated how your stomach twisted at the idea that he might do it again.

the first training session went… unexpectedly well. surprisingly well.

you slipped into the choreography like you had been born for it. the steps came naturally, muscle memory stitching everything together with ease. you remembered almost the entire routine after only a few run-throughs, your body flowing through transitions smoother than you had expected, than you had dared to hope.

every time you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, you also caught his reflection. minho’s eyes flicked towards you more times than you could count.

at first, it made your stomach tighten, breath catching in your throat. but as the session continued and you realised you actually were keeping up, maybe even standing out, you straightened up. rolled your shoulders back. met your own gaze in the mirror with a steadier expression.

just because he was good didn’t mean you weren’t too. and it definitely didn’t mean he got to have power over you. piece by piece, step by step, confidence settled into your bones.

minho’s critiques filled the room, sharp and clean like the beat of the music.

“lower your center.”

“watch the timing.”

“sharper arms.”

but none of it was aimed at you. not once. some of the other dancers were annoyed by his constant criticism bur you started to see what was behind his seemingly cold demeanour: perfectionism. he wanted you to be able to master this choreography flawlessly.

when practice ended, everyone scattered. some collapsing dramatically on the floor, some stretching, some rushing for their bags. you reach for your towel and water bottle, ready to sink to the floor and breath for a second, when you felt a presence behind you.

you turned and nearly launched yourself backwards. minho stood way too close for comfort, hands on his hips, head tilted slightly as if he had been observing you for longer than necessary.

“i must admit,” he said, voice unreadable, “when i heard you were joining us, i didn’t have high hopes. thought we'd have to kick you out after the first session."

you blinked, your eyebrows shooting together. seriously?

you were exhausted, drenched in sweat, your body begging for rest, and maybe that’s why your filter malfunctioned. maybe that’s why your mouth moved faster than your brain.

“just because i made a teeny tiny mistake months ago doesn’t mean i’m not a good dancer, minho,” you snapped. “so if you’re judging my entire skill set based on one miscalculated step, i don’t know what to tell you. i’m sorry i don’t meet your standards, oh mighty dance god who’s never made a mistake in his life.” the room seemed to pause.

minho’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening just a touch, clearly not expecting that level of sarcasm from the person he once scolded into silence.

a beat passed. then another.

“i was about to say you proved me wrong today,” he said slowly, his expression shifting into something annoyingly smug, “but it’s nice to know you think of me as some sort of god.”

he winked. winked. you let out the most ungracious snort imaginable. he turned, already walking away, the echo of your snort bouncing off the studio walls.

“see you tomorrow,” he called, not once looking back. your heart thudded harder than it should have. and you hated that. or at least... you pretended you did.

over the next few weeks, something between you shifted. a quiet rearranging of the space between you. you were no longer intimidated by him. or more accurately: you no longer let him intimidate you.

he was human, after all. and so were you. and humans made mistakes. even lee minho, despite what he liked to pretend.

so every time he walked around the studio, hands behind his back or arms crossed like some kind of strict general, watching each dancer with hawk-like precision, you refused to shrink under his gaze. he could stare all he wanted. you were done playing the nervous trainee who flinched every time he breathed in your direction.

he noticed. every time you did your hundredth run-through of the routine, he eventually drifted towards you. stopped right in front of you. eyes intense, posture stiff, studying every angle of your movement.

you could always feel him coming before you saw him in the mirror, like the air shifted, thickened. but you didn’t let him catch you off guard anymore. you nailed your steps, refusing to give him anything to nitpick.

so he tried anyway. “your footing is off,” he’d say suddenly, voice low but cutting. without missing a beat, you’d mutter back, “your face is off.” he blinked. once. then moved on.

the first time, a few trainees nearby nearly choked trying not to laugh. minho didn’t say a word, but his ears turned just a bit pink as he walked away. you decided that was a victory.

another day, he paused behind you, watching as you executed a complicated sequence. when you finished the last turn, you heard him click his tongue. “you lost balance.”

you lifted a brow, still catching your breath. “sorry, you blinked too loudly.” his lips twitched. barely. but it was there.

later that week, during a break, you were stretching when he stopped beside you, arms crossed. “your arm angle was inconsistent today.”

you didn’t even look up. “your personality is inconsistent.”

felix, who was drinking water nearby, walked away very quickly to hide the smile threatening to take over his face.

minho scoffed as if he couldn’t figure out when exactly you stopped being timid and started being… whatever this was.

sometimes he tried catching you with sudden corrections, stepping in close and tilting your chin a little to fix your line. once, he moved your hand to demonstrate the angle.

“you need to hold it like this–"

“stop flirting with me,” you muttered. he froze.

you didn’t look at him, you didn’t dare. you just continued. but you caught his reflection in the mirror, how his eyes widened, his mouth parted in surprise.

“i’m not–" he started.

“good,” you cut in. “you’re bad at it.”

the silence that followed was priceless. he walked off without another word.

but the next day, he stood next to you again, correcting the same move, his hand hovering a little too close to your waist.

“better,” he said quietly.

you didn’t know if he meant your dancing or your ability to test his patience. maybe both.

by the end of the month, the banter had become routine. predictable. and... strangely comfortable. you’d dance, he’d critique, you’d snap back, he’d pretend not to be amused.

you trued to convince yourself it was harmless. but you felt the growing tension. and you couldn’t deny the way your heart reacted every time he stopped beside you, every time his eyes found you in the mirror, every time he held back a smile he didn’t want you to see.

something was changing. you weren’t sure what yet. but you felt it all the same.

one day, you had to drag yourself into the studio feeling like a ghost wearing your skin. your grandmother had been hospitalised the day before, forcing you to miss a training session.

you hadn’t slept. not really. you just… existed.

you slipped into the back row, hoping the mirrors and the shadows would swallow you whole. you didn’t want to be seen. you didn’t want anyone to look at you too closely and notice how frayed you were.

but minho saw everything. as always.

and when your foot faltered, just once, barely noticeable to anyone else, he noticed. oh, he noticed. you saw the tiny, satisfied curl of his lips as he started making his way towards you, arms already crossing, shoulders straightening with anticipation. he’d been waiting weeks to catch you slipping. and, though he'd never admit it, he was looking forward to whatever sarcastic comeback you would throw at him today.

you banter had become a routine he’d never admit he enjoyed. but his eyes sharpened whenever you opened your mouth, the way he lingered near you after small corrections, the way he pretended not to listen for your voice.

but today was not the day. before he could even inhale to speak, you muttered through gritted teeth, “don’t, minho.”

he froze mid-step. annoyance flickered across his face as he planted himself in front of you, arms tightening across his chest. “missing practice yesterday, now you’re messing u–"

something inside you snapped. you broke choreography entirely, stepping towards him, your voice low and thin from exhaustion as you cut him off. “i know what step i did wrong. i don’t need you to point it out.”

he stepped forward too, close enough that your breath hitched from the heat radiating off him. “it’s my job to corre–"

“apparently it’s your job to be a pain in the ass,” you shot back, grabbing your towel and bottle with shaking hands.

you didn’t look at his face. didn’t want to. you just headed for the door, desperate to get away before everything inside you spilled out onto the floor.

but he followed. just as you stepped through the doorway, his hand wrapped around your arm in a frustrated attempt. "get yourself together if you want to stay in.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip so forcefully it stung. you turned around, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes burning. “just for once,” you whispered, voice cracking, “leave me the fuck alone, minho.”

his expression shifted, the slightest flicker of something uncertain, but you didn’t give him time to respond. you turned and stormed down the hallway.

you heard him snap behind you, louder than necessary, “don’t bother coming back.”

the words sliced through your chest like glass. but you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

you were already halfway down the corridor, tears falling freely now, your vision blurring as you burst through the exit doors and into the cool air outside.

back in the studio doorway, minho stood frozen, breathing hard, eyes locked on the spot where you’d disappeared.

han approached quietly, watching him with concern.“don’t you think you were a little rough?” han asked.

minho didn’t answer immediately. he just clenched his jaw. “we need dancers we can rely on,” he finally muttered, his voice harsher than he felt. “not whatever the fuck that was.”

“everyone has a bad day every now and then, hyung,” han said gently.

minho scoffed defensively, shaking his head. but he didn’t say anything else. because the truth hit him so fast it stole the breath from his lungs.

he wasn’t annoyed because you messed up. he wasn’t pissed because you talked back. he wasn’t even angry because you snapped at him.

he was angry because you were clearly hurting. and you hadn’t told him why.

his brows furrowed as he leaned against the doorframe, staring at the empty hallway like it held answers he didn’t want to confront.

why did he care?

why did his chest feel tight?

why did he have a sudden, terrible urge to run after you and ask what was wrong?

why did regret pool in his stomach like something sour?

he rubbed the back of his neck, frustration clawing at him. he wasn’t supposed to feel anything. you were just a dancer. an annoying one at that. you were just someone he argued with for sport. so why did watching you walk away feel like he’d messed up something important?

minho closed his eyes, trying to shove the thoughts away, but they clung to him stubbornly.

because the worst part wasn’t that he cared. the worst part was that he cared before he even realised he did.

you returned to the studio late that night, long after everyone else had gone home. sleep wouldn’t come. every time you closed your eyes, you heard his voice again, the coldness in it.

don’t bother coming back.

your stomach twisted at the memory. anger at yourself. disappointment in yourself. fear that he actually meant it. fear that you’d ruined everything because you couldn’t hold yourself together for one stupid moment.

you stepped into an empty practice room, not bothering with the harsh overhead lights. instead, you switched on the small lamp in the back corner. it cast the studio in a faint golden glow. half dark, half warm, a place for ghosts and regrets.

you set your bag down quietly, as if someone could hear even though the entire floor was silent. then you pressed play.

