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It wasn’t loud. Yunho wasn’t the type to slam doors or throw things, not even on his worst days. No, this was quieter than that. The kind of wrong that settled into the room like a shift in pressure before a storm. His voice carried from the living room, low and controlled, headset on, but there was no warmth in it, none of that easy, teasing charm he usually slipped into without thinking. It was clipped. Distracted. “Yeah, yeah, I see it,” he muttered, fingers moving fast over his keyboard. “Just…. hold on.” No laugh. No playful scolding at his chat. No “hey, you’re home” tossed over his shoulder the second the door clicked shut. That alone was enough to make you pause.

You toed your shoes off slowly, setting your bag down by the door, eyes already drifting toward the glow of his setup. The room was dim except for the LED lights lining his desk, casting everything in that soft blue purple haze that usually felt cozy. Tonight, it just made the tension more obvious, sharper somehow, like it had edges. Yunho sat forward in his chair, elbows braced on his knees instead of leaning back like he usually did. His headset was slightly askew, one side slipping down like he’d adjusted it too many times. His jaw was tight, the muscle ticking faintly, and every now and then he dragged a hand through his hair like he was trying to physically pull himself together. That’s when it really hit you. It took a lot to get him like this.

Yunho was the steady one. The one who let things roll off his back, who joked his way through frustration, who turned everything into something lighter even when it probably shouldn’t have been. You’d seen him annoyed before, sure, but this? This was something else. Something heavier. Something sitting just under the surface, barely contained. You stepped a little closer, quieter now, like you didn’t want to spook him, arms folding loosely over yourself as you leaned against the wall just outside his camera’s frame. Close enough to see him clearly, far enough not to interrupt.

His eyes flicked to the side, toward his second monitor, towards the chat, and for a split second, something in his expression tightened further. Not anger exactly. Embarrassment, maybe. Frustration tangled up with something deeper. Your brows pulled together, concern replacing the last of your exhaustion as you studied him more carefully. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just a bad game or a rough stream. Something had gotten under his skin and Yunho didn’t let things get under his skin unless it mattered. You pushed off the wall, crossing the room slowly, your presence finally pulling his attention fully toward you. His eyes met yours for a second, and there it was, that flicker. Something guarded. Something he didn’t want you to see. But you knew him too well.

“Hey,” you said softly, just loud enough for him to hear you over his headset. “You good?” He hesitated. Just for a second. Then he forced a small, automatic smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You didn’t believe him for a second. And judging by the way his fingers stilled on his keyboard for a beat too long… he knew you didn’t. “Okay.” You don’t push. Not yet. You’ve learned that about him over the years, when Yunho shuts down like that, poking at it too early just makes him retreat further. So instead, you give him an easy out, a soft landing. Your voice stays light, casual, like you’re not clocking the tension practically humming under his skin.

“I’m gonna shower,” you add, already turning toward your room and he nods, quick, distracted, eyes flicking back to his screen like he’s grateful for the escape. “Yeah. I’ll be out here.” You leave him to it, but the weight in the apartment follows you down the hall and the shower ends up hotter than it should be, Florida heat be damned, but you need it. Need something to wash the hospital off you, to melt the ache out of your shoulders, to give your brain a second to breathe. Steam fills the bathroom, fogging the mirror, curling around you like a reset button you wish actually worked. For a few minutes, it almost does.

But even under the spray, your mind drifts back to him. The tightness in his jaw. The way his voice snapped at his chat. The look in his eyes when he glanced at you, like he was already bracing for something. By the time you shut the water off, that uneasy feeling is still there, clinging just as stubbornly as the humidity outside. You dry off, change into your usual oversized tee and soft shorts, hair still damp as you pad down the hallway toward your room. The apartment is quieter now. No stream chatter bleeding through the walls. No clicking keys. He must’ve ended it early. That alone says enough.

You barely make it two steps into your room before you hear it, his footsteps, slower than usual, like he’s thinking about turning around with every one but then there’s a soft knock against your already open door making you glance up. Yunho’s standing there, one hand braced against the frame, the other rubbing at the back of his neck. His hair’s messier than before, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times since you got in the shower. He’s changed out of his streaming hoodie, now in a loose tshirt and sweats, but the tension hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s worse up close.

For a second, he just… stands there. Like he’s trying to figure out how to say something he doesn’t want to say. You raise a brow slightly, sitting back against your pillows. “You gonna stand there all night, or…” He huffs out a quiet breath, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh, and finally steps in. The door creaks softly as he nudges it shut behind him, like he needs the privacy, like whatever this is… it’s not for the rest of the world. Just you. “Chloe dumped me.” It lands flat, dropped between you like it doesn’t weigh anything at all. You blink once. “Okay.” And honestly? That’s about as much reaction as he’s getting out of you. Not because you don’t care about him, you do, more than you probably should, but because Chloe? Yeah. No. You never liked her. Something about her always felt… off. Too quick, too surface level, like she was playing a part instead of actually seeing him. She’d only been around a few weeks, but even that felt like too long.

Still, you tilt your head slightly, studying him. “What happened?” Yunho exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the floor like it might have answers for him. “I don’t know,” he mutters at first, defaulting to avoidance. Then he huffs, shaking his head. “I mean…. I do know, I just…” He trails off. Yunho doesn’t usually struggle to explain things, not with you. Even when something’s messy, he talks through it, jokes through it, something. But now he’s just… stuck. Words caught somewhere between his chest and his throat as you sit up a little straighter, the shift subtle but intentional. “Yunho.” He glances up and you hold his gaze, softer this time, but firm. “Why did she dump you?”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, you think he might brush it off, change the subject, pretend it doesn’t matter. Instead, he looks away, hand dragging down his face like he’s already regretting opening his mouth. “It’s stupid.” Your eyes narrow slightly. “If it’s got you acting like this, it’s not stupid.” He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh at that, shoulders slumping just a fraction. “It kind of is,” he says, voice lower now. “I just….” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, like even saying it out loud feels like too much. And suddenly, whatever this is? It’s not just a breakup. It’s something he’s embarrassed about. Something that actually got to him.

You watch him carefully now, curiosity mixing with that familiar, protective instinct that always kicks in when it comes to him. “Yunho,” you say again, softer this time, “just tell me.” He goes still. Like the words are right there, right on the edge, and all he has to do is let them fall. He shifts his weight where he stands, like the floor suddenly isn’t steady under him anymore. His fingers curl against the back of his neck, rubbing there again and again like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. You can see the hesitation on him, thick, stubborn, sitting right behind his teeth. Which, of course… makes you lean into it. You tilt your head, watching him with that familiar look he’s known for years, the one that says you’re not getting out of this that easy.

“Okay,” you say slowly, drawing the word out just enough to get under his skin. “So it’s stupid, but you won’t say it… which means it’s definitely not stupid.” He huffs under his breath again, eyes flicking up to you for a second before dropping again. “You’re making it worse.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” you shoot back, shifting to sit cross legged on your bed, fully settling in like this is about to become a whole event. “What, did you forget your two week anniversary? Call her the wrong name? Please tell me you didn’t call her bro during…”

“I didn’t during…” he cuts in quickly, then stops himself, pressing his lips together and you catch that, instantly. “During what?”

“Nothing.”

“Yunho.”

He groans softly, dragging a hand down his face again. “Can you not do that?”

“Do what?” you ask, completely innocent. “That thing where you…” he gestures vaguely toward you, frustration bubbling just under the surface. “where you don’t let it go.” You grin, just a little. “You knew what you signed up for when you decided I was your best friend.” That almost gets him. His mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but it fades just as fast, the weight of whatever he’s holding onto pulling him right back down. The room quiets again, the tension stretching between you, thinner now but sharper and you soften a little, voice gentler this time. “Hey… I’m not gonna judge you.” That makes him look at you again. And there’s something in his eyes now, something caught between embarrassment and trust, like he’s standing on the edge of something he’s never said out loud before.

“You’re definitely gonna judge me,” he mutters. “I won’t,” you say, a little too quick and he raises a brow as you sigh, holding up a hand. “Okay, I might judge you a little. But like… lovingly.” That pulls a quiet laugh out of him, the tension easing just a fraction. Enough for him to finally stop pacing around it. “She said I didn’t know what I was doing,” he admits, voice low.

“Do what?” Your brain starts running through possibilities in rapid fire. “Okay, wait…. what, like you were too rough? Not rough enough? You didn’t communicate? Yunho, please don’t tell me you just…. lay there…”

“I didn’t just lay there,” he cuts in, a little defensive now.

“Then what?”

He goes quiet again. And this time, you don’t rush it. You just watch him. The way his shoulders rise with a slow inhale. The way his jaw clenches like he’s bracing for impact. The way his gaze flicks anywhere but you, floor, wall, ceiling, like eye contact would make it worse. “She said,” he starts, then stops and your patience snaps just a little. “Yunho.” He squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, like ripping off a bandage. “I’ve never gone down on a girl before, okay?” Your brain stalls completely. Because out of everything you expected him to say…. “You’re kidding.” His eyes snap open, immediate regret flashing across his face. “I knew it….”

“No, wait….hold on,” you sit up straighter, staring at him like he just told you the sky is green. “You’re serious?” He looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. “Yes.” You blink. Once. Twice. This is Yunho.

Yunho, who’s charming without trying. Yunho, who’s had girls orbiting him since high school. Yunho, who, by all accounts, should not have this be the thing he’s insecure about. “You’ve never….” you start, still trying to process it as he shakes his head, quick and firm, like if he gets it out fast enough it’ll hurt less. “No. I just…. never did. And then it became a thing, and then I felt weird about it, and then…” he gestures vaguely, frustration creeping back in, “this!”

You stare at him for another second. Then another. And the shock is still there but something else starts creeping in underneath it. Something quieter. Something a little more dangerous. “That’s why she dumped you?” you ask finally, softer now and he lets out a humorless breath. “Yeah.” And for a second, you don’t say anything. Because that? That doesn’t sit right with you. You stare at him for another second, the shock still settling, but now it’s tangled up with something else, confusion, curiosity, a faint spark of disbelief that refuses to die down. “Okay, but why?” you ask, brows pulling together. “Like…. not in a judging way, I just… how has that just… never happened?”

Yunho exhales, long and slow, like he already hates this conversation but knows he walked himself straight into it. His hand drags through his hair again, leaving it more disheveled than before. “I don’t know,” he mutters at first, defaulting to avoidance again. Then he shakes his head, forcing himself to actually answer. “I just… never did. And then the longer I didn’t, the weirder it felt to suddenly try.” You tilt your head slightly, watching him. “Weirder how?” His jaw tightens, eyes flicking away. “Like… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he admits, quieter now. “And I don’t want to mess it up.” There it is. Not arrogance. Not lack of interest. Just… insecurity.

You shift a little on the bed, studying him more carefully now, that earlier teasing giving way but not gone entirely. “Okay,” you say slowly, “but you’ve done other stuff.” He glances at you, wary now. “Yeah.” You squint slightly, gears turning. “So… you’ve used your hands before, right?” His ears go red immediately. “Of course I have,” he snaps, shooting you a glare that’s half defensive, half embarrassed. And that somehow makes it worse. Because now you’re even more confused. You blink at him, leaning forward just a little. “Then what’s the difference?”

He opens his mouth and closes it right back. Then opens it again, clearly searching for an answer that doesn’t make him sound as out of his depth as he feels. “It’s just… different,” he finally mutters, frustration creeping back in. “It’s not the same thing.” You watch him for a second, the way he avoids your eyes again, the way his shoulders are just slightly hunched like he’s bracing for you to laugh or tease him harder. But you don’t. Not this time. Because now you get it. Not fully but enough. Enough to see that this isn’t just about what he hasn’t done. It’s about the fact that he doesn’t feel like he’d be good at it. And for someone like Yunho, someone who’s used to being steady, capable, reliable? Good at everything. That probably stings more than he’s letting on.

“You’re overthinking it,” you say finally and he lets out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah? That seems to be the theme tonight.” You hold his gaze this time, not letting him look away. “It is,” you say, quieter. “Because it’s not as complicated as you’re making it.” Something shifts in his expression at that. “Then what is it?” he asks, before he can stop himself and you lean back slightly, exhaling through your nose, buying yourself a second. “It’s about paying attention,” you say slowly. “Reading reactions. Adjusting.”

His eyes don’t leave you. “That’s it?” You hesitate. Just for a second. Because the answer is simple. But the implication? Not so much. “Yeah,” you say, quieter now. And the way he’s looking at you now, really looking, like he’s trying to piece something together in real time, it sends something warm and restless curling low in your chest. “That doesn’t really help,” he admits after a second, voice just a little rougher and you almost laugh. Instead, you tilt your head, studying him, something flickering behind your eyes now, something a little more daring than before. “What do you want me to do, Yunho?” you ask, light but not entirely joking anymore and he stills. Because now he hears it too. That shift. That dangerous little edge your voice just picked up.

“I just….” he starts, then stops, like he suddenly realized exactly how this sounds. And maybe… exactly who he’s asking. Your best friend. The one person who knows you better than anyone. The one person you’ve both been carefully not crossing that line with for years. And now? He’s standing right on it. “I just want to get it right,” he finishes, quieter. And something about that, about the honesty in it, the vulnerability, makes your heart start pounding. Because yeah. That’s Yunho. Always wanting to do things right. Even this. Especially this. And suddenly, the idea that someone made him feel like he couldn’t? Pisses you off. “Okay,” you mutter, more to yourself than him, grabbing your iPad and unlocking it. The glow lights your face as you settle back against your pillows again, tucking one leg under you like you’re trying to return things to something normal. Something easy.

You scroll for a second, half paying attention, half aware of him still standing there, still watching you like he’s waiting for something, even if he doesn’t know what. “I still don’t see what you want me to do…” you say, glancing up at him briefly, tone light, teasing just a little again, like you’re trying to break the tension instead of lean into it. Then you add, with the faintest lift of your brow, something meant to be a joke. “Show you?” But the second it leaves your mouth, the air in the room shifts, sharp, immediate, like something just clicked into place that neither of you can ignore now and Yunho freezes. His eyes snap to yours, all that lingering frustration from earlier gone in an instant, replaced by something else entirely, something caught between surprise and something much, much heavier. And you feel it too. That flicker in your chest. The one that says maybe… you shouldn’t have said that. Or maybe…. Maybe you should have.

You try to brush it off, a quiet huff of a laugh leaving you as you look back down at your screen. “Relax, I’m kidding….” But you don’t get to finish. Because he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t move on like he normally would. “What if I wasn’t?” His voice is lower. Deeper. Rougher. And that stops you. Your eyes lift slowly from your iPad, locking onto his again. “Wasn’t what?” you ask, even though you already know and he swallows, the movement subtle but visible, like he’s trying to push past his own hesitation. “What if I wasn’t joking,” he says again, more clearly this time. “About you showing me.” There’s no humor in it. Just honesty. And suddenly, the room feels a little smaller. A little warmer. A little harder to breathe in.

Your fingers still against the edge of your iPad, screen forgotten, as you hold his gaze. The teasing, the easy back and forth, it’s gone now. Stripped away, leaving something a lot more real in its place. “Yunho,” you start, a warning and a question all at once. Because this isn’t just a joke anymore. “I’m serious,” he says, stepping a little further into the room without even realizing it, like something’s pulling him closer. “I just… I trust you. And you said it’s about paying attention, right? So…” He trails off, but the meaning hangs there anyway. You can feel your heartbeat picking up now, steady but heavier, your mind racing faster than you’d like it to. Because this is it. That line you’ve both been dancing around for years? It’s right here. Right in front of you. All it would take is one step….

You shift slightly against your pillows, exhaling slowly as you study him, really study him, his nervousness, the way his hands flex at his sides, the way he’s trying to act steady but isn’t quite pulling it off. He’s not joking. He’s not playing. He’s asking you. And maybe the most dangerous part? You don’t hate the idea. Not even a little. Maybe aching for it just a bit. “You’re really asking me that right now?” you murmur and he doesn’t look away this time. “Yeah.” For a second, you don’t answer. You just sit there, iPad still in your hands but completely forgotten, your thumb resting against the screen like you meant to keep scrolling and just… didn’t. Your eyes stay on him, searching, like you’re trying to read something deeper than what he’s actually saying.

Your best friend. The person who’s been there longer than anyone else. The one constant you’ve never had to question. The one you’ve spent years pretending you don’t feel too much for. And now he’s standing in your room, looking at you like that, like you’re the only option he wants. It makes your chest tighten. Because agreeing to this… it doesn’t just risk things getting complicated. It risks everything. You swallow, gaze flicking down for a second, then back up to him. He hasn’t moved. Still watching you, still waiting, like he’s already braced himself for you to say no. And that, more than anything, tips something inside you. “You’re serious,” you murmur again, quieter this time.

“Yeah.”

You let out a slow breath through your nose, heart thudding a little heavier now, your thoughts tangling together in a way that’s hard to sort through. You should say no. You should laugh it off, tell him to look it up, send him a link, anything that doesn’t involve…. “Okay,” you say finally and Yunho goes still like he wasn’t actually expecting you to say it and your grip tightens slightly on the edge of your iPad before you set it aside on your nightstand, the quiet click of it hitting the surface sounding louder than it should in the silence that follows. You don’t look at him right away. You need one more second. One more breath. “But,” you add, lifting your gaze back to his, something a little firmer settling into your expression now, like you’re drawing a line you’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to hold. “This is just practice.”

His brows knit slightly, like he’s processing that. “Nothing more,” you continue, voice steady even if your pulse isn’t. “We’re not…. this doesn’t change anything. Got it?” The words feel a little too deliberate. A little too much like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. Yunho watches you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes as he nods. “Yeah,” he says, just as quiet. “Just practice.” But there’s something there. Something neither of you says out loud. Because if this was really just practice… it wouldn’t feel like this. You nod once, more to yourself than him, then push yourself up slightly, adjusting against your pillows before you glance toward him again. “Then… come on.”

And that’s all it takes. Yunho moves. Slow at first, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, each step measured as he crosses the room toward your bed. But there’s tension in him now, nervous energy, anticipation, something tighter and more focused than before. He stops just at the edge, close enough now that you can see the faint flush still lingering across his ears, the way his hands flex slightly at his sides like he doesn’t quite know where to put them. And for a second, neither of you says anything. Tension thick in the air. You feel it settle into your skin, into your chest, into the way your breath comes just a little slower than it should.

This is happening. Actually happening. And once you start… there’s no pretending you didn’t. Your eyes flick up to his again, steady despite everything swirling underneath. “Relax. You’re overthinking it already.” He huffs out a quiet breath at that, something almost like a nervous laugh slipping through. “Yeah… I do that.”

“I know,” you say, and there’s a hint of something fond in it, something that slips out before you can stop it and Yunho hesitates for only a second before he moves again, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he climbs onto the bed. He sits at first, stiff, unsure, like he’s not entirely convinced this is real yet, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs, shoulders a little tense. “You know you have to…” you gesture lightly toward yourself, voice calm but pointed, “take my shorts and underwear off first, right?”

“Oh…. right,” he breathes, the word coming out a little too quick, a little too flustered. A faint flush creeps back up his neck, across his ears, and you swear it spreads deeper the longer he looks at you like that, like he’s suddenly very aware of where he is and what he’s about to do. And for all his confidence everywhere else… here? He’s completely out of his depth. Slowly, carefully, he shifts forward on the bed, moving closer until he’s between your legs, his hands hovering for a second like he’s not sure if he should touch you yet, even though you quite literally told him to. “Yunho,” you say, grounding him a little. “You’re allowed to touch me.”

His eyes flick up to yours at that and something in them steadies just a little. “Yeah,” he says quietly, more to himself than you. Then his hands finally move. Tentative at first, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your shorts, like he’s testing the boundary even though you’ve already given him permission. There’s hesitation there, but also focus, the kind that comes from him actually trying, paying attention like you told him to. He hooks his fingers at the waistband of your shorts, glancing up at you once, like he’s silently asking if this is okay and you give a small nod. That’s all he needs before he slowly tugs the fabric down, careful, almost overly so, like he’s afraid of rushing it.

The movement is gentle, deliberate, and the closer he gets, the more his breathing changes, subtle, but noticeable, like the reality of it is settling in piece by piece. Your shorts slide down, followed by your panties, and for a second he just… pauses. Hands resting lightly against your legs, his gaze dropping, then flicking away, then back again like he doesn’t quite know where to look or how long is too long to be staring at his best friend’s pussy. It would almost be funny. If it wasn’t so… real. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath, like he’s trying to psych himself up and you can’t help it, a small, quiet breath of a laugh slips out of you, not mocking, just… soft. “Hey,” you say, voice gentler now, drawing his attention back up to your face. “Relax, remember?”

He exhales, tension easing just a fraction at the sound of your voice. “Right… relax.” But even as he says it, you can tell he’s anything but. Still, he shifts a little closer, hands settling more firmly now against your thighs, his focus sharpening again. Less hesitation. More intent. He’s trying. Really trying. And something about that, about the way he’s taking this seriously, the way he’s looking at you like this actually matters, almost makes you clench your thighs together because you can feel how wet you’re starting to get. Your fingers tighten slightly in the sheets beneath you, steadying yourself as much as him. “Good.”

Yunho’s hands hesitate again. Not because he doesn’t know what comes next, but because now it’s real in a way it wasn’t before. The line has already been crossed, quietly but undeniably, and there’s no pretending this is just some abstract idea anymore. From his angle, everything feels louder. Closer. The soft rise and fall of your breathing, the way your legs are relaxed but not entirely, the warmth of your skin under his hands, it all presses in on him at once, making his thoughts tangle for a second. Don’t mess this up. It’s the only thing looping in his head as he swallows, gaze dropping again, slower this time. His fingers shift, brushing lightly over your thighs again. Pay attention, he reminds himself. She said to pay attention.

He notices everything. The way your muscles tense just a little at the initial movement, then ease again. The shift in your breathing. The faint hitch you try to hide. It steadies him. Gives him something to hold onto as his gaze flicks up to your face again like he needs to check in, to make sure he’s not messing up already. And what he finds there doesn’t help. Because you’re watching him too. There’s something different in your expression now. Not just teasing, not just curiosity, something heavier. You’re trusting him. That thought hits harder than anything else.

From your side, the shift is just as clear. Yunho’s not joking anymore. Not nervous in that scattered, awkward way from before, no, this is different. Focused. Intent. Like once he stepped into this, something in him clicked, and now he’s all in. You swallow, fingers tightening slightly in the sheets beneath you. “You’re doing fine.” Yunho nods once, small but firm, taking that in like it matters more than it should. And then he shifts closer and you shift slightly beneath him, the movement small but enough to break the stillness that’s settled between you. Your fingers loosen in the sheets, then tighten again, grounding yourself as much as him. “You can…” you start, then pause for half a second, like even you didn’t expect the words to feel this heavy and his eyes flick up instantly. “you can show me what you know so far.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, the air shifts again. Yunho exhales slowly, his focus sharpening all over again, that nervous energy from before narrowing into something more controlled, more intentional. His hands adjust where they rest against your thighs, grip a little firmer now, like he’s anchoring himself before he does anything else. Don’t rush. Pay attention. He glances up at you one more time, just a quick check, and when you don’t pull away, don’t second guess it, something in him steadies. “Okay,” he murmurs. The hesitation doesn’t disappear completely but it changes. It becomes quieter, tucked underneath a kind of focus you’ve always known him for. The same way he locks in when he’s working, when he’s streaming, when he’s determined to get something right. Except now… it’s you.

Your breathing changes, just slightly and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker in response. He’s paying attention. Exactly like you told him to. Slowly, carefully, he leans in closer, his movements measured instead of rushed, like he’s testing each step instead of assuming it. There’s a quiet intensity to him now as he moves. It’s not hesitant this time, not really. It’s like the moment you gave him permission to try, something in him snapped into place, and now he’s acting on instinct more than overthinking. His heart is pounding harder than he wants to admit. Every nerve feels lit up, every thought tangled together in a mess of don’t mess this up and just do something. So when he leans in, mouth closing around your clit, he goes in too fast. Too much.

You gasp, your back tensing slightly against the pillows, fingers gripping the sheets but not entirely from surprise. There’s a flicker of something else there too, something that makes his chest tighten in a completely different way. “Okay….” you breathe, voice catching slightly before you steady it, one hand coming down to lightly touch his shoulder, grounding him. “Don’t just instantly start…” you stop yourself for half a second, exhaling. “Don’t just go all in like that.”

Yunho freezes. Every muscle in him locks up, his brain short circuiting so hard it’s almost audible. For a second, he just stays there, stunned, trying to process what he did wrong and how fast he managed to do it all while trying not to groan at the taste of you now on his tongue. “Start slow,” you tell him, your tone shifting from correction to guidance, more patient than anything else. “Work me up.” He exhales, the tension easing just a fraction, and nods once against you even though you probably can’t see it. His hands tighten slightly where they rest against your thighs, grounding himself again.

This time, when he moves, it’s different. More careful. Less rushed. He takes a second to actually watch you first, your face, your reactions, the way your breathing changes even before he really does anything. He starts smaller, more tentative, like he’s testing the pace instead of trying to get it right all at once. His tongue making small licks between your folds, grazing your clit before repeating and your body relaxes slightly under him, tension easing into something warmer, more receptive. The earlier sharpness softens, replaced by something slower, something that builds instead of crashes all at once as a moan escapes you and that gives him confidence. You feel it in the way his hands settle more firmly, the way his movements grow just a little steadier, like he’s starting to understand what you meant. Not perfect. Not polished. But learning. And more importantly, listening.

A quiet moan slips from you again, softer this time, less startled, more… genuine. “Yeah,” you murmur, barely above a whisper now. “Like that.” And that does something to Yunho. Hearing you moan in pleasure due to him with his tongue buried inside you, the taste of you alone has him so hard he has no idea how he’s staying focused. He shifts again, adjusting, following the subtle cues your body keeps giving him as you start to roll your hips a bit and suddenly he’s not thinking in the same scattered way anymore. The nerves are still there, sure, but they’re quieter now, pushed aside by something stronger and your breath catches, sharper than before, your body tensing for a split second before melting into it when he thrusts his tongue as far he can, nose pressed against your clit, the friction from it and his tongue working slow strokes makes the control you’ve been trying to hold onto slip and before you can stop yourself, your hand moves.

Your fingers tangle into his hair. The contact surprising both of you and it sends a jolt straight through Yunho making his dick twitch. His hands tighten where they’re holding your thighs. Your grip tightens slightly in his hair without thinking, your body reacting on its own, shifting just enough to follow what feels good, grinding fully now, pulling at his hair when you feel groan, your walls clenching at his tongue as a loud moan tears from you. And Yunho pulls his tongue back, licking a stripe all the way back up to your clit before sucking it into his mouth. He’s no longer just about trying to get it right, it’s about you. The way your breath keeps catching, the way your body won’t stay still anymore no matter how much you try to hold it together. The way your moans are getting louder. Because of him.

His hands tighten again, grounding you, but it’s not enough. not when your reactions start slipping past your control. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, your grip tightening without you meaning to, your body shifting against him in a way that’s no longer subtle and borderline riding his mouth. And you feel it building. Fast. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, moving again, chasing the feeling without thinking and Yunho shifts one of his arms, sliding around your waist, holding you in place, not rough, but firm enough to steady you, to keep you from moving too much. And this? He wasn’t expecting this. Not like this.

And the added pressure of his arm around you, the way he’s holding you steady, only makes everything feel more intense, more overwhelming, like it’s pushing you closer to the edge you’ve been trying not to fall over since he walked into your room. Your grip tightens again in his hair, a sobbing cry slipping out of you that you definitely don’t manage to hide. Then Yunho pulls back. It’s not sudden, it’s like he realizes something mid motion and needs a second to breathe. His forehead comes to rest lightly against your thigh, his breath uneven now, a little heavier than before, like he’s trying to steady himself because verything feels… overwhelming. Not in a bad way. But in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

His pause almost throws you off. Your fingers loosen slightly in his hair, your breathing uneven as you try to come back down from where he just had you, your chest rising and falling a little too fast because you were so close. “Yunho…” you start, unsure if he’s stopping or just…. he moves again before you can finish. His hand shifts, sliding along your thigh again, more confident than before, less hesitant. Your fingers tighten back into his hair, your head tipping back into the pillows as you try and fail to stay quiet as he slips two of his fingers deep, brushing them up, curving them against your g spot and you realize he definitely wasn’t lying about how he knows how to use his fingers. “Don’t…. don’t stop,” you breathe, barely managing to get the words out.

Yunho keeps his head pressed to your thigh, watching his fingers thrust in and out of you, the wet sound echoing in the room, and he can see his aching dick twitching still in his sweats, the poor thing wanting nothing more than to replace his fingers as his hand tightens again in his hair, your other gripping the sheets, your breathing uneven now, moans and cries breaking out of you as he moves his mouth back down, keeping his fingers fucking you as he moans against your clit. “Fuck….. you’re…” your thoughts are jumbled but you register one thing, he’s really fucking good at eating pussy for someone who’s never had. “Yunho…” The sound of you moaning his name makes his gaze lift again, watching you now. And that’s when it hits him. This isn’t just practice anymore. The thought lands heavy in his chest, sharper than anything else so far. Because he knows you. And right now? You’re letting go in a way he’s never seen before because of him. Your best friend. Watching you come undone, legs shaking now, toes curling, your walls clenching his fingers, because of him.

He feels it before he fully understands it. Feels you clench his fingers again, wetness building, splashing his fingers and he knows then you’re about to come and he can feel himself start to grind, against the mattress, humping a little to get friction. “Yunho…” You cry his name out again as your orgasm slams into you. “FUCK….. please…. Oh my….. fuck eat my pussy….” your words are what does it for him. Yunho lets out a low strained sound as he moans against you, you still coming, squirting on his fingers that are still pumping into you faster, harder…… he comes, coming in his sweats, leaking down his own thighs as he finally pulls his fingers out of you and removes his mouth from your now slightly overstimulated clit.

Neither of you moves right away but then your hand loosens in his hair, falling back against the sheets as you try to catch your breath, your chest still rising unevenly, your thoughts struggling to settle into anything coherent. “Yeah…” you manage after a moment, still a little breathless despite your attempt to sound normal. You swallow, glancing at him, then away again. “That was… good.” It feels like an understatement and you both know it. And hearing you say that…. does something to Yunho. He looks at you for half a second, something unreadable passing through his expression before he looks away again, jaw tightening slightly. Because now he’s very aware of himself. Of everything.

He shifts back a little, creating space, one hand coming down almost instinctively, pressing lightly over the front of his sweats like he’s trying to ground himself, to hide it, to get a handle on it before it becomes too obvious that he came in his pants. “Yeah,” he exhales quietly, like he’s trying to steady his voice and not quite succeeding. He clears his throat slightly, pushing himself up off the bed, movements just a little too quick now, like he needs distance before he does something he shouldn’t. “I’m….. uh…” he starts, then huffs a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair again. “I’m gonna go shower.” He stops before walking out your bedroom. “Thanks. For the… practice,” he adds, the word sounding a little strained now, like even he doesn’t quite believe it anymore.

