He doesn’t do slow or sweet. He pins you down with one hand around your throat, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, and pounds into you like he’s trying to break something inside. Deep, punishing strokes that make your eyes water and your voice crack. He’ll pull your hair, slap your ass, spit in your mouth, and call you the filthiest names while he’s buried balls-deep, laughing low and cruel when you sob his name like a prayer.

He always makes you cum, multiple times, actually, because he gets off on watching you fall apart for him. But the second he finishes (usually down your throat or painted across your face), the switch flips.

He pulls out, wipes himself off like you’re nothing, and tosses you your clothes.

“Get dressed.”

If you try to linger, if you even breathe the word “again” or “stay,” his expression goes ice-cold. Those pretty eyes turn dead.

“I told you before we started, this is it. One time. I don’t do seconds. I don’t date. I don’t cuddle. I don’t give a fuck about your feelings.”

And if you cry? If you beg or ask why he’s so cruel?

He just laughs, low and mocking, while he lights a cigarette or checks his phone.

“Crying already? Pathetic. You knew what this was. You spread your legs for me anyway. Now stop embarrassing yourself and get the fuck out. Don’t ever text me again thinking I’ll wet my dick with the same pussy twice. What’s done is done.”

He’s merciless. No soft aftercare. No fake promises. Just the brutal truth: you were a hole for the night, and now you’re disposable.

The girls always leave in tears, mascara running, thighs still shaking, heart shattered, because Jungwon doesn’t just fuck your body. He fucks with your head too, making you feel like the most desired girl in the world for thirty minutes and then like absolute garbage the moment he’s finished.

And the worst part? He never feels bad about it. Not even a little. Because Yang Jungwon doesn’t catch feelings.

He only catches new pussy.

And the moment Jungwon lays his eyes on you during Heeseung’s party? You know you’re in for something good tonight. 

The bathroom door is barely locked, the bass from the party still thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. Jungwon has you folded in half on the marble counter, your back pressed against the cold mirror, knees pushed all the way to your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders. Your dress is bunched uselessly around your waist, panties ripped and dangling from one ankle.

He’s pounding into you with brutal, deep strokes, hips snapping hard enough that the sound of skin slapping skin echoes louder than the music outside. His cock is thick, veiny, stretching you open with every punishing thrust, the head dragging against that spot that makes your toes curl.

Jungwon’s hand is wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. His pretty face is twisted into that signature smirk, sweat dripping from his dark hair onto your tits.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls, slamming in particularly hard, watching your pussy swallow every inch. “Such a dirty little slut, letting me bend you like this in someone else’s bathroom. Bet you let anyone who looks at you twice wreck this cunt, huh?”

He expects the usual, whimpering, begging, tears already forming because he’s being so mean, so rough.

But you only let out a soft, breathy “Ah—fuck…” when he angles his hips just right and grinds against your clit with every thrust. Your eyes stay half-lidded, lips parted, but there’s no sobbing. No pleading.

Instead, when he calls you a slut again, you bite back with a sharp little laugh that turns into a moan.

“Slut? Says the guy who dragged a stranger into the bathroom because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants for thirty minutes,” you shoot back, voice surprisingly steady despite how deep he’s buried. Your walls flutter around him on purpose, clenching tight just to watch his smirk falter for half a second. “If I’m such a slut, why’s your cock twitching like it’s never felt a pussy this good before?”

Jungwon’s eyes narrow. That wasn’t the reaction he wanted. He pulls almost all the way out and slams back in with vicious force, the counter creaking under you. His grip on your throat tightens as he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“Keep talking shit and I’ll fuck that attitude right out of you,” he hisses, picking up the pace, brutally drilling into you so your body jolts with every thrust. “You’re supposed to be crying by now, begging me not to stop like every other pathetic girl. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Another sharp thrust. Another soft, sweet “Ahh…” from you when he hits that perfect angle again, nothing more.

You tilt your head back against the mirror, eyes locking with his, a teasing smirk of your own playing on your lips even as your pussy drips around his cock.

“Wrong with me?” you gasp between thrusts, still sounding far too composed. “Nothing. I just don’t cry for boys who think being an asshole makes them special. Now shut up and fuck me properly if you can, Jungwon. Or are you all bite no bark?”

His jaw clenches. The pretty fuckboy who always makes girls break is suddenly the one thrown off. He doesn’t like it.