'do it' filled the space, pulsing through your bones. you went through the choreography again and again, pushing your body until it burned. each move grew sharper, cleaner, and more accurate. you repeated sequences until your lungs screamed for breath.

but nothing helped. the ache in your chest stayed. so you changed the song. something slower and softer. something without structure. something that let you move without thinking. your body sank into the music like it was the only place you could breathe.

you didn’t know minho was still in the building. he hadn’t left since the afternoon. he’d pretended to practice, but couldn’t focus on a single step. he kept glancing towards the hallway, towards the entrance, towards nothing, hoping for something he couldn’t admit he wanted.

so when he heard 'do it' echo down the corridor, his heart stuttered. his feet carried him to the source before his mind caught up. and then he saw you.

through the crack of the studio door, standing alone under warm light, pushing yourself past exhaustion, past emotion, past reason.

his chest tightened. he hadn’t expected you to come back today. and now that you had… he realised something with startling clarity. he didn’t want to lose you as a dancer. he didn’t want to lose you, period.

he was still deciding how to approach you, how to apologise without sounding like an idiot, when the music shifted. softer. vulnerable. and then you started dancing ...differently.

not the sharp, precise choreography he drilled you through every day, but something else entirely. it was fluid, packed with emotion, and absolutely raw. every movement exposed something you’d hidden beneath banter and sarcasm and stubbornness.

and it affected him harder than any argument ever had.

his breath caught in his throat as he watched you move. something in the way your body bent, the way your arms carved into the dim light, the way your expression softened, it pulled at him, dragged him forward.

he didn’t even realise he stepped into the room until his shadow joined yours in the mirror. you saw him in the reflection. but you didn’t flinch. you didn’t stop.

you just… let him be there.

minho approached slowly, as if afraid you might shatter if he moved too fast. he mirrored your steps at first, keeping a respectful distance. studying the lines of your movements, the rhythm of your breath, the pain you tried to bury inside the dance.

gently, he moved closer. his hand brushed your waist, just the lightest touch, as though asking permission. you didn’t pull away.

so he slid his arm around your waist, guiding you back against him. the movement was so careful, so unlike the usual minho everyone saw, that it almost broke you.

with the next step, he turned you around, your bodies close but not touching, only the soft pull of the music weaving between you. his fingers traced up your arms deliberately, following the path of the choreography he created on the spot. his touch wasn’t corrective, not instructive.

it was gentle. his eyes were locked on yours, searching, trying to understand what had hurt you enough to break today.

a tear slipped down your cheek. minho inhaled sharply, like the sight physically pained him. without thinking, he reached up and wiped it away with his thumb, his touch feather-light. he didn’t speak. he just held your gaze, the softness in his eyes almost unbearable.

you kept dancing together, breathing each other in with every slow step. right now, minho didn’t feel like a storm. he felt like a crack in his own armour. and it scared him more than he knew how to handle.

his hands stayed on you throughout the entire dance. even when it was just the light brush of his fingertips, he never once broke contact. your bodies moved in sync, every step melting into the next, breaths aligning, hearts pounding in matching rhythms you tried desperately to ignore.

when the song finally faded out, you ended in silence, him standing behind you, his chest rising and falling against your back with each heavy breath he took. his head dipped forward, his warm, shaky breath ghosting over your shoulder. his fingertips still traced up and down your bare arms, sending shivers across your skin.

he moved them higher, his arms slid around your neck, holding you, guiding, pulling you back against him like you were something he didn’t want slipping away again.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse, close enough that the air trembled against your ear.

you looked at him through the mirror, your eyes meeting his reflection. “no. i am,” you murmured. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

he didn’t lift his head. he stayed right there, his forehead almost brushing your neck but still keeping a respectful sliver of distance.

“i’ve been too tough on you,” he breathed. “i didn’t mean what i said. i shouldn’t have tried to provoke you just because i missed your witty remarks yesterday. …missed you.” your heart thudded painfully.

your hands slowly lifted to touch his arms, still draped around you. the moment your fingers made contact, his muscles tensed beneath your touch. he inhaled sharply, leaning closer, as if he’d been waiting, aching, for that small gesture.

“you’re a wonderful dancer,” he murmured. “please come back to practice tomorrow.” his eyes finally lifted, meeting yours in the mirror. and right now, in that light, he looked vulnerable. entirely unshielded.

there was a tired, warm curve of your lips. “only if i get the rude minho back. this soft version is scary. and honestly? more intimidating than the mean side of you.”

minho let out a quiet laugh, and you felt the vibration in his chest pressed against your back. he loosened his arms, stepping away slowly, reluctantly. “just admit you secretly like me,” he smirked, “despite my sarcastic tone.”

you turned to grab your water bottle, grinning. “maybe your sarcastic tone is the one thing i do like about you.”

minho gasped dramatically. “there are plenty more things to like about me!”

“oh yeah, like you getting on my last nerve every day?”

“i think you’re mixing something up here… i’m certain it’s the other way around.”

you laughed softly, stuffing your things back into your bag. the sound echoed in the dim studio. and something in minho stilled. the smugness on his face cracked, gone completely.

you didn’t notice at first. you just slung your bag over your shoulder and headed towards the door.“see you tomorrow, meanho,” you said softly.

you’d barely taken two steps into the hallway when you heard it: your name. quiet. almost like he wasn’t sure he should say it.

“mh?” you turned your head slightly.

his footsteps were fast, too fast for you to register what was happening. in a blur, his hand slipped around your waist,turning you around. the other hand rose to your face, cupping your cheek with a desperate, possessive kind of gentleness.

you gasped, stumbling a step backward, the wall behind you catching your weight. your bag slid off your shoulder, thudding to the floor.

you had barely a second to inhale before his lips crashed into yours.

the kiss was ...raw, fierce even. like everything he’d held back for weeks finally broke free. he kissed you like he had to make up for every moment he’d wasted pushing you away.

your shock softened quickly, melting under the heat of his mouth. your hands grasped at his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking, your body reacting faster than your mind could catch up.

he pressed you harder into the wall, one hand gripping your waist, the other still cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek like he needed to feel you under his fingertips. you kissed him back, still overwhelmed.

his lips moved against yours with a kind of urgency you’d never imagined he possessed. he breathed your name into the kiss, swallowed your soft gasp, tilted your head gently to deepen it. your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him closer, and he groaned. a low, broken sound that went right through you.

you felt him completely lose himself in the moment, felt the crack in his armour widen, felt him crumble against you, felt every suppressed emotion bleed into the kiss.

he pressed harder against you as he kissed you slower, his breath mixing with yours, his hands trembling ever so slightly as they explored the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, the warmth of your skin.

when he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard. his fingers brushed your cheek again, tender now, reverent even. “don’t leave,” he whispered, barely audible.

and for once, neither of you had anything witty to say.

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It started off by accident. Felix was meant to be out all night with the team from Louis Vuitton, a nice dinner and drinks after. “Don’t wait up,” he had called before walking out of the apartment earlier in the day. So taking the rare advantage it was to not have his roommate in the apartment for at least several more hours, he was spread out on the couch with you straddling his lap in just his t-shirt and tiny lace panties.

His lips were pressed hard against yours, mouth moving hungrily against each other as contradictory hands gently pulled your shirt up over your ass, causing you to shiver slightly at the cool air hitting it. You couldn't help but let out a moan into his mouth as he gripped your ass firmly, before he lifted his right hand, smacking it down roughly on your exposed cheek.

He continued to rain his hands down on you, knowing how much you loved seeing the reddening outline of his handprints on your ass. His lips trailing down your throat, sucking dark hickies into the sensitive spot under your ear, and the junction of your neck and your shoulder, making sure everyone who sees you will know you're his.

You were both too distracted, Seungmin’s spanks too loud, your moans too raw, to hear the front door of the apartment open. It wasn't until you saw a shadow move out of the corner of your eye as you ground down onto your boyfriends hard cock underneath you, his lips impatiently trying to suck yet another mark onto your neck, that you looked up to see a very tipsy Felix frozen in place in the doorway of your shared living room. He stood motionless, mouth open, willing his eyes to not wander down to where your, now very still, hips met.

You let out an involuntary squeal, ducking your head into Seungmin’s neck as you tried to get the words out that you were no longer alone. Very confused at your sudden reaction, he follows where your gaze once was, finding Felix in the same position as you had seen him in.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he all but shouts at his roommate as he scrambles to try and find a blanket to cover you up with. But Felix only holds his hands up in surrender and mutters a quick apology before making his way to his room.

As soon as he is out of sight Seungmin lets out a frustrated sigh as your forehead falls to his. Trying to chase the soft kiss before you get up, wishing otherwise but knowing the moment had been ruined.

That time he knew it was an accident, but as it started happening more and more frequently, he began to wonder if maybe it wasn't accidental anymore.

The second time it happened, you were coming back home from a date night. Your very generous boyfriend wining and dining you at a fancy restaurant in the heart of the city before taking you back to an apartment that he promised was empty, Felix was at Hyunjin and Changbin’s dorm, he triple checked his roommate’s plans before he left for your date.