Practice. Right. That’s what this was supposed to be. You nod once, a little slower than usual, still watching him as he opens your bedroom door, like he’s not fully trusting himself to stay in the room any longer than necessary. “Yeah,” you breathe, clearing your own throat. “Anytime.” It slips out before you can stop it. And the second it does you feel it. The weight of it. And Yunho pauses again at the door. His hand resting against the frame, his back half turned to you like he’s debating something, like he might say something else. “Yeah,” he mutters, almost under his breath, then he’s gone. The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut down the hall echoes a little too loud in the apartment. And suddenly it’s just you. Lying there. Heart still racing. Body still warm. Mind spinning with one very clear, very dangerous thought…..

That definitely was not just practice.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho barely made it to the bathroom before shutting the door a little harder than he meant to. The click echoes, sharp in the quiet apartment, and for a second he just stands there, staring at nothing, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile instead of… that. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. Get it together. But it doesn’t work. Because the second he steps under the shower, water hitting his skin, everything comes rushing back at once.

The way you moaned his name.

He squeezes his eyes shut, head tipping forward as the water runs over his hair, his face, like it might wash the memory out. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it worse. Because now he’s remembering everything else. The way you sounded when you couldn’t hold it back anymore. The way you grinded against his face. The way you squirted. How tight you were around his fingers…. “Fuck…” he breathes under his breath, the word slipping out before he can stop it as his hand braces against the tile, knuckles whitening slightly as he tries to steady himself.

He drags in a sharp breath, the heat of the water doing nothing to calm the heat already burning under his skin. His jaw tightens, his free hand curling slightly at his side like he’s trying to ground himself, trying to get a handle on the way everything is still buzzing through him….. but then he thinks about your hand in his hair, gripping and pulling…. “Stop,” he mutters to himself, like he can actually cut it off. His head tips back slightly, water running down his face as he exhales hard through his nose, trying to focus on anything else, anything that isn’t you. But it’s pointless. Because you’re everywhere right now. In his head. In the way his chest feels too tight. In the way his body hasn’t even remotely calmed down. And that’s when it hits him, clearer than before. This wasn’t just about helping him. Not really.

Because no matter how much he tries to frame it that way, tries to convince himself that this was just learning, just practice…. It wasn’t. It never would be. Not to him. Not even a little. His grip tightens against the tile again, breath uneven as he stands there under the water, trying to ride it out, trying to let the intensity burn off without thinking too hard about why it’s there in the first place. Because if he does… if he really lets himself think about it then he has to face the truth he’s been avoiding for years. That this? This has never just been friendship. And now that line? It’s gone. “Fuck me.” He wraps his hand around himself, stroking slow at first, eyes closed and picturing you splayed out on your bed only this time he’s not deep diving into you with his tongue or fingers. He’s sinking into you, dick stretching you inch by inch….

“Fuck…” his strokes pick up, imagining himself pounding into you, your walls clenching him. Your voice this time instead of “eat my pussy” being a sobbing moan of “fuck my pussy” that makes his abs clench, his dick twitch and a groaning whimper to leave him as he comes. His forehead presses against the shower wall as he watches his cum mix with the water by his feet and wash away down the drain. For a moment, it works. The tension snaps, the overwhelming edge dulling just enough for him to breathe again. But the second it’s over it hits him again. Harder than before.

He exhales sharply, head dropping forward, forehead pressing against the cool tile as the water keeps running over his back, his shoulders, his neck. His chest rises and falls, slower now, but heavier. “I fucked up,” he groans under his breath, voice rough, barely audible over the water. You. His best friend. The one person he’s spent years not crossing that line with, no matter how many times he’s thought about it, no matter how many times he’s shoved those feelings down and told himself it wasn’t worth risking what you already had.

And now? Now he knows exactly what it feels like. Knows how you sound, how you taste, how your body… he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tightening. “Fuck…” he exhales again. Because there’s no going back from that. No pretending it didn’t mean anything. Not when it felt like that. Not when he’s reacting like this. His hand drags down his face again, water dripping from his hair, his lashes, his jaw as he tries to steady himself, tries to think of any version of this that doesn’t end in things getting complicated. But every path leads to the same place. You. “Shit….” He shakes his head because he doesn’t give a shit that Chile broke up with him. He never really did anyways. His ego was just a little bruised that’s all. Because now there’s only one thing on his mind.

He wants to have you moaning his name again.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The next morning feels… off.

Not in a loud, obvious way. Nothing dramatic. The sun still rises over Florida like it always does, warm and blinding through the blinds. Your alarm still goes off too early, your routine still runs on autopilot, scrubs, hair up, coffee barely tasted on the way out the door. But something’s different. You didn’t see Yunho before you left. His door stayed shut. The apartment was quiet in that heavy, almost deliberate way, like both of you were avoiding the same thing without saying it out loud. You paused for a second before leaving, hand hovering near his door like you might knock but you didn’t.

And now, hours later, you’re paying for it. The hospital hums around you like it always does, monitors beeping, voices overlapping, the constant movement of nurses and doctors weaving through the halls. It’s familiar. Usually grounding. Today? It’s just noise. You’re physically there, checking charts, moving from patient to patient, responding when needed, but mentally? You’re somewhere else entirely. Back in your room. Back in that moment.

Your pen hovers over a chart for a second too long, your eyes unfocused as the memory flashes again, his voice, his fingers, the way he looked at you after, the way he said thanks like that somehow made it normal.

“Hey.” A hand snaps lightly in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N.” You blink, snapping back so abruptly it almost feels like surfacing from underwater. Your eyes refocus, landing on Wooyoung standing in front of you, arms crossed, one brow raised in that way that means he’s already clocked everything. “What?” you mutter, a little slower than usual and Wooyoung’s eyes narrow slightly, studying you like you’re a suspicious patient instead of his coworker. “You tell me. You’ve been zoning out all day.”

You glance down at the chart in your hands like it might defend you. “I’m working.”

“Mhm,” he hums, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve been staring at that same page for, like, a full minute.” You sigh under your breath, shifting your weight slightly, trying to shake it off. “Long shift.”

“Bullshit.”

You look up at him properly this time, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” Wooyoung doesn’t budge. If anything, he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to keep it between the two of you. “I’ve seen you after long shifts,” he says, tone casual but eyes sharp. “You’re tired, yeah, but you’re not… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely at you. “You look like your brain is buffering.” You huff out a quiet breath despite yourself, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” he says, dragging the word out in a way that makes it very clear he does not believe you. “And I’m the head surgeon.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it as Wooyoung watches you for another second, expression shifting slightly, less teasing now, more observant. “Okay, so what happened?” You hesitate just ust for a second. And that’s all he needs. “Oh my god,” he says immediately, eyes lighting up with realization. “Something did happen.”

“Nothing happened,” you shoot back a little too quickly and he leans back slightly, arms crossing again, a slow, knowing grin starting to creep onto his face. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” You don’t answer. Because you know he’s right. And because if you open your mouth right now… you’re not entirely sure what’s going to come out. Wooyoung tilts his head, studying you again, curiosity fully locked in now. You look away immediately, jaw tightening slightly as you busy yourself with the chart again, anything to avoid his eyes.

Because how are you supposed to explain this? How are you supposed to say, I helped my best friend by letting him eat my pussy and now I can’t stop thinking about him and everything feels different, like that’s a normal thing to say in the middle of a hospital hallway. “It’s nothing,” you mutter again, weaker this time but Wooyoung doesn’t buy it for a second. He steps a little closer, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “Whatever it is,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly, “it’s definitely not nothing.”

You don’t answer him. Instead, you sit your charts down and grab his wrist. “Hey…. what the…” Wooyoung stumbles slightly as you yank him down the hall, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor as he tries to keep up. “Are you kidnapping me on shift right now? Because I’m pretty sure that’s illegal…”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, not even looking back as you push through the double doors toward the labs. It’s quieter there, cooler too. The hum of machines replaces the chaos of the main floor, and for once, there’s no one around. You let go of him once you’re inside, pacing once, twice, like you’re trying to physically walk off the tension sitting under your skin and Wooyoung just stands there, staring at you like you’ve officially lost it. “Okay,” he says slowly, dragging the word out, arms crossing over his chest. “You’re either about to confess to a crime or tell me something insane.”

“I did something,” you say finally and Wooyoung’s eyes light up immediately. “Oh, I know you did. Get to the good part.” You glare at him and he holds his hands up. “I’m listening, I’m listening.” You exhale sharply, dragging a hand through your hair, already regretting this and needing to say it anyway. “Yunho came to me last night,” you start, voice lower now, more controlled but there’s something underneath it, something a little too charged to be casual which makes Wooyoung’s grin sharpen. “Your roommate Yunho? Your best friend Yunho?”

“Yes, Wooyoung, the only Yunho I know…. can you let me finish?”

He mimes zipping his mouth shut, but the excitement is very much still there as you take another breath. “He told me his newest girlfriend dumped him,” you continue. “Good,” Wooyoung cuts in immediately. “Don’t like any of them.”

“Not the point,” you snap, though you agree.

“Right, right….. continue.”

You hesitate again. “She dumped him because he’s never… done that before.”

Wooyoung blinks, confused. “Done what?” You stare at him and stares back. “You know…. eaten…. pussy before.”

“Oh my….” his eyes go wide, his entire posture straightening like he just got hit with electricity. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” you mutter as Wooyoung lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “No way. No way that man made it to twenty six without…”

“I know,” you cut in, already pacing again. “That’s what I said.”

“That’s insane,” he says, almost impressed. “That’s…. wow. Okay.” You stop again. Because this is the part. The part where you either keep it surface level… or don’t. “He asked me how to do it,” you say, quieter now and Wooyoung tilts his head, still following, still amused. “Okay… that tracks, I guess. You’re you. You’d know.” You don’t respond right away and that’s what makes his expression slowly change. “Why do I feel like that’s not the end of the story,” he says slowly.

You press your lips together and look at the floor. “I didn’t just tell him. Wooyoung stares at you, brows furrowed. “You didn’t just tell him,” he repeats and you shake your head. “I let him practice on me.” The room goes completely still. For a solid three seconds, Wooyoung just stares at you like his brain has short circuited. “You what?” You throw your hands up slightly, already defensive. “It was supposed to be just practice.”

“JUST PRACTICE?” he repeats, voice jumping an octave before he clamps it down, glancing toward the door like someone might hear. He steps closer, lowering his voice but not the intensity. “You let your best friend, who you live with… practice eating pussy on you?” You wince slightly. “When you say it like that….”

“How else am I supposed to say it?” he demands, incredulous. “That’s exactly what it is!” You drag a hand down your face. “I know, okay? I know. It just… it didn’t feel like a big deal at first and then it just… happened.” Wooyoung stares at you, eyes wide, trying to process. “And?” he presses.

“And it wasn’t just practice,” you admit.

“Define wasn’t just practice…” he says carefully and you exhale slowly, your gaze dropping again. “It was… good,” you murmur. “Like…. really good. And he…” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is… it felt like more.” Wooyoung doesn’t interrupt this time. He just watches you. “And now I don’t know what the hell to do,” you finish, finally looking back up at him. Wooyoung studies you for a second, all the teasing gone now. “You’re in love with him,” he says flatly.

Your stomach drops as Wooyoung exhales, running a hand through his hair, processing everything all over again but this time with a completely different lens. “And you let him do that,” he mutters, more to himself now. “I didn’t plan it,” you shoot back. “I know,” he says quickly, holding up a hand. “I know. I’m just…. wow. Okay.” He looks at you again. “What did he say after?”

“He…. thanked me,” you say, almost bitterly. “For the practice. Then went to shower.”

“Oh, he’s stupid,” Wooyoung sighs. And despite everything, a small, incredulous laugh slips out of you. “You think?”

“Yeah,” he nods, dead serious. “Because if he thinks that was just practice, he’s either lying to himself… or he’s about to have the same crisis you are.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

A couple days later, things feel… normal again. Or at least, they look normal.

From the outside, nothing’s changed. You and Yunho fall back into your routine like it’s muscle memory, passing each other in the kitchen, sharing late night takeout, sitting on opposite ends of the couch while something mindless plays in the background. You still talk, still joke, still exist in that same comfortable orbit you always have. But there’s something underneath it now. Something neither of you touches. You don’t bring it up. He doesn’t bring it up. So it just… sits there. Unspoken. And the more you both pretend it didn’t happen, the louder it gets in the silence.

Now Yunho’s alone. The apartment is quiet in that hollow way it only is when you’re not there, no soft background noise, no movement in the other room, no you. Just him, the faint hum of his setup, and way too much space for his thoughts to bounce around in. He texted Chloe. Thought maybe he could smooth things over, fix it, prove to himself that nothing had changed. That what happened with you didn’t mean anything more than what you both said it was.

So he met up with her. Told himself it was fine. Normal. But the second things started getting even remotely close to that territory again… it felt wrong. Not bad. Just… off. From Yunho’s perspective, it was like trying to follow a script he suddenly didn’t believe in anymore. The way she talked, the way she reacted, it all felt rehearsed somehow, like she was performing instead of actually feeling anything. And the worst part? He couldn’t stop comparing it to you.

The way you sounded, unfiltered, unplanned. The way you felt. The way you trusted him enough to let go like that. The sound of his name like sin and honey on your tongue. And no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it just… kept getting louder. Even the small things. The way Chloe moved. The way she responded. The way everything felt… It didn’t match. Didn’t even come close. And for some reason, he couldn’t shake it. By the time he left, he felt worse than before. More confused. More frustrated. Because now it’s not just about what happened with you. It’s about the fact that nothing else feels right anymore unless it’s with you.

When he got home, Yunho dropped onto the couch, dragging both hands over his face with a frustrated exhale. “What the hell is wrong with me…” he muttered under his breath. It’s not just that it was good with you. It’s that it felt different. Like something clicked into place that he didn’t even realize was missing before. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, jaw tight as he tried to piece it together in a way that makes sense other than the obvious.

He’s in love with you. Always had been.

“Fuck,” he exhales, sharper this time, one hand coming up to press against his forehead. Because he knows. He knows what the answer is. He just doesn’t want to say it out loud.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho tries to distract himself. He really does. Headset on, controller in hand, screen glowing in front of him, it’s the easiest way to shut his brain off, to fall back into something familiar where he doesn’t have to think too hard about anything outside of the game. For a little while, it works. His voice slips back into that easy, relaxed tone, laughing here and there, throwing out comments without really thinking. The rhythm of it is second nature, callouts, reactions, the occasional trash talk. Normal. But it doesn’t last. Because his mind isn’t fully in it. Not when you’re still sitting somewhere in the back of it, stubborn and loud no matter how much he tries to push it down.

“Hey,” one of the guys in his headset laughs, cutting through the game noise. “I’m telling you, bro, last night? Crazy.”

Yunho hums absently, not really paying attention. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…. she had me laid out, man. Like, fully…” the guy laughs again, unfiltered, “had me flat while she was on top riding my face like it was her mission, I’m not even kidding.” There’s a chorus of reactions, laughter, teasing, someone making a joke about him finally getting humbled and Yunho chuckles faintly at first, automatic.

But then his mind catches on it. And everything goes sideways. The thought of you like that, the way you’d look on top of him, the way he’d give in and let you have control…. his grip tightens slightly on the controller, his jaw setting as he tries to shove it away just as fast as it came.

“Yunho? You still there?” someone calls through his headset. “Yeah,” he answers quickly, a little too quick, clearing his throat as he tries to refocus on the screen. “I’m here.” But he’s not. Because now his thoughts are spiraling again, faster this time, harder to control. He drags in a quiet breath, trying to lock back into the game, but it’s useless. His mind keeps circling back, pulling him deeper into it whether he wants to go there or not. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, barely audible over the mic.

“Bro, what?” one of them laughs. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Yunho says again, but this time it comes out rougher, distracted. Because now he’s stuck in it, stuck in that loop of thoughts he can’t seem to shut off, the line between what happened and what he wants blurring more and more the longer he sits there. And the realization creeping in underneath it all? It’s getting harder to ignore. “I gotta hop off,” he mutters suddenly.

“What? We just started…”

“Yeah, I’ll catch you later,” he cuts in, already pulling his headset off before they can argue and the room falls quiet as he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands hanging between them as he stares at the floor, jaw tight. He doesn’t just want to pretend it didn’t happen. He doesn’t just want to move on.

He wants you.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The front door clicks open as you step inside like you always do, bag slipping off your shoulder, keys dropped into the bowl by the door, the familiar weight of a long shift still clinging to you. The apartment feels the same. Looks the same. But you already know better. Because the second you walk in you feel it. That subtle tension in the air, like something’s been waiting…..

“Can you show me how to let a girl ride my face?”

Your brain doesn’t even process it at first, like it short circuits halfway through the sentence, trying to decide if you actually heard him correctly. “Jesus fucking Christ, Yunho!”

He wasn’t planning to say that. Not like that. Not the second you walked in the door, still in your scrubs, barely even inside the apartment. But the thought’s been stuck in his head for the last hour, looping, getting louder, mixing with everything else he’s been trying and failing to ignore. Now he’s standing there, frozen in place, staring at you like he might actually combust on the spot. “I….” he starts, then stops, running a hand through his hair hard enough to mess it up all over again. “That… came out wrong.”

“Came out wrong?” you repeat slowly, blinking at him like you’re trying to decide if this is real or if you’re still at work and hallucinating from exhaustion. “Okay, not wrong… just….” he exhales sharply, pacing once like he physically can’t stand still under your stare. “I didn’t mean to just say it like that, I just…” He cuts himself off again, clearly spiraling. “You just got home,” he mutters, like that somehow explains it, gesturing vaguely toward you before dragging a hand down his face again. “I wasn’t…. planning to…”

“You weren’t planning to ask me how to let someone ride your face?” you cut in, incredulously and he stops pacing. “When you say it like that, it sounds…”

“It sounds exactly like what you said,” you shoot back and silence hits the room before Yunho hesitates and breaks it. “I tried with Chloe,” he says finally and your irritation fades, replaced by something sharper. More focused. “And?” you ask, quieter now, and Yunho huffs a humorless breath, shaking his head. “It wasn’t the same.” From his perspective, saying it out loud makes it worse. Because now it’s not just a thought. It’s real. He glances at you again, holding your gaze this time instead of avoiding it. “Nothing about it felt the same,” he admits, voice lower now, more controlled, but there’s something underneath it, something heavier.

“You’ve been in my head all day,” he adds before he can stop himself, the words slipping out quieter this time, less frantic but somehow more dangerous. “And I can’t—” he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know how to just go back to normal after that.”

“So instead,” you say slowly, heart pounding, “you ask me that the second I walk through the door?”

“Yeah,” Yunho admits, a little helplessly. And somehow, that’s worse. Because he’s not joking. Not deflecting. Not hiding behind anything. He’s just being honest. And that realization settles deep in your chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. Because if he’s being honest… for a second, you just stand there, still in your scrubs, bag hanging off your shoulder, heart beating a little too fast for how still you’re trying to look. Because you could push this deeper. You could ask him what he meant, why he’s thinking about you like that, why he can’t let it go. But that would mean admitting you can’t either.

“Well,” you say, exhaling through your nose like you’re brushing it off, even though your chest feels anything but calm. You drop your bag onto the chair by the door, kicking your shoes off like this is just another normal night. “Come on.”

“Come on?” he repeats, like he’s not sure he heard you right. You glance at him over your shoulder, already heading toward your room, that same dangerous calm settling into your voice again. “You asked, didn’t you?” you say simply and his brain stalls for half a second before his body catches up, pushing off the wall and following you without even thinking about it. There’s tension in his steps now, something tighter, more focused, because this is happening again. You feel him behind you before you even see him, the weight of his presence making everything feel smaller, warmer, more charged than it should.

You step into your room, turning to face him as he stops just inside the doorway, that same mix of anticipation and nerves written all over him as you cross your arms loosely, leaning back against the edge of your bed. “For the record,” you add, a little more casually than you feel, “I’ve only done this once.” Yunho’s brows pull together slightly. “Yeah?” You nod once, gaze flicking away for a second like you’re debating whether to say more. “With my ex.”

Yunho’s jaw tightens without him even realizing it, something sharp flashing behind his eyes at the mention of him. He never liked that guy. Not even a little. “Of course it was,” he mutters under his breath and you huff out a quiet humorless laugh. “Yeah, well… it didn’t exactly go great.”

“What do you mean?”

You shrug, but there’s an edge to it now, something a little more honest slipping through. “I mean he barely let it last five minutes before he started complaining.” Yunho’s expression darkens. “Complaining?” he repeats, incredulously. “Yeah,” you nod, rolling your eyes slightly. “Said it was weird. Too much work. Told me to stop before I could even….” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter.” But it does. Because now Yunho’s not just thinking about what he wants. He’s thinking about that. About someone else being in that position with you and not even trying. Not paying attention. Not caring enough to let you actually come. “That’s…” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “That’s stupid.”

You glance at him, a small, almost amused smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Yeah. I figured that out.” But the way he’s looking at you now? It’s not amused. It’s focused. Intent. Like he’s already decided something. “Well,” you say, pushing yourself off the bed slightly, that same teasing edge creeping back in just enough to mask the tension. “Guess you’ll have to do better than him.”

Yunho huffs out a quiet breath, something almost like a disbelieving laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah,” he says, stepping further into the room, gaze locked on you now. “I think I can manage that.” You have to keep your thighs from clenching when you see his eyes darken. Your hands go to the waistband of your scrub pants, fingers brushing the fabric as you try to keep your breathing even, your expression neutral, like this isn’t a big deal, like this isn’t the second time you’re about to cross a line you’ve both been avoiding for years. The fabric shifts as you push your scrubs down, the movement simple, routine, something you’ve done a thousand times before after long shifts.

Yunho’s watching, quiet, still, but completely locked in. And there’s something different about him now. The hesitation from the first time? It’s still there, but it’s buried under something else, something more focused, more certain. His gaze tracks every small movement you make, every shift of fabric, every breath you take like he’s trying to memorize it. You step out of your scrubs, pushing them aside, leaving you standing there in your bra and panties for a second longer than necessary, like your body hasn’t quite caught up with your brain yet.

Yunho exhales quietly, like he’s been holding his breath without realizing it and you glance up at him, finally meeting his eyes, and for a second neither of you says anything. Because you both feel it. That shift. That this isn’t the same as the first time. “You still sure you want me to show you?” you ask and he answers without hesitation. “Yeah.” You shift your weight slightly, forcing yourself to stay grounded, even as everything about this feels anything but steady. Your gaze flicks over him once, quick, almost instinctive, before you look away again, like if you stare too long you’ll start thinking about it too much. “You should probably take your shirt off,” you say, voice coming out calmer than you feel. “It could get… messy.”

The words hang there for a second before Yunho blinks and huffs out a quiet breath, something almost like a nervous laugh slipping through, even as his hands move without hesitation to the hem of his shirt. “Right,” he mutters as his fingers catch the fabric, pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion, something he’s done a thousand times before, something you’ve seen a thousand times before. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s never been a big deal. You’ve seen him like this before. Late nights, lazy mornings, passing each other in the apartment like it’s nothing. It’s always been easy.

Your eyes flick back to him before you can stop them, catching on the way his shoulders shift as he drops the shirt somewhere behind him, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the tension sitting just under his skin like he’s holding himself together by a thread. Your breath stutters just slightly, and you have to look away again after staring way too long at his happy trail, swallowing as you try to pull yourself back together. You’ve seen this before. But your brain doesn’t believe that anymore as he steps a little closer, not rushing, but not holding back either, closing some of the space between you like he’s done thinking about it and just… moving forward now.

“Okay,” he says, voice a little rougher than before and you climb onto the bed first, shifting back toward the headboard, giving him space. Yunho follows a second later, slower this time, not unsure, but aware. More aware than he was that first time. He watches you as he gets on, like he’s trying to read every movement, every decision you make. This time, he doesn’t sit. He lays back and settles against the mattress, head near your pillows, eyes still on you, chest rising and falling a little heavier than normal. “If you need me to get up,” you say, a little more careful than before, “just let me know.” Yunho’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Okay.”

Your fingers hook at the waistband of your panties, your breath catching as your mind tries once more to catch up with what you’re about to do. This is a bad idea. The thought flickers but you ignore it. Because the second you glance at him again, really look at him, the way he’s watching you, the way there’s no uncertainty left in his expression, just something deeper, something wanting…..

You push your panties all the down, tossing them on the floor and Yunho’s hands come up without thinking when you move closer, settling at your thighs again, firmer than before. Not stopping you. Not guiding you. Just… holding. Grounding himself in the reality of what’s happening. Your fingers grip the headboard above you, steadying yourself, your breath uneven as you settle there, every nerve suddenly aware of him, of the space, of the fact that this is happening again but not in the same way. Not even close. Because this time you’re not just showing him. And he’s not just learning.

You start to lower yourself slowly. Your fingers tighten around the headboard, grounding yourself, keeping control of the pace as you hover just above him once he lays down. Your breathing is uneven now, chest rising a little faster as you try not to think too hard about what you’re doing. About who you’re doing it with. You keep your grip firm, easing down carefully, deliberately holding yourself there, not fully committing yet, like you’re still giving both of you one last second to back out and Yunho’s hands tighten on your thighs without warning, grip firm. stronger than before and before you can fully control the pace anymore he pulls you down.

The sudden movement steals the breath right out of you, your grip on the headboard tightening instantly, your body jolting at the unexpected shift. “Yunho….” his name slips out before you can stop it, sharp and surprised. He starts slower than you expect. His hands grip your thighs, anchoring you in place, holding you steady like he doesn’t trust you to stay there on your own, not anymore. Not when you’re already reacting like this the second his tongue thrusted up into you. And it hits him almost immediately. That difference. That clarity. He wasn’t crazy. You taste so good he feels his eyes roll back and a moan, deep and almost growling leaves him, vibrating against you.

“Oh… oh my….” You’re whimpering now, still gripping the headboard, legs feeling heavy where they are caged around his head. His nose is rubbing at your clit, tongue curving up into you…. then you start to move. Not even on purpose at first, just instinct, chasing the feeling, trying to stay grounded and failing at it completely and a low, rough sound slips out of Yunho again before he can stop it, something deeper than before. It sounds like he’s gone as his hands tighten again, pulling you even closer, not letting you pull away, not letting you control the pace anymore.

He exhales sharply, tongue pulling out to move up, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and keeping it there as you cry out and really start rocking against his face. “Fuck…. right there… Yunho… don’t stop” your begging and pleading seems to only make him more pussy drunk. His dick is hard, he can feel it twitching, precum leaking and staining his sweats. And before he can even register what he’s saying, he pulls back just enough to mumble, “your pussy taste so fucking good.” Then he thrusts his tongue back into you, moaning loud at the taste of you. And his words make it build faster.

You can feel it, tight , overwhelming, impossible to ignore now. Every movement pushes you closer, your grip on the headboard turning almost desperate as your body stops listening to anything except the need to chase it. You’re not thinking anymore. Not about the line you crossed. Not the fact your best friend is eating your pussy like it’s his last meal. Not about anything except the way everything is pulling tighter and tighter….. and then you glance down. Just for a second. And you see him. The way he’s completely gone, hands gripping you, holding you there like he doesn’t want to lose this, like he doesn’t want to lose you in this moment. The way his chest is rising unevenly, the tension in him obvious, unhidden now.

And the moans he makes… low, deep and unfiltered….. and then you look back, see the length of him hard in his sweats, watch his dick leaking against the fabric, twitching… your hands drop from the headboard without thinking, tangling into his hair instead, gripping tight as everything finally breaks. Your breath shatters into something you can’t control, your body tensing hard as the feeling crashes over you all at once. “YUNHO…” you pull at his hair as you come, riding it out literally. Your hips move, grinding frantically against his face and he lets you. Loves it.

You’re barely coming back down when, thighs shaking, when you hear him let out the whiniest, neediest sound you’ve ever heard. Because just the feel of you riding his face, the taste of you dripping on his tongue, he feels his dick twitch once, twice….. and then he’s coming too. Untouched and aching. It’s overwhelming in a way he didn’t expect, his thoughts completely scattered, his body reacting before he can even process it, the intensity of the moment pulling everything out of him whether he’s ready for it or not. Fuck.

He groans again under his breath, quieter this time, but no less affected, his forehead pressing against your inner thigh now as he tries to steady himself, tries to come back down from something that hit way harder than he was prepared for as you slide away first. The movement is slow, almost reluctant, creating space between you where there hadn’t been any moments before. The room feels strangely quiet now. Not peaceful. Just… full. Your pulse is still trying to settle as you sit back against the headboard, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Across from you, Yunho remains exactly where he is, sprawled on the mattress, staring at the ceiling like he’s forgotten how to move. For a second, you almost laugh. Not because anything is funny. But because he looks completely dazed. “Yunho?” You glance down and see that obvious stain on his sweats, his dick still hard despite the orgasm that ripped out of him. His chest rises and falls slowly as you feel your heart ready to run from your body. “Yunho, you good?” A knot forms low in your stomach. “Hey.”

This time his eyes close briefly. Not avoiding you. Just bracing. When they open again, something has changed. The uncertainty that’s followed him for days is gone. The nervousness. The excuses. Slowly, he sits up and the mattress shifts beneath his weight as you watch him carefully. “Yunho?” His gaze finds yours, voice low and hesitant. “It isn’t practice anymore.” The words land between you like a dropped match and your breath catches as your brows furrow. “What?”

For a second, he looks away and you see his throat work as he swallows. And suddenly the confident, easygoing Yunho you’ve known for years looks terrified. Not of you. But of telling the truth. “I didn’t need to practice that,” he says quietly and the confession sounds almost ridiculous now that it’s out in the open and a humorless laugh escapes him. “Not really.” Your heart pounds harder. “Then why…”

“I just…” He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “just wanted you again.” The world outside the room might as well not exist anymore after that confession. You stare at him as he stares at the floor a minute before his gaze lifts back to yours. “I tried to pretend it didn’t mean anything.” His voice is rough now. Honest in a way you’ve almost never heard before. “I tried to go back to normal. I met up with Chloe….. and all I could do was compare everything to you.” The admission leaves him looking almost angry. Not at you but at himself. “Every conversation.” He laughs once, short and bitter. “Every stupid thing.” His eyes lock onto yours. “And I realized I didn’t care that she dumped me.”

Your breath catches as Yunho stands and walks until he’s close enough that neither of you can pretend this conversation is casual anymore. “I’ve spent years telling myself not to do this.” His voice softens. “Because you’re my best friend. But I think I’ve been in love with you for so long that I forgot what it felt like not to be.” The room goes completely still. And suddenly every excuse you’ve both been hiding behind falls apart at once. No more lessons. No more practice. No more pretending.

For a moment, you don’t say anything. Not because you don’t have an answer. Not because you don’t feel it too. But because your brain completely short circuits. You’ve imagined this conversation before. More times than you’d ever admit. Late nights. Long drives. Quiet moments where Yunho smiled at you a certain way and you wondered. But those were fantasies. This is real. And somehow, reality hits harder.