And he definitely doesn’t like how much his cock throbs harder at your sharp tongue.

Jungwon pulls out suddenly, flips you around like you weigh nothing, and bends you over the sink instead, face pressed to the mirror, ass up, back arched deep. He kicks your legs wider and drives back into you in one brutal thrust, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fine,” he snarls, voice low and dangerous as he starts railing you even harder from behind. “Let’s see how long that pretty mouth stays smart when I’m done with you.”

Your only response is another soft, pleased “Ah…” as he hits even deeper, followed by a breathy, defiant little chuckle.

Game on, Yang Jungwon. 

The slap of skin on skin is filthy and loud in the small bathroom, almost drowning out the muffled party music outside.

Jungwon has you bent over the sink now, one hand fisted tight in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard his fingers are going to leave bruises. He’s fucking you with vicious, deep strokes, fast, mean, relentless. Every time he bottoms out, the head of his cock bullies against that spot that makes your pussy flutter and drip.

You’ve been taking it like it’s nothing. Soft little “ah”s and sharp comments. No tears. No begging. Until suddenly your walls clamp down hard around him.

A low, shaky moan slips from your lips as you cream all over his cock, warm, slick, pulsing, your pussy gushing and squeezing him in tight, rhythmic waves. The feeling is so fucking good it rips a guttural groan out of Jungwon’s throat before he can stop it.

“Fuck—shit—”

He can’t hold back. His hips stutter once, twice, then he buries himself to the hilt and cums hard inside you. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your pussy in smooth, pulsing spurts, painting your walls white while your own orgasm milks every last drop out of him.

For a few seconds the only sounds are heavy breathing and the wet, obscene sound of his cock still twitching inside your cunt.

Then, just like always, the switch flips.

Jungwon pulls out in one quick motion, his cum already starting to leak down your thighs. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t look at you. Just turns, grabs his pants from the floor, and starts pulling them on like you’re already forgotten.

He’s waiting for it. The usual pathetic whimpering.

The “my legs don’t work…”  

The teary “can you help me get dressed?”  

The last girl literally begged him to carry her out of the bathroom like some princess.

He’s ready to laugh in your face and tell you to crawl if you have to. But you don’t.

You straighten up slowly, legs steady, thighs glistening with his cum and your own mess. Without a single wobble you reach for your dress, pull it back down, and smooth it over your hips like nothing happened. You even bend over casually to fix your heels, ass still out, his cum dripping down your leg, and you don’t even flinch.

Then you turn to the mirror, fix your hair with quick fingers, and wipe a smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

Jungwon freezes mid-zip, staring at you. You’re walking perfectly fine. No shaking legs. No clinging to the counter for support. No teary eyes or whiny voice asking for help.

You just look… unbothered. Satisfied, even. Like he was just a decent workout and nothing more. His blood boils instantly.

The man who always leaves girls ruined and crying is suddenly the one whose jaw is tight, eyes dark with irritation.

He steps closer, voice low and sharp. “…The fuck is this?”  

He gestures at you, standing there steady on your own two feet, already looking put-together while his cum is still leaking out of you. “You’re not even limping? Not gonna cry and beg me to carry your useless ass out of here like the last pathetic bitch?”

You glance at him through the mirror, one eyebrow raised, a small, amused smirk tugging at your lips.

“Why would I?” you say lightly, voice still a little breathy but perfectly calm. “It was a good fuck, Jungwon. Not life-changing. My legs work just fine.”

You turn to face him fully, adjusting the strap of your dress like you’re getting ready to walk back into the party.

“Besides… you’re the one who said ‘what’s done is done,’ right? So I’m done. Thanks for the dick.” You reach for the door handle.

Jungwon’s hand slams against the door before you can open it, trapping you there. His chest is almost pressed to your back, breath hot against your ear. He looks pissed. Actually pissed.

“You’re really just gonna walk out like that?” His voice is dangerously quiet. “Acting like I didn’t just fuck you stupid and fill you up?”

You tilt your head slightly, still calm, still unfazed. “Yeah. I am.”  A soft chuckle leaves you. “What, did I bruise your precious ego because I’m not on the floor crying for you? Poor baby.”

His grip on the door tightens, knuckles white. He hates how much he suddenly wants to bend you over again and fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week.

He really, really hates it. Your hand gently pushes his arm away from the door.