He pushed open the front door, allowing you to walk in first, not being able to help but spank your ass as you walked past him. The door had barely clicked closed before he had you pushed up against the adjoining wall, his lips pressing against yours immediately. One hand holding your hip firmly as the other snaked its way up into your hair at the back of your neck, gently pulling your head to the side so he could press kisses over your collar bones. His knee knocked yours apart slightly, pressing his firm thigh against your core, a smirk making its way to his face as you let out a quiet whimper of his name, his hand pushing your hips down onto it just to tease you further.

Your heated makeout session is interrupted with an amused “Ahem.” Causing your heads to snap towards the noise, finding Felix and Hyunjin sitting on the couch, heads popping over the back with smirks on their faces.

“Why are you here?” your boyfriend asked incredulously, trying to hide your flushed body behind his, “You were meant to be at their dorm.”

“Change of plans,” Felix shrugged back at him, not offering any additional information.

“This is a much better show than the one we were planning on watching anyway,” continued a very smug Hyunjin, eyes roaming the two of you.

Sometimes there were moments that his roommate caught you both without you even realising it.

In contrast to a lot of girlfriends to gamer boys, you loved seeing Seungmin sit back and relax while he plays games with his friends. He so rarely had the time to be a normal person with all of his schedules, that you couldn't help but admire how breathtaking he was even when he was bare faced doing something as mundane as playing video games. 

You gazed at how beautiful he was so much while he was gaming that you had developed a habit of ‘helping him out’ while he was sitting in his desk chair. A habit of you being on your knees underneath his desk, his legs parted to allow you more room to take his cock into your mouth. You loved being able to suck him off while he was playing, loved hearing him try and keep his moans to himself, loved feeling him twitch in your mouth as your hand came down to play with his balls. 

You especially love it when he loses a match. You hear his groan of frustration before the clicks of trying to find another match before he pushes at the back of your head, fucking your mouth until the next match is found. Letting your head go and allowing you to suck him off the way you want again.

Which is what had happened this time. You heard his frustrated sigh of losing his game again, hearing the mumbled words of agreement at changing games for an hour or so before they try again, before hearing the click on his headset of his microphone being muted.

His hands make their way to the back of your head, pressing you down harshly until you're choking around his cock, a satisfied groan leaving his lips as he lets you up for air.

“God I love your mouth,” he moans out, pushing you down again, his hips twitching up involuntarily when he hits the back of your throat, “So good for me.” 

You knew this wasnt a quick ‘just need to feel better before my next match’ session when his hands gathered your hair up into an impromptu pony tail and he began to fuck your face with a vigor of a man who wanted nothing but to come down your throat.

However, he was so focused on your lips wrapped around him rather than the conversation that was happening in his headset, one where they were asking Seungmin if he wanted to join in with their new game, that he didn’t hear them asking Felix to go and ask in person since he wasn't answering their calls into his ears.

You both missed the short knock at your bedroom door, the call of Seungmin’s name and then your own, and finally missed the squeak of the hinges opening as the door was pushed by a hesitant hand.

Felix had never been so quick to close a door again in his life, having been greeted by gagging noises, his roommate’s low moans, and muttering that sounded a lot like, “You’re such a good slut for me, letting me use your mouth.”

Making his way back to his computer he clicks on to the new game before updating his friends, “Yeah he’s a little busy right now, maybe the next one?”

And sometimes there were moments that his members caught you without them even knowing. 

You were having a cosy date night at home, watching a movie just the two of you for the first time in a while. You had your back on the soft pillows up against the arm of the couch, your legs and a blanket thrown over Seungmin’s.

Despite the original plans for this night being just a movie and cuddles, you couldn't help but let out a moan when your boyfriend's teasing hand on your thigh moves confidently and stops over your warm cunt. And who were you to stop him when your sleep shorts got pushed away, his fingers pressing lazy circles to your clit over your panties, shushing your moans and telling you to be quiet because this was a good part of the movie that he was still pretending to watch.

And you definitely weren't going to complain as he finally presses a deep kiss to your lips to drown out your whimpers as he pushed your panties to the side and you felt two of his long fingers sinking into your soaking cunt.

It doesn't take you long at all to feel the heat in your stomach begin to climb to its peak. His very practiced fingers fucking into you at a pace he knows you love, his thumb flitting over your clit quickly, he can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, your breath getting shakier, and your legs beginning to tense up. All clear indicators of what is about to happen.

He leans down to your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise on your arms as he begins to whisper, “Come for me baby, come around daddy’s fin-” before he’s cut off with the front door opening and loud laughter coming from the open plan hallway. He barely has time to think before he’s pulling the blanket tighter around you, looking up to greet Felix and Jeongin, pretending like his fingers aren't still deep inside of you.

Being as oblivious as ever, Jeongin’s eyes met the TV in front of you, his face lighting up, “Oh! I love this movie,” and throws himself down on the matching couch opposite the one you and Seungmin were on, while Felix was pottering about in the kitchen.

When he knew Jeongin’s attention was fully engrossed in the movie, he could properly pay his attention back to you. Back to your walls fluttering around his fingers.

“Careful angel, you don't want to give it away, do you?” he smirked down at your flushed face. “Maybe you do want them to know?” he continued teasingly, his last whisper full of insolence as his fingers slid deeper into you, “Maybe you want daddy to fuck you infront of his friends?”

You had to muffle your whimper into his shoulder as you rode out your orgasm over his barely moving fingers, biting his shoulder when he says, “Such a dirty girl.”

Despite his smug words, he spent the last 20 minutes of the movie willing his rock hard cock go down even a little so that he could get up to bring you to his room to fuck you with his hand over your mouth.

And then there were the times where you didn't even know you'd been caught until it was too late to stop the teasing.

Seungmin had planned a romantic home date, homemade dinner, soft music, twirling you in the kitchen as he waited for the food to be done. You hadn't been able to spend proper time together in a few weeks, his schedules and your work not being compatible, passing like two ships in the night. Felix was out, he knew you were planning a date tonight, and he had plans to go to the gym with Minho and Jisung anyway.

So when your soft romantic date night turned into dinner being half eaten, clothes being thrown off while you tumbled into your boyfriends room, you landing ass up with your face pressed to the pillows, you didn't think twice to be as loud as you wanted because you were alone.

Seungmin hadn’t fucked you like this in weeks, and you were beginning to get a little desperate. You couldn't help but push back to meet his rolling thrusts, moaning at how deep he finally felt. Your boyfriend smirked at your actions, smacking your ass as it met his hips, loving the way it made you clamp down on his cock. Moaning out about how good you were for him, how well you were taking his cock, how your tight little hole was made for him.

His thrusts began to speed up, getting harsher, your whimpers turning into borderline pornographic moans as his hand meets your ass again.

“Come for me angel, come on my cock, baby, please,” he whined out, not realising how much he had missed you until he had you laid out in front of him.

You clenched down on him one last time, sending you both into the throws of release, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside your dripping cunt.

After a brief moment of coming back to your souls, you threw his shirt over your frame, him pulling sweats on, agreeing to meet back on the couch, you with water from the fridge, him with your left overs from the table.

However, when you walk into the living room to meet Seungmin, you expect to see him lounging trying to decide what to watch, instead you see him frozen near the doorway.

“Minnie?” you questioned, moving to stand beside him in the doorway, freezing beside him when you saw what was on the couch.

Three smirking boys, Jisung beginning to slow clap.

“God damn,” Felix started.

“Wow, Minnie, didn't know you had it in you,” teased Minho.

“Phenomenal finish,” laughed Jisung.

Your face flushed hard, and you ducked behind him, pressing your face into his back.

“Man fuck you guys,” your boyfriend spat out at his members, turning you both quickly to go back to his room, closing the door not before hearing Jisung call out, “Seems like youre sorted on that front already dude!”

The most recent time that it happened was when you were certain no one was meant to be home. The boys had planned a movie night at Chan and Jeongin’s apartment, you feigning slight sickness and just wanting to stay home, accompanied by your doting boyfriend.

Your ever doting boyfriend that currently had you on top of the kitchen counter, panties in his back pocket, lips wrapped around your throbbing clit. His mouth moved down to lap at your growing wetness, moaning into you at how good you tasted. 

Luckily, this time you did hear the dings of the keypad at the front door, having just enough time to pull your ravenous boyfriend off you before you were met with all seven smiling happy faces of his group.

“What happened to movie night?” you asked, subtly pulling down the edge of your skirt, looking over to see Seungmin with his back to you all, looking in the fridge. Hiding his hard cock and stealthily trying to wipe you off his face.

“We thought since you didn't want to go out, we would bring movie night to you! Also the set up here is just nicer, even if you still didn't feel up to watching anything.” Felix explained, his bright smile adorning his face.

You appreciated his thoughtfulness, but again bailed on movie night to ‘lie down in the dark’ for a while, Seungmin joining you to make sure you were okay.

Seungmin lay on his back, you straddling his waist as you kissed down his neck.

“You need to ask your managers for your own apartment, we can afford it, I can't keep doing this,” you whisper to him, not wanting the boys to hear your conversation.

“I don't know if I could convince them. It took a lot of grovelling just to get us into dorms of two,” he explained, his voice getting airier as you sucked gently on his neck, not leaving a mark, just enough for him to feel the light throb as you move away.