Yunho watches the silence stretch. One second. Two. Three. Long enough for doubt to creep in and you see it happen. The way his shoulders tense. The way something guarded settles over his expression. Like he’s already preparing himself for the answer he doesn’t want and his gaze drops as he lets out a quiet laugh that sounds painful around the edges. “Right.”

“Yunho….”

“It’s fine.” It isn’t. You can hear that immediately as he takes a step back. Then another. Putting distance between you before you can even process what’s happening. “Just forget I said anything.” The words hit like a punch and your eyes widen. “What?” He shakes his head. A small smile appearing on his face, but it’s all wrong. Forced and tight. The kind people wear when they’re trying not to let something hurt. “We can just go back to normal.”

“Yunho….”

“I’m serious.” His voice is quiet now. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Then he turns and walks out, bedroom door staying open behind him. And for a second, you just sit there. Frozen. Staring after him. Your heart pounding so hard it feels impossible to breathe. Because what just happened? The realization crashes into you all at once. Yunho loves you. Yunho is in love with you. And somehow, because you were too shocked to speak, he thinks you don’t feel the same.

“Are you kidding me?” You scramble off the bed so fast you nearly trip over the sheets. Your discarded panties are still scattered on the floor from. You snatch them up and pull them on while practically hopping across the room. “Idiot.” You aren’t even sure if you’re talking about him or yourself. Maybe both. By the time you reach the doorway, your pulse is racing. The apartment suddenly feels too big. Too long. Too far away. You find him in the living room.

Yunho is standing near the couch with both hands planted on his hips, staring out the window like he’s trying to figure out how to survive the next ten minutes. He doesn’t turn around when he hears you. Which hurts more than it should. Because Yunho always turns around when it’s you. “Yunho.” His shoulders tense as you march farther into the room. “Yunho.” This time he exhales slowly.

“You don’t have to say anything.” The quiet resignation in his voice makes your chest ache as he finally looks over his shoulder. And the look on his face almost breaks your heart. Because he’s already convinced himself. Already decided what your silence meant. Already started mourning something he never even got a chance to have. And suddenly all the shock leaves your body. “You absolute fucking idiot.”

His brows immediately pull together. “Excuse me?”

“I was in shock.” Now it’s your turn to be frustrated. “You just told me you’ve been in love with me for years! I didn’t know what to say!” He stares at you, frozen, trying to process. And when he doesn’t respond immediately, you throw your hands up. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say something?” The room goes completely silent. And Yunho’s expression changes. First disbelief. Then hope. “What?”

Your heart pounds. But now that you’ve started, there’s no stopping. “No, seriously.” You laugh once. “I have spent years trying not to be in love with you.” This time it’s Yunho who goes completely speechless and just stares at you. Like his brain has completely stopped working. Your confession hangs between you, raw and impossible to take back as you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’re standing in the middle of your apartment wearing just your bra and panties and a racing heartbeat. “Honestly?” you scoff. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

His brows knit together. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you say, throwing your hands up, “I’ve been trying to get your attention for years.”

Yunho blinks. “Years?”

“Yes, years.”

His expression shifts from stunned to suspicious. “What are you talking about?”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Five months ago.” The second you say it, something flashes across his face. Recognition. “You remember.” His jaw tightens. Of course he remembers. A week before you’d finally broken up with your ex. Yunho had come home earlier than expected. Walked through the apartment door. And immediately wished he hadn’t. The memory hits him with perfect clarity. The television running in the background. Your moan. Your ex under you while rode him on the couch. The way you’d looked up when the door opened. The way Yunho’s stomach had dropped so hard he’d thought he might actually be sick.

He remembers forcing a smile. Muttering something about grabbing food. Pretending none of it bothered him. Pretending he hadn’t spent the rest of the night locked in his room trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about you. Or how he wanted to snatch your ex up and throw him out the window. His eyes narrow. Slowly. Dangerously. “What about it?” You hesitate for the first time since chasing him out here. Then you sigh. Because apparently you’re both doing honesty tonight. “I knew you were coming home.”

Yunho goes completely still and heart immediately starts pounding harder. “So?” he asks. The word comes out lower than before. Dangerous. Dark. “So I wanted you to see. I wanted…” You wince. “I wanted you to get jealous.” Yunho’s jaw clenches. “What?” Your confidence evaporates instantly. “I don’t know!” you snap, mortified. “I wasn’t thinking clearly!” His eyes remain locked on yours. “That was your plan?”

“It was a terrible plan.”

“It was a terrible plan.”

“I know!”

“You deliberately….”

“Yes.”

“To make me jealous.”

“Yes.”

The silence that follows is almost comical as Yunho drags a hand down his face. Then another. Like he’s trying to process the level of insanity he’s dealing with. And when he looks at you again, there’s something different in his expression now. Something darkly amused. Something that makes your stomach flip. “Five months.” You point a finger at him. “Don’t.”

“Five months,” he repeats.

“Yunho.”

“You spent five months thinking I wasn’t interested.”

“Well, you never said anything!”

“And your solution was psychological warfare?”

Your mouth falls open. “I was desperate!”

That does it. A laugh finally escapes him. Short and disbelieving. He shakes his head. Then his gaze drags slowly over you. And suddenly every bit of humor fades from his face. Because now he understands. All of it. The mixed signals. The frustration. The years of almosts. The fact that the two of you have apparently been running in circles around each other for ages. His eyes meet yours again and his voice drops. Low enough that it catches you completely off guard. “You fucking brat.” The second the word leaves his mouth, Yunho sees it. That tiny reaction. The way your breath catches. The way your eyes widen for half a second before you try to hide it.

And because he’s known you for years, because he’s spent years paying attention to things nobody else notices, he catches it immediately and a slow smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Oh.”

“Oh?” you repeat weakly and his smirk grows. “That’s interesting.”

Heat floods your face. “Don’t.”

“You like that.”

“Yunho.”

“You do.” The confidence in his voice is unbearable. Not because he’s teasing. But because he’s right. And the worst part? He knows it. You watch him take a step closer. Then another. The distance between you shrinking until it feels impossible to think straight. “A brat trying to drive me insane” he says and your pulse pounds in your ears. “Yunho…” He stops directly in front of you. Close enough that you can see every tiny shift in his expression.

“Baby, you like that, don’t you?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. No denial. No argument. No sarcastic comeback. Just silence. Because for once, you don’t have one after hear him calling you baby. Yunho’s eyes flick briefly to your lips before returning to your gaze and yhe realization hits both of you at the same time. “Fuck,” you breathe before you reach up to grab at the back of his neck. Yunho barely has time to look surprised before you’re pulling him toward you.

The kiss happens somewhere between impulse and inevitability. Years of frustration. Years of wanting. Years of bad timing and missed opportunities crashing together all at once. For a second, neither of you seems to know what to do with the fact that this is finally happening. Then Yunho’s hands find your waist automatically, hands gliding down as your tongue starts fighting with his own. His hands reach your ass, gripping and landing a slap on your right cheek getting him a moan into the kiss out of you from it. “Fuck me…” he grabs you, lifting you and letting you wrap your legs around his waist and a laugh escapes you. “You are such an idiot.”

Yunho lets out a disbelieving laugh of his own. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“You had an entire secret jealousy operation.”

“It wasn’t an operation.”

“It absolutely was.” And despite everything, you both start laughing. And somehow that feels right. Because after all the tension, all the confusion, all the years spent circling each other… It’s still the two of you. Just finally honest this time as Yunho holds you tightly against his chest, lips finding yours again in a slow, claiming kiss that deepens quickly, tongues sliding together as his hands roamed down your back.

He brakes away only to trail hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. His fingers hook into the cups of your bra, tugging them down so your breasts spill free and he latches onto one nipple immediately, sucking hard while his tongue flicks over the hardening peak, then switches to the other, licking and sucking with growing hunger. Teeth grazing your nipple as he kisses and marks you, leaving red blooms across the curves of your breasts that would darken later as he carries you towards the couch and you slide down him until your knees hit the floor in front of him.

You reach up before he can ask and yank his sweats down in one motion, freeing his dick which bobbed heavily, still rigid and glistening with the evidence of his earlier release. The sight made your mouth water, he was thick, veined and longer than you had imagined, the tip flushed. You look up at him with a teasing smirk. "Twice now you've come just from eat me out. That's cute." Yunho's ears turn red but he doesn’t look away as you lean in without hesitation, tongue dragging along the underside of his dick to clean away the sticky cum clinging to his skin.

You take your time, licking broad stripes from base to tip, sucking the tip into your mouth to draw out every trace until he was clean and shiny with your saliva. Only when you had finished did he reach down, gripping your shoulders to pull you up to your feet, eyes locked onto yours, dark and searching. "You love me?" You answer by crashing your mouth to his, kissing him deep and messy and he groans into it, tasting himself on your tongue, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Of course you idiot," you murmur against his lips. Then you shove him backward onto the couch cushions. Your panties gone again in seconds, kicked aside as you climb into his lap, straddling his hips.

Yunho's hands grip your waist, his mind flashing to every time your ex had been here with you on this same couch. He was going to fuck those memories right out of the fabric. You didn't ease down. Both of you were too far gone, years of wanting crashing together in one desperate rush as you sank onto him in one smooth motion, taking every inch until your ass met his thighs and a shared moan filled the room. You started moving immediately, too impatient now, lifting and slamming back down in hard, hungry strokes that made the couch creak and Yunho's head fell back, fingers digging into your hips as he begged, "Take it, fuck, take all of me."

Your pace grew frantic, pounding yourself onto him with wet, slapping sounds filling the air. Each descent stretched you perfectly, his dick hitting deep. Pleasure coiled tight and then snapping. You cried out as you squirted hard around him, hot fluid gushing over him and soaking his lap and the sight undid him. Yunho flipped you in one swift motion, laying you back on the cushions and grabbing your legs to fold you in half, your ankles at his shoulders as he sank back inside you with a groan, thrusts starting slow and deliberate, building in force with every roll of his hips. “You're mine… I'm yours… Fuck…" The words came out strained as he watched your face, then looked down between your bodies.

The sight of you creaming his dick made him moan louder and pick up the speed, pounding into you relentlessly. "Say it… say you're mine." You were a trembling mess beneath him, words fracturing on your tongue. "I… I… I'm…" Yunho saw you unraveling and thrust harder. "I know baby… fuck you feel so fucking good." You sobbed his name, body locking up as your orgasm ripped through you, clenching around him, screaming as you squirted again, spraying between you.

Yunho followed right after, pounding through your climax before burying himself to the hilt, pulsing deep inside you, flooding you with thick ropes of cum that overflowed and leaked out around his dick. He stayed pressed there, grinding through the aftershocks, filling you until it was dripping down your ass onto the couch.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

A couple hours later, the apartment is so quiet it almost feels unreal. No tension. No confusion. No years of unresolved feelings hanging over every conversation. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of a spoon against ceramic as you stand at the kitchen island wearing one of Yunho’s oversized shirts that hangs halfway down your thighs. The sleeves swallow your hands every time you reach for your cereal.

Across from you, Yunho leans against the counter in nothing but boxers, absently eating from his own bowl. It’s ridiculous. After everything that happened. After years of pining. After confessions and tears and fucking on the couch then again in the shower after finally getting everything out in the open. This is what you’re doing. Eating cereal. The realization makes you snort into your spoon and Yunho immediately looks up. “What?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s just…” A laugh escapes you. “We finally admit we’re in love with each other and somehow we’re standing in the kitchen eating Lucky Charms.” Yunho glances down at his bowl then back at you. “It’s a very emotional cereal.” You stare at him and he stares back. And then you both lose it. The laughter comes easier now. The kind that leaves your stomach hurting and feels like relief. When it finally settles, Yunho shakes his head and points his spoon at you. “By the way.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Whenever someone starts a sentence like that, something annoying follows.”

“You really thought making me jealous was a good plan?”

You groan. “There it is.”

“No, seriously.” He sets his bowl down. “I need to understand.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You absolutely do not.”

Yunho is already smiling. That dangerous smile that means he’s enjoying himself. “You knew I was coming home and thought, You know what’ll fix this situation? Emotional devastation.”

“I was twenty five and stupid.”

“Five months ago.”

“Details.”

He lets out a bark of laughter and you try not to smile and fail miserably. “Do you know what I did after that?” he asks and your grin fades slightly. “No.”

“I sat in my room for three hours.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Three.” He holds up three fingers. “Hours.”

“Yunho…”

“I ate an old bag of chips because i didn’t want to leave my room and I’m pretty sure they were stale.”

You choke on your cereal. “No, you didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

“Oh my God.”

“And then I convinced myself I was being ridiculous because you were allowed to date whoever you wanted.” The admission is casual. Like he’s only comfortable saying it now because everything’s already out in the open. And something soft settles in your chest. Because suddenly that memory looks completely different. Not from your perspective. From his. A man hopelessly in love with his best friend trying to pretend it didn’t hurt.

Your expression must change because Yunho notices immediately and his own smile softens. The teasing disappearing. “You know,” he says quietly, “I think I would’ve told you eventually.” You lean against the counter. “Yeah?” He nods. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Okay, definitely.”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sudden knock at the door makes both of you freeze. You glance at the microwave clock. 11:47 pm. Yunho looks at you. “Who the hell is that?” you ask.

“No idea.”

Another knock echoes through the apartment and you set your spoon down while Yunho pushes away from the counter. “Maybe Wooyoung got drunk and lost his key to his place again.” You snort as Yunho heads toward the front door and he opens it. And immediately stops.

You notice it before you even see who it is. The way his shoulders lock. The way his expression changes.

“What?”

Yunho doesn’t answer as you walk around the kitchen island. Then you see her. Chloe. Standing in the hallway. “Oh.” Chloe shifts her weight, nose turned up at you. Yunho still hasn’t said a word as she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Maybe I overreacted.”

Yunho blinks. “Chloe…”

“No, let me finish.” She holds up a hand. “And maybe I was kind of a bitch.” You cross your arms. Kind of? “Maybe I shouldn’t have said all that stuff.” Yunho opens his mouth again but Chloe keeps going. “And I get why you left suddenly earlier today.”

Yunho’s brows furrow. “What?”

Chloe sighs dramatically. “I mean… obviously you were nervous.”

You nearly choke on a laugh. Oh she has no idea.

“Nobody leaves mid going down on someone unless they’re nervous.”

Yunho looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. And before either of them can continue, you make a decision. You walk straight across the room and Yunho barely has time to register what’s happening before you’re standing beside him. Then closer. Then somehow even closer than that as you loop an arm around his and Yunho immediately knows you’re about to cause problems. The grin on your face gives it away.

“Sorry, Chloe.” Both of them look at you as you smile sweetly. “Yunho’s on a new diet.”

Chloe blinks in confusion. “A diet?”

“Yeah.” You nod completely serious. “It’s me.” The silence that follows is magnificent. For one glorious second, Chloe’s brain visibly buffers. Then realization hits and her eyes widen as your smile grows.

Yunho makes a strangled noise beside you that sounds suspiciously like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Are you….”

You gently push the door shut. “Have a good night, Chloe.” You stand there with your hand on the doorknob, looking very pleased with yourself. While behind you, Yunho is completely quiet until you turn around and then he is bent over laughing. Not a polite laugh. Not even a chuckle. But full on losing it. “Oh my God.”

You point at him. “She showed up uninvited.”

“I know.”

“And I handled it.”

“You absolutely handled it.”

You try to maintain your dignity but fail immediately when he starts laughing harder. “You called yourself a diet.”

“It was funny.”

“It was.”

“It was hilarious.”

Yunho wipes at his eyes still laughing. Then he looks at you and the amusement softens into something warmer as he shakes his head, smile pulling at his mouth. “God, I love you.”

And for the first time in years, neither of you has to pretend that those words mean anything less than exactly what they do right now.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You aren’t just good at your job—you are brilliant.

Vice President at one of the most prestigious firms in the city, your days are built on back-to-back meetings, business proposals, and decisive strategy calls. You thrived in it all. There is something intoxicating about the fast-paced rhythm and high-stakes negotiations, the weight of your signature at the bottom of a multimillion-dollar deal.

You walk through skyscraper hallways like you belong there and you do. Still, no matter how polished your days looked in heels and tailored blazers, the part you always looked forward to most is coming home.

Your apartment—shared with your boyfriend of five years—sits high in a sleek building that towered above the glittering city skyline. From the floor-to-ceiling windows, you can watch the sun melt into orange and gold behind the glass silhouettes of the skyline, the lights of the world flickering to life beneath you.

You toe off your shoes at the door, setting your bag down on the console table. You roll up the sleeves of your silk blouse and head to the kitchen. You start by washing your hands, hair loosening from the tight twist it lived in all day.

Cooking helps you unwind. You grab the ingredients for dinner and hum a little tune as you chop and stir, your voice mixing with the soft jazz playing from the portable speaker.

It’s simple and domestic in a way that feels earned. Because even with all your success, all the accolades and titles and salary numbers most people your age only dreamed of—you still cherished this: a quiet evening while anticipating for your boyfriend’s return.

You’re just setting the table when you hear the sound of the door unlocking. Keys jingling, then a soft click and then he’s there.

“Smells like someone’s trying to win girlfriend of the year,” Seungmin calls out as he steps inside, the familiar edge of exhaustion softened by affection.

You glance over your shoulder and smile, finding Seungmin dressed in navy suits. The jacket already draped over one arm, tie slightly loosened at the collar. His hair is a little tousled, like he ran his hands through it on the elevator ride up—his version of unwinding.

“I thought I already won that last year,” you say, setting down the last plate.

“You did,” he grins, shrugging off his bag and making his way to you. “But I like that you’re not getting complacent.”

He leans in to press a sweet kiss to your cheek. It’s gentle, but it says everything—I missed you, I see you, we’re here now.

Seungmin is just as much a force in his world as you are in yours. A high-stakes corporate lawyer known for his razor-sharp mind and unbeatable composure in the courtroom. He thrives under pressure, commands rooms without raising his voice, and has the kind of reputation that even senior partners take seriously.

That’s what you have in common, really. The ambition. The passion. The shared understanding that success isn’t something you luck into—it’s something you grind for. But even more than that, you both believe that relationships, like careers, needed investment. Time. Intention.

So, you make time. No matter how late your meetings run or how chaotic his court schedule gets, you always come back to this: dinner, together. Phones down, minds open, hearts soft.

You both eventually settle at the table. The city glows outside the window behind him, casting golden light over his features as he fills your glass with wine.

“So,” he says, resting his chin in his hand, eyes trained on you, “tell me everything. Wins, losses, scandalous office gossip—what’s the highlight reel today?”

You laugh, reaching for your fork. “Well, let’s just say the intern who accidentally CC’d the entire company on her resignation email now has a fan club.”

He chuckles, and just like that, the stress of your day begins to peel away. This is how the two of you survive the whirlwind—by anchoring yourselves in these moments.

And in moments like this, you can’t help but think: if you were to spend the rest of your life exactly like this, it would still be more than enough. You just didn’t know how much that thought would start to shift soon.

-

Later, the two of you move in sync, the way only people who know each other’s routines by heart do.

You're in the bathroom now, side by side at the sink. You’re patting toner into your cheeks while Seungmin brushes his teeth, bent slightly over the sink in a faded gray tee and sweatpants that sit a little too low on his hips.

You catch his reflection in the mirror. His hair is still slightly damp from his quick shower, and he gives you a lazy smile, foamy toothpaste making him look younger than usual.

It’s such a simple moment, but it feels like home.

You turn to grab your moisturizer just as he leans in to spit, and your shoulders bump. “Oops, sorry,” you say, voice soft.

He tilts his head slightly, flashing you a half-smirk. “Shoulder check me again and we’re gonna have a problem.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh and nudge him again, just because you can.

By the time you finish up and head to the bedroom, the city has quieted. The only sounds are the faint traffic several stories below and the rustle of sheets as you both climb into bed. You propped up by a pillow against the headboard, a book resting open in your hands. You’re halfway through a paragraph when the bed dips beside you.

Seungmin crawls up from the foot of the bed, slow and catlike, until he’s beside you, leaning over with a soft, almost mischievous smirk. His lips press to your cheek, featherlight, then to your jaw. You don’t look up from your book, but the corners of your mouth curve.

“Hi,” you murmur.

He hums a greeting into the space behind your ear, then kisses just below it. “How far in are you?” he asks, voice muffled slightly against your skin.

“Chapter fourteen,” you reply, flipping the page. “The main character just found out her sister’s been lying to her for, like, five years.”

He lets out a thoughtful little noise, lips drifting lower—along your jawline, then to your neck, pausing to linger at that one spot that always makes you squirm. “Sounds dramatic,” he says, his voice a little too casual for someone currently distracting you from the plot.

“Very,” you say, holding back a smile. “I would be more into it if someone wasn’t trying to seduce me with neck kisses.”

“I’m not seducing you,” he murmurs, now kissing down the curve of your shoulder. “I’m appreciating you.”

Then, he pauses. “Wait… are you using a new lotion?”

You finally glance at him, raising a brow. “Yep.”

He leans in and inhales lightly near your shoulder. “Smells like coconut.”

Your smile grows. “Correct. Bonus points for identifying the scent.”

“I’ll collect them later,” he murmurs, grinning against your skin before resuming his trail of kisses, slow and lazy, like he’s in no rush at all.

You try—really try—to keep your eyes on the page, but Seungmin makes it nearly impossible. His lips keep moving—down your shoulder, along your collarbone, ghosting over your chest with featherlight kisses that trail heat in their wake. You shift slightly, book still in hand, but your focus has long since slipped through your fingers.

“Seungmin,” you murmur, half a warning, half a sigh.

“Keep reading,” he says softly, voice low and teasing near your waist. “Don’t mind me.”

You let out a quiet whine, a protest laced with laughter, but you don’t stop him.

Seungmin doesn’t stop either. His mouth continues its slow descent, inch by inch, kisses landing on the curve of your stomach, your hip, then lower still. The hem of your sleep shorts shifts as he settles between your legs, nudging the fabric aside, his breath warm against your skin. Then his fingers hook around your underwear, and in one smooth motion, he tugs it down.

You glance away from your book now, heart skipping, only to find him looking up at you with that wild, naughty glint in his eyes.

“You worked hard today,” he says, lips brushing the inside of your thigh. “Let me help you relax.”

A soft laugh escapes you, caught between amusement and desire. “Is this a reward system now?”

He smirks, eyes never leaving yours. “Mm-hmm.” He nods, slowly, smug and sweet all at once. “Positive reinforcement.”

Your cheeks flush, but your smile grows with it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he replies, pressing one last kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You shake your head, biting back a smile, and with a quiet breath, you let yourself lean back fully against the pillows, parting your legs for him.

He looks up at you one more time, a soft, knowing expression on his face—affection woven seamlessly with desire. And in that look, you feel it again: how much he sees you, how much he chooses you. Every time.

Despite having Seungmin’s head between your legs as he pleases you with his mouth, you try to keep your eyes on the page. The words blurring slightly as you breathe through the sensation building between your legs from the way he licks and sucks, flicking his tongue on the right spots.

The book trembles faintly in your grip, your fingers tightening around it each time Seungmin’s mouth moves just right. He’s slow, attentive—almost too much so. Then he hums against your drenched cunt. A deep, satisfied sound that vibrates through your core, making you gasp softly.

He pauses for just a beat to say, “God, I missed this.”

Your head tips back against the headboard, a breathless laugh slipping past your lips. “You missed going down on me?”

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even try to play coy. “Yeah,” he says, looking up at you with that maddeningly proud smile. “Think about this sweet, little pussy all day.”

You let out a quiet, incredulous chuckle, your free hand covering your face for a second before falling to your side. “You’re so—”

“I know.” He kisses your inner thigh again, grinning into your skin. “Lucky for both of us, I get to do something about it now.”

You give up on the book entirely, dropping it to the side, pages folding shut as your body arches instinctively toward him. Your hand slips into his hair, fingers curling as he gets back to work, tongue and lips relentless, methodical in the way only Seungmin can be when he’s determined to ruin you.

It doesn’t take long for him to do that. You’re a mess beneath him—moaning, trembling, your fingers fisted in his hair like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the world. Each movement of his mouth feels more precise, more purposeful, like he’s reading every sound you make, every shiver that ripples through you.

The way you fall apart under him only drives him further. He’s focused—relentless in that quiet, devoted way of his, like this is something he needs to do for you.

Your breath catches, hips stuttering beneath his hands as your body tightens, and you manage a desperate, shaky whisper of his name. “Seungmin—Oh...”

He hums with his mouth full of your wet cunt and it sends another wave through you.

That’s all it takes. You come with a soft, broken cry. Your thighs trembling around him, hand tugging sharply in his hair as your back arches off the bed. He holds you through it with mouth still coaxing every last flicker of pleasure from you until you’re gasping, limp and boneless against the sheets. Only then does he pull back, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression soft and smug all at once.

“You okay?” he casually asks, crawling back up beside you, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your forehead.

You can only nod, eyes half-lidded, breath still catching in your throat.

He smiles and leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then one to your lips—gentle and full of the affection that’s always been the heart of what you share. “Reward systems,” he murmurs, chuckling. “Highly effective.”

You’re still catching your breath when you shift slightly, your body pressed against Seungmin’s side, cheek resting on his chest. He’s warm and steady beneath you, arm draped lazily around your waist like he’s content to stay like this for hours, but you’re not done with him just yet.

You glance up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “You know,” you murmur, voice low and playful, “you work hard too. Day and night.”

His eyes flick down to meet yours, lips twitching into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, hand drifting down, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. You palm his cock gently, feeling the way his body reacts to your seductive touch—quick and eager, the tension building beneath your fingers as you give his length slow, gentle strokes. “I think you’ve earned a reward too.”

Seungmin exhales sharply, his muscles tensing as he watches you with growing interest.

“Go on,” you add with a smirk, fingers curling ever so slightly. “Collect your bonus points.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes narrowing with playful warning. “Dangerous game you’re playing.”

But you only smile wider, hand continuously stroking him. “I like high stakes,” you whisper, leaning down to press a kiss just below his jaw.

Seungmin groans softly, hands gripping your hips. “So do I.”

He hovers above you, his face close, breath mingling with yours. He repeatedly rubs the tip of his cock between your folds, letting your essence drenching every inch of his throbbing length. The longer he does it, the more you anticipate it. When he finally pushes in, the sheer size gives you that delicious stretch, making you moan in both pain and pleasure.

“I know you can take it,” he murmurs as he pushes the remaining length with such intensity that a cry slips out of your parted mouth.

The two of you taking a moment to savor it — the feeling of connecting to one another, physically and emotionally. He runs his hand down your front and then rests it on your abdomen.

He looks at you, his eyes heavy with both lust and love. “I'm going to move now, yeah?” he asks, his gaze tender yet smoldering.

With that, your bodies move together in a slow, steady rhythm—his hips rolling into yours, his chest brushing yours with every thrust. His forehead rests gently against yours at first, and the low sounds he makes—those quiet, breathy groans, the occasional broken whimper—fill the silence between kisses like a melody only you were meant to hear.

You reach up, gently brushing his hair back from his forehead, fingertips lingering on his temple. “Seungmin,” you whisper, voice trembling from pleasure, “you make me feel so good.”

His eyes flutter open at that, gaze locking with yours. The look he gives you is raw, open, like he’s trying to say everything he feels without words. He takes a mouthful of your breast, tongue swirling around your hard nipple before he lets go with a popping sound.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, breath catching as he sinks into you again. “Every time.”

The pace turns slower yet deeper, drawing out the tension between you, making every movement feel more intimate, more intense. He keeps his eyes on you, like he wants to remember every expression, every sound you make.

You moan his name again, soft and needy, and he shudders above you, his control slipping just a little. He presses his lips to your jaw, to your neck, to your shoulder like he can’t get close enough, like he wants to memorize your skin.

He keeps moving like that—changing pace, adjusting his angle—until you're gasping beneath him, your nails digging into his back as your legs tighten around him. And when he finally lets himself go, buried deep inside you with a choked, desperate sound, you feel it in every part of you—not just the heat, not just the tension snapping, but the emotion behind it.

Because with Seungmin, it’s never just physical. It’s love, every time. And he makes sure you know that with his hands, with his body, with the way he holds you after.

-

The scent of freshly ground coffee and melting butter fills the kitchen. Sunlight streaking through the blinds in warm, golden bands. The city is just beginning to wake outside, but inside your apartment, it’s slow and quiet—the kind of morning that only belongs to weekends.

You’re standing by the stove, slowly stirring scrambled eggs, carefully watching their texture. They’re just starting to come together, soft and glossy, not too dry. You tilt the pan slightly, flicking your wrist the way Seungmin always says brings out the perfect consistency.

Behind you, Seungmin stands by the counter, completely focused on the kettle. He holds the thermometer just above the water, brow furrowed, waiting for the precise number to hit before pouring it over the coffee grounds in steady, slow circles.

You glance at him over your shoulder with a smirk. “You’re acting like you’re defusing a bomb.”

He doesn’t look up. “That’s because good coffee is a must in this household.”

You laugh under your breath and return to the eggs, taking them off the heat just before they finish cooking, leaving them soft, just how he likes them. You add a pinch of salt, a bit of cracked pepper, then plate them while he finishes pouring the last of the water into the carafe.

By the time you both sit down at the small dining table, everything is quiet again. Coffee, eggs, toast. Then you clink your mugs together in a mock toast before taking your first sip.

“This is nice,” you murmur, resting your cheek in your palm as you watch him butter a piece of toast like he’s doing brain surgery.

He glances up with a soft grin. “Mm. Still think I make better eggs than you.”

“You do,” you admit, stealing a bite from his plate anyway. “But I’m still the fun one.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “No argument there.”

Weekends are sacred in your relationship. An unspoken promise to reconnect after a long week of endless meetings, deadlines, and case files. Sometimes that means spending the whole day together—brunch, errands, movies on the couch, lazy evenings tangled up in each other. Other times, it means giving each other space. Because loving each other also means understanding that you are your own people, too.

“So,” he says between sips of coffee, “baseball game starts at five. Jisung's meeting me there. Should be back before midnight.”

You nod. “Yes, I remember cause you’ve been talking about it all week.”

He gives you a little look—half proud, half sheepish. “I might yell.”

“You will yell,” you say knowingly, grinning. “Just don’t get too carried away and angers everyone around you.”

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “Not my fault they made that stupid call in the seventh inning.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you sip your coffee.

“And you?” he asks. “Still doing that girls’ night?”

“Mhm. Marion’s coming over later. We’re doing the full thing—masks, sugary cocktails, probably something embarrassing on Netflix.”

Seungmin raises a brow, mock serious. “Try not to drink too much and gossip about me behind my back.”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “I could do that.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re lucky I like you, you know.”

You nonchalantly shrug. “I know.”

And just like that, the rest of the morning unfolds in soft conversation and shared glances—two people perfectly in rhythm, building a life that’s equal parts warmth, work, and a little bit of mischief.