“Move. I have a party to get back to.” Jungwon doesn’t move right away. His eyes are burning into you, something dark and new flickering behind that usual cold smirk.

For the first time in a long time…  Yang Jungwon doesn’t know what the fuck to do with a girl who just walked away from him like he was average. And it’s making him furious. You wink at him one last time as you push the door open, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek, mocking. Had it been anyone else, he’d have pushed them off of himself and wiped his face in disgust, but he didn’t to you, he couldn’t.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist”

perm taglist:

You hated how Jungwon could easily read you like an open book, like how easy you were when it comes to your mind and the kind of thoughts running through it. It makes you feel helpless and vulnerable, something you truly disliked but Jungwon being Jungwon, knows what to do and say to make you feel better—something you truly appreciated about him.

"Does he know?" You asked.

Jungwon stopped briefly, hands halting in mid-motion as he fiddled with the camera. It was quick but you caught it nonetheless.

"No."

You narrowed your eyes. "Jungwon."

Your boyfriend simply flashed you a sheepish smile. "I didn't tell him, thought it'll be better to surprise him. Make him wish he's here."

You rubbed the space between your eyes. "I have a bad feeling about this but if you insist. If anything happens, you're taking the blame. Not me."

Jungwon gasped. "What? You're supposed to be on my side!"

You stick your tongue out at him and even blew a raspberry at him, to which he sighed. Jungwon fiddled with the camera for a few more minutes before stepping back. He walked around it, now standing before you and in between your legs. From the camera's point of view, it's recording the both of you. Well, recording his wide and broad back that easily hide you from the camera.

The atmosphere in the air shifted, now crackling with invisible tense and thick tension, so thick to the point one can sliced it into half with a mere butter knife. Your boyfriend reached out to cup your face in his hands. Your eyes automatically fluttered shut, like a butterfly closing its wings with a soft, pleased sigh leaving your lips as you leaned into his touch.

"You know the rules, doll. Tell me if it's too much and I'll stop," he said, voice soft but firm.

You nodded but the lack of response made him clicked his tongue. He shifted closer, now resting his right knee on the edge of the bed. He's so close but yet still so far. All he needed to do was to move his knee slightly higher and it'll be directly pressed between your aching, dripping core.

"Use your words," he demanded, voice hardening now with his eyes darkening a shade and fuck, you loved it when Jungwon gets like this—all demanding, rough and firm, like how a sergeant will command his army of soldiers.

You gasped when Jungwon digged his fingers into the sides of your mouth, hard enough to leave crescent-moon indents on your skin but not hard enough to cause pain or draw blood.

"Y-Yes," you croaked out, only to continue when Jungwon expectantly raised an eyebrow, knowing what he wants you to say. To address him.

"Yes, sir."

His lips tugged upward in a faint smile, quiet approval and satisfaction gleamed in those dangerous, mesmerizing feline-like eyes of his. His fingers moved to clasp around your chin, tilting your head back, just enough to maintain eye contact without you straining your neck.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears with how Jungwon's eyes traced every features of your face—your eyes, the bridge of your nose, your flushed cheeks, your parted lips as you waited with anticipation pumping through your veins.

Every second that passed felt dangerous as you waited for his next move. Turns out you didn't have to wait long as your boyfriend finally made his move. His movements were quick, stealthy and nimble, just like how a well-trained cat is when it's hunting its prey.

You were pushed back until you're fully laying on the clean, neat and tidy sheets with your hair spreading out beneath your head like an angel's halo.

With this, the camera won't be able to record your face or expressions but that wasn't both of your concern. After all, the whole reason why you agreed to this was because you wanted to get a reaction out of him. Him who was on the other end of the world, separated by distance due to him being on a business trip.

Jungwon was quick to follow suit, hovering over you while being careful to not squash you with his weight. You met in the middle, heads perfectly angled to the side to avoid knocking your heads together. The way your lips fit and molded perfectly like you're the last two missing pieces to complete a puzzle never failed to make your mind spin.

You let out a whine, the sound muffled and was eagerly swallowed by your boyfriend, who drank and swallowed it down, treating it like sweet nectar from a sunflower. Jungwon's hands didn't remain still, moving to trace and touch every inch of your body with a hint of possessiveness in it. Between Jungwon and him, the younger man gets jealous easily, which can be funny at times but sometimes, you liked to push his buttons, tipping him over the edge.