“But I want to be able to kiss you in the living room,” you begin, pressing a kiss to his waiting lips, “I want to be able to walk around the house in only your shirt and no panties,” you continue, grinding your bare cunt over his still clothed erection. “I want to be able to wait at the door on my knees to suck you off after you have a long day,” you added, smirking into his neck as he let out a whine at the thought.

You moved your lips up his neck, your breath hitting his ear as you continued to try to convince him, “I need you to fuck me in every room, I need you to bend me over no matter where we are or what we’re doing.” Nipping at his earlobe before letting out a squeal as he flips you around so you're under him, legs hiked up on his hips.

Being friends with Bangchan was as easy as breathing air, and it helped that there were added…benefits. It was goddamn amazing. Friends for years, but messing around, for only a couple of months. New territory, yet you knew each other’s sweet spots and weaknesses like you’ve been doing it for years.

You both agreed not to catch feelings. Blah blah, those whole nine yards of wishful thinking and empty promises. What a failure that was once your lips met that very first time. 

With all the precautions set in place, one thing you both didn’t explicitly discuss was if you’d be mutually exclusive to each other. You guys had not gone over the scenario in which if someone were to be romantically seeing someone else, even potentially, you’d both stop fucking with the other to avoid hurting any party involved. 

You both didn’t want to ruin the amazing friendship you shared with bitter feelings or jealousy. But the two of you were genuinely good people, so maybe it was a given that it wouldn’t happen. That it was a rule that didn’t need to be spoken about. Yet…it should have. Or at least that’s what Bangchan believed. It should have been explicit.

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Bangchan has been successfully avoiding you for nearly a week now. Coming up with excuses about work and what not (which at first you believed, he was a busy man with a successful career after all). 

Until you notice him flat out brushing you off, even going so far as to stop sharing his phone’s location with you. You tried to check in with the other group members, but they reassured you he was fine. Maybe he needed some space or was just feeling pressure from all the upcoming deadlines.

Well fuck that, you knew what you were getting yourself into being friends with him. You knew exactly what his life was like, you couldn’t be his priority all the time. Plus, shit, YOU were under pressure. Maybe it was because you were ovulating, or maybe it was actual concern for your best friend. But you were feeling pretty pissed yourself. It was frustrating as hell. Bangchan was all about emphasizing the importance of communication and respect. Yet here he was, acting like a child. A manic voice was whispering into your ear. 

You shake your head in guilt, what the hell were you even thinking. You need to check up on Bangchan, this isn’t like him. You were genuinely worried. What if you did something wrong and with each passing day it would only get worse? Up to a point it would be awkwardly unrepairable? Every time you thought about it, you drew blanks, you couldn’t come up with a reason why Bangchan would be upset with you. To be giving you this cold shoulder. Whatever it was, you had to make it up to him. Your heart ached getting a glimpse of life without Channie.  

And poof! That angel on your shoulder was knocked off. In came that little devil full throttle, climbing up with a vengeance.

No, follow that damn the golden rule. Treat people the way you want to be treated. If Bangchan wants you to suffer like this, then let yourself mirror it back to him -- The fuck! And...oh god...plus you really…truly needed to cum. Ever since you both started fooling around with each other, making yourself orgasm didn’t hit the same anymore. What a shame that was. What a god. damn. shame. You got the taste of the sweet sweet life and spoiled yourself rotten. 

Suddenly, that angel came back up, just barely. Shame? It is heavenly. It was fucking amazing! The angel and the devil dap each other up in agreement. 

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You roll your eyes and with a sigh, you refresh your contact file for Bangchan. The small map under his photo was blurred with the words: Location Not Available. In hard bold letters underneath. 

You close the app, and refresh his contact. Nothing changed. 

You go to your messages with him, and send him a quick, “heyyy twin!” They showed as delivered, with a blue hue. At the least, you thought. So that means he hasn’t blocked you, just stopped sharing his location. 

He hasn’t opened the last previous - 15? Nope. 23. Messages you sent, wishing him a good day. Or asking if he was free to talk. Or if he wanted to meet for coffee. Or even go to the gym together and hash it out on the weights. 

You felt your fingers almost get possessed to type out something snarky, something along the lines of asking him to stop being a prick and work on his own communication skills.

“This is so stupid.” You groan aloud, tossing your phone beside you. You zone out while staring at one of your plants in the corner of your room. Watching it grow. Watching it slowly turn its leaves closer to the direction of the drowning sunlight. Trying to soak up what it could before the day ended. That’s when you quickly sit up straight, grabbing your phone so fast you almost hit your face. “I’m so stupid!” 

Your heartrate takes a sudden spike, you totally forgot you have the location of his wallet, he has an off brand tracker on it, so it wouldn’t have been linked to his phone! How could you forget that!? Given how many times he’s lost the damn thing. He shared it with you just in case it ever went missing and he didn’t have his phone on him. That wallet held his life, second to his phone. It has his cash, credit cards, identification, and most importantly all the key cards he carries around to gain access to the everyday buildings he uses to work in.

Bingo. He forgot to turn that off separately. Lookie, lookie! He’s at the recording studio today. You smile. Fuck it, if he doesn’t want to see you he’ll just have to deal with it. You want to desperately see him.

You make it to the tall building that Bangchan’s private recording studio resides in. You had to work your charms just enough with the doorman. He’s seen you here many times, but Channie must have told him he wants no guests because the doorman was suddenly rather adamant about not letting you through without an access card. All of a sudden! Luckily, he ended up giving in to your persistence and sweetheart act.

Alas, you turn out of the elevator and head down the familiar corridor. You stood in front of his studio’s door. You debated on calling for him outside the door instead of knocking on it, to give him some warning. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow managed to barricade the door after finding out you were the one outside.

Instead you took a deep breath. You put down your purse on the floor next to the small paper bag you brought with peace offerings. 

You turn around to look at the reflective surface across the studio door. You smooth down your hair as best as possible. It was quite humid, causing it to puff up a bit.

You then readjust the straps on your white tank, pulling it slightly to show a tasteful amount of cleavage. You had decided on a short grey pleated skirt you once wore around Bangchan, and never again after that. 

He had been so obsessed with pulling it down as you walked or draping his jacket over your legs whenever you sat down. He hated the way others were apparently gawking at you in it. You thought he was over reacting or being his over protective self. But looking back on it now, maybe it was also because he had found you attractive and was probably trying to spare himself a public hard on. Not wanting you to learn this information at the time. You smile softly at the memory. 

You look down at the paper bag, carefully kneeling down beside it, you open the contents. 

You had brought Bangchan come snacks, juices, and a new bottle of cologne you purchased a while back. You never got the chance to gift him it, because shortly after that’s when he began to ignore you. You uncap the cologne and bring the atomizer near your nose. You close your eyes when you inhale the woody yet sweet-citrusy notes. Chan would love it. 

Behind you, you suddenly hear the soft click of the door being unlocked. A rush of panic spreads rapidly from your chest to the tips of your fingers. You quickly cap the cologne bottle, dropping it into the bag. Wincing at the sound it made. You hoped it didn’t crack. 

Tsk. Tsk. The annoyed clicking of one’s tongue.

You grab the bags off the floor, quickly standing straight and tall. Turning around to face Bangchan who had opened the door just enough to half extend his arm. His eyes hardly held any warmth as he looked you up and down. Shit. They looked indifferent to the sight of you. You subconsciously pulled down at your skirt, scolding yourself. Don’t do that. You wore this with the purpose of showing him what he was missing.

You were so glad to finally see him that you temporarily forgot the resentment you held for how he had been treating you. 

“Yeah. Someone’s getting fired.” He murmured then rolled his eyes, turning around to close the door in your face. 

“Chan-!” You leaned forward to put your hand on the door, pushing it. Either your time in the gym has finally begun to show, or he didn’t really want to keep you out. 

You almost tripped inside with how easily the door opened. Grabbing onto the frame, you played it off. Watching as Bangchan took his usual place at the mixing board. 

“Don’t be like that. The doorman knows I’m with you.” You twitch at how you said that, it came out weird. It made Chan take another glance at you, his hand hovering over a knob on the console. His expression is unreadable. You swallow, “where were you going?”

“Nowhere.” 

“Bull! You were about to walk out until you saw me.” You put the bags on the set of drawers next to the door.  Keeping your balance, you lean over again to pull the zipper down on one of your knee high boots. In your peripheral vision you could see his face was still turned towards you. You’d be damned if you didn’t start to show off the preparations you took for this visit. 

You refocus on removing the boot, angling your hips backwards causing your back to slightly arch. The soft glow from the monitors and smaller lamps in the studio made the skin on your newly exposed calf appear extra smooth and radiant. You work on removing the next boot, when you do, you bend your body a little bit more, softly sighing as you rub at your ankle. Soothing out a false soreness. You hoped the skirt was hiking back up with that motion, maybe even exposing the skin just under your ass. When you look up, Bangchan was looking back at one of his many screens. You roll your eyes, straightening as you realize you lost his attention. 

“Are you not going to ask what I’m doing here?” You break the silence, slowly creeping next to the desk.

Without looking at you, he lets out a grunt as if he could care less. He places his hand on the mouse, clicking at random.

“Ah Y/N, what have you been up to?” You refer to yourself, asking questions that he should be saying. “It’s been a while. Have you been sleeping well? Did you eat today? How’s your family?” 