-

Marion shows up right on time, wearing loose linen pants and a graphic tee, sunglasses still perched on her head despite the setting sun. The moment you open the door, she throws her arms around you.

“God, it feels like forever,” she says into your shoulder.

You hug her tightly, laughing. “It’s been a week.”

“Exactly. Forever.”

When she pulls back, she holds up a brown paper bag with a smug grin. A long-necked wine bottle is very visibly poking out the top, along with what looks like a skincare sheet mask box and possibly a pint of ice cream tucked at the bottom.

“I brought the essentials,” she says proudly.

You eye the wine and nod in approval. “You understood the assignment.”

Behind you, Seungmin is just finishing up, adjusting the hem of his jersey and tossing on a cap that matches it perfectly. He steps into the entryway and flashes Marion a grin. “Hey, Marion.”

“Hey, Seungmin,” she replies. “You look like you’re about to fight someone over a bad pitch.”

“Not ruling it out,” he immediately replies, grin widening. Then he turns to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you lift your chin to meet him.

He kisses you fully, just shy of teasing. It’s the kind of kiss that says I'll miss you, even if you’ll be apart for just a few hours. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead briefly against yours. “Don’t drink too much,” he murmurs.

You chuckle. “No promises.”

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath like he’s half-exasperated, half-entertained. You lean in and plant a quick kiss on his jaw, grinning. He always looks too cute when he’s annoyed in that quiet, worried way of his.

The two of you move toward the front door, and as he puts on his sneakers, he glances over his shoulder. “Marion, I expect my girlfriend is still in one piece when I'm back, yeah?”

Marion doesn’t miss a beat. “Can’t make any promises. But if I do, I’ll probably just take a bite out of her.”

You laugh, watching them with a shake of your head. Seungmin’s tying his laces, but he’s smiling. Once he’s done, you reach for his wrist, tugging him gently back toward you. You press one more kiss to his lips—longer this time.

He sighs into it, like he doesn’t actually want to go, and you whisper, “Have fun.”

But Seungmin squints at you, narrowing his eyes. “You. Don’t have too much fun.”

You can’t help but laugh again. “That also, I can't promise,” you say, for the second time.

He rolls his eyes, muttering something in mock defeat, but there’s that charming smile again as he lifts a hand in farewell and steps out the door. You watch it close behind him, the quiet clicking into place like a soft punctuation mark.

When you turn back around, Marion is already in the kitchen, holding up two glasses of mimosas with a satisfied grin.

“Cheers to nights in and no boys allowed,” she says.

You take your glass, clinking it against hers. “Cheers.”

-

It starts with the idea of “just one cookie.”

One cookie turns into an attempt to make a whole batch. That turns into realizing neither of you have measured anything quite right. That turns into the first tray coming out entirely too dark on the bottom. Marion swears they’re “extra toasty,” but even she admits the crunch sounds suspicious.

Now, you’re both leaning against the counter, wine glasses half-full again, laughing as the second batch bakes and this time with the timer actually set and taken seriously.

“You know,” Marion says between bites of a still-warm cookie from the improved batch, “I always thought Seungmin was super serious when I first met him. Like, scary lawyer energy. And then you told me he sleeps with one sock on because he can’t stand it when both feet are warm.”

You nearly choke on your wine. “Oh my God—don’t expose him like that.”

“I like him, but come on,” she laughs. “That’s a little unhinged.”

You nod, grinning. “He says it’s about temperature regulation, but I think he’s just stubborn.”

Marion wiggles her fingers dramatically. “Genius boy logic.”

You swirl your glass, smiling softly into it. “Honestly, sometimes he says things that are so dry I don’t know if he’s joking or judging me. But then he breaks and laughs at his own joke for like, a full minute. It’s the cutest thing.”

“That’s criminally cute.” Marion nudges your arm. “You’re so gone for him.”

You shrug, but the smile on your lips betrays you. “I really am.”

She sighs, setting her glass down and hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter. “Isn’t it crazy? Like, we’re at that age where we’re not just dating people who are fun. We’re dating people who we could actually see in our lives for a long time.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, nodding. “And somehow it still feels just… easy.”

Marion sips her wine before nodding in agreement. “That’s so true.”

“What about you and Leo?”

“Oh God,” she groans in mock embarrassment. “He’s convinced he can dance. And he can’t. At all. But he’ll do this horrible little shoulder wiggle every time he brushes his teeth and makes eye contact with himself in the mirror.”

You both burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the kitchen as the smell of sweet dough fills the air again. The timer goes off, and this time, the cookies come out golden and perfect. You each grab another and lean against the counter again, barefoot and tipsy, warm with wine and sugar and the feeling of knowing someone who knows you.

In this moment, everything feels light and easy. Well, until Marion spills her mimosas on the couch. You’re both laughing about it while you rummage through the linen closet in the hallway, muttering about how everything in this apartment magically disappears when you actually need it.

You’re halfway to tipsy and elbow-deep in a search for extra towels. You tug at a thick stack of folded tablecloths near the back, pulling them forward and— thunk.

Something small and soft hits the hardwood floor at your feet. You blink and look down. A square velvet box sits there, deep navy in color. Your brows knit together as you crouch down, curiosity tugging at your fingers as you pick it up and open it.

Inside, nestled in the cushioned lining, is a ring. Not just a ring. That kind of ring. Gold band. A classic cut diamond. Undeniably meant for a certain question and a promise.

“OH MY GOD,” Marion shrieks behind you.

You nearly drop the box as you jolt in surprise, whipping your head around to find her standing in the hallway, eyes wide, hand over her mouth like she just watched a K-drama twist unfold in real time.

“What?” you ask, still crouched, heart hammering, your voice weirdly flat compared to the chaos in your chest. “What is this?”

Marion walks over in slow, careful steps, like she’s approaching something sacred. “Are you serious? Are you serious right now?”

You look down at the ring again. It sparkles faintly under the hallway light. “I mean… it’s a ring. But—”

She lets out a dramatic gasp. “You dummy! It’s your ring!”

You blink up at her. “What are you talking about?”

Marion throws her hands up, pointing down at the velvet box. “That is an engagement ring. That’s a proposal ring! Look at it—it’s literally from that high-end designer boutique. I recognize the box! And the cut of the diamond—come on, that is classic proposal energy.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. You look at the ring again, mind slowly catching up with her words. “I mean…” you start, hesitating, “he hasn’t said anything. And it was just in the linen closet, not like… hidden hidden.”

“Oh my God,” Marion groans. “It was between tablecloths and towels. Do you think he’d just toss a ring like that there if it wasn’t meant to be a surprise?”

You fall silent, your gaze dropping to the ring again.

She crouches beside you now, her voice softening. “He’s going to propose to you. He probably has a plan. Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment. Or maybe he’s just… trying to figure out how to keep it a surprise because he knows you’ll pick up on it.”

You don’t want to get your hopes up. You really don’t. But the ring is stunning. The kind of ring Seungmin would pick—classic, simple, elegant. You remember how he once made a comment about how you always liked things that lasted. And now it’s sitting in your palm, blinking at you like a secret trying not to be found.

Your chest flutters. Hope blooms slowly, cautiously. “Maybe he is,” you whisper.

Marion grins, eyes misty with excitement. “Girl… he is.”

And for the first time that night, you’re not tipsy on wine, but on possibility. You stay crouched there a second longer, staring down at the ring as if it might suddenly explain itself.

Marion is still next to you, practically vibrating with excitement when you finally whisper, “What do I do?”

She grabs your shoulders like she’s about to shake you. “You put it back.”

“What?” you ask, slightly confused.

“Put. It. Back.” She points emphatically at the linen closet. “Exactly where you found it. Pretend you never saw it.”

You glance at the velvet box in your hand again, hesitant. “What if he notices?”

Marion grins. “Then you say nothing, act innocent, like you have no clue he’s about to propose and marry you. And probably cry when he does it.”

You slap her arm, laughing in disbelief. “Stop.”

She only cackles harder as you carefully tuck the box back between the tablecloths and towels where it had been hidden, adjusting the folds to make it look untouched. You close the linen closet gently, almost like it’s sacred now.

The moment the door clicks shut, Marion shrieks again, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh my God, you’re gonna get married!” she says, grabbing your hands.

“Marion,” you hiss through a laugh, trying to hush her. “We don’t even know if that’s what it is.”

She ignores you entirely. “I mean, we need to think colors. Do you want something classic? Romantic? I can already see you in an off-shoulder satin gown—”

“Okay, stop,” you say again, cheeks burning, waving her off as you walk back toward the kitchen. “Nothing’s confirmed.”

She follows you, still buzzing. “But it will be. I know that man. Seungmin is calculated, strategic. If he bought that ring, it’s happening. You're gonna walk into brunch one day wearing that thing and act like you’re surprised. You better start practicing your gasp.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s thudding inside your chest, louder than before. You try to brush it off and try to tell yourself that maybe it’s not what it looks like. That maybe it’s a ring for something else, or a decoy, or a mistake. But your fingers still feel the weight of the velvet box.

And no matter how hard you try not to let it take over your thoughts… You can’t help but wonder. What if it is?

-

You pause at the doorway of the bathroom, watching him from behind. Seungmin is standing by the sink, toothbrush in hand, head slightly tilted as he brushes with quiet focus. The dim bathroom light casts gentle shadows on his back, the lines of his shoulder blades, the slope of his neck, the soft dishevel of his dark hair. You find yourself staring, studying the way the fabric of his white tee stretches across his shoulders, the curve of his jaw in the mirror’s reflection.

Sometimes, in mundane moments like this, you still can’t believe he’s yours.

He spits, rinses, then glances up and catches your eyes in the mirror. A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Stop watching me, you creep.”

You laugh softly, stepping forward. “But I’m your creep.”

He shakes his head in amusement as you walk up to him, not caring that he’s now smoothing moisturizer over his face. You slip your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his chest, melting into his warmth.

He doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his free arm around you, pulling you in closer as he continues gently patting his face with the tips of his fingers.

You tilt your head back slightly, watching him. You could say it now. Ask about the ring. About the velvet box in the linen closet, about what it means. The words press lightly at the back of your throat, but you swallow them down.

Not now. You tell yourself. Because you know Seungmin. He doesn’t rush anything and he’s never made you feel like something was missing. Maybe it’s not the right time, or maybe he is waiting for the right moment. And if it never comes? You’d still choose him. Like this. Like now.

His eyes drop to yours suddenly, as if sensing the thoughts spiraling in your head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You shake your head with a smile and bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I missed you.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, his hand rubbing up and down your back in slow, comforting circles. “Marion must’ve made you drink a lot, mmh?”

You scoff into his neck. “That’s the whole point of a girls’ night in.”

He hums in agreement, reaching for a tube of lip balm with one hand and applying it methodically.

You pull back a little just to watch him, lips pursed, face content and freshly moisturized. “Did you miss me too?” you teasingly ask.

He caps the tube and places it down, then cups your jaw with one hand, tilting your face up so your eyes meet. “Of course I missed you,” he answers without a beat.

You scoff at that. “Lie. You forget about everything whenever you watch a baseball game.”

Seungmin lets out a soft chuckle and then he kisses you. It’s tender and slow, thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone as he deepens it just enough to make your heart skip. Just enough to remind you how much he means it, even if he doesn’t say much. Even now, after almost five years together, his kiss still makes your chest flutter.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are warm, lips curved in that subtle smile of his. “Let’s go to bed.”

You nod but don’t let go. Instead, you jump up, wrapping your arms and legs around him. And he catches you without missing a beat, grunting slightly in surprise. You press a quick kiss to his lips, giggling into it.

Seungmin steadies you, arms securely around your thighs, and gives you that amused grin. “You’re such a big baby.”

Then he gives you a light, playful slap on the butt and carries you out of the bathroom.

You smile against his shoulder, already half-asleep in his hold, completely at peace and content with everything you have. And quietly hoping for what might come next.

-

The week passes in a blur and somewhere along the way, the memory of the ring tucked between the tablecloths and towels fades to the background, replaced by spreadsheets and strategy decks and late nights staring at your laptop until your eyes burn.

By Friday afternoon, you’re buried in emails when your phone starts buzzing on your desk. You glance at the screen. Seungmin.

It’s rare that he calls when you're in the middle of work. You frown slightly, sliding your finger across the screen and lifting it to your ear. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

You expect the worst—something urgent, a change of plans, maybe even bad news. But instead, you hear a soft chuckle on the other end.

“I’m fine,” Seungmin calmly says, “Just wanted to let you know that we’re going out for dinner tonight.”

“Oh?” you say, slightly surprised. “What’s the occasion?”

There’s a brief silence, and then you can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s a surprise.”

Before you can press him for more, he hangs up. You lower the phone slowly, staring at it like it might offer an explanation. You don’t want to get ahead of yourself. You don’t want to assume. But your thoughts are already spinning.

A surprise dinner. On a Friday night. No reason, no hints. And suddenly, the memory of that ring box floods back in. Could it be?

You exhale slowly, catching yourself before your imagination runs completely wild. Even if it’s just a regular dinner, you tell yourself, there’s no harm in looking good.

You press the intercom button on your desk. “Hey, Jess? I’m going to step out early today.”

Your assistant’s voice crackles through. “Sure. Want me to clear your schedule for the rest of the day?”

“Yes, please. Something came up. I have... an event tonight.” You smile to yourself.

The moment you end the call, you grab your bag, already planning a visit to the boutique two blocks down. Maybe get something simple yet chic and elegant.

Whatever this night holds, you want to be ready. Just in case.

-

The vanity light glows softly, casting a warm sheen over the organized chaos of your skincare and lipsticks. Your hair is still wrapped in a towel, damp strands clinging to your neck, and your makeup is only halfway done.

In your hand is a champagne flute. Or, well... mostly champagne. You’d started with the idea of a pomegranate spritz, but at the last second, you’d added another splash—or two—of champagne. For courage. For nerves. For what might be happening tonight.

You take a long sip, eyes darting to the hallway. And then, as if your feet move on their own, you walk toward the linen closet. It’s stupid, maybe. But a part of you just wants to know. You’re not trying to ruin anything, you just want confirmation. Or reassurance. Or some kind of sign that your hope isn’t misplaced.

You slowly open the door, the quiet creak of the hinges sounding louder than usual in the apartment’s stillness. Your hand slides between the stacks of towels and tablecloths, fingers searching the familiar spot, seeking the edge of that velvet box. But all you touch is folded fabric and the smooth, empty wood of the shelf beneath.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. You push the towels aside, check the corners, even lift a few things just to be sure. It’s gone. The ring box isn’t there. Your heart lurches.  A rush of adrenaline floods your chest, so fast it’s almost dizzying.

It’s happening. It has to be.

You scramble to put everything back just the way it was, flattening the towels, smoothing out the tablecloths, trying to erase any trace of your little search mission. Just as you shut the closet door with a quiet click, you hear the jangle of keys at the front door.

You make a quick dash to the bedroom, practically throwing yourself into the chair at your vanity. You unwrap your towel, tossing it aside, and reach for your foundation with shaking hands, trying to look like you haven’t just been rooting through a closet like a hopeful maniac.

A moment later, you hear footsteps. Then Seungmin appears in the doorway, still in his sleek work attire except that his tie now slightly loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair a little tousled from the wind outside.

You meet his eyes in the mirror and smile, trying to keep it casual. “Welcome home,” you sweetly greet.

He walks up behind you, leans down, and presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. “You smell good,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile against your skin.

You hum softly as he places another kiss on your jaw, your cheeks warming at that.

He straightens, gently tugging at your robe’s collar in that playful way of his. “I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

And then, with a grin, he adds, “And I’m using your fancy body wash. The expensive one.”

You chuckle under your breath. “So long as you smell like me by the end of it, I won’t complain.”

He winks, already backing toward the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he disappears behind the door.

You exhale slowly. Your heart is thudding so hard it echoes in your ears, and your reflection is practically glowing with excitement, nerves, and disbelief.

He took the ring. He’s taking you out to dinner. And yet, you still don’t know.

But God, you hope.

-

The city glides by in a blur of golden streetlights and muted reflections in the car windows. Seungmin’s hand rests on the wheel, his other on the gearshift, navigating familiar roads with the kind of effortless ease that only comes from years of doing life together. You sit in the passenger seat, hands folded on your lap, your eyes darting to the glowing dashboard clock—7:08 PM.

He hasn’t said where you’re going so you try to puzzle it out in your head, thinking through every restaurant the two of you have been to. If it’s the Italian place downtown, maybe it’s just a regular Friday night date. But if he’s heading toward the hills, toward the rooftop spots or places with skyline views, then maybe— You shake your head and try to stay calm.

The hum of the engine fills the silence between the two of you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… charged. And then the car slows, stopping at a red light.

Seungmin glances over at you, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reaches out and takes your hand gently, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it. The touch is soft and thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything at first, just laces his fingers through yours and holds on. Then, casually, like he’s not slowly unravelling you, he asks, “You hungry?”

You swallow the nerves that are caught in your throat and manage a nod, smiling back. “Actually? Famished.”

At that, Seungmin pulls a dramatic face and squints at you. “Don’t tell me that’s because you drank your weight in pomegranate spritz before dinner.”

You wince with a small laugh, but this time, instead of teasing him back like you normally would, you just shake your head and bite your tongue. You’re afraid if you say too much, he’ll notice the way your voice shakes. The way your hands keep fidgeting in your lap. The way your eyes keep drifting to the glove compartment where, maybe, a ring box might be tucked away. So, you stay quiet.

Seungmin just squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing along your knuckles, and keeps his eyes on the road. Just then, the light turns green and the car moves forward.

Belle Vue. It's the restaurant. The kind of place where people wear tailored suits and sleek dresses and speak in hushed tones over candlelight and wine that costs more than your electricity bill.

Seungmin pulls up to the valet, shifts the car into park, and glances over at you. His expression is unreadable, calm in that effortlessly cool way he always is. You school your face into something neutral just as the valet opens your door.

“Good evening,” the young man says, and murmur a thank-you as you step out, smoothing your dress and clutching your purse a little tighter than necessary.

Seungmin walks around the car, handing the keys over with a quick nod before he turns back to you and reaches for your hand. And together, you walk into the restaurant and the maître d’ looks up with a smile as you approach.

“Reservation under Seungmin Kim,” Seungmin says smoothly.

The host glances at the list, nods, and gestures with a polite smile. “Right this way.”

You trail after him, heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to beat out the truth. The restaurant is beautiful and intimate. Each table lit by the soft flicker of candlelight, crystal glassware gleaming, then the host stops.

Your table is by the window. The one that offers a stunning view of the city skyline, glittering like a dream just outside the glass. It's the kind of table people book months in advance. The kind of table people get proposed to at. You sit down slowly and carefully, like one wrong move might shatter the moment.

Seungmin takes the seat across from you and thanks the host, who gives a small bow before slipping away.

The signs are everywhere. The view. The reservation. The tone of the night. You barely hear Seungmin when he speaks. “Are you okay?”

You glance up to find him watching you. Not suspiciously, but curiously. Like he knows something’s off. You laugh too softly and wave it off with a smile. “I think it’s the pomegranate spritz. I drank too much while getting ready.”

He squints at you, giving you that signature unimpressed look. “I told you not to drink before dinner.”

You flash a grin, but your fingers tighten slightly around your water glass. “I know. I deserve the lecture.”

He lets it go with a mock sigh and leans back in his seat, casually scanning the menu as if he didn’t just lead you into the most romantic restaurant in the city on a Friday night, sitting across from you looking godly attractive and every bit the man you’ve built a life with.

You nod to yourself, trying to stay composed, but even as the waiter comes by and pours water into your glasses, all you can think is: This could be it.

-

Dinner flows surprisingly well, despite the nerves bubbling just under your skin. Seungmin, as always, is composed. He’s cutting into his entrée with the same precision he approaches everything. He tells you about a new case at work, one that’s been dragging for weeks, and you listen with your chin propped on your hand, your glass of wine untouched for the past few minutes.

The conversation slips easily from work, to life, to a recent player transfer on his favorite baseball team. His voice lights up when he talks about it, and you smile at the familiar passion in his tone—the way he gets animated about stats, potential lineups, strategy.

And then, mid-sentence, he pauses and looks at you. Really looks at you. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says softly.

A smile tugs at your lips as you glance down at your dress. “I snagged the last one in the boutique. Lucky find.”

Seungmin shakes his head slowly. “It’s not the dress. It’s you,” he says. “You look beautiful tonight.”

You’ve received compliments from him before. Lots of them. Casual, playful, sincere. But this one… this one land differently. Maybe it’s the quiet conviction in his voice. Or the way his hand reaches across the table and wraps around yours, fingers fitting together like they always do. Maybe it’s the way his eyes hold yours—tender, thoughtful, like he’s memorizing the moment.

You smile, cheeks warming as you gently squeeze his hand. And then you let your eyes roam over him, fully appreciating the sight before you. Seungmin in a tailored black suit, his white shirt perfectly crisp beneath it, collar resting just right to frame the sharp line of his jaw.

“Look at you,” you murmur, letting your voice drop just enough. “Sitting there looking like a main entrée.”

You smirk as you lower your voice and teasingly add, “I can’t wait to take that white shirt off of you tonight.”

Seungmin leans back in his seat, giving you a slow, dangerous grin. “Let's see if you're lucky tonight.”

You grin back at him, playful and smug, but your heart is racing now—not because of the banter, but because the night is almost over.

As the waiter reappears and begins clearing the plates, he asks, “Are you ready for dessert?”

You barely register the question as you're lost in your head. “Excuse me,” you say quickly, offering a polite smile as you slide your chair back. “I need to go to the restroom.”

Seungmin nods, lifting your hand for a brief kiss before letting you go. “Don’t take too long.”

You nod as you get up from your seat. But as you walk toward the restrooms, your stomach twists. The dinner is nearly over and if he’s going to do it—if tonight is the night—then it’s happening soon.

In the restroom, you lean over the sink, both hands braced on the cool marble countertop, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You look stunning—anyone would say that. But your face is tense, your eyes a little too wide, your lips pressed tightly together like you’re holding in a thousand thoughts that don’t have anywhere to go. You inhale. Exhale. Shake out your hands like you’re about to give a keynote speech in front of a thousand people.

This is ridiculous. You’re not even sure if it’s happening tonight. Still, the nerves are real. Palpable. You reach for your purse to find your lipstick, but instead, your fingers brush against your phone. And before you can talk yourself out of it, you tap Marion’s name and press it to your ear.

She doesn’t pick up on the first call. You curse under your breath and hit redial, pacing a slow circle around the restroom. This time, she answers, slightly breathless. “Sorry! I missed the first call—I’m having dinner with Leo. What’s up?”

You don’t even hesitate and blurt out. “I think Seungmin’s going to propose tonight.”

There’s a pause and then a sudden shuffle on the other end of the line. You hear her muffled voice excusing herself before a door shuts in the background, and then—

WHAT?” Marion says quickly. “Now tell me everything. Start from the top.”

You press a hand to your forehead. “Okay, so… he called me this afternoon out of nowhere. Said we’re having dinner tonight. Wouldn’t tell me where. Just that it’s a surprise.”

Marion gasps.

“And then,” you continue, pacing again, “I was getting ready and I—okay, I checked the linen closet. The ring box’s not there anymore. It’s gone.”

“Oh my god.”

“And then he takes me to Belle Vue. Best seat in the house. Full skyline view.” You glance at your reflection again, voice growing quiet. “And the way he looked at me tonight, Marion… I don’t know. It felt like something. Something big.”

There’s a beat of silence before Marion lets out a shriek of joy so loud you have to pull the phone away from your ear. “I KNEW IT! I knew he was going to propose soon! Everything—literally everything—makes sense!”

You laugh, nerves bubbling over again. “But I... I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“Girl,” Marion says, her voice dropping into dead-serious mode, “he took the ring out of the closet. He brought you to a place that takes a month to book. And he’s looking at you like you hung the stars. What else could it be?”

You rub your temple, heart racing. “What do I even do if he does?”

“You keep breathing,” Marion says firmly. “You apply a fresh coat of lipstick. Fix your hair. And start practicing your surprised-but-still-glowy-yes-face.”

You snort softly. “Right.”

“I’m serious! I expect a full report by the end of the night. Don’t you dare leave me hanging.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “Love you. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it. Just say yes.” She hangs up with one final squeal, and you sigh as you slip your phone back into your purse.

You want to brush it off, laugh it away. But… maybe there’s nothing wrong in being prepared. So you do exactly what Marion said. You blot and reapply your lipstick. Fluff your hair. Practice your smile in the mirror and feel your heart flutter in your chest. You take a final breath to steady yourself, then step out of the restroom and walk slowly, carefully, back toward your table.

Seungmin’s already there, sitting tall with his black suit pristine under the golden glow of the restaurant lights. He looks up the second you appear and smiles. “There you are,” he says. “Dessert’s here.”

You return his smile as gracefully as you can manage and settle back into your seat, murmuring a polite thanks to the server as they place a second silver spoon beside your plate.

The dessert is gorgeous. Artfully plated with swirls of ganache, caramel glass, and something delicate and dusted with powdered sugar. The kind of thing that would usually make you beam with delight. You take a bite and it’s perfect. Silky, rich, melt-on-your-tongue perfect. And yet, your stomach is still in knots.

The air around you feels like it’s waiting for something. Like you’re waiting for something. You sit quietly, your spoon gliding through the dessert, letting yourself hope for just a few more seconds.

Seungmin glances at you from across the table. Then he chuckles. “You got real quiet.”

“It’s the dessert,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Too good to talk through.”

He nods, still smiling, like nothing’s out of the ordinary. And then, his hand disappears into the inner pocket of his jacket.

This is it. This has to be it. Your heart skips. Your whole body stills. You watch, barely breathing, your fingers tightening around your spoon as he pulls something from behind the lapel.

But it’s not a velvet box. It’s his card wallet. He places it on the table, sliding the bill check toward himself. “Figured I’ll take care of it now,” he says casually, flipping it open to slip in his card.

And just like that, the illusion unravels. The anticipation that’s been building all night collapses into the hollow space behind your ribs. You lower your eyes to your plate and push another bite of dessert into your mouth just to keep your expression from cracking.

You’re not sure what disappoints you more—that it didn’t happen… or that you let yourself believe it would. You manage a small smile, nodding at nothing in particular as he chats with the waiter. Because this is just a regular night. Just dinner. Just dessert. And the ring? Whatever it was… maybe it was never for tonight at all.

-

The night air is cooler now, the city buzzing gently in the background as you and Seungmin make your way back to the car. He opens the passenger door for you like he always does, and you slip inside quietly, your mind still reeling from the way dinner ended in… nothing.

You fasten your seatbelt, settling in, trying not to let disappointment cling too heavily to your skin. You glance at him as he gets in on the driver’s side, buckles his own belt, and starts the engine.

Before Seungmin shifts the gear into drive, he pauses. He turns to look at you and with that same soft gaze from earlier, calm but with the slightest hint of mischief. Then, he says: “You ready for the real surprise?”

Your fingers still on your lap as your heart stutters. “There’s more?”

He just smiles and for a moment, you don’t say anything. You’re careful now, cautious—wary. You don’t want to spiral again. You don’t want to go through another round of quiet expectations and louder disappointment. But it’s already happening, isn’t it?

Because maybe he didn’t mean to propose at the restaurant. Maybe he wants somewhere more private. More personal. Somewhere it’s just the two of you. Your thoughts start spinning all over again, and just like that… your hopes are up.

You exhale a little laugh, eyes flicking over to him as you lean back against the headrest. “Should I be nervous?”

Seungmin grins as he puts the car in gear, easing the vehicle into motion. “You’ll see.”

You glance at him as he drives, trying to read something from the side of his face. His lips curve in a satisfied little smirk, like he’s proud of himself—like he’s planned something sweet and thoughtful. You want to match his energy, you really do, but your mind is moving too fast.

The car eventually slows in front of a low-lit building, all glass windows and minimalist signage. You squint at it through the windshield—it looks closed. Not a single light flickers inside.

You frown, confused, but Seungmin just turns off the ignition and steps out like he knows exactly what he’s doing. You follow, heels quiet on the pavement. “What is this place?”

“Trust me. You'll love it,” he says with a small grin, already walking ahead.

The door is shut. The hallway inside is dark, empty. You hesitate as he holds it open for you, a hand gently placed on the small of your back as he leads you inside. And then, the door at the end of the hallway opens, spilling warm golden light into the shadows, and a man greets you with a polite smile. “Welcome. Right this way.”

Seungmin glances back at you, still grinning. “Surprise.”

You follow the waiter down a flight of velvet-covered steps, into the glow of a dimly lit jazz club tucked secretly beneath the city. A stage glows at the center, a band tuning their instruments, the soft rustle of glassware and hushed laughter scattered across booths and tables.

Seungmin’s hand remains on your back as he follows close behind, guiding you into a cozy, curved booth lit by a single low-hanging lamp. As you settle in, the scent of citrus and woodsmoke and fresh linen lingers in the air.

The ambiance. The music. The romantic lighting. You take it all in and despite everything—despite how beautiful it is, how thoughtful it is—you feel a dull ache press against your chest. Because this was supposed to be the night. Because you once mentioned in passing how you wanted to come here, how you read about the craft cocktails and the underground ambiance and Seungmin remembered. But… that’s all it is. Just a surprise date night. Just thoughtful. Not life-changing.

He turns to you, resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Do you like it?”

You look up at him and manage a small. “I love it.”

But Seungmin studies you for a second longer than you’re comfortable with. He’s too smart, too attentive not to notice. “You don’t look like you love it,” he murmurs, brow creasing.

You panic a little—not wanting to ruin the moment, not wanting him to feel like he failed at something he worked hard to plan. So you lean forward and pull him in by his collar, kissing him with more emotion than you planned. It’s soft, deep, thankful—and just a little desperate.

“Thank you,” you whisper as you pull back, your hand still on his cheek. “Really. I love it.”

His eyes search yours for another beat and then he smiles, wide and bright, as if you’ve successfully reassured him.

You lean back into your seat, brushing your fingers along the rim of the menu in front of you. “So…” you say, raising a brow. “Does it mean I can have as many cocktails as I want?”

Seungmin lets out a quiet laugh. “Of course,” he says, already flagging down a server. “That’s one of the perks of dating someone as responsible and reliable as me.”

The way he says it with that cocky grin that first won your heart makes you smile despite the weight in your chest. You order something strong and pretty, something with a salted rim and citrus notes. You sip your first drink slowly, savoring the taste as much as the dull numbness it brings because tonight didn’t turn out the way you thought it would.

And you still love him. You still want him.

-

You wake up late the next morning, the light already soft and golden through the curtains. Your head aches faintly, a dull throb behind your eyes, and your mouth feels dry from the cocktails the night before. You roll onto your side, rubbing the sleep off your eyes before getting up.

The moment you step out of the bedroom, you immediately spot Seungmin standing by the stove. He’s still in his navy sweater from the night before, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is a mess, sticking up in uneven tufts, and his face is bare, just the soft kind of beautiful you’ve only ever seen when it’s just the two of you.