Jungwon bit down on your bottom lip followed by him sucking on the soft pinkish-red flesh. You parted your lips, granting him access to your cavern. Jungwon groaned, no doubt pleased with your obedience and how good you are to him. He pushed the shirt you were wearing—the shirt that doesn't belonged to you, up and up until the fabric was brunched up around your chest, revealing your bare breasts.

You involuntarily shivered as the cool air from the air-conditioner kissed your newly-exposed chest and your nipples hardened, due to the cool air and the way Jungwon stared or admired, in this case. Your ears turned red at the prolonged silence, squirming about on the sheets as you laid beneath him.

The man made a soft, inaudible and wrecked noise under his breath, like just looking at you already has effects on him, like you having the upper-hand despite the fact you're beneath him.

"Fuck, you're so pretty. Can't believe you're mine," he breathed out, sounding in complete awe.

You stretched your left leg to nudge his thigh. "Stop staring and do something already," you muttered, feeling shy and timid as you averted your eyes to the side.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. "That's not the way to ask when you want something."

You scowled. "Hurry up and do something or I'll—!"

Your voice died in your throat when he stretched out his right hand, only to wrap it around your neck. The feeling of his fingers on your skin made your mind blanked out. His eyes locked in on your face, carefully watching your expression and reaction—how your breath audibly hitched, how your shoulders rose slightly before deflating and how your breathing grew uneven.

You knew Jungwon wouldn't dare to hurt you. Hurting you is the last thing on his mind and he'll rather be sent to hell than inflicting pain on you. But just the thought of him choking you, cutting off your air supply until you were gasping, wheezing and heaving to catch your breath, made your heart pounds against your chest.

Jungwon noticed. Of course he does.

Which was why he gave a light, deceivingly tender-like squeeze to your neck, his short, clean and blunt nails pressing down on your skin. It's not enough for him to cut off your much-needed oxygen or for you to say the safeword but it is enough for you to let out a broken, breathless keen with your voice cracking halfway.

Your boyfriend smirked, ducking his head so he's able to whisper into your right ear, his hot breath grazing against the shell of your ear. "Look at you, all pliant and limp the moment I touch you. Act bratty all you want, but don't forget that I'm in control."

"Y-Yes, sir," you choked out, unable to help yourself from fidgeting on the spot as Jungwon teasingly traced his other hand along the path of your left inner thigh.

You let out a squeak when he slung it over those broad and oh so reliable shoulders of him. You watched, unable to look away as your boyfriend turned his head to nip, lick and nibble on your thigh, creating a path as he moved up, leaving a trail of loud, wet kisses along with some bitemarks, like you're his canvas and he's the artist making a new art.

You forced out a shaky, incredulous laugh. "A-Are you a dog or somethi—ow!"

You asked, only to yelp when he sink his teeth into the meaty, plush flesh of your thighs, causing your body to jolt with you shifting upward. Jungwon chuckled into your skin, sliding his tongue out to run it over the exact same spot, in lieu of an apology.

"Can't help it, wanna show you off," he mumbled, eyes focused on your face, his gaze intense. Hearing those words from him made heat crept up the back of your neck.

While Jungwon's mouth was busy leaving marks, the hand that was previously wrapped around your throat now glide down until he finally touched where you're desperately craving him the most. You whimpered, pushing your body towards him when he boldly cupped your core through the thin, thoroughly soaked and ruined panties.

He lowly chuckled. "Look at you, all soaked when I haven't even touch you yet. Does this turn you on, hm? Knowing he'll be watching this, watching how wet you are."

He didn't wait for your response, yanking your panties aside without bothering to pull it down. He paused for a few seconds, taking in the sight of your glistening cunt that's revealed for him to see.

Jungwon glanced over his shoulder, as if he just remembered about the camera and was quick to maneuver you around, switching your position so the device will be recording your side profile. You moved up just enough for your lower half to be captured within the frame.

"Thank you for the meal," he mumbled and before you could stopped him or say anything, he dived in.

"Oh fuck!"

You cried out, back arching off the bed. You blindly reached out your hands, debating between pulling on his hair or fisting the sheets. The way Jungwon eats you out is different with how he acts—calm, cool-headed and composed.

But when it comes to your pussy, oh that's a whole different man right there.

He doesn't care about anything, his mind and body choosing to focus on slurping and drinking your juices, like it's some sort of holy water offered to him.

Heck if he wished, he'd rather spend the rest of his life with his head between your legs.