I miss you. You thought. I’ve actually been pretty stressed and lonely without you. To say the least. But I can’t seem to figure out why you’ve been distant. Do you even care about me? Are we still friends? More? Or did we go back to strangers overnight? Are you seeing someone else? Is that it? Did you get tired of me? 

You wanted to say all these things. Being in his presence was messing with your thoughts, you just wanted to go back to normal. You wanted to joke, hear his laugh. See those damn dimples you loved.

“Where have you been?” You spoke up again, feeling a little braver.

“Busy. You know how it is.” He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he stares ahead. There were unspoken words hanging in the air like a challenge.

“Sure…” You saw that response coming. You really were used to the crazy scheduling he had, but this was different. You know he knows it. “No call, not even a text? You’ve been m.i.a to seemingly just me.” You stifle down your tone. 

Chan’s eyebrow slightly twitches, detecting the underlying attitude you were trying to hide. “You’re really going to play the ‘I’m hurt’ card?” He leans forward resting his chin on his hands for a split second before he reaches out to grab his headphones. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You manage to get out as he slips on the headphones and begins clicking and tapping at his keyboard. You couldn’t help yourself, so you close the gap between the two of you and wave your hand repeatedly right in front of his face.

Bangchan just looked ahead, unbothered. Working as if nothing was happening. You pulled your hand back and debated on yanking off the headphones of his pretty little head. Something stopped you from doing it, maybe the sheer thought of grazing your fingers against him would just have you throwing yourself at him. You didn’t want to give in that easily. 

Turning around and huffing, you go back to where you placed the paper bag. Pulling out a couple of snacks and his holy grail - pineapple juice. You return and put the items forcefully down onto the desk. Still Bangchan did not react, unless you call him slightly pushing one of the wrappers away from his forearm, a reaction. 

You roll your eyes. Whatever. You turn around and sigh, might as well get comfortable. You take your place on the sofa. Looking at him, you finally take in what he was wearing. It was a tight black shirt and black pants. Hm, so he must have not planned to stay in the studio for very long. Otherwise he would have been wearing something more comfortable. You wondered if he was going to leave for the day, but decided to stay because you showed up. Probably not, but it was a distractingly lovely thought. 

Your attention shifts to the blanket Bangchan got you to keep at the studio since you spent so much time with him here. He loved to have it cold inside, he swore it helped him focus better on the music. You remember whining about this choice until he grabbed you and put you on his lap so he could continue working without hearing your complaints. You shiver at the thought of his radiating body heat. You crossed your legs as you felt a passing wave of need. You squeezed your thighs tightly together until the feeling subsided.

You also particularly remember folding the blanket the last time you were here, because the two of you decided to tidy up the room. A clean space helped to clear the mind. You both agreed on that. You smile as you take notice that the blanket was in a messy pile at the end of the couch, signifying he used it. It wasn’t that deep, of course he would use it. It’s been over a week since that happened. Thinking about him alone in his studio working hard to the point of exhaustion. To the point where he decided to just crash right there on the couch you sat on…it made your heart ache for him.

You look over at him again, he had a pen in one hand. Occasionally tapping the end against a notebook on his desk, causing it to click when he pressed it hard enough. Then he would twirl it around each digit. With the way the monitor was illuminating him, it highlighted the veins on the back of those pale hands. The way they ran up his arm, until they subtly disappeared into the short sleeve of his shirt. As if he could sense you staring at him, he stops and puts his hand down on his lap. Taking it out of your view. He also shifts the chair so you can’t see his side profile. Just the back of his head and his elbows on the arm rests. 

He sometimes really made that chair look so much smaller with how wide his shoulders were. They were always peaking from the sides. You had to wonder if he was truly comfortable in it. 

Grabbing the blanket you were about to completely cover yourself, but on the off chance that Chan looks back, you wanted him to look at your legs. So you brought it to wrap around your shoulders, and that’s when you felt it. 

You didn’t know if you should laugh, cry, be grossed out, or flustered. You pull the corner of the blanket away from you, staring at it. There was a rough patch in the material, it was crusted over. The spot contrasted with the soft cotton material around it. No fucking way. You glance at Chan then back at the blanket. You grab your phone, using your lockscreen as a soft light source. You study the patch. It was a bit darker than the rest of the grey around it. You ran your finger over it, it felt as if the fibers were glued together. You pause. Nope. No. Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking dare- You brought it to your nose and took a small sniff. Yup…that is what you think it is. Smells exactly like his…!

You drop the corner, feeling the tips of your ears heat up. That dirty man. You wondered how long ago he caused this mess. How fresh it was. You couldn’t help but hope you were the one on his mind. You couldn’t be too upset and hypocritical about this action either - for having relieved himself without you, because you have too. Why didn’t he try to ask for your help? God what big ego you had, huh? To think he needed you as much as you needed him for pleasure and relief.

Was he on his chair and he reached over for the blanket to clean himself off? Or was he already laying down on the sofa when he couldn’t take it anymore?

You feel the heat from your ears blossom out. You turn your head to bury your face within the sofa cushions. Inhaling deeply, you smell his familiar musk, his shampoo. With your eyes closed, images of Chan flashed in your mind. Images of him with his hand down his pants. Rubbing himself slowly. Or perhaps feverishly? 

You imagined him being bashful and maybe biting into his hand to keep from making any sounds despite his studio being soundproofed. You missed how verbal he could get, his whines or low grunts depending on his mood. 

What had he used to rub himself with? Did he have some hidden lubricant or lotion in his studio you didn’t know about? Did he just spit on his hand? Oh fuck you wished you could have helped him out. You would have -

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

You tore your head away from the sofa cushion, snapping to look behind you. Bangchan was standing beside his desk. Leaning back on it with his arms straight behind him. His hands are holding onto the edge of it. His legs casually crossed. Judging. What am I doing? You thought, What do you mean? Until you felt one of the sofa’s cushions between your legs, one of your hands kept it pressed deeply against your core. Okay…you agreed with Chan. What the fuck were you doing? When did you slip that in between there? Were you rubbing…? For how long…? How long was he watching for?

You quickly shove the cushion away, swinging your legs over the edge of the sofa to sit politely. Even crossing your leg over the other to emphasize a nonexistent point. You seal it with your hands clasped over your knee. 

“Nothing.” You say, but your voice didn’t sound confident in that lie. Not one bit. You clear your throat. Okay, now you definitely wanted to just cry with embarrassment. You felt your whole face get hot. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that right?” Bangchan had this dumb little curve to his lip, as if he wanted to laugh, but was doing an even better job at appearing nonchalant. You wanted to just wipe that look off his face. You were the one to find his dirty cum crusted blanket. He should be the one horrified, not you!

“You’re disgusting, you know that right?” You sat up, throwing his blanket at him, in hopes he would understand the action. You thought you threw it with force but it just landed in front of him with its weight. Completely missing. This was definitely not going how you wanted it to.

You both looked at each other for a solid moment. The curve on his lips disappeared. He shifted to cross his arms over his chest. You notice his eyes slightly widen, so minutely that you could have missed it entirely. It was as if he just now processed why you called him disgusting with the toss of the blanket. That’s when his upside down smile came out.

“Dammit..” He scolded himself, he stifled a laugh. One of his hands shot up to shield his face. 

You couldn’t hold back your own smile, at the sight of him getting embarrassed. The deeper dimple on his side was peaking through. In this lighting, you couldn’t see it, but you knew his ears were turning red. That’s when the next miracle happened, his smile flashed, but he was trying his hardest to cover it. He leaned forward, tilting his head down, and he started laughing. It was quite infectious so you started to laugh alongside him.

“Dammit!” He cried out, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot that. Okay fine. We’re even.”

You were about to tell him not exactly, but you didn’t have it in you to want to ignite a fire when things were fragile. You lean forward from the couch and reach out to grab one of his wrists, pulling him closer to you. “Come here, Chan.” He was so warm to the touch. You instantly squeezed your thighs together again when you felt the familiar ache.

He peaked at you through his fingers as you pulled him in, he shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

Ha! Fucking clearly, you haven’t for a week now. What’s new? You thought. You cringe. You need to be the bigger person. 

You were about to go back to the elephant in the room, when Bangchan suddenly fell to his knees in front of you. You just drop your hand away from him. Confused about what is going on. “Chan..?” 

He lays his head in your lap, his embarrassed laugh having subsided. “I missed you.” He confesses first after a lengthy pause. He tilts his head so he could look up at you. His plump lips were in a slight pout, his big brown eyes bouncing between yours. The sight pulled at your heart strings, but you didn’t want to give into him that easily. He was making this terribly hard for you to stand your guard and stay pissed. God, you were a fool for him.

Especially when he was lazily walking two of his fingers up from your ankle to your thigh. You hold back your flinch. Each time he slid them upwards it just felt like he was cutting a long line with a hot knife. But the ‘blood’ was pooling somewhere else. Bangchan shifted so he could keep his face buried in your lap, maybe it was to hide his stupid smirk you thought you saw. He felt how soft your legs were. You were able to feel his breath through the thin material of your skirt. 

“I..m-missed you…too.” You managed to reply, through half lidded eyes. You hesitantly ran a hand through his hair, it was so soft. You pull gently at the roots for a minute or so before you allow your other hand to feel it as well. You watch as Bangchan’s shoulders droop slowly, he loved to have his hair played with. It was relaxing to him, the physical touch. The attention.

You felt him creep a hand between your thighs, pushing them away from each other. Almost like he wanted you to open yourself to him, maybe in more than one way. You shake your head when your body involuntarily shudders, you’re reading too much into it. 