He glances up and catches your eyes. A smile tugs at his lips as he sweetly greets you. “Morning, sleepyhead. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

You hum in reply and have a seat in the dining table. You prop your chin in your hand, watching him move around the kitchen.

He’s calm, efficient, pouring eggs into a pan, flipping toast, sliding cabinet drawers open with ease. He turns back a minute later with a steaming cup in his hand and walks over to you. “Here,” he says gently, leaning down and holding it out. “Coffee first.”

You take the mug from him with both hands, and before you can say anything, he reaches up and cups your face with one warm hand, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Hungover, mmh?” he murmurs with a knowing smile.

You pout, lips pushing out as you nod.

His touch lingers as he brushes your hair behind your ear, gaze full of amusement and affection. “Do you want something for the headache?”

You give him another nod.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of your head, fingers curling softly around the back of your neck. “I’ll go get it.”

You watch him stand and walk off toward the bathroom, his socked feet padding lightly against the floor. And you feel… small. Not in a bad way. In a protected way. Cradled. Cared for.

In that moment, sitting there in his sweater, with the warmth of the cup of coffee seeping into your hands, your head foggy from the night before, you ask yourself how you could possibly be mad at someone who treats you like this.

It isn’t his fault. He didn’t promise anything. He never gave you reason to believe it would happen last night. That was all you. All your wishful thinking, your hope spun too tightly around small signs. You expected something that didn’t belong to a timeline, something he might be holding onto for later.

You hear him returning before you see him. His steps light but steady, then the faint clink of a glass in his hand. He appears by your side, holding a small white pill and a glass of water.

“Here you go,” he says, handing them over.

You take the ibuprofen and pop it onto your tongue, then chase it down with a long sip of water.

Seungmin watches you quietly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When you hand the glass back to him, he sets it on the table. Then, without a word, he gently pats the top of your head, his fingers trailing lightly through your hair. “Good girl,” he murmurs with playful affection. “Took it like a champ.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile, heart fluttering at the way he’s looking at you right now—fond, warm, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. His fingers linger, gently caressing your temple.

You gaze up at him and say with a quiet, almost bashful smile, “I feel better already.”

And despite everything you’re holding in, you mean it. Even if your chest still aches, even if the ring never left his pocket, even if last night didn’t turn out the way you dreamed. Right now, with Seungmin beside you like this, brushing your hair and taking care of you with such ease, it’s enough.

Even if it still hurts a little.

-

The scent of freshly baked pastries and espresso greet you as you step into the café. It’s a bright Sunday morning, but you keep your face composed even though you know exactly why Marion asked to meet today. She hasn’t said it outright, but her texts were filled with excited emojis and vague exclamation points. And you’ve been dodging her calls since yesterday. She’s convinced she knows what happened Friday night. And you? You’re still trying to push the embarrassment down far enough not to wear it on your face.

You stop to scan the room and there she is, already seated by the window, her smile wide and warm as she waves both hands at you. You smile back and walk over, forcing your expression into something sunny and relaxed. She stands to hug you the second you’re close, and you go through the familiar motions—press cheek to cheek, squeeze briefly, sit across from her as if everything is normal.

“Hi, you look amazing,” Marion says, practically glowing. “I’ve missed you.”

You chuckle softly and nod. “Missed you too.”

Before she can get a word in, you flag down a waiter, already pointing at the brunch menu. “Let’s order right away. I’m starving.”

You buy yourself a few more minutes, drinking from your water, nodding when she makes a comment about the décor, but it doesn’t last long.

Once the waiter walks away, Marion leans forward with that signature glint in her eyes. “So,” she begins carefully, “how are you?”

You breathe in. Smile. “I’m good— Great. You?”

“I’m… I’m good,” she says, then breaks into that smile, a little brighter than usual. The one that radiates something new, something big, and then—she lifts her left hand.

Your eyes fall to it instantly. A delicate diamond glints under the light, elegant and perfectly set. Your breath stills.

“He proposed,” she beams, barely holding back a squeal. “Leo proposed last night.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned. “Marion…”

“We were just having dinner at home!” she continues, talking quickly, hands flying. “Like nothing out of the ordinary. He made pasta and opened a bottle of wine and then—God—I turned around and he was on one knee. I thought he dropped something! I literally asked him if he lost a contact lens.”

You laugh, even though it catches a little in your throat. “That’s so Leo.”

“I cried like a baby. It was so us. No big gesture, no fancy restaurant. Just home. And him. And this.” She gestures again to the ring, her fingers shaking slightly.

You nod, trying to swallow around the sudden lump forming in your throat. “It’s beautiful. I’m so happy for you.”

And you mean it. You do. But your chest still aches.

Marion reaches across the table and takes your hands. “We’re both going to be brides,” she says, glowing. “Can you believe it?”

Something in you cracks. Just a little. You try to smile, try not to let it show, but she sees it. Marion always sees it.

“Wait. Did… did it not happen?”

You pause and then, softly, you shake your head. “No. He didn’t propose.”

“Oh…” Her voice quiets. “I thought—”

“I did too,” you say honestly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I found the ring, remember? In the linen closet. And then he planned that whole night. The dinner. The jazz club. It just… I really thought…” You trail off, eyes fixed on the table.

Marion squeezes your hands tightly. “Hey. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to.”

You smile at her, small and tired. “I know. I just… I shouldn’t have assumed. That was my mistake.”

“No,” she says firmly. “No, that’s not a mistake. Anyone would’ve thought the same. And maybe he’s just—taking his time. Planning something special.”

You nod, because it’s the kind thing to do. “Yeah. Maybe. And if not… that’s okay too.”

Marion scoffs. “Please. This is Seungmin we’re talking about. Of course he’ll propose to you. The guy practically worships you.”

You want to believe her. You do. But you don’t say anything—just press her hand, smile, and try your best not to let your heart show.

“You know what? Let's ditch the coffee,” Marion says as she gestures the nearest waiter hanging around the table. “Let's order sweet cocktails with the umbrellas.”

-

You come home with your arms full of shopping bags and a headache that the brunch cocktails didn’t manage to blur out. Your shoes click softly against the floor as you step inside the apartment, eyes briefly flicking toward the living room where Seungmin’s seated cross-legged on the couch, a controller in hand, the screen flashing with bright movement from whatever game he’s playing.

Glancing over his shoulder with a grin, he calls out, “Did you buy the entire mall?”

You don’t answer. Not even a smile. You head straight to the bedroom. The bags thump softly as you drop them near the closet, shedding your jacket and slipping off your shoes like they suddenly weigh too much. You feel too tired to process your thoughts—your conversation with Marion still ringing in your ears, the ring still nowhere in sight, your emotions swinging too close to the edge.

A few moments later, you hear Seungmin’s footsteps approaching. He leans against the doorframe for a beat, watching you, then steps into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. He peeks into one of the bags like a curious cat. “So… how was brunch? Did you have fun?”

“Mm-hmm,” you reply, voice flat as you pull your sweater over your head and toss it aside. “It was fine.”

Seungmin hums, clearly sensing something but not pressing—yet. He reaches into one of the shopping bags and pulls out a folded piece of delicate fabric. “Ooh,” he says, lifting the silky nightdress with a playful raise of his eyebrows. “Nice pick. Are you wearing this tonight?”

You manage a soft chuckle and shake your head. “Maybe.” You take it gently from his hands and tuck it back into the bag.

Seungmin watches you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Did something happen?”

“Nothing,” you lie, forcing a thin smile.

But he’s already moving. He reaches for your wrist just as you bend to lift the shopping bags again, tugging you gently toward him. The bags slip from your fingers and land on the floor with a soft thud as he pulls you into his lap.

Seungmin wraps his arms around you as if you’re something precious and fragile, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks again, voice low, gentle.

You hesitate because a part of you want to say it. You want to ask about the ring, the night that didn’t go how you expected. But the fear of sounding demanding coils around your throat like a knot. So instead, you ask the one question that’s been sitting quietly in your heart: “Do you love me?”

Seungmin blinks, startled. And then, with a teasing smile, “You bought all this and none of it is for me? My love just dropped a point.”

You smack his chest—not hard, but enough to make your point. “Be serious,” you whine, your voice tight and unexpectedly shaky. “Please.”

His expression softens immediately. “Hey, hey…” he pats your head, chuckling lightly. “Who are you and what did you do to my girlfriend?”

You smack his chest again, harder this time.

He yelps, but a smile still tugs at his lips. Then, gently cupping your face in both hands, he studies you closely. “You’re not acting like you. You’re usually the one giving me affirmations in the middle of the day. What’s going on?”

You look at him and almost say it. But instead, you shake your head and murmur, “Just answer the question.”

He exhales and smiles at you. The kind of smile that makes everything feel okay for a second. His eyes never leave yours. “Of course I love you,” he says quietly, sincerely. “You know I do.”

And then he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he repeats, like a promise.

You can feel how much he means it. In the way he holds you. The way your heart stutters just hearing the words from his mouth. But before you can melt completely, he pulls back just enough to flash a cheeky smile. “I’ll love you more if you put on that silk dress, though.”

You swat his shoulder—aiming for it, at least—but your hand lands on his jaw instead. He yelps again, a hand flying up to cradle it. “Ow! That hurts!”

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss the spot. “It didn’t even hurt.”

“It did, actually,” he pouts dramatically, but he holds your waist tighter, tilting his head slightly to give you better access as your lips trail a few more apologetic kisses along his jaw. Then, gently, your lips find his again. This time, slower. Sweeter.

After everything, this is what you needed. His arms. His quiet, unshakable love. You pull away just enough to look into his eyes. “I love you,” you whisper, this time with everything in you.

Seungmin’s smile is soft and full of warmth. Then he presses his forehead to yours. “I know,” he murmurs.

In that moment, it really is enough. Even if your heart still carries a tiny, unspoken ache.

-

Later that night, you’re wrapped in the familiar quiet of your bedroom, the soft hum of the air conditioning barely audible under the weight of your slow breathing. Seungmin lies behind you, one arm slung lazily around your waist, his fingers tracing light shapes over the silk fabric of your nightdress—the one you didn’t plan on wearing tonight but somehow ended up in anyway. You shift slightly, pressing your back closer to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath against your shoulder.

He presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “Comfortable?”

You hum your answer, your eyes fluttering shut. “Mhm. Yeah.”

He chuckles softly, the sound warm against your skin. “Guess I’ll have to ruin that.”

His hand slides along your waist, slow and teasing, until it finds your bare thigh peeking through the slit of your nightdress. He palms the skin there gently, his touch both grounding and electrifying. You turn slightly toward him, enough to meet his gaze in the soft light of the bedside lamp.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you like you’re something to be cherished and devoured all at once. You lean in, brushing your lips over his, and he doesn’t hesitate to respond. The kiss deepens easily, naturally, as if the day hadn’t worn on you at all. His fingers curl around your hip, guiding you closer, pulling you into his space until you’re tangled together, mouths moving in sync, breathes shared and stolen between kisses.

The silk of your nightdress shifts under his touch, soft fabric slipping aside as his hands roam with purpose, memorizing the curves he already knows by heart. You gasp softly against his lips when his thigh presses between yours, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt, tugging at it with unspoken need.

“You're so hot. How can I not love you?” he whispers, just barely, his voice thick and quiet.

You breathlessly giggle as you're threading your fingers through his hair as he begins to kiss lower, trailing heat down the curve of your throat and over your collarbone. And in the stillness of your shared space, with limbs entwined and hearts laid bare, you let go of everything else. Because in this moment, it’s only him. Only you. Only love.

The room is quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the shared breaths between your lips as your mouths meet again, slow and deep and unhurried. Seungmin propped on one elbow as he's leaning over you with that familiar half-smile playing at his lips—the one that always makes your chest ache in the best way.  His hand roams beneath the silk nightdress, slow and deliberate, brushing over your waist, your hip, until it finds its way between your thighs.

You suck in a sharp breath against his mouth as his fingers move lower, his touch gentle but firm, and entirely sure of you.

“Still comfortable?” he murmurs, the words laced with teasing as he palms your clothed sex, his thumb easily tracing your bundle of nerves through the flimsy fabric.

You nod, breathless, your fingers gripping his bicep beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Too comfortable,” you whisper, echoing his earlier words with a shaky laugh.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower still. His fingers never stop moving against the dampness forming on your underwear, his touch slow and coaxing, driving you quietly out of your mind. He knows your body—knows how to build you up with the softest strokes, how to make your toes curl and your breath catch without a single word.

Your body arches slightly, your head falling back against the pillow as he whispers something against your skin—words that are low and loving, and just a little cocky.

You barely register them because all you know is the warmth curling low in your stomach, the way he’s making you unravel piece by piece while holding you so close, as if you might disappear if he didn’t.

Seungmin continues his exploration, fingers circling on your clit—slow and steady—until you’re clutching the sheets and gasping his name like it’s the only word you remember.

Your breath is uneven, your cheek resting against the pillow as your body melts into the mattress. You feel Seungmin’s weight shift beside you, then the soft press of his lips against your shoulder.

He trails more kisses along your skin, slow and unhurried, until he’s hovering above you, his chest brushing against your back, warm and solid. One of his hands remains on your heating wetness, still touching you, fingers moving with knowing precision, making you shiver despite the heat of his body. “You’re not tired yet, are you?” he murmurs against your neck, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

You let out a quiet laugh, breathless. “Should I be?”

Instead of answering, he presses a slow kiss to the base of your neck, his hand moving just a little firmer now, drawing another soft sound from your throat. Then you feel his hips settling closer, the subtle grind of him against you, the heat of his arousal unmistakable even through the layers of fabric still between you.

He doesn’t say anything, just breathes against your skin, letting his body do the talking. The slow, steady roll of his hips, the way he fits against you, the heat, the hardness. You squirm beneath him, not to escape but to tease back, and he groans low in his throat—a sound that sinks into your bones.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispers, voice rough now, his hand still moving, coaxing every bit of response from you as his hips grind against you again, slower this time, deliberate.

You tilt your head slightly to the side, glancing at him from over your shoulder, your lips parted, your body flushed and pliant beneath his. He meets your eyes and there's no more teasing in his expression. Only want. Only love. And the soft weight of him above you feels like the safest place in the world.

You hum softly as Seungmin’s lips continue their gentle exploration of your shoulder and neck, each kiss fluttering against your skin like a secret. His hand never leaves your body, drifting across your stomach before inching lower again. Then, with a breathy chuckle against your ear, he murmurs, “I take it back.”

You smile, eyes still closed. “Take what back?”

“This nightdress,” he says, his voice low and teasing as his fingers slip beneath the hem and slowly tug it upward. “I hate it.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat, soft and breathless, as he continues, “Hate it so much.”

The fabric slides higher as his hands move with purpose, and you oblige with a grin, pushing yourself up slightly so your back meets his chest. You tilt your head against his shoulder, lifting your arms in silent invitation. He takes the cue without hesitation, sliding the dress up and over, tossing it somewhere off the bed without even looking.

Warm hands return to your bare skin immediately, greedy and reverent. He touches you like he’s missed you—even though you’ve been right here the entire time. Fingers trace every familiar curve, rediscovering you with a tenderness that contradicts the hunger simmering in his breath.

His hands come to rest on your chest, cupping your breasts in his hands with gentle insistence, his palms hot against your skin. You gasp as his thumbs brush softly over your sensitive nipples, and your body melts further into his. He leans in, mouth seeking the spot just below your jawline, where he nips and sucks, leaving behind the echo of his affection in the form of wet heat and marks.

You feel boneless in his arms, pliant and undone, every breath you take shivering out of you as he holds you like something he never plans to let go of.

He groans softly against your neck, his hands never still. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

But you do. You feel it in every kiss. Every touch. And as you press your hand over his where it rests on your chest, you whisper back, “I think I do.”

With that, you lower yourself onto the bed, the sheets cool against your warmed skin as Seungmin’s hands glide down your sides slowly, reverently. His fingers catch the edge of your underwear, and in one fluid motion, he eases it down and off, leaving you bare beneath his gaze.

He shifts above you, mouth returning to the soft skin of your neck, where he plants teasing kisses and playful nibbles. You giggle when his breath tickles your ear, your shoulder curling slightly as you squirm beneath him, not from discomfort but anticipation.

“Seungmin...” you whisper out of want, need.

His response is another kiss—this one pressed just below your ear—and then he begins to trail down your spine, every slow kiss leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. When he reaches the curve of your back, his hands settle on your hips, his thumbs stroking slow circles before sliding lower.

You feel him—hot and hard—pressed against your wet cunt, not quite pushing forward, just teasing. Testing. His grip tightens ever so slightly, and you gasp when he slips his cock in between and rubbing it against your wetness, giving just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to satisfy.

“Seungmin,” you whisper, breath trembling. “Please…”

His chuckle is low and indulgent as he leans in, mouth brushing over your ear again. “So needy for me,” he murmurs, almost amused. “How can I not love you?”

And finally, finally, he gives in. He pushes his cock inside you slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving to where his length disappearing into you, savoring the way you take him inch by inch. The breath you release is a stuttering moan, muffled into the pillow beneath you, your hands clutching the sheets as your body adjusts to him.

It stays like that for a moment and when Seungmin deems you're ready for more, he begins moving with the kind of rhythm that feels both intentional and instinctive like he knows your body as well as his own, knows every subtle shift in your breath and how to pull the sweetest sounds from your lips.

Your fingers twist into the sheets, your skin tingling with every deep thrust, and when you turn your head to look at him, he meets your gaze—his dark eyes full of heat and tenderness. That look alone nearly undoes you.

“Seungmin, baby, you feel so good inside me...” you mewl as you look at him with half-lidded eyes.

Without needing to hear it, he can tell just from reading the expression on your face, the way your body arches into his, how your voice catches every time he hits that perfect spot. And he responds the way only he can—his pace changing without warning, suddenly fast, then slowing again just enough to tease, to keep you on edge, to build that need higher. He’s loving you like it’s everything he knows how to do—with devotion in every movement, and passion in every kiss he leaves along your skin.

By the time he finds that final rhythm—deep, fast, overwhelming—you’re a breathless mess beneath him, your moans spilling out freely, loud and broken, as the bed rocks beneath the intensity of it all. You don’t even care anymore if the neighbors hear. He’s lost in it too, letting out low, desperate sounds against your skin, his grip on your hips tightening as if he’s trying to hold on just a little longer.

When the wave crashes, it takes both of you with it.

Seungmin buries himself deep one last time before letting go, his body trembling slightly as he spills his seed inside you, collapsing against your back as the weight of his pleasure and exhaustion hits him all at once. His chest heaves against you, damp skin pressed to yours, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of sheets.

You turn your head just enough to find him, to brush your lips to his. He kisses you back slowly, softly, like he’s still catching his breath. And then, in the quiet that follows, you whisper against his lips, “I love you.”

He doesn’t need to say it back right away—you can feel it in the way he kisses you again, in the way he shifts just enough to hold you better, closer. But then, you hear it anyway—soft and sincere, right against your temple. “I love you so much.”

And in that moment, with your bodies tangled and your hearts bare, it’s all you need.

-

The kitchen is a delightful mess—flour dusted across the countertops, chocolate smudged on your wrist, and a mixing bowl dangerously close to tipping off the edge of the sink. You and Marion are both slightly tipsy, giggling over a cocktail shaker that’s lost its lid mid-shake and sent droplets of raspberry gin fizz onto the cabinets.

“Are we even doing this right?” Marion asks, peering into the brownie batter as you try to fold in the chocolate chunks without splashing anything else.

You shrug, your cheeks flushed from laughter and the alcohol. “I mean, if the batter tastes this good, the final result can’t be that bad.”

Marion dips a spoon in and tastes it with a dramatic moan. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You’re both laughing again, this time harder, and she almost knocks over the tray as you slide it into the oven. You set a timer, then lean against the counter, clinking your glass gently with hers.

“To very serious bakers,” you toast.

“And to very responsible drinking,” she adds with a wink.

Once you both settle on the floor with a throw pillow each, the buzz mellowing into that warm, glowy feeling, Marion sighs and rests her head back against the cupboard. “I can’t believe I’m getting married.”

You glance over and smile. “I can. You and Leo are disgustingly perfect.”

She snorts. “We’re just… learning. Growing. Like… I don’t know, good wine or something.” Then she quiets for a second, her voice softening. “I didn’t think I’d feel like this. All the clichés? They’re real. I’ll see him in the kitchen making coffee and suddenly I’m like, ‘God, I want to spend the rest of my life watching this man make terrible pour-overs.’”

Your laugh is soft this time, fond. “I’m really happy for you, Mar.”

She turns to you, eyes shining a little. “And I’m so happy you’re my maid of honor.”

Your chest warms at the words. “I’m going to be the best maid of honor ever. Just watch.”

She grins wide. “And threaten Leo with bodily harm if he ever makes me cry.”

You toast your nearly empty glass with hers again. “That’s a given.”

There’s a pause, a comfortable one, and then Marion leans her head gently against your shoulder. “You’ll be next,” she murmurs.

You don’t say anything right away. Just smile and keep looking at the oven, the faint ticking of the timer filling the silence. You don’t need to answer—not tonight.

Once brownies has cooled down, you take the first bite of the brownie and blink in disbelief. “Wait… why is this actually good?”

Marion’s eyes widen as she chews her own piece. “Did we accidentally summon domestic goddess energy?”

You both laugh, mouths full of gooey chocolate, your cocktail glasses sitting mostly forgotten on the coffee table. The brownies have that perfect crispy edge with a soft, fudge-like center, and it feels like an accomplishment far beyond its baking difficulty—maybe because it’s wrapped in the comfort of laughter, drinks, and easy friendship.

But as the minutes pass and Marion continues sipping, then pouring a little too enthusiastically, it becomes clear that your best friend is crossing the line from tipsy to gone. Her cheeks are flushed, her head wobbles when she moves, and she’s singing along to a song playing from her phone in a voice so off-key, it’s almost impressive.

You, a little lightheaded yourself, shake your head with a smile. “Marion,” you say gently, nudging her. “It’s not even ten-thirty.”

“I’m great,” she declares, wobbling as she tries to stand. “I feel like I could plan a wedding and solve world peace right now.”

“Mhm,” you mutter, looping an arm around her shoulders when she stumbles again. “Let’s aim for just making it to your bedroom without breaking anything.”

She slumps into you, leaning heavily as you walk her slowly down the hall. “You know what we should do?” she says, her words slurring slightly. “We should totally get pregnant together.”

You pause mid-step. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah,” she continues dreamily. “Me and you. Pregnant together. Baby bumps and morning sickness and matching diaper bags. Our babies can have playdates and grow up to be best friends like us.”

You snort, half laughing, half trying not to tip over. “That’s a very... ambitious plan.”

Marion nods solemnly. “Synchronize our cycles. Manifest the future.”

“Okay, Drunk Oracle,” you say, trying not to laugh too hard. “Let’s just start with you getting to the bed.”

You manage to get her onto the mattress in one final push. She immediately curls up into a fetal position, already half-asleep. You pull the duvet over her gently and take a moment to look at her soft, peaceful expression—marriage-bound, impossibly hopeful, and dreaming of coordinated pregnancies and pastel nursery paint.

You reach out to brush a bit of hair from her face and sigh, not entirely sure what to feel. The air is still warm with laughter, but there's a quiet twinge in your chest. You flick off the bedside lamp, casting the room in darkness, and close the door behind you.

With Marion already tucked into bed, you're left with the cleaning task to yourself. You sigh before moving around Marion’s kitchen, cleaning up the mess the two of you made earlier. There’s flour dusted across the counter like a fine layer of snow, smears of chocolate batter dried onto the mixing bowl, and spatulas sitting lazily in the sink. It’s quiet now without Marion’s laughter or the clinking of glasses, and the silence presses in gently, nudging you into your thoughts.

As you rinse the dishes one by one, Marion’s drunken rambling echoes in your head like background music. “You’ll be next. Let’s plan our pregnancies together. Baby playdates. Matching diaper bags.”

You shake your head with a smile, a soft chuckle slipping past your lips. She was drunk. But even so… the picture forms easily in your mind. You and Seungmin. A modest house filled with warmth. Little footsteps running down the hallway. A baby with Seungmin’s eyes and pout. Him in sweats with a sleepy toddler cradled on his chest, the glow of Sunday morning light filtering through the windows. It makes your chest flutter in the softest way.

You’re still standing at the sink, sponge in hand, when the sound of the front door clicks open, shattering your daydream. The soft thud of keys hitting the entry table follows, and then the familiar voice.

“Hey,” Leo says gently as he steps into the kitchen and sees you. “You’re still here.”

You turn and offer a small smile. “Just waiting for my taxi. Didn’t want to leave a crime scene behind.”

He glances toward the living room, then toward the hallway. “She’s out, huh?”

“Out cold,” you confirm with a chuckle. “Didn’t even make it to 10:30.”

Leo laughs under his breath and grabs a glass from the shelf. “That sounds about right.”

You start drying your hands as he fills his glass with water. There’s a beat of comfortable silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the soft rush of water from the tap.

“You can hang out for a bit,” Leo says, taking a sip. “Seungmin would kill me if I let you leave without making sure you got in your ride safely.”

That makes you chuckle. “Sounds like him.”

Leo leans against the counter and tilts his head slightly. “You know… I always thought Seungmin would do it first.”

“Do what first?”

He raises a brow, like it’s obvious. “Propose.”

The word hits you with a weight you didn’t expect, but you try to keep your expression casual. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Leo nods. “I mean—funny story actually. The day I bought the ring for Marion? I ran into him at the jewelry store.”

You look up sharply. “You did?”

“Yup,” he says, smiling at the memory. “I asked what he was doing there and he said—” Leo lifts a hand to mimic air quotes, “—‘just returning something.’ Total deadpan. Didn’t even blink.”

You force a small laugh. “Also sounds like him.”

Leo shrugs, grinning. “But knowing Seungmin? I think he just didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I mean, guy’s got a poker face made of steel.”

You nod slowly, but your heart sinks just a little deeper than before. Because now you're not so sure. Was it really a lie to keep a surprise? Or… was it the truth?

You swallow hard, trying to keep your expression smooth as you offer him a polite smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

But your chest is heavy again, and as you glance at your phone to check the time, you wish more than anything that you hadn’t opened that damn linen closet at all.

-

You fasten the clasp of your earrings as you glance at yourself in the mirror, the morning light slipping through the blinds and catching on the satin fabric of your dress. Marion texted you twenty minutes ago with three exclamation points and an “ARE YOU READY YET” that you haven’t had the heart to respond to. You’re not late—just… taking your time.

Because when you're alone like this, brushing on a little blush and slipping into heels, your thoughts begin to loop again. About the ring. About that empty space in the linen closet. About what Leo said.

He said he was just returning something. But… what if he really was?

It’s been days, and still nothing. No big gestures. No changes in the way Seungmin acts. And you're trying not to let it eat you alive.

You're meant to be excited for Marion today—maid of honor, dress shopping, champagne flutes and dramatic tears—but your head’s a noisy place. You're halfway through slipping into your dress when the bedroom door creaks open.

“Need help?” Seungmin asks from behind, already closing the distance.

You nod, standing still as he gently gathers the zipper at the small of your back. His fingers are warm, smooth, careful. The sound of the zipper sliding up echoes too loud in the quiet room. Once it’s zipped, his arms immediately slip around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder and lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Marion’s stealing you for the whole weekend now, huh?”

You smile faintly at his reflection in the mirror. “Well, I am her maid of honor. This is part of the job.”

He pouts against your shoulder. “You’re gonna be so busy helping her plan stuff. I’ll barely see you.”

You tilt your head, amused. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Doesn’t that just mean no one’s interrupting your video game marathons?”

He frowns like you just offended him. “That’s not the point. I want to play with you too.”

You turn in his hold, facing him, his hands still warm on your waist. For a fleeting second, you want to ask about it. About the ring. About Leo. About the jewelry store. Instead, you lift a hand to cup his jaw, tracing your thumb gently along the curve of it. His skin is soft from shaving, and his eyes are impossibly warm.

You softly kiss him, lingering just enough to let him know you mean it. When you pull back, your hand stays on his cheek as you smile faintly. “Don’t wait up. I’ll probably be out all day.”

Seungmin sighs and lets his forehead bump gently against yours. “I hate it.”

You giggle and break away, reaching for your shoes. “Behave.”

“You behave,” he mutters, clearly not letting go of the pout.

You lean in for one last kiss as you sling your bag over your shoulder and glance at him one more time—and there’s that stupidly cute smile. The one that crinkles his eyes and shows off the dimple in his cheek. The one that made you fall in love with him years ago.

“Have fun,” he says, still holding your hand as you reach for the door.

You smile at him over your shoulder and realize that is why you can never stay mad at him.

-

The second you and Marion step into the bridal shop, you both instantly enveloped in a world of white and ivory and shimmer. The space smells faintly like fresh flowers and lavender. Soft piano music floats in the background, almost drowned by Marion’s giddy gasp as she takes it all in.

Rows of gowns hang like clouds on gold racks, each dress more breathtaking than the last. You follow Marion as she practically skips ahead, already flipping through lace, satin, and embroidered tulle. “This one has your name written all over it,” you say, gently tugging out a sweetheart neckline dress with hand-sewn appliqué.

She lets out a squeal, taking it from you like it’s made of spun sugar. As she continues browsing, her eyes alight with excitement, your mind drifts. You glance around at the other brides-to-be in the boutique—smiling, glowing, radiant in anticipation. However, when you try to ignore it, you feel that sting again. You don’t even realize how quiet you’ve gotten until Marion turns to look at you.

“Hey,” she says softly, as if reading your thoughts. “You okay?”

You give a small nod. Then you sigh and admit, “Leo said something… the other night.”

Marion raises a brow. “Uh-oh.”

So you tell her everything. About Leo bumping into Seungmin at the jewelry store. About how Seungmin said he was ‘just returning something’. About how it’s been swirling in your head ever since. “I keep thinking… maybe he had a change of heart,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe he bought the ring and then changed his mind.”

Marion stares at you for a moment, then she blinks and waves a dismissive hand like she's physically swatting the idea away. “Nope. Not buying that. That man is obsessed with you. I see the way he looks at you like he wants to give you the world.”

You let out a quiet laugh at that, but it's tight.

Marion gently bumps her shoulder into yours. “He probably lied because he’s trying to keep it a surprise. He’s meticulous like that. You know he is.”

“I know,” you murmur. “But I’ve just been overthinking everything. And the longer nothing happens, the more I can’t stop wondering.”

Marion gives you a knowing look, then turns toward the bridal shop staff and says brightly, “I think I’m ready to start trying some dresses on!”

One of the attendants smiles and gestures for her to follow. Marion turns back to you, squeezing your hand before heading off. “Stop spiraling. I’m telling you—it’s coming. Just breathe.”

As Marion disappears into the fitting area, you remain in the middle of the boutique, surrounded by future promises sewn into fabric. Trying to believe that maybe yours is just still in progress.

The buzz of the boutique continues around you. You sit quietly on the velvet cushioned bench, hands resting on your lap as you wait. You’re surrounded by joy, by promise, and still, your mind refuses to settle.