He started off with a fast stroke before using the tip of his tongue to circle your clit, easily locating it without much effort. Your head tilted back, exposing your neck with your mouth dropping open in an "O" shape, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on it like it's a lollipop.

It's obscene, loud and messy, with spit trickling down his mouth as it landed on your pussy, only for it to be spread over your pussy, like butter being spread across a slice of bread for breakfast.

Except this? This isn't just breakfast. This is all meals combined into one.

Jungwon used his index and middle fingers to spread your pussy lips, pushing his tongue into your entrance. The sudden intrusion of the wet, slimey muscle ripped a high-pitched cry from the depth of your throat. Your thighs twitched violently in his grip, threatening to lock them around his head but he held you down by your hips firmly, locking you in place.

"O-Oh god, ngh—W-Wonie, don't—fuck, stop, hah," you panted, unaware of how you were rocking your hips against that skillful mouth of his and how he wasn't stopping you, letting you ride his mouth while you chased after your rapidly approaching climax.

"Cum for me, baby," he commanded, detaching his lips from your now swollen, red pussy before going back for round two.

Unlike before, this was more intense and aggressive as he pushed two of those delicious, drool-worthy fingers between your slick folds. He continued pushing them in until he was knuckles-deep, fingers brushing against that delicate spongy spot hidden between your gummy walls.

You let out what sounded like a mixture of a wail, moan along with his name spilling from your lips as the pressure continued to build in your stomach until it was too much.

You cum while chanting his name, pussy violently convulsing around his fingers and tongue. Jungwon showed no signs of stopping or letting up, fingering and eating you out through your orgasm. He didn't bat an eye when you blindly grabbed a fistful of his pitch-black hair, harshly pulling on it, treating his hair like it's a pair of reins.

He finished off by planting a few light, fleeting kisses on your sensitive pussy, chuckling at how you twitched, trying to close your legs before he pushed himself up onto his elbows, giving you a much-needed break from the rough assault. You looked at him with half-lidded eyes, noting how his lips and chin were glowing underneath the ceiling light.

You reached out to him wordlessly and Jungwon was quick to pamper you. He moved upward, lowering his head to capture your lips in a slow, sensual and loud kiss. It's loud enough for the camera to pick up, getting a clear and unobstructed view of your tongues meeting with him exploring every inch, marking it as his. You didn't mind the faint saltiness and tanginess taste of your slick on his lips, finding it rather enjoyable.

While he continued kissing you, you let your hands roamed about aimlessly, tracing his chest, feeling his abs expand and contract underneath your palms. Unlike you—who only worn a shirt, Jungwon was fully clothed from head to toe. You fumbled twice, struggling to undo the knot of his grey sweatpants and he chuckled against your lips, resting one hand over yours and gently pushed it away, letting him do the job.

However, this meant he had to break the kiss, much to your disappointment. He made quick work of his clothes, tossing them onto the floor without caring where they landed. Once he's done, he was fully nude, revealing his cock that sprung free from the restraints of his sweatpants.

It proudly stood upright, having turned an ferocious shade of red due to the lack of attention. There was even a bead of precum formed at the tip, making your mouth watered.

You rose but Jungwon stopped you, holding you down onto the bed. You shot him a bemused look and despite the current tension and mood, he looked slightly flustered. That is, if you didn't notice the raw, unfiltered desire in his eyes.

"Leave it for another time. I need to be inside you now or I'll lose my mind," he confessed and you eagerly nodded your head.

Jungwon grabbed one of the pillows to place it under your hips. You spread your legs, presenting yourself to your boyfriend, who groaned at the erotic sight of you giving yourself to him. He wasted no time in aligning himself before pushing in at a slow thrust, gradually filling you up until he eventually bottomed out.

"Oh," you moaned, one hand reaching down to touch, squeeze and grab your own breast at the feeling of his cock fully sheathed inside your pussy, touching places where you thought was impossible.

Jungwon didn't wait for your greenlight, already moving his hips at a steady rhythm—the rhythm he long achieved and the kind of rhythm he likes fucking you at. Every thrust made your body moved up and down on the bed along with your thighs jiggling as he slammed his hips against yours.

Stars exploded behind your vision with how the tip kept kissing the entrance to your womb and if possible, you knew he'd be able to touch your womb with his cock.

After all, when it comes to a man like Jungwon, he has the ability to make the impossible become the possible. Consider it one of his secret, hidden talents, if you will.