Bangchan moved his head away from your lap, looking at you. Or, well, he definitely glazed over your chest before looking at your lips, and then holding eye contact. You felt his other hand flatten against the other thigh, pushing it again. You didn’t fight the action, you unfolded your legs to him. 

He immediately filled the open space, so that each leg was on either side of him, his thumbs caressing the skin that was just under the hem of your skirt. Maybe you were hypersensitive, but you could have sworn he was still sliding them ever so slowly upwards. 

You felt your breath quicken, you parted your lips with a small gasp, you wanted to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the building pressure of your heat. You only ended up squeezing around Bangchan’s torso, relieving absolutely no pressure to yourself. The both of you silently stare at each other. You couldn’t do this, you needed to enforce how upset you actually were with him. 

“Chan, we need to-”

Nope. Did not happen. Bangchan had leaned forward smashing his lips against yours. He was most definitely missing the point or he just didn’t want to take accountability for his recent treatment. But shit, did you miss this.

He pushed himself against you, causing you both to fall back into the couch. Your hands found their way to the back of his neck, holding him in place. As if he was going to pull back at any moment, yeah right. Not now, not anymore. Your fingers went to grab at the hair behind his head, definitely locking him into place. You barely heard him groan, but you definitely felt the vibration against your lips. 

The kiss wasn’t necessarily aggressive, but it was needy. Definitely deprived. On whose part was it coming from the most? You couldn’t tell. With each passing moment you were losing your focus. 

You missed the taste of his lips, his saliva, his tongue. You felt a hand come up to your hip, then to your waist. He slightly pushed your tank up on the one side. Bangchan squeezed the exposed skin there, giving another grunt. 

“Chan..” you parted away from him, breathless. 

“Y/N.” He answered back with a monotone. He looked annoyed that you stopped kissing him. His eyes continued to stare at your lips. 

“Can we talk?” 

He rolled his eyes, and you scoffed. You moved your hands to his shoulders, pushing him away from you. You needed to assert yourself, but damn did you hate stopping. He let you budge him away.

“About what?” He backed up, but did not leave his position between your legs. His hands retreated to rest on your knees. 

“About you ignoring me, for a week.” You cross your arms across your chest. “For no good reason.”

“No good reason!?” He rolled his eyes again, scoffing too. He caught the way his voice rose. He shook his head. Almost apologetic. Almost. 

You throw your hands up, “don’t be childish. You’re acting like I’m supposed to know what the reason is supposed to be.” 

“Me, childish? God, I never thought you were stupid! Not once, but now you’re making me doubt that with the way you’re acting.” He had still been kneeling in front of you, but he sat back on his legs to create more distance. “You should be upfront with me!”

His words stung. You, stupid? How much more upfront could you be? It’s clear you were upset. What the hell was he talking about?!

You scowled at him, trying to give him the dirtiest look you could. You were at a loss of words. Your temper threatened to blow over, but unfortunately you were the angry-crying type. So you bit your lips. Trying to hold the feeling back. 

You turn your head away from him, looking towards the door. This was a bad idea, coming here after all. But you were feeling desperate to see him.

In your peripheral vision you watch his hand come up slowly. It disappeared momentarily in your blind spot, before you felt his touch on your chin. It was gentle. He turned your head with a single finger so you could look at him. You didn’t fight it. The skin between Bangchan’s eyebrows had unfurled, his eyes dropped briefly. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking back up at you, guilty. Appearing like a puppy who knew they were about to get scolded. You just looked at him, not wanting to forgive him so easily. But you did hum, acknowledging his simple apology. 

“Please talk to me.” The irony. You had been trying to. Chan takes your hands that were once again crossed between your arms. He pulls them towards himself, he flattens them on his chest. Holding his own hands over them so you couldn’t pull them away. It was something he did when you felt upset, or overwhelmed. He knew it was a successful way to ground you. It was the action of your best friend, but not whatever Chan was being right now. You felt his chest rise and fall, the quick beating of his heart. “Please?” 

You snort. Bigger person. Remember. Be the bigger person. You sigh. 

“I just, I really don’t understand why you left me high and dry. Everyone around told me you were fine, nothing too out of the ordinary. That you were busy.” You start, trying to not just blurt out whatever. “And I get that, but you didn’t answer or acknowledge any of my messages. I missed you.” You’ve had this conversation with yourself a million times, but that’s all you could muster up. You had more to say, but missing him summed it up.

“Of course you missed me. It’s kind of pathetic how much I know you miss me.” 

Welp there goes that big head of his, you try your hardest to not say something snarky. Or just slap him and leave. But you did try to pull your hands away from him. He didn’t allow it.

“No, no, hear me out.” He squeezed your hands. His eyes looked…? “It makes me mad knowing I have this effect on you. You shouldn’t have to miss me.” Did…Chan’s eyes look…glassy?

His words were making you confused. He was being harsh but he wanted to cry? “It’s pathetic. And I don’t want to be a homewrecker, so don’t put me in that position. But you’re making this hard on me.” Bangchan’s gaze lingered down at your lips again. It made you hyperaware of how they still tingled and felt swollen from the kissing you shared just moments before.

Homewrecker? What the fuck was he talking about.

“Christopher. I-“ you begin, using his government name this time. He shakes his head, shushing you. The motion made his already plump lips look fuller. You note that he was beginning to lean closer to you again. 

“Shhh. I know. I know. I know you miss me. But it doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I love-“ you were about to suddenly confess, but he quickly puts his palm over your mouth. His eyes widen. He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. As if saying ‘close one.’

“You’re so ridiculous. Very naughty.” Chan laughs louder this time. He leans forward, resting his head in the crook of your neck. He inhales. His warm breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You buck into him, you could feel his smile against your skin. Your mind was spinning, what the fuck was going on. 

Bangchan shifts so he could be closer to you, deeper between your legs. Your chests nearly touched, your bodies almost flat against each other. You hover your hands over his shoulders. Hesitantly placing them on his biceps.

Fuck. 

He was so muscular. Heat radiating off of him. Your hands fall to caress his forearms, feeling every vein that protrudes. Following them, you swear you can feel the blood pumping though it. 

“So..so.. pathetic.” He whispers against your neck, you feel him slowly lick a long stripe from your collarbone to the spot just under your ear. 

You close your eyes, letting out a soft whimper. “Chris..!” You felt him do it again, but this time his tongue went across your neck so he could suck on the skin from the other side. You dig your nails into his forearm, not caring if it hurts him. 

Bangchan quickly inhaled between his teeth, hissing before biting at your neck from your action, “So desperate, and for what? What a goddamn shame.” He laughs against your skin.

You let out another whine. You mean he wasn’t wrong. But- “why are you saying it like that?” You speak your thought aloud.

He shrugs, ignoring your question. You felt his hands begin to wander your body. You tried to focus on each of his hands. One was sliding up your thigh, going under the fabric of your skirt before you felt the tips of his fingers play with the strap of your underwear. Shiiit. The other hand was slowly sliding up your tank, those fingers sweeping against the skin just under your breast.

You heard Chan huff, pulling his face away from your neck so he could look at you. He was biting his bottom lip, holding a smirk back. His eyes were half lidded, you recognized those eyes. He was feeling excited himself. Good! As he should! You wondered how hard he was, if he was leaking any precious precum onto his briefs. You quickly turned your face away from his gaze when you felt a warm flare come up to your cheeks. Your hand went to cover your face instinctively, but he stopped it. Holding your wrist tightly.

“Nuh-uh-uh.” He shook his head with a devious smile. 

It was the hand that was on your thigh just before, you know this because you could still feel his other set of fingers threatening to touch your nipple. His thumb was circling the skin around it. You tried to wiggle yourself away, though you didn’t truly want to.

“Stop it.” You say weakly, so softly as you didn’t want him to hear and follow through with it. “Channie…”   

You were trying to focus on how he was touching you when he brought your hand against his cheek, leaning into it. He closed his eyes and sighed. He turned, his mouth parted, and bit into the flesh of your palm. His teeth slowly grazed it, his eyes opening. You both hold eye contact, he grins before sticking his tongue out and making tiny circles around the area he bit. Fuck he was so hot. You pout at him, then suddenly gasp. 

The thumb that was going around your nipple had stopped, or maybe it didn’t. You were hyperfocused with what he was doing to your hand. But he had now pinched at your sensitive mound. 

“Channie!” You cry out again. He let out a deep chuckle. You paid special attention to how he was mirroring the actions he was giving to your palm compared to your nipple. He’d pinch it when he bit your hand. He’d circle his finger around it when he licked. It was driving you insane. You wanted his mouth on your nipple, you wanted it around your clit. Welp, there it goes.

You tried to grind your hips against him, but with your height difference and the way he was still kneeling between your legs on the ground. You were just bucking into his stomach.

“Why are your nipples already hard?” Bangchan dumbly asked, not meaning it.

You close your eyes and roll them, so he wouldn’t see. “Shut up, it’s just cold.”

He hummed, not believing you. “Sure..” He dropped your hand. “Can I see them?” Bangchan’s expression looked too nonchalant, like he didn’t care if you denied his request. Or maybe you were reading him wrong, maybe he was cocky. Knowing you wouldn’t deny him. Fuck him, because he is 100% right!

You give him a single nod, looking up at him through your lashes. He gave you a soft smile. There’s that damn dimple. “Attagirl.”