A staff member approaches you with a delicate smile, holding a silver tray with two tall champagne flutes. You take one and thank her, nodding politely as she walks away. You bring the glass to your lips, the bubbly drink cool and crisp on your tongue. You hope it’ll ease the tangle of thoughts knotting in your head but it doesn’t.

You’re halfway through the flute when the curtain rustles, and Marion steps out in her first wedding dress. You gasp despite yourself. She looks ethereal—floating in a sleek A-line gown with embroidered floral details and a delicate train behind her. The sweetheart neckline frames her perfectly, and the way she smiles makes it glow even more.

“Oh my god, babe,” you breathe. “You look… breathtaking.”

Marion beams at your reaction, spinning slowly for you to take it all in. “Right? I didn’t think I’d love this one, but wow—this might be it!”

You try your best to focus, offering compliments, suggestions, small smiles, but your energy is off and you know it.

She disappears again into the fitting room, and one dress after another, she keeps emerging in tulle, lace, satin, sleeves, no sleeves—and all you can manage are soft nods and faint hums of approval. You’re trying. You really are. But your smile slips too easily, your thoughts keep drifting.

When she comes out in a fitted mermaid gown with a dramatic low back and doesn't hear the familiar excited gasp from you, she places a hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes. “Okay. That’s it.”

You glance up at her. “Wha—”

“Get out of your head,” Marion says with a gentle firmness only a best friend could manage. “This is my wedding dress moment. I need you here, babe. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually. All of it.”

Your heart drops a little at her words, not because she’s wrong, but because she’s right. And the last thing you want is to take this moment away from her.

You set your glass down and stand, walking over to her, guilt clouding your expression. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’m really sorry, Marion. I want to be here for you—I am here for you—I just…”

Instead of her usual understanding nod or the warm squeeze of reassurance, Marion stares at you. Her eyes linger for a beat too long, her lips pressed into a flat line. You expect her to soften, to offer one of her teasing but gentle replies.

This time, she lets out a short, sharp laugh, void of humor. “You know what?” she says, voice low but cutting. “Maybe Seungmin did change his mind. And honestly? I wouldn’t blame him.”

You freeze. “What?”

She crosses her arms, still standing in her wedding gown. “This was supposed to be my day. One day. One moment. And somehow, you’ve still managed to make it about you.”

“Marion…” you mutter so low it's almost a whisper.

She cuts you off, frustration finally bubbling to the surface. “All week, you’ve been moping, overthinking, spiraling—and I get it, I do, but today is about me. And instead of showing up like my best friend, like my maid of honor, you’re just… wallowing. In something that hasn’t even happened.”

Her words land like stones. Heavy. Sharp. And maybe it’s the stress, or maybe it’s the part of you that’s still wounded from your own disappointment, but your chest tightens.

You pick up your purse, slowly, trying to keep your face blank, even though it’s already twisting. “Okay,” you say quietly. “I get it.”

“Wait—” Marion starts, her tone flickering with regret already, but it’s too late.

You sling the strap of your purse over your shoulder, blink back the sting in your eyes, and walk right past the mirror-lined walls, the racks of white lace and silk, the staff who glance up with startled looks. You don’t stop until you’re out of the boutique and the glass door swings shut behind you.

You step out onto the sidewalk, the air kissing your flushed skin, and only then do you let yourself exhale. Because you didn’t expect the hurt to come from her. Not today. Not like this.

-

When you step into the apartment, Seungmin looks up from the couch with that familiar glint in his eyes, already ready to tease. “Back already?” he says, setting down his phone. “Did you miss me that much?”

You walk right past him, brushing his shoulder lightly, without a word. Your heels click softly against the floor until you reach the bedroom. The purse slips from your fingers and lands on the floor with a soft thud, and you follow it, collapsing face-first onto the bed. The tears come almost instantly, soaking into the pillow before you even have the chance to catch your breath.

A few seconds later, you hear the sound of footsteps, the creak of the door, and then the bed shifts under Seungmin’s weight as he climbs in beside you.

“Hey,” he says, gently. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You don’t answer. You just keep crying, your chest rising and falling with quiet, shuddering sobs.

Seungmin shifts closer, concern painting every inch of his voice now. “Are you hurt? Did someone—did someone say something to you?” He brushes your hair back, his fingertips feather-light on your cheek, but you still don’t look at him. “Who hurt you, baby? Tell me.”

He gets it, then. Whatever this is—it’s not something you’re ready to talk about. So he doesn’t push. Instead, he slides closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. You feel his breath against your neck. He presses the softest of kisses to your shoulder, then to the side of your neck, and one more at the edge of your jaw. His hand moves slowly up and down your arm in comforting strokes, no words, just presence. Just him.

“I’m here,” he whispers eventually, voice barely audible. “Okay? I’m right here.”

And maybe that’s all you need for now. Not answers. Not promises. Just this—Seungmin’s arms holding you close as you let yourself fall apart.

By the time your tears have dried, the room is steeped in quiet. Outside the window, the sky has turned deep blue, the last of the evening light fading into night. But inside, Seungmin is still holding you just the same—arms wrapped around you, his lips pressing soft kisses along the slope of your neck, the curve of your jaw, grounding you with every touch.

“Seungmin,” you croak out, voice raw from crying.

He hums in response, his hand still rubbing slow, gentle circles on your back.

You hesitate, but then ask, barely above a whisper, “Do you think I’m… a selfish person?”

Seungmin stills, then leans back enough to look at you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Why would you ask me that?”

You shift on the bed, turning to face him. He instantly loops his arms around your waist again, pulling you flush against his chest. His hand comes up to brush strands of hair away from your face, wiping at the dampness still lingering under your eyes.

You stare at him, and the words fall out of your mouth again, more fragile this time. “Do you think I’m selfish? Is that... Is that why you don’t want to marry me?”

He flinches slightly—not out of anger, but surprise and then the silence stretches a little, filled with nothing but your shaky breath.

“I found the ring,” you finally admit, your voice barely audible. “The one you hid in the linen closet. It fell when I was looking for a tablecloth.”

Realization flashes in Seungmin’s eyes. His mouth parts slightly. “Oh…” he lets out a soft gasp as it all clicks into place, and a breath escapes him in a long, quiet sigh. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You give a faint, bitter laugh, eyes shimmering with fresh tears. “So it was for me?”

Seungmin cups your face with both hands, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks as he nods. “Yes. It was always for you.”

“Then why did you return it?” you ask softly, searching his face, trying to keep the heartbreak from bleeding through your voice. “Leo… he saw you at the store. He said you told him you were returning something.”

Seungmin lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “I didn’t return it because I changed my mind about you,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I returned it because I found a new one—a better one. One that suits you more.”

You sniffle. “You… did?”

He nods again, still gently stroking your cheek. “Yeah. That first one—it didn’t feel like you. I kept thinking about how you deserve something that really fits who you are. So I exchanged it. I wasn’t trying to lie or confuse you… I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

You fall quiet at that, your chest tightening with emotion—not from sadness, but from the weight of your own misunderstanding. You had made up so many things in your head. So many wrong assumptions.

Seungmin presses his palm to your cheek, coaxing you to look into his eyes. “You’re not selfish,” he says firmly, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a blanket. “A selfish person doesn’t cook me dinner even when she’s tired. She doesn’t stay up late to watch me play video games or take care of me when I’m sick. She doesn’t let me drag her to baseball games or listen to me talk about player stats for hours.”

You laugh softly, another tear slipping down your cheek.

“You’re amazing,” Seungmin whispers. “You’re strong and kind and honest. You're true to yourself. I love you for all of that.”

Then he smiles, eyes sparkling even in the dim light. “If anything… I’m the selfish one.”

You frown in confusion. “Why would you say that?”

He leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Because I want all your love just for me. All of it. Every day. Forever.”

A fresh wave of tears rushes into your eyes, but this time, they’re light and full of warmth. You bury your face in his chest again, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as you start crying again—but now, you’re smiling too.

Seungmin kisses the top of your head, his hand slipping into your hair. “You just ruined my proposal plans, by the way,” he mutters playfully. “Guess I’ll have to come up with a new one.”

Despite the storm of emotions, you laugh into his chest, muffled and breathless. “Sorry…”

He chuckles softly. “Not really, though.”

You tilt your head up, looking into his eyes. Everything you need to know is there, written so clearly in the way he looks at you. With love. With certainty.

And when he leans in to kiss you, it’s slow and deep, a promise in itself. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.

And in a voice full of all the love you’ve ever felt, you whisper back, “I love you too.”

And that—more than a ring, more than a proposal—is everything.

-

The next morning unfolds slowly, gently—sunlight spilling through the windows, warming the kitchen tiles beneath your feet. There’s music playing softly from your phone, and you’re still in Seungmin’s oversized shirt, sleeves rolled clumsily up your arms, your hair slightly messy from sleep.

Seungmin is beside you, flipping pancakes with exaggerated concentration, while you stir scrambled eggs in the pan next to him. His arm brushes yours every few seconds. You both steal kisses in between chores—on his cheek, on your temple, on the side of your neck—sometimes just for fun, sometimes just because you can. He reaches over your shoulder to grab the pepper and presses a kiss behind your ear on the way, making you giggle and squirm.

There’s a lightness in your chest this morning, a clarity you haven’t felt in days. Because now you know, he’s not going anywhere. He’s here. With you. Choosing you every day.

As you both set the plates onto the table, getting ready to finally eat, the doorbell rings. You pause, glancing at Seungmin. He lifts an eyebrow at you, mouth already full of a bite of pancake. “Who is that?” he says with his mouth full.

You shrug and wipe your hands on a kitchen towel as you pad to the door. When you open it, Marion is standing there. She looks… uncertain. Hesitant. But when her eyes meet yours, she smiles softly and lets out a breath. “Hey.”

You blink in surprise, then give her a faint smile. “Hey.”

Marion hesitates, fidgeting with her hands. “I just—” she sighs. “I’m sorry. For what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

You stay quiet, letting the weight of her words hang in the air for a beat.

“I was overwhelmed with everything,” she continues, “and I didn’t know I was holding all that tension until it snapped. But that’s no excuse. I was wrong. And I’m really, really sorry.”

You look at her and, in her eyes, you see nothing but sincerity. And maybe just the tiniest bit of shame. But your heart is already softened. You’ve cried enough. You’ve carried enough weight. And you don’t want to carry bitterness too.

A small smile curves on your lips. “It’s okay, Mar. It's all water under the bridge.”

Marion's shoulders drop in relief and a big, bright grin takes over her face. She rushes toward you, throwing her arms around you.

You hug her back tightly, burying your face into her shoulder, holding on for just a second longer than necessary. When you pull away, still smiling, you grab her hand and tug her inside. “Come in. Join us for breakfast.”

She hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you say, already leading her toward the kitchen. “We made pancakes.”

“Say no more,” she grins. “I’m in.”

Seungmin looks up from the table as you both enter, and he offers Marion a nod of greeting. “Hey,” he says casually. “Hope you like slightly burnt pancakes.”

Marion laughs as she sits down. “I like everything when it’s free.”

The three of you settle around the table, warm plates in front of you, coffee cups steaming gently between sips and bites. The late morning light glows through the window, making everything feel softer, slower, sweeter.

Marion takes a sip of her coffee, hums in appreciation, then glances at Seungmin. “Okay, wait. This coffee? This is actually really good.”

Seungmin shrugs with a cocky grin. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

You grin as you pick up your cup. “This is exactly why I want to marry him. He makes good coffee.”

Marion pauses, blinking in a half-surprised, half-delighted way as she shifts her eyes from you to Seungmin. “Wait, what?”

You glance at Seungmin, who’s already giving you a warning squint across the table. You bite back a smile and turn to Marion. “Seungmin’s going to propose soon,” you say, teasing just enough to make him squirm.

Marion gasps, all wide eyes and giddy hands clasped to her chest. “Oh? Really?!”

You laugh and quickly explain, “He already knows we found the ring in the linen closet. It wasn’t that sneaky.”

Marion immediately gasps louder, turning to Seungmin with the most wicked grin. “So you are proposing. And you’ve been dragging it out this whole time?!”

Seungmin groans and drops his fork dramatically onto his plate. “Wow. You two are literally talking about me like I’m not even here.”

“That’s because you took forever,” Marion teases, smirking.

“You know,” Seungmin points his fork at both of you, “I should’ve just proposed in secret and eloped. Peace and quiet.”

Marion leans in, nudging her elbow against yours with a conspiratorial grin. “You know what? Maybe wait until after my wedding to propose.”

Seungmin gapes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she says, smug. “She’s my maid of honor. Which means, until my wedding’s over, she’s mine.”

“She practically owns me,” you say with a laugh.

Seungmin dramatically scoffs, “That explains so much. I always knew something was up. You’ve been using her!”

Marion flips her hair and lifts her chin proudly. “Absolutely. And I plan to keep using her until the very last hour of the reception.”

Seungmin narrows his eyes at her, then looks at you like a betrayed puppy. “Do you hear this? I’m just... background noise now. Replaced. Overtaken.”

You burst out laughing, watching the two of them bicker like siblings. “Don’t worry,” you say, reaching over to rest a hand on Seungmin’s. “You still make the best coffee.”

-

It’s a rare, golden kind of day—the one where everything falls into place. Marion’s out of town, the maid of honor duties are on pause, and for once, your calendar is blissfully empty. Seungmin had insisted that you both take advantage of it, and now here you are, walking into a crowded stadium, your hand snug in his, the warm scent of grilled food in the air, the hum of excited fans filling every inch of the space.

Seungmin’s face is practically glowing as he guides you to your seats. You barely get a chance to settle in before he excuses himself, disappearing into the crowd. When he returns a long moment later, his arms are full—two large beers and a tray of snacks balanced precariously.

You quickly reach for them, steadying the tray so nothing spills. “I don’t know how you made it through that crowd in one piece,” you say with a grin.

“I’m just that good,” he replies, settling into his seat and taking a long sip of beer. “Okay, so here’s the deal—my team’s playing their biggest rival today. It’s going to be intense. Their defense is solid, but if our pitcher holds it down, we’ve got this.”

You rest your chin on your hand as you watch him talk. He’s so passionate, so animated, and you can’t help but smile at the way his eyes light up with excitement. He catches your stare mid-sentence and falters, cheeks warming slightly before he leans over to kiss you, quick and sweet.

You laugh after taking a bite of corn dog. “I was just thinking you look cute when you get all serious about baseball.”

He tries to hide his smile behind his beer, and just as he starts talking strategy again, the jumbotron begins cycling through advertisements, then team previews, and finally, the kiss cam. You watch it playfully, giggling at the awkward and adorable kisses caught onscreen.

And all of a sudden, your face appears. You blink, mid-sip, then turn to Seungmin with a startled laugh. “Oh my god—we’re on the screen.”

He doesn’t hesitate, just leans in and kisses you, and the crowd erupts into cheers as the kiss cam switches to another couple.

Both of you break into shy laughter, your heart thudding with the strange mix of public attention and private affection. “That was embarrassing,” you murmur.

“Why? People liked it,” Seungmin says with a shrug, almost a little too casually.

You give him a suspicious look. “What do you mean ‘people liked it’?”

But before you can question further, the kiss cam cuts back to you two again.

“What? Again?” you ask, shocked, but Seungmin just chuckles and kisses you again.

The crowd cheers louder this time, and you feel your face flush. You pull away, laughing nervously. “Okay, what is happening? Why are we on again—”

Seungmin is already leaning in for another kiss, his lips brushing yours with more intention this time. The crowd roars yet again.

When the camera doesn’t move on after this one, your confusion grows. And then you notice that the words KISS CAM fade away. New words begin to scroll across the jumbotron in big white letters: WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Your brain short-circuits and when you turn to Seungmin, and he’s no longer beside you. He’s on one knee. In his hand, a velvet box—open to reveal a ring you’ve never seen before. A white gold band cradling a stunning cushion-cut diamond, surrounded by the softest halo of pink diamonds. It’s delicate and beautiful and so you. And suddenly the jumbotron, the repeated kiss cams, the look he gave you earlier—clicks into place.

Seungmin looks up at you with those warm, impossibly sincere puppy eyes. He smiles, his voice steady but soft—just for you, even though an entire stadium is listening.

“Will you marry me?”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by a wave of cheers and people chanting, “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!”

You’re already nodding before the words come out, tears brimming in your eyes as you cover your mouth with trembling fingers. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

Seungmin’s smile could light up the whole field. He carefully takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your finger with gentle hands. Then he stands, pulls you into his arms, and kisses you as the crowd erupts in wild applause. Fireworks explode across the jumbotron in a burst of color as congratulary words flashing on the screen as confetti cannons go off in the background and strangers all around are clapping, cheering, congratulating.

It’s loud and chaotic and perfect. And right there, in the middle of a packed stadium, you’re holding the only person in the world who matters. And he’s yours.

-

It’s just the two of you now—back in your shared space, the world quiet, and the buzz of the proposal still pulsing through your chest like a second heartbeat.

You’re in bed, wrapped around each other as if trying to make the moment last forever. You’re sitting on his lap, legs looped around his waist, your fingers tangled in his hair while his arms hold you tightly against him, as though letting go would break the magic.

Seungmin’s lips are on yours in slow, deep kisses that taste like champagne and forever. Your bare skin pressed against his is warm, comforting, electric. You can still feel the outline of the ring on your finger, even as you cradle his jaw between your hands and kiss him again, smiling into it.

There’s laughter between kisses—whispers of disbelief that this is real, that this is happening. That you’re engaged. And you feel it in your bones—the security, the joy, the love so big it hums through every part of you.

“I still can’t believe you pulled that off,” you whisper against his lips.

Seungmin chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re not the only one who knows how to keep a secret.”

You smile into the kiss, breath catching slightly when Seungmin pulls back just enough to look at you. His gaze lingers, soft and glowing with something deep and unshakable. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he murmurs, like it’s a secret just for you.

Your heart flutters, and the smile blooming on your face feels unstoppable, too wide to hide. You don’t want to hide it anyway—not from him. Not from this moment.

He reaches for your hand, the one now bearing the engagement ring, and lifts it gently to his lips. His kiss is reverent against the band, and somehow that small gesture makes everything even more real.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Gosh, I love you so much.”

He kisses you again, longer this time, his arms tightening around your waist. “I love you. Always.”

Slowly, you lift yourself just enough to allow you to ease yourself down onto his throbbing cock, your breath catching as your body adjusts to the closeness, the stretch, how hard he is inside you. When you fully take all of him, you hum in pleasure and press your forehead against his.

There’s no rush—just stillness and the quiet awe of feeling everything at once. His hands find your hips, grounding you, steadying the soft tremble in your breath. You stay like that for a moment—joined, wrapped up in the warmth of love and commitment and the tenderness of what comes next.

And then, as you begin to move, it’s slow and meaningful—each motion a silent vow, each look shared a quiet promise. You keep your eyes on him, letting him see everything as you make love to him with all of your heart.

Your fingers find his jaw, holding him steady beneath your gaze. “I can’t wait to be yours,” you whisper, voice breaking with emotion. “To have all of you… just for me.”

Seungmin’s thumb brushes over your hip, his breath hitching at your words. His eyes are full of love, of you.

“I already am,” he says softly. “All yours.”

-

The music begins and you take a deep breath before stepping out onto the aisle with the other bridesmaids. The soft rustle of fabric follows your steps, and though you try to keep your focus ahead, you can feel Seungmin’s gaze like a gentle tether, pulling your heart toward where he’s seated.

When you steal a glance at him, there he is. Sitting tall in his suit, his eyes never leaving you, filled with a quiet, radiant pride that sends warmth cascading through your chest. You know exactly what he's thinking because you're thinking it too. One day, it’ll be you walking down the aisle in white and he'll be waiting at the altar, just like Leo is now, with that same kind of look in his eyes. Maybe even deeper.

As Marion appears at the end of the aisle, music swelling to greet her, you look forward again. Leo's reaction is instant and visceral—his breath visibly hitching, eyes already glossy, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches her take each step closer to him. And you, watching him, can't help but imagine Seungmin looking at you like that. One day. Not far from now.

During the ceremony, with Marion’s vows still hanging delicately in the air, you glance across the crowd again. And Seungmin is already looking at you. There's something reverent in his expression, something soft and deep and full. He just mouths it like a sacred promise, “I love you.”

It takes a second to register. Your heart leaps. Tears prick the corners of your eyes. You’ve heard him say it so many times, but this… this moment makes it different. It’s not just the words—it’s the truth in his eyes, the forever behind it.

You bite your lip, trying not to smile too hard or cry too openly, and you mouth it back through the flicker of your tears, “I love you.”

For a few heartbeats, time feels suspended between you. Just you and him, exchanging silent vows of your own in the middle of someone else’s wedding. And honestly, you can’t wait for your turn.

-

The music has quieted into a soft, dreamy melody. The dance floor is mostly empty now, save for a few lingering couples swaying gently under the glow of string lights and the night sky is dotted with stars. You and Seungmin sit side by side at your table, shoes off, champagne flutes in hand. The bubbly has long gone lukewarm, but neither of you minds. It’s not about the drink—it’s about the moment.

You glance over at him. His tie is loose, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his arm draped behind your chair. There’s something so comfortably tender about him like this.

Then come Marion and Leo, walking hand in hand like they haven't been married for just a few hours but for lifetimes already. Marion doesn’t hesitate to plop down in the chair next to you, letting out an exaggerated sigh as she kicks off her heels with zero ceremony. She props her feet up on Leo’s lap, and he takes them in stride, starting to massage them as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

"God, I’m exhausted," Marion groans, leaning back and resting her head on the edge of your chair. "But worth it. You," she says, turning her head toward you, eyes half-lidded and full of gratitude, "are a lifesaver. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. Best maid of honor award? Goes to you, obviously."

You laugh, cheeks warm from the champagne—or maybe from the pride blooming quietly in your chest. “I’ll take that,” you say with a grin, raising your glass.

Marion raises hers too, clinking it softly with yours. Then she turns to Seungmin, her gaze suddenly mischievous. “Now it’s your turn,” she says, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. “Hurry up with the wedding. She and I have already decided we’re getting pregnant together, so our kids can have playdates and matching Halloween costumes and trauma-bond over how annoying their moms are.”

Seungmin raises his eyebrows, slowly turning to look at you with an exaggerated expression of mock-betrayal. “You’re making pregnancy pacts now?”

You snort into your champagne, nearly choking. “Apparently.”

“She’s already picked out names,” Marion adds matter-of-factly.

“I am petrified,” Seungmin deadpans, but there's a glimmer of laughter in his eyes as he leans closer to you, bumping his shoulder against yours. “I marry you and I get Marion in the package too?”

“It's a buy one, get one,” you say, grinning.

“You’re welcome,” Marion adds.

Leo just chuckles, his fingers still kneading gently into her tired feet. “You’re all insane,” he mutters fondly.

But as the music fades out and the final notes echo across the quieted venue, Seungmin turns to you, his hand brushing over your knee, thumb circling gently. You catch the way he looks at you in that moment—something quiet and sure. Like he already sees that future Marion joked about, and maybe it doesn’t seem so far away anymore.

-

With your maid of honor duty is officially come to an end, you and Seungmin walk hand-in-hand back to your hotel room. Your heels dangle from your other hand, your makeup slightly smudged from the long day, but there's a glow to your skin that has nothing to do with highlighter. It’s been a full day of laughter, vows, dancing, tears and now, just the two of you, the quiet is welcome.

Seungmin swings your hands a little between you. “So…” he begins casually, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his voice. “About what Marion said earlier.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Which part?”

“The part where she said you two are planning on getting pregnant together.” He looks at you like he's testing the waters, but his voice is half-serious.

You burst out laughing. “Please tell me you didn’t take that seriously. Marion was drunk on love and cake.”

Seungmin stops walking, tugging your hand gently so you turn to face him. His expression is still light, but there's something sincere underneath it. “But what if I did take it seriously?” he asks. “What if I actually… want to talk about it?”

You stare at him, caught off guard, your heart tripping in your chest as the mood subtly shifts.

“Like… how many kids do you want?” he asks again, quieter this time.

Your lips part in surprise before you lean into playfulness to mask the sudden emotion curling in your chest. “I don’t know,” you say, squinting at him. “Do I want little Seungmin running around?”

His mouth drops open in mock offense. “Excuse you? Little Seungmins would be adorable.”

“One Seungmin is already a headache,” you tease, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t know if I can handle another one who hogs the blanket and never loads the dishwasher correctly.”

He gasps, affronted. “First of all, I do load the dishwasher correctly. My method is called organized chaos. And second,” he says, stepping closer, slipping his arms around your waist, “I don’t care how many kids we have—one or five—but we should definitely start working on making little Seungmin now.”

Your eyes widen. “Seungmin—!”

But before you can finish, he scoops you up into his arms in one smooth motion, carrying you bridal style down the rest of the hallway.

You squeal and wrap your arms around his neck, laughter spilling out of you as he walks with a cocky grin on his face, clearly enjoying himself. “Put me down!” you whisper-shout, still giggling.

“Too late. You’ve offended me. You must now suffer,” he says dramatically, nudging the hotel room door open with his foot after expertly swiping the key card.

“And what exactly is my punishment?”

He gives you a look that’s half mischief, half promise. “Let’s just say… we’ll see how you feel about little Seungmins after tonight.”

And as the city lights dimmed beyond the hotel windows and the world quieted into the hush of midnight, you found yourself curled against Seungmin’s chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, his fingers drawing lazy patterns against your spine.

In that moment, you find a clarity that everything you once feared or doubted had led you here. Not just to a proposal, or a ring, or a kiss under stadium lights, but to something greater: a life built hand in hand, with love that stayed steady through uncertainty, with a future you no longer needed to imagine, because it was already unfolding—right here, beside him.

-

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

Excusing yourself from your friends, you head over to Wonwoo. “Hi!”

“Oh, hi.” He looks up at you, glasses slightly crooked, closed yearbook in hand.

“Can I sign that?” you ask, motioning to his book.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

You take the yearbook from him, and when you open it to the first page, you find it empty. Your heart drops. Although Wonwoo has always been the studying type, you’re sure it must hurt to have not one note written in his yearbook.

Wonwoo has extreme social anxiety, but he’s a kind person, and he was more than patient with you when he was your tutor.

‘Wonwoo, thank you so much for helping me with math. I’m not sure what I would have done without you. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I know you’re going to go extremely far in life. I can see you being a CEO at some biotech company or running Silicon Valley. Don’t ever stop using that amazing brain of yours, and I’d say good luck, but I know you won’t need it. Xoxo y/n’

You give the yearbook back to him, and as Wonwoo looks down at your note, a hand wraps around your forearm.

“Come on, babe, everyone else has already left to go to the fair.” It’s your boyfriend, Seungcheol, his varsity jacket draped over one arm. 

“Oh, sorry, I was just finishing up.” You swallow thickly, looking back at Wonwoo. “A bunch of us are going to the fair if you want to come.”

“It’s more of a football team and their girlfriends sort of thing,” Seungcheol interjects quickly.

You sigh. It’s no secret that your boyfriend can be a bit of a bully, especially when it comes to the more nerdy types, and while you’ll swear up and down that Seungcheol is a good guy deep down, he sometimes has a funny way of showing it.

“It’s okay, I don’t really like crowds,” Wonwoo says quietly.

You open your mouth, wanting to say more, but Seungcheol tugs on your arm again. “Have a great summer, Wonwoo,” you blurt out, overwhelmed by the urgency your boyfriend is exhibiting. “And I know you’ll kill it at MIT."

One:

“Okay, so little black dress, or the blue?” you ask, holding up each option so your high school friend Sumi can see it through FaceTime.

“It depends. Are you trying to get laid at our ten-year high school reunion?” Sumi laughs. “I heard Seungcheol is single again.”

“Yeah, and he has an ex-wife that sued him for half of what he made when he was in the NFL before he tore his ACL and had to retire at the ripe age of twenty-five,” you scoff. 

“Okay, maybe too much drama,” your friend acquiesces. “Go with the black. Getting laid or not, we both have to look super hot.” 

“It will be fun to see what everyone is up to,” you nod, putting your chosen dress in your suitcase. “I can’t wait for us to be in the same city again.”

You and Sumi had attended university together, but then you’d gone your separate ways, chasing job opportunities in different cities. 

“Our Airbnb is a no-boy zone, though, I hope you know,” Sumi teases. 

“We’re not going to the reunion to hook up with ex-classmates,” you agree.

“Speaking of ex-classmates who would want to fuck us at the reunion…” Sumi grins into the camera. “Is Wonwoo coming?”

“Wait, Wonwoo was into you?” you ask.

Sumi lets out a laugh. “Not me, you ditz. Wonwoo was always clearly into you.” 

“Was he really?”

“It was so obvious!” Sumi insists. “But you were with Seungcheol, and everyone knows Seungcheol kind of bullied Wonwoo. I think he was jealous that Wonwoo was smart enough to help you with classes where you struggled, and Seungcheol couldn’t.” 

You frown, memories of high school flooding back.

Wonwoo was always adorable, but his lack of social skills made it difficult for him to get close to anyone. You had a soft spot for him back then, but you were in love with Seungcheol before you parted ways for university, and he dumped you in the first week when he joined a frat. 

“Hey, I’ve gotta run,” Sumi sighs. “But I will see you at our Airbnb in twenty-four hours.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile, saying goodbye to your friend. As the call hangs up, you do a Google search for Wonwoo’s name.

You’re a reporter now, and part of the reason you’re so good at your job is that you’re curious. 

There’s no harm in looking up an ex classmate.

Two:

The first thing you find about Wonwoo is that he made the Forbes top 30 under 30 list, which nearly knocks you off your bed. The man in the picture is no longer the nerd who helped you with his homework. Adorned in a dark suit, Wonwoo looks regal in his photographs, and you’re shocked at how handsome he’s become.

It seems he launched a startup after graduating from MIT and has since founded his company, which runs out of Silicon Valley.

It takes you a few minutes to wrap your head around this information, because… well, you’d guessed this was his career path when you were a teenager. Although you’d known he was capable, you never expected him to actually follow through with his talent.

From Forbes, you find a few news articles. They describe Wonwoo as an elusive visionary, a master of all things related to computer science, the man to watch. 

That’s when you find his TED Talk, and you spend the next twenty minutes watching this gorgeous nerd talk about AI, tech, the language of computers, and things you can’t even wrap your head around. 

This man, who once hated crowds, who once dreaded doing presentations in class… he’s come so far, and it makes your heart melt with happiness to see that Wonwoo is doing well.

You love the way his lips still quirk into this silly grin when he speaks, the grin that says ‘I know way more about this subject than you, but that’s fine because I will teach you so you can understand what I’m talking about.’ 

It feels like you’re graduating high school again. Possibilities seem endless when you listen to Wonwoo talk. He makes the seemingly unattainable feel within reach.

God, you are so extremely proud of him.

Three:

So far, the reunion feels a bit lackluster. You spend the first half an hour dodging Seungcheol, and another half an hour listening to ex-classmates talk about all the children they’ve been having. The baby pictures are endless.

You finally pull away to get a breather, stepping outside the gymnasium to escape the scent of perfume and sweat that is beginning to overtake the crowded space.

It feels so weird to be back at your high school, and you take a moment to consider how far you’ve come. When you graduated, life seemed like a clear shot. You would go to university to become a teacher, marry Seungcheol, be a wife to an NFL player with a long career… funny how none of that ended up happening.

“Y/N?”

You whip around and come face to face with your old tutor… your now extremely hot and successful old tutor.

“Wonwoo?” you gasp.

“Thought that was you,” he smiles, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I-” you swallow thickly. “Have you gone inside yet?” You’re pretty sure he hasn’t, because you’ve been looking for him the whole time.

“No, I got a phone call when I arrived and had to manage something, and then, well, then I wondered if going inside would be worth it.”

“Oh.” You can’t help the dejected feeling that washes over you. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he continues. 

“Me? I wasn’t sure you would be,” you laugh. “Mister Silicon Valley.”

“I suppose you’re not surprised,” Wonwoo smirks. “You guessed this would happen.”

“You were the smartest guy I knew in high school, and I wouldn’t be shocked if you’re still the smartest man I know now.”

“I wish I’d had the confidence in myself that you had in me back when we were students,” Wonwoo admits, releasing a sigh. “Maybe things would have been a little different.”

You tilt your head to the side, trying to understand him. “What kind of things?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, his tailored suit showing off the broadness of his shoulders. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Anyways, you’re a reporter, huh. That’s not the career I would have envisioned you in.”

“No?” 

So he looked you up, too.

“You always used to talk about being a teacher, dating a successful man, having kids, that sort of thing.”

“Well,” you consider his words, “I was young then. Being a reporter allows me to share information with a wider range of people, and I learned that I didn’t need a man; I could be successful all on my own.” 

“Are you happy?”

“I’m very happy. And you?”

Wonwoo cocks his head, opening his mouth, then closing it. “There’s a lot about my life that makes me happy, but there are also a few things… missing.”

“I can understand that,” you nod, not wanting to pry even though pushing for information is your job. You’re not on the clock right now, and you want to provide friendship to a man who is probably used to intrusive questions. 

Wonwoo studies you. “So other than being a reporter, what have you been up to? Sounds like you’re not with the ‘star quarterback’ anymore.”

A laugh immediately escapes you. “No! It’s been almost ten years since I dated Seungcheol.”

“Oh?” Wonwoo grins. “You always seemed so confident that you two would be together forever.”

“I started dating him when we were fourteen. When we graduated a couple of years later, I had no idea what real life would be like.” You shake your head, hating how naive you were. “How about you, Mister Tech Entrepreneur? I bet all the girls are trying to slide into your DMs.”

“I’m single, very single, unfortunately,” Wonwoo laughs awkwardly. “I guess lately I’ve been thinking about the one that got away.”

Your body surges at the notion of gossip. “Okay, I was trying not to pry before, but now I have to ask. Tell me the story.” 

“Well,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, meeting your gaze. “You see, before I was Mister Tech Entrepreneur, I went to high school with this girl. She was kind, always so kind, to everyone, even me. And she was smart, way smarter than she gave herself credit for. And for some stupid reason, she was with this bonehead of a quarterback. I know that was ten years ago, but I guess part of me has always wondered: what if? Now you’re here, right in front of me, and against all of the anxiety inside of me that is screaming for me not to tell you this, I suppose I’m wondering if, after all of these years, maybe you’d be interested in giving me a chance.” 

Your heart is racing in your chest. For the first time in a very long time, you don’t know what to say. 

You’d always thought Wonwoo was adorable, and he treated you so well. He was patient and gentle, and he never got exasperated with you over math homework. He was quiet, but when he did talk, he was always insightful. Wonwoo always allowed you to be completely yourself, free of judgment, and he cheered you on for every math test, watching your grades improve as a result of his encouragement. 

A part of you had known you were interested in him, even back when you’d thought your life was figured out with Seungcheol. 

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this too,” you admit. 

“And?”

“And… If we don’t take this chance… maybe we’ll continue to regret it.”

Your words hang thick in the air, and you can see Wonwoo digesting them. He swallows thickly, taking a step toward you. 

You’re drawn to him, and you also close the distance, until there’s only a foot between you.

He’s truly become so handsome, but he’s still just Wonwoo, your Wonwoo. There’s something special about the fact that you knew this man before his worldly successes, that you knew and cared for him when he was the dorky nerd who ate lunch in the library and had only your signature in his yearbook.

You still feel bad for him, for the way his high school years panned out, but look at him now. 

Thank God that Sumi told you to wear your sexy little black dress.

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you for the first time here, of all places?” Wonwoo asks with an awkward chuckle.

“Oddly enough, it feels right,” you laugh, taking his hand and guiding it to your hip. “If I’d never been with Seungcheol…”

“Let’s not even think about the past like that,” Wonwoo sighs, tugging you flush to his body. “We’re here now, that’s what matters.”

You nod, and then you lean forward, pressing your lips to Wonwoo’s for the very first time.

It’s like a jolt of electricity surges through you, and nothing has ever felt this right. 

His lips are so soft, and he holds you in such a careful way, as if he’s afraid this is a dream.

But this is not a dream, that much is clear from the way your panties are already sticking to your core. 

You press yourself closer, one hand grasping the nape of his neck as the kiss deepens in the most delicious way imaginable.

Wonwoo definitely knows how to kiss. It’s not an obnoxious style, no, he’s careful, calculated, but his movements still betray the fact that he’s been longing for you for ten years. It’s as if he’s dreamed of this moment a million times, and now you’re actually here, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up. 

His tongue gently glides against your own, and you stifle a moan at the feeling, your body tingling delightfully. 

You thread your fingers through his hair, wanting him even closer, although your chests are pressed together and there’s no room between you. 

You want to feel him, all of him, and the realization makes a shiver run through you.

“Wonwoo,” you gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Yeah?”

“I know a place.”

“You know a place?” he laughs.

“Follow me.” You grab his hand, chasing your fantasies as you lead him to a door that takes you to the rest of the school. Running through the halls with Wonwoo feels like a fever dream; it’s as if you remember every locker, every linoleum tile that paves the hallways that echo with each footstep.

“Where are we going?” Wonwoo asks, a chuckle escaping him.

“The math room.”

“Why are we going there?”

“Because that’s where I realized I liked you as more than a tutor, more than a friend,” you tell him, your voice bouncing off the walls like a tantalizing reverie. 

You can’t believe you’re doing this, but there’s no turning back now, and you wouldn’t want to either.

You whisk Wonwoo into your old math classroom, and the memories come flooding back. Your teacher would allow Wonwoo to tutor you here when the library wasn’t available, and you spent many hours alone with the handsome nerd in the confines of these four walls.

Maybe Seungcheol did bully Wonwoo because he could see what you were blind to until recently. It’s clear you had a connection with your tutor, one that was lost on you at the time. 

“Do you remember this?” you ask, turning to face Wonwoo. “All the time we spent here?”

“Like it was yesterday,” he laughs.

“I thought you were the smartest, cutest guy I’d ever met,” you tell him, leaning back against one of the large tables.

“And I thought you were the kindest, most gorgeous girl I’d ever know,” Wonwoo retorts, approaching you. His hands make contact with the desk on either side of you, blocking you in while you look up at him.

His eyes are twinkling with joy, and you’ve never seen him this happy. He was handsome before, but now, he’s absolutely radiant, and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours.

It’s a frenzied kiss, both of you pouring all of your longing into the meeting of your mouths. You thread your fingers through his hair, and Wonwoo reaches down, lifting you onto the table. Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him flush to your body while a whimper escapes you.

Wonwoo grins, one of his hands slipping up your thigh and under your dress.

Confidence is radiating off of him, and it’s the sexiest thing you can imagine. His thumb strokes the waistband of your panties, and you wiggle your hips, a wordless invitation.

Wonwoo’s fingers make contact with your core over your panties, and you gasp.

“You’re soaked, pretty girl,” Wonwoo tells you, and your whole body shivers at his words.

“I want you,” you confess, swallowing thickly. 

“You have me,” Wonwoo promises, rubbing your clit while his lips move to your throat.

You groan, throwing your head back and tugging gently on his hair. You love being worshipped like this. Most of the men you’ve been with have been self-centered in bed, but you suppose nerds always have something to prove.

Or maybe it’s just that Wonwoo actually cares about you, even after all this time. 

You grind down against his hand, moaning louder when he applies more pressure to your sensitive bud. “Just like that,” you tell him. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“I’m Mister Tech Entrepreneur,” Wonwoo says in your ear. “I type code and use my fingers for a living.”

God, why is that so hot?

He pushes your panties to the side, and two of his fingers enter your drenched pussy.

Wonwoo sucks your earlobe into his mouth as he curls his digits, immediately finding your G-spot. 

“Right there!” you tell him, clenching your eyes shut.

“Be a good girl for me and try not to be too loud,” Wonwoo warns. “I’d hate for anyone to walk in on this.”

You’d kind of forgotten that you’re in a math classroom at your old high school during a reunion. It’s not like people are roaming the halls, but if Sumi were to come looking for you, or even Seungcheol…

You shiver at the idea of your ex walking in on this. There’s something so exciting about exhibitionism with Wonwoo, especially in a classroom that holds so much history for the two of you.

His palm makes contact with your clit, and you slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, whimpering desperately.

“Good girl,” Wonwoo praises you, and your core throbs from his words.

His lips find yours again, and you kiss him eagerly, wiggling your hips to grind against his hand while he works you up.

He definitely knows how to use his fingers, and each targeted stroke of your G-spot takes you closer to the edge.

Your heart is racing in your chest, your mind is fuzzy with lust, and your body is beginning to feel like it’s swelling with pleasure. 

Your whimpers are muffled by the meeting of your lips, but as your orgasm approaches, you break the kiss. “Wonwoo,” you whimper, stroking the nape of his neck and looking into his eyes. “Please.”

“You can cum for me,” he assures you. “I’m not into orgasm denial.”

You can’t help but laugh, but your giggle quickly turns into another moan as he finger fucks you even harder.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Wonwoo tells you. “I want to see you cum.”

You bite your bottom lip, trying to force your eyes to stay open even as your orgasm builds. You continue to wiggle your hips, grinding against his palm while his fingers coax you to the edge.

Finally, you can’t hold back anymore, and your orgasm slams into you. Your back arches, lips parting as a cry escapes you. Your pussy clamps down on Wonwoo’s fingers, your entire body flooded with pleasure. With curled toes and muscles that are screaming, you do your best to keep your eyes open, your attention fixed on his handsome nerd, who seems to know exactly what to do to make you feel ecstasy in a way no other man has. 

“That’s it,” Wonwoo grins, watching you closely. “You’re such a pretty girl when you cum on my fingers.”

Another wave of pleasure erupts at his words, and you twitch, core absolutely throbbing as he continues to work you through your orgasm.

As your high subsides, Wonwoo pulls his fingers out of your soaked pussy. You watch with bated breath as he licks them clean, groaning sinfully. Then, he grabs the back of your neck, drawing your lips to his so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You reach between your bodies, cupping his cock as it presses against his pants.

“Fuck me,” you instruct. “I need you.”

“If you only knew how many years I waited to hear you say that…” Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath. “This is going better than I expected… I didn’t bring protection-”

“I’m on birth control,” you laugh. “And I’m assuming we’re both clean.”

“As a whistle,” he confirms

God, he’s so stupidly adorable. 

You lean forward, letting your lips ghost past his ear as you whisper, “Then fuck me.” 

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

Wonwoo reaches for his belt, and the two of you make quick work of it. Then you push his pants and underwear down.

“I’m not usually a fan of clothes on sex,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and pushing your panties to the side. “So you’ll just have to make it up to me later.”

Wonwoo laughs, grabbing the base of his cock and giving it a pump. “I’m not usually a fan of exhibitionism,” he muses. “So I guess we’re both outside of our wheelhouse tonight.”

“It’s worth it,” you insist as he lines his tip up with your core. “And it feels grossly fitting that this is where we’re having our first time.”

“Grossly fitting?” he prompts as he pushes into you.

“Yeah, sex on a desk in a math classroom, we’re being delinquents,” you groan, falling back against the table as inch after inch of cock invades your most sensitive area. 

“I guess so,” Wonwoo chuckles, fully sheathing himself inside of you.

You let out a sigh of relief, loving the full feeling. Wonwoo isn’t the thickest cock you’ve ever had inside of you, but he’s long, and he’s curved slightly, his tip nudging against a sensitive spot that makes your toes curl.

“Fuck,” you whimper, lifting your dress so you can reach down and rub your clit. Your body jolts, still sensitive, but fuck, it feels good, and you can tell Wonwoo likes the way your core clenches around him because he releases a groan.

“You feel amazing,” Wonwoo tells you. 

“I’ll feel even better when you start to move,” you counter, feeling cheeky and desperate.

Wonwoo laughs. “You got it, pretty girl.”

He grabs your hips, anchoring you to the table so he can begin to fuck you. 

His cock glides against your inner walls deliciously, and you close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wooden table with a soft thunk. You continue to rub your clit, muscles twitching at the pleasure that’s already beginning to blossom inside of you again.

His pace increases, and your whimpers fill the classroom. Your free hand moves to grab your own breast through your dress, and you hear Wonwoo let out a shuddery breath.

He’s bewitched by you, and it makes you feel powerful, alive, in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time.

You open your eyes and look up at him, loving the rosy tint to his cheeks. His tie is loose, and he looks frazzled in the sexiest possible way.

You rub your clit harder, your core squeezing Wonwoo like a vice as you work yourself closer to the edge, loving each drag of his cock inside your core.

“Just like that,” you tell him, biting your bottom lip to focus on the pleasure.

“You gonna cum for me again, gorgeous?” Wonwoo lets out a half-chuckle, but you can see the effort he’s putting in to remaining composed.

“If you’re lucky,” you tease.

“If I’m lucky,” Wonwoo repeats, his pace slowing as he shakes his head. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”

He pulls out of you suddenly, and you squeak as he drags you off the table, flipping you so your back is to him. Then he pushes your upper body onto the desk, dropping your panties to your knees and lifting the skirt of your dress to slide back into your core again.

“Try to be cheeky again, I dare you,” he says, his breath hot against your bare shoulders.

You shiver, wobbling a little in your high heels, but his hands on your hips pin you to the desk. “I’ll be good,” you promise, loving the dominance that’s radiating off of him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Wonwoo lets up a little, allowing you to slip your hand between your thighs again. It’s an awkward position, your arm pressed between your body and the table, the fabric of your dress a mess, but you manage to rub your clit again, and you both groan desperately.

“I want to cum with you,” you tell him, loving the feeling of the cool wood against your hot cheek.

“That can be arranged.”

Dominant, confident, and oddly formal in a very sexy way… this is crazy.

He begins to rut into you again, but this time, you know he’s not holding anything back. Your hips repeatedly push against the edge of the table, and it hurts a little, but there’s pleasure in the pain, pleasure in the knowledge that Wonwoo is coming completely undone.

He’s groaning more now, and the sounds are music to your ears, egging you on to rub your clit harder, to chase the orgasm that he’s clearly on the brink of. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, clenching your eyes shut, your muscles tight and ready-

Wonwoo suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you unfulfilled,” he tells you. “Now cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

His words are the last prompt you need, and your pussy explodes around him, throbbing desperately while your guttural moans fill the classroom.

Wonwoo lets out his own groan, his thrusts becoming erratic. You feel him filling you up, his cock throbbing deep inside of you as your walls milk him for every drop that he’s worth.

Your heart is racing in your chest, and you struggle slightly, which is when he releases your hair, allowing you to collapse against the cool table again.

His hands find your hips, and his motions stop. 

You lay there, your upper body flopped on the desk, while you both recollect yourselves.

Finally, Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m sorry if I got a bit rough at the end there.”

“No, I liked it,” you assure him.

“Usually, if we were in my own home, I’d clean you up in the shower, and give you proper aftercare-”

“We’re at a reunion, and I’m not planning on showering in the girls' locker room by the gym, no worries,” you laugh.

“I have a penthouse suite at a hotel nearby,” Wonwoo continues. “How about we say our goodbyes to everyone, and I take you back with me.” 

He pulls out of you carefully, lifting your panties back into place as you begin to feel his cum dripping out of you.

“You did promise to fuck me without our clothes on.”

“Without the exhibitionism,” Wonwoo agrees with a laugh.

“Let’s do it,” you decide. “We live in different cities now, and even if it’s just for tonight… let’s make the most of it.”

“I hope it’s not just for tonight,” Wonwoo chuckles awkwardly, helping you off the table. “But let's talk about that later, there’s no rush.”

It’s interesting, there hadn’t been a rush for ten years, but the moment you saw him tonight, you wanted things to speed up. He may say there’s no time constraint on considering a future after this, but your mind is already spinning with possibilities. You feel like a love-struck teenager again, but now, you’re not as naive as you once were. 

It will be interesting to see where tonight leads, but you suppose you just have to be patient. You waited ten years, one more night to figure things out won’t hurt you.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This fic kind of gave Sapiosexual vibes with the whole smart businessman thing. Killed me to make Seungcheol a bully but it had to be done for plot!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  His thumb finds your clit, and you throw your head back, spreading your legs wider for Wonwoo. There’s nothing remotely alluring or seductive about the numbers he’s spitting out aggressively on the phone, but his voice just does something to you, and as always, he knows how to use his fingers.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral (pussy eating & blow job), handjob, exhibitionism, foreplay, foreplay while Wonwoo is on an important phone call, dirty talk, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, praise, etc…   I petnames. (hers) pretty girl. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

Some days you wake up and wonder if you’re still dreaming. You’ve been with Wonwoo for two years now, and life has changed in the most magical of ways. As much as you enjoyed being a successful woman who didn’t need a man, becoming aligned with Wonwoo has shown you that sometimes, having a partner who is equally - if not more driven - than you are, can be the biggest blessing.

You live with him in his swanky house, and he supports you as you build your career as a reporter in San Fransico. He’s still the CEO of his own company, and you both pour yourselves into work, which fulfills both of your spirits and allows you to be your best selves when you’re together at home.

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“Psst. Hey.”

You don’t hear her the first time. Hissing your name under her breath a second time, Jennie grabs your arm as you walk past with a fresh bucket of ice, pulling you towards the nearest side station.

“Hey! That guy's in your section again.”

You freeze and set the bucket down behind the counter, watching her tilt her head towards the back corner of the restaurant. It’s hard to resist the urge to turn around and stare, but you manage to look nonchalant as you glance over your shoulder, pretending to scan the room. Sure enough, there he is: menu sitting untouched beside his plate, hands folded atop the table, and staring right at you.

Feeling your cheeks begin to burn, you quickly turn back around and busy yourself fidgeting with a stack of rolled-up napkins. You haven’t even talked to him yet, and somehow he still manages to fluster you. Suddenly you’re grateful that your coworker intercepted you, relieved to have at least a few more seconds to pretend to be focused while you have a chance to collect yourself.

“Have you gotten his number yet, girl? Or at least his name? Because I don't think he's gonna stop coming until you do.”

“No,” you tell her sheepishly, risking a discreet glance over your shoulder at him. Still staring. “I could’ve looked at his card when he signed the check, I guess. But that feels kinda invasive. He didn’t offer, so I didn’t ask.” 

She narrows her eyes playfully at you in disapproval. “Oh, come on, he’s been making ‘fuck-me’ eyes at you for weeks. That counts as him offering!” She shifts her weight, her lips pursed into a thin line like she’s thinking hard. “If you don’t wanna ask, then just… write your phone number on the back of his receipt or something. That would be—”

“—Unprofessional,” you finish for her. With a rag you wipe the condensation from the ice bucket, throwing out a glare at her when she huffs at your refusal. “He probably just likes the booth seats. Some people are weird like that, I don't know. I don’t even know if he’s available, either. That’s the more important question here.”

She gives you a doubtful look. “He shows up alone, every Wednesday night, and asks to be seated at the same table. You’re telling me you seriously think it’s because he likes the furniture? Why do you really think that is?”

“Then it’s the privacy, probably.” You shrug and move past her, dumping out the bucket and refilling it with fresh ice. “It’s the farthest away from the bar. Maybe he doesn’t like the noise.”

“Noise?” She scoffs and puts her free hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised as she goes silent for a few seconds. Even at the peak hours of the night there’s little more than a light chatter in the air, mixing with quiet jazz music playing from the building’s speakers. It’s a bullshit reason and you know it. But you aren’t going to give in to her pestering, and she must be able to sense that because she finally sighs and wipes her hand on her waist apron. “Fine. Whatever. But you can’t avoid him forever. Clearly he’s gonna keep showing up to see you.”

You give her a scowl, but she’s right. You totally are avoiding him, but realistically, what does she expect you to do? Ask him to fuck you on the table in the middle of your shift?

She hands you a chilled bottle of champagne, wiping the neck before draping the hand towel over the side of your bucket. Even she’s started to recognize his routine, ready with the bottle of Dom Perignon that he always asks for ahead of his meal, before anyone’s even taken his order yet. “Quit stalling and go over there, before he leaves us a bad review. He could be an undercover food critic or something, and then Joshua would really kill us.”

The threat of your boss throwing a fit over negative publicity is too real, so you glare at her one last time before inhaling a deep breath. You smooth down your apron and grab a folding stand for his drink. When you turn to start toward his table he’s still staring, but he perks up ever so slightly when he recognizes you starting to head in his direction.

As usual, you greet him with a smile and begin setting up the bottle, slicing open the foil and twisting the cage at the top of the champagne bottle to loosen it. And as usual, he sits back and watches, quiet and observant to your every move in a way that makes you more anxious than any other customer you’ve served.

“Hi— er, good evening. I apologize for the wait. We’ve been a little… slammed tonight.”

It would be impossible for him not to notice the fact that half the tables are empty, but to your relief he doesn’t mention it. There’s only one other party in your section right now, and they’ve been chatting over post-dinner coffee for nearly an hour. Compared to the nights when Rêverie is fully booked, your shift has been practically dead.

“That’s alright.” His voice is smooth, a hint of a low drawl to it that always makes you think of syrup for some reason: sweet and thick, with just the right amount of warmth. This man has the kind of voice that people fall asleep to. “I’m a patient guy.”

You try your best to ignore the tension between you, but it continues to build as he orders: a Steak au Poivre with the salad of the day. Something about the way the French names roll easily from his lips just does it for you, apparently. It takes all your energy to focus on keeping a straight face and not doing something to embarrass yourself.

Just as you start to walk away to relay his order to the kitchen, you hear your name in that familiar voice and you freeze, whipping around to face him. He’s sitting up straighter, leaned over the table to get a better view. He gestures to the nametag on your apron, repeating it once more as you look down at it in confusion. “Am I saying that right?”

Warmth burns in the tips of your ears. Why are you suddenly so shy? But deep down you know exactly why, and it’s no use trying to pretend you don’t. It’s because your name sounds so good on his tongue, long and leisurely and sexy. It’s a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing him say again, and again and again and—

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Great. I’ve been here so many times, I figured I should at least know your name by now.” He smiles and gives a small nod, relaxing back into his seat. There’s a mischievous look in his eye, a mix of coy and confident. “I’m Jeonghan.”

For a moment you let his name roll around in your head, attaching itself to your memory. As much as you hate to admit that Jennie was right, it feels good to finally have a name to go with the face that’s been haunting your workplace for weeks.

For the rest of the evening, something in the air feels different. Your glances across the room at his table are met with self-satisfied grins from him, always catching your eye and holding contact for a few seconds longer than he should. You find any excuse to linger at his table, refilling his water glass or bringing him another basket of bread so you can talk with him a little more. You can almost hear your manager Joshua’s voice in your head, scolding you for spending so much time with a customer instead of leaving them alone to enjoy their meal, but Jeonghan clearly doesn’t seem to mind.

“Why don’t you sit and have some champagne? There’s still half a bottle left,” he asks you at one point, patting the booth next to him with a smirk. “Plenty of room here for two.”

You sigh, putting your hand on your hip with a teasing smile, though the idea doesn’t sound as terrible to you as it probably should. “I’m working, Jeonghan. They’d fire me.”

“Fine,” he pouts, though he doesn’t press any further. You’ve begun to notice that while he loves to joke around, there’s a fine line he won’t cross when it comes to being serious. He pushes your buttons, but never to do any actual harm. Still, he winks at you as you grab an empty plate from his table to make yourself look busy. “Next week, then? I might need your opinion on the menu.”

“I’ll still be working next week, too,” you say with a roll of your eyes, but even that doesn’t dissuade him.

“Perfect. Then I’ll see you next week, same time, same place.”

Jeonghan stays far later than he usually does, picking at his food so he has more excuses to talk to you whenever you make your rounds to check on your tables. After a while the late crowd begins to filter in, and reluctantly he takes the hint, signing the check and leaving a much larger tip than he should, nearly equal to the cost of his meal. 

As much as you’d like him to stay and chat all night, there’s other reservations and Joshua would definitely throw a fit if any customers were kept waiting. There are only a few upscale restaurants in town besides Rêverie, and its reputation makes it difficult to get in. Reservations are so sought-after that they have to be booked at least a month in advance. Which means that either Jeonghan has connections that are important enough to pull some strings and get him a table every week, or he’s been booking them himself all this time. Either way, you have to give him a little bit of credit; his dedication is impressive.

When he walks out the door, coat slung over one arm as he waves goodbye, there’s a little nagging feeling in your chest that starts to build. You push it away and try your best to refocus on work, but before you know it, once the emptiness has settled over the night as you finish out your shift, you realize what that feeling is. You miss him. And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

The following Wednesday passes with another fairly quiet shift, so tonight you’re standing at the side station watching as Jeonghan walks through the doors, sneaking glances at him as he follows the hostess to his regular seat. This time you don’t procrastinate, moving away from your spot to take out a chilled bottle of his usual champagne and a fresh bucket of ice.

You try not to stare as you work, quickly setting up everything you need for his evening, but it’s hard not to let your eyes wander in his direction. He’s in a different suit tonight, a three-piece with a sleek vest underneath that makes his dark colored tie stand out.

As soon as he sits down he pulls out his phone, typing quickly before setting it face-down on top of the table. Taking it as your cue, you grab everything and head over to the booth, surprising yourself with how eager you are. It’s been nice, having something at work to look forward to, now that you aren’t denying how fond you’ve grown of Jeonghan.

You unfold the stand and place the bucket on it, positioning a towel as you prepare to uncork it, but he quickly waves his hand in the air to stop you.

“Oh, not tonight. Sorry,” he says. You frown a little from being surprised, but it’s nothing to worry about. Sometimes people want to switch up their routines. But he goes on, shifting in his seat. “I’m expecting company. But you can put everything on my card like usual.”

You freeze, trying not to show how taken aback you are. Company? It’s been nearly two months of this, of him showing up like clockwork every week, but you can’t expect him to not have friends to go out with. Or maybe a business dinner for work. Your ego is a little wounded from not being able to anticipate the change in his habits, but there’s definitely an explanation. Don’t jump to conclusions, you tell yourself.

“Right. My apologies. I shouldn’t have…” You trail off, but quickly cover it with a cough and bring back the friendly smile on your face. “Would you like me to come back when you’re ready to order, then, or should I grab drinks for the table while you wait?”

“We’ll wait to order together,” Jeonghan says assuredly. His phone vibrates on the table, and he picks it up and types something out quickly, not looking up at you again.

You stand there awkwardly for another few seconds before you finally nod and fold the ice bucket stand back up. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll go grab another place setting for you.”

Feeling more reluctant than before, you take the bottle back to the counter, fumbling to quickly collect an extra set of napkins and silverware along with a second menu. You know you shouldn’t have assumed, even if the customer is a regular like Jeonghan, but you still can’t help feeling blindsided. He isn’t acting any different, but something about tonight still feels strangely off.

You’re even more sure of that when you turn around again to start making your way back to his table. A few steps ahead of you, there’s a woman striding towards him: tall, elegant, her hair pulled up into a loose bun with small black strands framing her face like waves. You can’t help but stare; it feels like everything’s happening in slow motion, shell-shocked as you watch her duck down close to him to say something in his ear before she takes her seat across from him. You stand still for a moment, unable to move as he flashes her a wide grin and leans back in his seat. His body language is much more open now, one arm laid over the back of the booth with his legs splayed beneath the table, wide and casual.

It shouldn’t hurt so much—it shouldn’t hurt you at all—but it does. Weeks of shameless flirting, and for what? Was he just staking out restaurants for good date night spots all this time, waiting to find the right place to take his partner? Does that count as cheating, and should you let her know the way he’s been eyeing you up and down for the past couple months has been anything but professional?

You hesitate for just a moment longer as they talk animatedly, and eventually you have to swallow your pride and go interrupt them with the list of tonight’s specials. “Good evening. We’re happy to have you at Rêverie tonight. Can I get you both started with some drinks?”

Your usual monologue comes out stilted and cold, the same way you’ve rehearsed for what feels like hundreds of times every shift. In your peripheral you almost think you see Jeonghan narrow his eyes in a frown, but you keep your gaze directed at his guest so it’s hard to tell for sure. It’s easier to focus on her than to try to meet his eyes, still feeling embarrassed.

If he does notice it, though, then his partner does not, because she replies quickly and easily, ordering plain sparkling water with a friendly smile. Jeonghan does the same, but unlike every other night he’s been here, his voice similarly comes out flatter than normal, using as few words as possible.

After taking their orders and sulking back to your station, you resolve to avoid that end of the restaurant for the rest of the night. You don’t want to risk overhearing their conversation and whatever romantic bullshit they’re probably talking about. You’ve served enough couples in your time working in fine dining to know that they’re the worst type of customers. People think no one notices what they’re getting up to, but the staff are always aware. Whether it’s a first date, an anniversary, a birthday, or some other stupid occasion, no one is ever discreet about what they’re doing.

To make it even worse, your favorite coworkers aren’t here tonight. God, you really wish Jennie was working. She wouldn’t mind running interference for you. She’d understand better than anyone, now that you have a real reason to pretend Jeonghan doesn’t exist.

By the time he and his “date” leave for the night, you’ve made up your mind. No matter how flirty he is, no matter how much chemistry you have with him, from now on you’re going to act like he means nothing to you. It’s for the best, honestly. You should have known better than to get involved with a customer, and this was the warning you needed to get your priorities straight. As nice as he was, whatever was going on between you and Jeonghan is over, starting now.

Most days you look forward to the weekend and the well-needed time off that it offers, but this time you spend most of it anxiously awaiting the coming days. It’s not like you’ve ever particularly loved coming to work, but there’s a newfound sense of dread now that you know you might have to talk to Jeonghan again. At one point in time, the idea of seeing him almost would have excited you, but not anymore. Not after last week’s embarrassment.

When you get to Rêverie on Wednesday for your shift, you try to get lost in your work, making way more trips back to the kitchen than necessary. You know you’re lingering too much and probably getting in the way of the chef team, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from watching the clock, counting down the hours.