You felt him remove his hand from under your shirt, and start massaging your tits through your tank top. Even though there was a layer between his hands and your body, it still felt like he was touching you directly. His hands were burning hot. He was pinching through the fabric, you watched his expression carefully. He looked quite smug, probably noticing how quickly you were breathing. 

Without lifting his hands, he dragged them upwards. Hooking his fingers around the straps, peeling them down your shoulders, and with it the tank itself. Painstakingly slowly exposing your breasts to him. You whined, hating that you were showing so much skin to him, and yet he was still fully clothed. It felt so much colder, your nipples were already peaked, and now they began to feel sore. Chan looked at you, expectantly. You nod again. The both of you did not have to be verbal about it, you knew what he wanted to do. What you wanted him to do. You even put a hand behind his head, guiding him. 

Bangchan ducked his head, squeezing your breasts together. He flattened his tongue around one of your nipples, dragging it upwards. He did this a couple of times, before sucking on it. Then he would switch and start giving the other some attention. Taking it between his teeth after flicking and swirling his tongue around it. He repeated this process, neither slowly nor quickly. You kept arching your back, trying to hold back your moans. 

“Do you like this?” Chan asks, a bit muffled as he had one of your nipples gently between his teeth. Fuck what a sight. 

“Yes, fuck. Of course I do…but Chris, I want more…” You sounded exasperated. This was still foreplay but damn, you were getting over it. He was taking too long.

“You want me to touch you here?” 

Your eyes widened, you hadn’t noticed when or how he had slipped his hand under your skirt again. You had been too distracted with how he was playing with your tits. His thumb was resting on top of your clit, it was a gentle touch. Though, when he said ‘here’ he had pressed down firmly onto it.

You quickly thrust your hips, using the opportunity to get some sweet relief. How Bangchan didn’t see that coming, you’re unsure. 

When you moved, he lost his hold on top of your bud, so he ended up almost putting his thumb through your entrance. The only reason why he didn’t was because your panties stopped him. You moaned, sad when he removed it. 

He chuckled, “Oh wow, your pussy is soaking through the fabric.” You watch as he brought his thumb to his lips, tasting your slickness. “I feel like I’ve only given you minimal attention.” 

So wrong, so so wrong. You’ve been desperate for this for too long. Him opening the studio door when you first arrived was enough to make you wet for him. 

“Is it crying because it missed me that much?” He said it with a fake pout. “Awh how sad.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Chan.” You hiss, you grab onto his shirt, pulling him towards you. You tried to kiss him so he would stop talking. He gave in, sucking your bottom lip and pulling back with a pop.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a bad thing. It’s quite flattering actually. I like it, I really like it. Plus, as I said before, I missed you too. You’ve never left my mind.” Liar, you thought midway into this spiel of his. “You’re in luck too. That I miss this sweet…”

You bucked and let out a moan, he had reached back under and repositioned his entire hand over your pussy. Pressing into it.

“Pretty…” Using his middle and ring finger he began to rub a lazy circle at your entrance. God, you needed him to just slip your panties to the side and start fingering you. ASAP! 

“Little…” He said, moving the two fingers up to circle them over your clit again. “Pussy.”

“Fuck…don’t make me say it Chris!” You say, your voice shook. Bangchan began to kiss your neck while he quickened his pace, you shut your eyes tightly.

Then he pulled his lips away from your skin to whisper in your ear. “Don’t you think it’s a bit sad though? That you’re not getting fucked right? So you have to run back to your best friend for help?” 

“Hmm?” You found it hard to focus on his words. You..you were getting so close, so terribly close. With his hot breath hitting the side of your neck, you felt goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Let me just do you this last favor, okay?” He said slowly, deviously. Or perhaps there was a hint of disappointment in his tone. “We can’t go all the way, it wouldn’t feel right. After this, we have to stop this thing you and I are doing.”

“Uh..mmm huh?” You shake your head in confusion, peaking your eyes open. Bangchan was still leaning into you, so all you could see in front of you was his wide back, the way his muscles showed through the curves in his shirt. “N-no…don’t stop. We don’t have to stop.” You plead with him. “Chan, I need you to fuck me..please fuck me.”

He shook his head, letting out a sigh, “I knew you were pretty slutty for me, but this is a new low for you, Y/N.” Yes, yes there you go. He finally moved your panties to the side, sliding a finger inside of you slowly as he processed your words. “Tsk. Tsk. It’s welcoming me right in too. It’s crying for joy. Hurrah!” Asshole.

“Shit..” You clench around his finger. You put your hand on his bicep, squeezing and pulling it, wanting to signal him to go in further. To give you another finger. 

Bangchan clicked his tongue, “Tsk. Tsk. You come into MY studio, reeking of another man AND then asking me to fuck you? Ha!”

“Woah! Woah! Woah!” Your brain clicks everything together, and despite everything you were working towards. You shove him off of you. “Wait, hold on!”

“What? Are you finally seeing how wrong this-” He stood, holding his hand up. You could even see your wetness off of the finger he had in you. You sit up, grabbing a pillow and putting it across yourself to cover your bare chest. You start to bring your tank up over yourself.

“Just shut the fuck up for a second, will you?” You say, shaking your head. You put your hand over your eyes, rubbing at your lids then you moved them to your temples. You look up at Bangchan, he raised his hands up in defense. He could be such a diva sometimes.

“So, wait.” You look at him irritated, “Let me get this straight, you think I am in a relationship!?”

“Uh, duh. That’s why I’ve been trying to create some distance between us.” He says, his own voice faltering. “Y-you were acting so weird last week, or maybe a little bit longer than that.”

“What? How?” You tried to get the annoyance out of your voice. 

He stooped so he could pick up the blanket that was still on the floor, wiping his hand on it. It was definitely dirty anyway.

“You were acting overly giddy, and you would kind of flinch when I would touch you. I thought, maybe because I wasn’t giving you enough attention these past couple months…that maybe you found someone in the time I wasn’t around you. The time I couldn’t give you.” His voice was softer, much more recognizable to how you knew him to be 80% of the time. 

“No, I hadn’t.” You look between his deep brown eyes, his eyebrows had dropped. The cockiness gone. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Then why-” He hesitates, swallowing. “Why do you smell different? Not just now, but the last couple of times I saw you too.” 

“Oh Channie!” Another click occurred within your brain, “That’s the gift I’ve been meaning to give you…!”

“What do you mean?” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back.

You tried to get up, but you felt your slickness at your thigh. With this context, it was uncomfortable. “I’d get up and show you, but uh..” You point towards your bags, he looks too, “Yeah, in the paper bag. If you don’t mind.” 

You watch Bangchan nod, shift at his crotch then move to get it. He opens it, pulling the bottle of cologne from the box within. “Oh…” His lips were still parted. He pops off the cap and takes a small sniff, “Yeah..that’s the smell.”

“I’ve been going to different department stores the past month, trying to find something to gift you. Kind of hard, when you have the ability to have it all.” You give him a soft smile, you notice that he was now trying to avoid eye contact. “I wanted to give it to you, but that’s when you kind of started ghosting me.”

“Gift for what?” He peaks at you before putting his attention to placing the bottle back inside the bag. 

You shrug, “Just being nice?”

“Just to be nice?”

“Or…maybe try and use it as an entry to confess to you.” You boldly remind him. His hand shot up to his ear, rubbing it. Probably thinking about how you almost told him you loved him, but he cut you off by placing his hand over your mouth to stop you from finishing. 

“I’m sorry.” He kept his head down. “I feel like such an idiot. I’m so sorry.” He made his way back to you, sitting down next to you. He pulled you into his arms, forcing you to have your head in his chest as the apology floodgates opened.

“I was calling you such terrible names, putting you down. Oh my god. I am so sorry!”

“Chan!” You try and pull away.

“I really thought…! I’m so sorry I doubted you. I doubted your loyalty. How could I have truly believed you were that kind of person. Oh, what type of person am I? I’m so stupid.” 

“Channie!” You were being muffled by his chest.

“I was being a total asshole, worst of the worst. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You pinch his rib, and he finally let you go, well kind of, he still was holding your hands close to him. In the soft glow of the room, you could see Bangchan was actually starting to tear up. “Do you think you have the room in your heart to forgive me?” Yes, he was being a little too dramatic, but it was hard to stay mad at him.

“It was a misunderstanding, don’t beat yourself up over it.” You try and push your own hard feelings out of the picture, “You just need to practice what you preach so much. Communication is key.” 

“I’m sorry.” He looks down at you, he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. He plants a soft kiss on your forehead, your nose, each cheek, then he gives one longer kiss on your lips.

“I guess, you’ll want me to return the cologne since it’ll have a negative connotation to it now?” You half joke. 

“Heh, yeah if you don’t mind…” He smiles crookedly. 

There was a pause.

“You know…it was kind of hot though?” 

“W-what do you mean?” He nervously laughs. He was like a whole different person now.

“How you were treating me, if you look past how you probably meant those things at that moment. How…possessive and disappointed you were, at the thought of me having a boyfriend.”

“Ha! Stop it, don’t make me feel guilty again…” He laughs, putting a hand over his face.

“No, I’m not trying to, really. You did feel that way…didn’t you?” You prod, feeling a glimpse of rejection. Maybe he was just missing the new benefits to your friendship, nothing more.