Still, nothing you do stops Jeonghan from arriving at his usual time and requesting to be seated at his usual table. Across the room you can see him arguing with the maître d', a new hire that’s barely finished her training, who timidly tries to explain that she isn’t allowed to do that. You haven’t had very many conversations with Mina yet, but you’ve gotta hand it to her, she’s been dedicated to the house rules. It’s just too bad that there isn’t any rule against customers making requests, no matter how annoying they are.

Before you can do anything to help her out Jennie appears at her side, empty tray in hand, and whispers something in her ear before pointing to the booth in your section. She nods, bowing slightly to Jeonghan and reluctantly leading him to the back corner of the restaurant.

Damn. And you’d almost thought that you might get out of this unscathed after all.

He’s alone again, but it’s hard to tell just from a first glance whether he’s expecting company again or not. You’re tempted to feign sick and beg Jennie to take over your section for the rest of the night, but you couldn’t do that to her. She’s busy enough with the tables in her own section. And besides, she’d just end up convincing you to go talk to him anyway, and you’re not in the mood for another pep-talk.

Mentally preparing yourself, you leave the bottle behind this time as you make your best attempt to walk over to his table with your head held high. The rejection from last week still stings a little, and you’re not eager to repeat the encounter by bringing along something unwanted for a second time.

As usual he greets you with a smile, and as usual your stomach fills with butterflies, despite your best efforts to push them down. This little crush on him you’ve developed clearly isn’t going to lead anywhere, you remind yourself. After so many weeks of seeing each other it’s hard to ignore the instinct to crack jokes, flirting at every opportunity, but the air feels different now. You just need to accept that you read the situation wrong, you made a mistake, and it’s time to move on. It’s better to be professional, anyway. Flirting too much with a customer is dangerous in the long run. It’s not worth losing your job over him.

Before you can even think about starting your customer service script, Jeonghan speaks right away, leaving you no room to skirt around the issue. “Why are you ignoring me?”

His voice is smooth like you’re used to, that low sound from deep in his throat that always makes you feel special for some reason, like he’s talking to you and only you. Chewing on your lip, you have to remind yourself that that’s not true. It never was.

In a split second, you have to decide whether to play along with your faux-friendly waiter voice or confront him, but the importance of keeping your job prevents you from doing the latter. Making a scene in public is the last thing you need, on top of everything else. Instead, you internally give yourself permission to be as passive aggressive as you want to him. You’re fairly good at letting it roll right off your back, but working in this industry sometimes you need more than a friendly smile and a good attitude. No, this is the attitude you usually save for rude, entitled, spoiled, rich, bratty assho— well, er, difficult customers. Either way, right now Jeonghan is being one of those “difficult customers”.

So you plaster on an even brighter, even faker smile and stand up straight, your hands folded formally behind your back. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. Shall we start with drinks, or are we still waiting for the rest of our party to arrive?” That last line is spiteful and comes out more snarky than you mean it to, but you can’t lie that it doesn’t feel good to say, not after the roller coaster of emotions he’s put you through.

“Right.” Jeonghan sighs and nods once, as if he finally understands. At least he has the decency to look a little wounded at your words, but you know by now that it’s an act. “I guess I deserved that.”

He pauses for a second like he’s debating his next words. “No,” he answers finally, tilting his head back to look up at you. God, those eyes. Your stomach flips at the sight of his bashful face, faintly hidden behind his thin, wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m here alone. Last week…” he lets out another long sigh as he pauses. Does he think it’s amusing to have to explain this to you? You want to slap him right across his gorgeous, perfect face.

“That was my boss. She’s retiring. Last week—Wednesday—was her last day, and I’m taking over her position at the company. So we had dinner to celebrate.” He glances down at the table, and if you didn’t know any better you might almost think he was being sheepish. “And she’s happily married, by the way. To her wife. Not me.”

“Oh.”

After a few seconds of silence you realize how dumb you sound, standing there taking in this news. Come on! All you have to say for yourself is ‘oh’? But his explanation actually makes sense, and his honesty catches you so off guard that you can’t think of any other reply.

If he’s humored by your reaction, he doesn’t show it. In fact, the next words out of his mouth are the last thing you’re expecting to hear. “Look, I get how it probably seemed, and that’s my fault. I wasn’t planning on taking her here, but she’d never been and she’d heard me rave about the food so many times before, so…” Jeonghan exhales, nostrils flaring a little bit as he trails off. “I’m sorry. I mean it. I wasn’t trying to give you the wrong impression.”

“And what impression is that?” FInally getting control of your tongue again, you fold your arms over your chest as you stare down at him. A small part of you is proud of yourself, for managing to recover and string together a coherent reply. But deep down, his apology is appreciated. It’s not every day that a man in your life accepts blame, especially when he’s the one who’s been leading you on.

“The impression that I’m not single. And not wondering if you are, too.”

You nearly choke, struggling to process what he’s just said. The worst part is the sincerity in his gaze as he looks at you, how he meets your eyes and doesn’t back down, as if challenging you to keep denying your feelings for him. It’s the most forward he’s ever been in all the times he’s come here, a buildup of weeks of flirtation and shy back-and-forth. The confidence with which he finally acknowledges it, out loud and explicit, gives you a rush you’ve never felt before.

He just continues to sit there staring up at you, waiting expectantly, and suddenly you realize you’ve been silent for way too long. What do you even say to follow up to that? 

Afraid of getting too far ahead of yourself, you shift your weight, arms still crossed defensively. “So then what’s the reason you keep coming here so often? The food, or me?”

“Both.” He smirks, pleased with his answer when you pretend to frown at him. “But mostly you. There’s any number of fancy places I could throw money away at in this city, but there’s only one that has you.”

And just like that, you feel yourself melting. It’s a cheesy, overused line, but somehow coming from his mouth it works. It should be studied, the way his voice makes you feel like the most important person in the room.

“Fine. I’ll bite. What is it you want? Besides annoying me every Wednesday night.”

“Well, first of all, I’d like to order my dinner. Still a paying customer, after all.” There’s that grin again, the one that makes you want to strangle him to death and then kiss him afterward. “But I wanna see you after your shift tonight, if you’d let me. Maybe go somewhere. Dessert’s on me.”

You sigh, checking your wristwatch. “I don’t get off for another… three and a half hours. You aren’t really gonna wait here that long, are you?”

“I’d wait forever for you, beautiful. Told you I was a patient guy.”

You pretend to make a gagging sound, but he only grins at your reaction. You have to admit, he’s kind of endearing. “We have other customers, you know. You’re taking up space.”

“I’ll leave a nice tip, don’t worry,” he chuckles, not a bit offended. “Maybe I’ll demand to see the manager so I can tell them how good the service was. Do you think that’d win me some points?”

“Alright, alright! I’ll decide whether I’m feeling up to it or not once I get off. I’ve been here all day already. That’s all I’m gonna promise.”

Jeonghan flashes a smug smile as he crosses his arms, a casual gesture, but it emphasizes the broadness of his shoulders. “I’ll take what I can get.” He gestures with his head, nodding towards another party a few tables away who are making it extremely obvious that they’re looking for somebody to give them a drink refill. “Hey, go finish your shift. Just don’t forget about me.” 

You roll your eyes, but he shoots you a wink as you walk away. As you turn towards the next table, you prepare your customer-service voice once more, but inside you couldn’t be happier with the way things played out. Well, maybe if he had tried to make a move sooner then it would’ve saved you a weekend of heartbreak, but you have to admit that you’re partially at fault for not saying something earlier too.

As promised, three hours later Jeonghan remains glued to his seat, nursing a cup of coffee.

The rest of the evening seemed to fly by, without any problems — except for the strange looks from your coworkers, and the new maître d' who’d asked a couple times if you wanted her to find Joshua for help getting rid of the guy, thinking he was harassing you. It was a fair assumption, especially considering how many times he’d waved you over to his table to chat with him it might as well be harassment, but you assured her you didn’t need help.

Finally you finish checking out the last party in your section, and you’ve never been more grateful not to be closing tonight. If you had to do all your regular work on top of cleaning and sweeping and helping prep for tomorrow then there’d be no chance of you having enough energy to meet Jeonghan afterwards, but whoever had created the schedule this week must’ve been on your side. Jennie’s the one working the closing shift for tonight, so you make a mental note to text her later to fill her in.

Making eye contact with him from across the room, you look at your watch and then tip your head towards the exit, and he scrambles to stand up, shrugging on his coat. You disappear through the doors marked ‘employees only’ for a moment to grab your belongings, balling up your apron and throwing your purse over your shoulder. When you re-emerge you find him waiting at the entryway of the restaurant, resting his arm on the counter as he chats with Mina. You wave and give her a brief good night, and her eyes dart to Jeonghan for a second before returning the goodbye, a subtle pink creeping into her cheeks.

Though the restaurant is still open for a few more hours, the parking lot is sparse at this hour and it doesn’t take long to find your car. Jeonghan walks with you, standing beside your parking spot with his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.

“So were you thinking your place, or mine?”

You turn and scoff at him, raising an eyebrow as you begin to fish around in your purse for your keys. “I never agreed to that. I don’t sleep around on the first date.”

Jeonghan smirks. “Who says this is our first date? In fact, this is our…” He counts on his fingers one by one, tallying them off as he speaks. “… ninth. The first date I had pork belly, the second one I had the seafood platter, then the third one—”

You smack his arm. “You call that a date? I don’t think it counts as taking me out to dinner if I’m the one serving it to you.”

“Then let me serve you this time.” He grins mischievously, his eyes darkened with lust. “Is that fair enough?” His hands settle on your waist, and the weight of his touch makes you shiver.

“Only if you promise to take me on a real date next time.”

“I’ll take that deal.” He grins. “Actually, I was going to wait to ask you out until I’d tried the whole menu. Just to make sure I took you somewhere that was up to your standards. Since you’re the food expert here.”

You snort. “Well then, no wonder it took you three months to do something. We do have a pretty big menu.”

He runs his tongue along his teeth, making a thoughtful little sound. “You know, there’s still something I haven’t tried yet…”

His eyes remain fixed on you, but there’s something darker in his gaze as he stares deep into your eyes and slips his hand behind the base of your neck, intentionally slow to give you a chance to push him away. When you don’t move, the corner of his mouth quirks up in a satisfied smirk, and he finally closes the distance and presses his lips against yours. Reciprocating comes naturally to you, and you easily adapt to welcome his kiss, lips moving together in tandem with his.

You feel the pressure from his fingertips increase as he grips your head a little harder, guiding you against him and pulling you in closer. With a little gasp you finally wrap your arms around his body, and you feel him smile into the kiss at your touch. You can tell from the way he devours you how experienced he is and how cocky that makes him, and although the last thing you want to do is stroke his ego, he’s admittedly really good at it. The way he takes control is effortless, dominating the kiss and moving you in exactly the way that makes you feel good without even having to think about it yourself.

His hand on the back of your neck adjusts to explore your head, and you kiss him deeper as his fingers start to trail upwards to tangle in your hair. When his nails dig into your scalp and you let out a whimper into his mouth, he reluctantly pulls back to let you breathe for a second, but you quickly shake your head and try to chase his lips. “More—”

“More?” He quirks up an eyebrow tauntingly, and it’s so attractive it makes you want to smack him again. If this were anyone else you wouldn’t change your mind so quickly, but you’ve been holding back from him for so long that you don’t care even if it breaks your made-up dating rules. “Mm… I see. Well then, if that’s the case, are you really gonna make me ask again?” He pauses, watching the confusion register on your face as he looks on with raw, burning pleasure. “Don’t deny yourself. Answer me this time, darling. Your place or mine?”

“Whatever you want, it doesn’t make a difference to me.” You swallow thickly as you wipe at your bottom lip with your thumb, a futile attempt to fix your lipstick that you’re certain is now smudged beyond repair. Slowly your senses return to you, and you remember where you are: pressed against the side door of your car under a streetlamp. “Wait, but— my car…”

He points to the only other car nearby, a little black Corvette parked sitting quietly across the lot. You’d never thought to wonder what kind of car he drives, but somehow you aren’t surprised. The model seems to fit him. “We could take mine tonight. I’ll drive you back here to pick yours up tomorrow.”

You scoff, but it doesn’t have as much bite in it as it did before. “Tomorrow? You seem pretty confident that you’re getting laid.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a cocky little smile. “I don’t like to be indirect with what I want. Waste of time, in my opinion. You know what I’m asking. If you want to dance around it, I’m not going to force you.” Jeonghan takes a step back from your car, but there’s a hint of smugness in his expression that says he already knows exactly what you’re thinking. “You know what? I’m sure you’ve had a busy evening, working on your feet all night. You should go home. I won’t keep you.”

He takes another half step backwards, and before you can stop yourself a pathetic little whimper tears from your throat as you move to follow him. It instantly makes you cringe how needy you sound, but he seems to only take satisfaction from your reaction as your hand shoots out to grab his wrist. “No. Hold on. I…” 

You sigh, finally admitting defeat. Teasing and dropping subtle hints has always been your style, but he’s managed to break you down and have you begging for him in the span of a few hours. It frustrates you to no end, but it’s also kind of turning you on. This clingy, desperate feeling in your chest is new to you, almost queasy from how badly you want more of his attention. 

You’ve never felt this way with your past relationships, always coming to an end too soon because of how quickly your attachment faded. The red-flag alarm in your head should probably be screaming at you right now, but the nonchalant way he brushes you off and the simultaneous determination in his gaze only makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t hide that he wants you — the look in his eyes alone is enough to tell you that — but at the same time he acts like he couldn’t care less whether you reciprocate or not. And something about that works for you.

Something deep inside, something primal in you, wants him to care. You need him to crave you; you want to make him beg, too. You want to fluster him so bad that he caves, like you did, and just gives in and takes what he so clearly desires. The embarrassment from your own reaction has faded into something more passionate, a competitive yearning to make him feel this pathetic, depraved desperation the way you do. He may think he’s winning, but you’re not going to be satisfied until you’re not the only loser in this game.

His expression is still as smug as ever, but he stands there patient as promised, waiting with your fingers wrapped around his wrist. It’s a strange feeling to swallow your pride and go along with his games, but you’re sure that if you play your cards right this night will go the way you want.

You clear your throat and ease your hand away from his arm, though it pains you a little to let go of him. His skin is soft under your fingertips, with subtle hints of firm muscle hidden by his lanky frame, and you want to keep touching him. You need to keep touching him, to explore every inch of his body and find all of his pressure points, to discover every spot that makes him weak and—

“Did you want to say something?” Jeonghan coaxes, cutting off your rapidly derailing train of thought, and even though he pisses you off you’re grateful for the snap back to reality.

“Yeah,” you finally manage, and force your gaze upward to meet his eyes—those piercing brown eyes that you’ve found staring at you from across the restaurant, week after week. In public he was always subdued, a little flirtatious but always respectful, lingering only just long enough to make sure you noticed but never anything more. But the look in his eyes now is completely different, like he wants you to start tearing his clothes off right here in the parking lot. Pursing your lips, you give him a smirk of your own, and you relish in the way his gaze darkens in response.

“How close is your place?”

Before the door of his penthouse is even fully shut, you’re shoving Jeonghan backwards against his kitchen counter as your lips connect again, your moans mixing together and echoing off the walls throughout the wide open room.

“Oh, I like this.” He flashes a toothy grin before diving back in, equally as passionate. That smirk again; you swear, if he gives you that stupid cocky look one more time, you might slap him. But then his slender fingers cup your chin to draw you closer to his mouth, and the light pressure of his fingertips on your cheeks makes your head spin, making you forget all about how easily he manages to get under your skin. For a split second the thought occurs that those hands would probably look gorgeous wrapped around your throat, but your brain is moving about a million miles per minute and it isn’t long before another, hornier thought replaces it.

You barely even notice him leading you out of the kitchen, step by step pulling you with him into the living room, until you feel your calves hit the back of something firm. You break away just for a moment to look down at his couch, and he gently presses down on your shoulders to guide you to sit.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt, and you take the hint and quickly begin stripping off your own top as well. Once you’re seated on the couch he sinks to the carpet in front of you, nudging your legs apart to kneel between them and unbutton your pants. Again you’re transfixed by his fingers as he works: the bulging veins that trail across the back of his hand down toward his wrist, his neatly trimmed fingernails. You get so lost in watching the way his knuckles flex that you only belatedly realize what he’s doing once he shimmies your pants down your legs and adjusts his position to press his face between your legs.

“What are you…?”

“I said I was gonna serve you, didn’t I, darling?” Jeonghan finally shrugs his shirt all the way off, revealing an expanse of soft pale skin. But you don’t have time to focus on admiring his body before he leans in close to your inner thigh, his eyes taking in everything in sight with obvious delight.

He leaves an open-mouthed kiss on your clit through the fabric, and you feel a new wave of slick pooling in response. You don’t even need to see for yourself to know that you’re absolutely soaked. He trails his fingers up your slit, pressing against the fabric to feel your warmth. You’re positive that he can feel your cunt pulsing, leaving two fingers tauntingly between your legs to keep you on edge. When he finally pulls his hand away after teasing you for what feels like hours, the pads of his fingertips are already damp just from touching you through your panties.

Jeonghan hooks a finger around the waistband of your panties on each side of your hips and tugs them away. He moves unbearably slowly to the point where you’re nearly about to start crying and begging him to do something, anything, to you. 

But thankfully, he doesn’t make you wait much longer. Once your lower half is completely naked, he groans at the sight of you and leans in even closer. The tip of his nose brushes against your inner thigh, and his breath is burning hot against your skin as he whispers into you. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this? Dreaming about eating this perfect fucking pussy? How hungry I’ve been for you?”

You moan and let out a hiss, arching your back off the couch as he pushes your legs apart even more forcefully. He still hasn’t done anything yet, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

“Jeonghan!” you whine, scrunching your nose as you concentrate. “Please…”

That smirk returns once again, but it doesn’t linger like it usually does, quickly replaced with a look of desperate lust. “You sound so sexy when you say my name. So much better than I imagined.” He presses his face into your pussy with a pleased sigh, mumbling into your lips. “Wonder if you taste better than I imagined, too.”

And without another second of hesitation, he pulls your clit into his mouth, sucking hard. Instinctively your legs tense and try to close around his head, but his hands are surprisingly strong as he keeps you held open for him to feast on. Jeonghan flattens his tongue against your pussy, curling it to scoop through your folds and collect as much of your slick as he can, then begins to flick it up and down across your clit. If you thought he was good at kissing, then holy fuck, he’s even better at this. Within mere seconds his tongue has you seeing stars, and it’s impossible to keep your mouth shut to stop the endless stream of pathetic noises leaving you.

His hair tickles the top of your stomach as he moves back and forth, and you reach down with one shaking hand to brush it back from his forehead, but it just flops right back down again. He dislodges his mouth from your pussy for long enough to croak out, “Please, baby. Pull my hair. Make me do whatever you want. Wanna make you feel good.”

It takes a minute for his words to register, because he says them in such a whiny, pleading voice that you don’t immediately recognize it as coming from him. You’re so used to the confident, suave voice he uses in public that the man currently devouring your pussy seems like a completely different person. 

You scramble to comply, threading your fingers through his hair and giving his scalp a gentle tug. Instantly his jaw goes slack against your core, letting out a frustrated but very pleased sounding groan. “Fuck, yeah, just like that,” he says, and it’s the last thing you hear before he goes back in for more.

You know you’re done for once he introduces his fingers into the mix. Keeping his lips pursed around your clit, he prods gently at your entrance with his middle and ring finger, shallowly thrusting up to his first knuckle. It takes a few seconds to adjust, but when he feels you relax and loosen up he pushes deeper, until both fingers are fully engulfed inside you. He continues slowly thrusting until he’s satisfied with the lack of resistance, then adds a curling motion each time he pulls his fingers out. If you were a religious woman, you’d swear you were about to meet God.

The stimulation is both too much and not enough at the same time, no matter how desperately you try to rock your hips in rhythm with his tongue. But you can feel it building, getting closer and closer to reaching a peak you can’t come back from, and you know it won’t take much more before you make a mess on his face. As if he knows your orgasms like a sixth sense, his motions become a tiny bit more intense, his tongue pointed more purposefully at your clit and his fingers thrusting just a tiny bit faster. And finally, like a dam breaking loose after a storm, you’re gone.

Your release is loud. Shaking, panting, sweating, and swearing, your hips move on their own to frantically grind against his face in a reckless haze, chasing the high that seems to stretch on and on and on. Jeonghan just sits there and takes it all, sopping up the flood of your slick with his tongue like a starved man as you yank on his hair even harder than before, desperate to keep his mouth in contact with your pussy through the duration of your orgasm. 

After what feels like a full minute of cumming, your clit is still throbbing like crazy, your thighs feel like Jell-O, and your toes are cramping a little, but you would be lying if you said that wasn’t the best head you’ve ever received in your entire life. Man, he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to serve, that’s for sure. It’s way too early to be catching feelings, but all of a sudden there’s a fervent, burning desire in your chest to not let him go. You’ve never admitted to being a jealous person, but the tiny inkling of possessiveness that you feel now mirrors how you’d felt when he showed up to the restaurant last week with someone else.

With legs still trembling you manage to stand up, pulling him up by his shirt collar and shoving him down onto the couch in the same spot you’d just been sitting. Your lower half feels like pure TV static, but you eventually get your knees onto the edge of the cushion and clamber onto the couch, sinking down to straddle your aching pussy over his lap. You slip your hand down between your bodies to palm his bulge, and he rewards you with a loud, choked moan.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you? You want my cock that badly, angel?” 

Jeonghan smirks, and you’re so wound up from the lingering effects of your orgasm that this time you actually do slap him, your hand darting out across his cheek out of instinct. Not hard or meant to hurt him, just a light playful smack, but it’s still enough to make a sound. Immediately your face falls in shock, and you open your mouth to start profusely apologizing for crossing a line. How could you get so caught up in the moment like that? But before you even have a chance to be embarrassed, he just smiles even wider.

He grabs your wrist, which still hovers awkwardly in the air between your bodies, and brings it to his lips to kiss your palm, moaning against your hand. “God, that was hot. Do that again once I’m inside you.” 

His gentle lips tickle your skin, and a shudder runs through your body as he bites playfully. He glances up at you through his lashes, an almost taunting look on his face, and it might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Keeping eye contact you slip your other hand back down to his crotch, fumbling with the button on his pants, and he lets go of your hand to let it join the other so you can undo it faster. All the while he just sits comfortably in his seat, letting you do all the work as he watches, enamored. His head rests against the back of the couch, his neck on full display, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he lets out a little chuckle of satisfaction. He doesn’t even say anything, but his reaction is enough praise to make your cunt pulse, a warm and pleased feeling erupting in your chest from the positive attention.

You finally manage to undo his pants, and wordlessly he lifts his hips to help you push them down past his knees, freeing his hard cock to rest lazily against his stomach. He spreads his legs wider beneath you, sinking deeper into the couch cushions as he slouches down to give you a better angle. The faint grooves of his abs make your mouth water, but as much as you’d like to spend hours running your tongue along every miniscule crevice of his body, there’s more important matters on your agenda right now. Pressing your hands against his chest instead, you rake your nails gently across his skin, and he shivers a little at the feeling as he begins to stroke his cock.

After a few seconds he lets out a shuddering sigh and releases his hand, and his cock stands at attention between your bodies, flushed and strained with need. He moves his hands to your waist, tapping his fingers against you to signal you to sit up. You lift up onto your knees above him and reach beneath you to wrap your hand around him, and he lets out an involuntary little whimper at the contact that makes you smirk. Giving him a couple strokes of your own, you guide the head of his cock between your folds before pushing him inside, both of you groaning in pleasure as you sink down onto his length.

Jeonghan allows you a few seconds to adjust, breathing heavily as that wonderful feeling of fullness washes over you. Without thinking you begin to rock your hips, not moving up and down but simply rolling them forward and backward, grinding against him with his cock buried firmly inside of you. You can feel the tip pressing a little bit deeper with each movement as you start to relax, your walls throbbing and fluttering around him.

For now he’s content to sit back and let you play with him however you want while he lies beneath you, enjoying the view. Each rotation of your hips pushes your chest closer to him, your hard nipples sitting tauntingly at his eye level. You lean forward to hold onto the couch behind him for leverage, pressing your breasts even further into his face, and he smirks up at you in response.

After a minute he lifts his hips a few inches off the couch, experimentally thrusting into you. It’s not much, but it’s still more than enough to take your breath away when you realize how deep he can hit. Your whimper makes him grin as he feels your walls clench around him like a vise, as if trying to pull him in even more.

“Sensitive, hmm?” he coos, though it comes off as more teasing than sincere. You purse your lips into a pout, nodding, but you don’t change your movement. “Still feels good though?”

Instead of replying you lean down and crash your mouth against his once more, starting to lift your hips in a shallow up-and-down motion to test the waters. His cock is still almost all the way buried inside you, only letting an inch slip out before pushing back in, just a hint of extra stimulation.

Your nose is pressed awkwardly into his cheek as you kiss him furiously, but it’s the last thing on your mind as his hands grip your waist more firmly, helping give you a little bit more leverage to continue the slow, rolling movements. His tongue nudges against yours, your lips opening to welcome him.

One thrust hits particularly deep in a particularly sensitive spot deep in your cunt, and you have to pull away quickly for a second to exhale a drawn-out moan before filling your lungs with fresh air. But in that moment, without warning Jeonghan pushes his hips up into the air, bouncing you on his lap, and the force of his thrust cuts off your sound, trailing off into a broken whimper mid-way through. His fingers squeeze your waist harder, digging into your muscles before sliding down to grip your ass for a better angle. It knocks the breath out of you, your core tightening around him.

The rhythm he sets is difficult to keep up with, but luckily for you it doesn’t seem like he expects much effort on your part. All you have to do is sit there on his lap, pliant and relaxed, and let him fuck into you as hard as he wants. His hands supporting your ass are firm, and you can see the strain flexing in his lean biceps as he holds you up. The angle still puts your tits directly in front of his face but he’s staring up into your eyes, his eye contact unflinching as he pants for breath with parted lips.

“Look at you,” he huffs, his voice thick and rough, just loud enough to be heard over the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. “So tight. God, you’re so beautiful, riding me just like that. Wanna stay buried in this pussy forever.”

Despite the unfiltered praise he’s giving that makes your stomach twist with butterflies, there’s still that hint of teasing in his words: too genuine to be sarcastic, but at the same time too smug to be completely heartfelt and without ulterior motive. Either way, you can’t deny how good it feels to be worshipped so openly like this, especially by him.

The change in Jeonghan’s attitude doesn’t escape your notice; the way he’s gotten more and more dominant as the night goes on, but somehow at the same time less dominant too. It’s a refreshing change of pace, how naturally your dynamic shifts back and forth at will. His lack of expectations soothes something deep inside you that you weren’t aware needed to be soothed; his easy disposition that lets you take control when you want it and give it back when you don’t. Maybe it’s because he can read you so well, or maybe it’s because he can’t. Either way, his effortless ability to switch between roles is something you didn’t know you were missing in your life, and it makes his actions all the more intense and exciting and unpredictable.

Your throat tightens as you feel the early waves of another orgasm beginning to crash into you, but you can’t get the words out to warn him before one more well-timed thrust sends you hurtling over the edge. You fall forward, catching yourself on his shoulders and gripping him so hard it’s got to hurt, but he says nothing but praises as you cum with your thumbs digging into his collarbone.

“That’s a good girl, keep going. You feel so fucking good, angel. Let me have it, all of it. C’mon— yeah, right there, there you go.”

When the initial shock fades, the high from your second orgasm subsides even more slowly than the first time. You’re still struggling to deal with the effects yourself when Jeonghan frantically pulls you off of his lap, his cock haphazardly recoiling against your stomach as milky white spurts leak from his tip. His eyes are wrenched shut in bliss, his mouth hanging open and his hands squeezing your ass even harder.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of your memory, you make a note that Jeonghan whimpers when he cums. It’s such a beautiful, passionate, strangled sound, and you never want to forget it.

A few moments of silence pass, the room quiet except for the sound of you both heavily panting for breath. Jeonghan finally opens his eyes again, his gaze unfocused for a second before it lands on you, and he breaks out into a smile. A real one this time, not his usual arrogant smirk or teasing grin. He lets out a long, slow, pleased hum and releases his grip on you, sliding to rest on top of your thighs instead.

“Wanna take a shower with me?”

After an hour (maybe a lot longer than an hour…) you’re clean and comfortable and content, both of you lying naked in his bed together. It hadn’t been difficult for him to convince you to stay over for the night and let him spoil you a little more. You’d pretended to be on the fence about whether or not to stay, just to tease him, but his promise to make you breakfast is what had finally won you over.

A half-empty bottle of Dom Perignon rests on the bed between you both, wedged against a couple of pillows. With the sheets messily tossed over your lower half, you balance your glass on your lap as you sit leaned up against the headboard of his bed.

When you’d confessed earlier that you’d never actually tried his favorite brand yourself, despite how often you have to serve it at work, he’d immediately hopped out of the shower to bring you a bottle. His effort was admirable, making a whole show out of uncorking it and pretending to be your waiter, before subsequently spilling most of it on his bathroom floor.

Now, Jeonghan sits propped up on one elbow, holding his own glass of champagne in one hand while resting the other across your hip. You didn’t initially label him as being a touchy-feely kind of guy, but the way he hasn’t let you out of his sight all night has been kind of endearing. Maybe you’re both clingier than you thought.

You sigh, exhausted but relaxed, and take another sip from your flute. “I guess you’re right. This is totally better than the cheap stuff.”

He lets out a tipsy little giggle, grabbing the bottle and pouring the rest of it into your glass to top it off. “I told you, I know my wines. Only the best for you. That’s why I always ordered it.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue with him. By now, you believe he really does mean all the cheesy crap he says. He did promise to actually take you on a real date next weekend, not a “stalking you at your workplace” kind of date. Maybe it’s just the champagne talking, but after tonight, his sincerity about has put a warm, fizzy feeling in your stomach. (But then again, that might be the champagne.)

Either way, you’re not denying your feelings anymore, and neither is he.

“Cheers,” he says after a minute of content silence, holding up his glass in front of him. The look in his eyes mirrors your own, something bright and soft and happy that makes your heart flutter.

“What are we cheers-ing to?” you laugh.

“Hm. Well…” He pauses and bites his lip.

It’s been too long since you last kissed him, you think to yourself as you wait for his answer, watching him absently pull his bottom lip between his teeth. You need to change that. 

“To good food and good sex. Both of which you can provide.”

You grin back at him and raise your glass to clink against his. “Sure. To the finer things in life.”

bonus:

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this is the first fic i've been able to finish after a long hiatus and i'm genuinely so proud of how it turned out, so i truly hope you enjoyed reading!! if you did please reblog with your thoughts, or leave a comment or send an ask! reblogs are legit what makes tumblr work: it shows me that people are interested in this content, and knowing people liked it makes me more inspired to write more! i put a TON of time, love, and effort into my fics, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!

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