“Oh fuck, yes. I’m sorry. I feel like I keep saying it to you, but I’ve only been saying it in my mind, haven’t I? But yes. I like you a lot. I really like you. I..I love you too. And I missed you. I really did, it was hard for me. Not talking to you, not seeing you.”

“Show me.” You ask, dropping your tone.

“Hm?” 

“Show me you love me.” You repeat, feeling bolder. Happier at his admission.

“You..you’re not turned off by how I treated you?” He asks. In this moment, you felt something prod your elbow. The elbow that was resting on his lap. You smile, he was feeling excited at the prospect surely.

“Far from it, Chan…my pussy was wet for you as you were handling me. It still is.” You bite your lip, “It’s still calling out for you.” You say playfully, giving him a little wiggle of your eyebrows. 

“I know it was.” He responds quickly, with a big smile. “You wanna give me that pussy then?” Shit it was so attractive when he was proud of himself, so sure and confident of how he had you wrapped around his finger.

“All yours.” You smile sweetly, batting your lashes at him. YES YES! It was finally going to happen.

He let out a low growl, biting his lip. He quickly pulled you on his lap, only to flip you over on the couch back to the original position you were in before.

“As much as I’d rather remove them with my teeth and eat you out, I just gotta be inside you right now, take those pretty panties off.” He was fumbling with his belt, kneeling in front of you. 

He did not have to repeat it twice. You made quick work of sliding them off, you kind of cringed with how they tried to stick to your heat, the cold air blowing up your slit. You kept your skirt on, but it was bunched all the way up above your hips.

“Ah, look at her.” Bangchan admired, he finally had undid his belt, and was in the process of shimmying off his pants to his thighs. Something about him about to fuck you halfway clothed was sexy.

You stared, and yes. You were right, there was a spot on his grey briefs of where he himself leaked. Wasted precum, you wished you could just suck at the spot and salvage anything you could. You salivated at the thought. You could also see the lining of his cock. He rubbed himself for a moment, before pulling it out. Shiiiiit. 

“You like what you see?” He broke you out of your thoughts.

“I do, I really do.” You reach out to pull on his shirt. He scoots closer.

“Open your legs wider for me, baby.” He commanded, it made you feel overly shy for some reason.

You parted them, but kept a hand over your pussy to give you a last shed of decency.

“C’mon don’t be like that now. We’re far from that.” He clicked his tongue, and slightly rolled his eyes. More playfully than actually annoyed. “Whatever, don’t want to watch me sink into you? Suit yourself. But you’re going to stay pliable to what I want to do. I do recall you asking me to fuck you, right?” Smartass. “To show you.”

Bangchan reached out and put both hands around your waist, pulling you roughly towards the edge of the couch. For a second you were scared that you were going to fall, but it was only your ass that was hanging off the edge. Positioning you directly in front of his dick. You looked up to see him smirking. “Thats much better. Don’t you think so?”

You nod, adjusting your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. “You must really want me to say it again, huh?”

“Say what again?” He half paid attention to what you were saying. He was too busy sliding his dick between your thighs. He threw his head back, groaning, as he pressed your legs together so he could rub himself with them.

“Fuck me, please.” You suck on your finger, watching him use you. With each thrust, his dick kept sliding lower and closer to your core. 

“I’d rather hear you say something different. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh and what’s that?” You let a moan out, he was now sliding his cock between your folds. It was getting so much slicker as he spread your wetness around himself. The sickening sounds from the act itself emitted. He’d hold the tip of his cock against your clit, rubbing and pressing firmly on it. It amazes you to think his huge size manages to fit inside you.

Chan was looking at you again, looking at your reactions. “I want you to tell me,” he reaches out to yank your tank top down again, making your tits jiggle free. “Tell me that your pussy is mine.” He pulls his dick out from between your lips, only to play at your entrance. 

“Yesss..” You breathe out slowly, you could feel the tip of his cock go in and out slowly. “It’s yours. This pussy belongs to you.”

He hums, agreeing. “I love how that sounds coming from your mouth.” He leans over to kiss you. It was a breathy kiss, tongues circling around each other. You moan softly into his mouth when you feel him start to push himself into you. Your hands fly to hold him at his hips. Halting him for a second.

“Slowly, please.” 

He grunts, “Oh, fuck. I missed your cunt. It’s so warm.” He listened to your request, but it was hard for him. He just wanted to start thrusting. He wanted to feel your gummy walks surrounding his dick. Bangchan wanted to see just how creamy he could get you. He laughed lowly. The motion making him twitch and go deeper. 

“Chan!” 

“Sorry! But I swear your pussy has a mind of its own. You’re telling me to go slow. Yet it’s like it has its own gravitational pull.” He jokes and lets out another laugh. This time he bottomed out, again by accident.

“Fuck!” You turn your head to the side, biting on your finger again. You felt so full, stretched.

“You feel so good, fuck!” Chan sighs, biting on your leg that was next to his face. He pulls you a little bit more off the edge of the couch, his hands gripping your ass. He starts to move his hips slowly. “It’s mine, only mine. No one gets to feel it but me.”

You arch your back, angling yourself so he could go deeper. “No one but you.” You repeat. 

“You’re making this hard on me, your body is telling me to go all the way…but your words. You sure you want me to hold back?” He says, tilting his head curiously.

“Jus trynbe gentle.” You mutter, words getting slurred.

“I’ll try but no promises.” He says sweetly. He begins to pull nearly all the way out, then back in. Starting to build a rhythm. 

“Sogood.” You say softly. Now this, this is what you needed. You let your legs start to part, and Bangchan didn’t stop them from sliding down his shoulders. You stopped at the crook of his elbow, resting nicely with the help of his hands holding your thighs. His short nails pressed a little too firmly, you had to wonder if you would bruise.

“Look at you, finally relaxing.” He says proudly. You felt a blush creep over your face when you note that he wasn’t looking at your face anymore. He was looking down at where your bodies collided. Pussy spread, and wrapped around his hard cock. It made him quicken, wanting to hear it squelch. “You look so beautiful.”

The way he was inside, it kept alternating from hitting your sweet spot to sorely hitting your cervix. The pain within the pleasure was your favorite.

“Channie..fas..faster…!” You ask. You said it softly, but he was being so attentive to you he heard it quite clearly. Probably even waiting for you to give in. And faster is what he gave you. 

“You’re clenching around me, so tightly.” He responds to the way your body reacted. You felt the way his balls were slapping against your ass. “L-Look at how well you’re taking me, princess.” 

Bangchan let go of your thighs, they fell to the side, now completely wide open to him. Spread all the way. He pulls your arms through the center so he could steady himself, but also in doing so you were squeezing your tits together. They bounced each time your hips collided. “So pretty..” 

He quickly pulls his shirt up and bites on it to hold it up. He was so fucking hot, his abs on display. How toned and defined he was. Your eyes wandered down and you watch how he fucked into you. How his dick would completely disappear inside. He’d grind hard against you. 

“Channie..I’m gonna..” You try to say, “Chan..I’m..” You get him to let go of one of your hands, you start to rub at your swollen clit. 

He smacks your hand away, “nuhuh.” He said through his teeth that was still holding up his shirt. You whine, thinking he was going to deny your orgasm. But it was far from that assumption.

Bangchan moved his hand so that he could rub at your nub. He gave it a soft smack, then a pinch. Then he started to firmly press on it, making tight little circles. 

“Chris, ssshitt. Chris!” You cried out, your vision began to blur. You began to shake quite uncontrollably.

“I’m the only one that can make you feel this good huh? You-”

“P-puhleaz cum wuhwith me.” You cut him off with slurred words, “fill me wit-with your hot c-cum!” You felt a tear start to run down your cheek. You tried to keep your eyes open to watch him, because almost as if it was a command, Bangchan’s rhythm began to get very sloppy instantaneously. 

“Yes! You’re all mine, all mine. I’m going to make you all mine. I don’t ever want to share you.” He dropped his shirt from his mouth, leaning over to kiss you. He saw how you began to cry and a part of him hoped he wasn’t hurting you. But he couldn’t deny how much he loved to see you cry for him. “I’m so sorry I doubted this. You can only be mine. I’m sorry. I love you, I love you. I love you.” He was just rambling at this point. 

You wrap your arms around him, your legs around his hips. Holding on for dear life as your vision grew darker. You began to see flickers of light orbs behind your eyelids as you came undone. Your eyes were shut so tightly. You let your body go limp for a second to recover. Bangchan still continued relentlessly until you heard him curse under his breath, twitch, then stop with a loud groan into your ear. 

You felt him try to pull out but you whined, “no, don’t. Stay inside for a couple more.” Bangchan was not about to deny this request either. 

You weakly open your eyes, you both stared at each other. “I love you too, Chris.” That earned you a lazy smile. He must have exhausted himself.

Without pulling out, Chan grabbed you and turned you over on top of him. He began to hum with content. You rest your head on his chest, feeling drained. He was rubbing your back slowly. 

There was a comfortable silence until he broke it, “I hate to do this to you, but can we go out to eat? I’m starved.” 

“Really, Chan?” You try to lift your head to look at him.

“Really. That’s where I was going to go, until you barged in here.” He laughed, and in unison you both let out a moan. Right, he was still snuggly inside of you. 

“Sorry, yeah sure. Give me another minute or so. I’ll need to go to the restroom to clean myself off too.” 

“I’ll go with you. After we eat, maybe…” He coughed and cleared his throat, “Maybe we could talk about labeling what we are?”