The bedroom was filled with the filthy, sinful and obscene sound of skin slapping against skin. Jungwon grit his teeth, jaw tightening as he changed the angle slightly, allowing his cock to slide deeper until he finds the spot from before—the very same spot where he was previously fingering you.

He knew he hit bullseye from your reaction, with how you let out a cry, body going limp into the sheets, letting him fucked into you earnestly, like a dog in heat.

He tossed your other thigh over his shoulders, moving to put you in a mating press position until your ankles were at the same level as your ears. With the new position, the camera was able to get a sneak peak of his cock sliding in and out of your gaping, stretched-out pussy along with his heavy balls slapping against your inner thighs.

"F-Fuck, Wonie, c-can't," you mewled, hand snaking down to touch your pussy but Jungwon slapped it away, pinning it on the side and intertwined your fingers together. The action so sweet and soft even though he's currently fucking you until you swore you're about to see the white pearly gates of heaven.

"Yes, you can, baby. Hold on for me. Don't cum until I say so."

You made a sad, pathetic noise but you nodded your head. Between the two of you, you were the first to reach your climax, with how sensitive you are and how your pussy was practically screaming, begging to be freed from being overused. Still, you kept Jungwon's words in mind, holding back the tempting urge to cum right there and then.

It was only when you felt your boyfriend's movements gradually growing sloppier was when you knew he too, was reaching his climax.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me, show me how much you want this," he rasped out, voice scratchy with the right amount of roughness around the edges.

The final touch was a particular hard thrust that made you cum for the second time. Shivers ran down the entire length of your body, pussy gushing helplessly. Your pussy tightened and loosened around his cock as you squirted violently. Clear and warm liquid sprayed everywhere—landing on your sweaty bodies and the now dirtied and wrinkled sheets. Jungwon continued fucking into you, creating a loud series of shlick shlick shlick sound.

You made a noise at the feeling of his cum coating your velvety walls, painting them white—in the shade of his cum, marking you. He lets your legs fall from his shoulders, landing on the sheets with a thud sound. You thought it was over but you were dead wrong. One moment you were laying on your back. The next moment, you're on your trembling knees and arms, your spent limbs struggling to hold and support your weight.

"Wai—hngh!"

You moaned, knees giving way the moment Jungwon pushed his cock back into your gaping pussy without warning. He draped himself over you, pressing his solid, firm chest against your back as he rested his chin on your left shoulder. The shirt you were wearing was entirely soaked with your sweat along with some of your body fluids.

"Think you can give me another one, princess? Gotta show him how good you are to me, aren't you? Takin' my cock so well. You're made for this. Made to take my cock, like the good cockslut you are," he purred, one hand moving to fondle with your left breast through the shirt.

He ran a thumb along the hardened nipple, savoring the choked out whimper you failed to hold back. Your head lolled forward, hair dropping with the motion as he thrusted into you at a slow, languid pace—completely different from before. He seemed to change his mind out of nowhere, with how he pulled you back and switched your positions for the third time.

This time, you were now straddling his lap with you facing the camera, your back pressed against his chest. Jungwon rested his hands on your waist, bypassing the fabric of your shirt. He planted his feet into the bed, thrusting into you from below. The drastic change of position—with you now being on top of him, allowed him to slide deeper.

With you facing the camera, it's able to get a front-row view of your expression—how you were already fucked dumb with his cock abusing the same spot, again and again. You weren't even aware that you were drooling as well, spit rolling down your mouth as it landed on the sheets. You couldn't focused on anything else other than how good Jungwon was fucking you.

"Hah, m-more, please," you cried out, letting out a wonton moan in the middle of your pleas.

Jungwon snickered, evidently finding great pleasure in how good he's making you feel, further boosting his ego, like he's proving something to the future spectator. He reached out, grabbed your chin to angle your head towards his so he could kiss you. Although, it couldn't really be considered a kiss, with how you were wetly and loudly panting into his mouth.

"More? You greedy little thing, all of this and you still want more?"

He cooed, voice dripping with faux sweetness, nipping at your bottom lip before forcing your lips to open as he ran his tongue behind your upper row of teeth. The sensation was filthy, drawing a muffled moan from you. Nonetheless, Jungwon continued pounding into you with newfound vigor, easily pushing you to your third climax and when you cum, it was almost close to painfully dry.

Jungwon, on the other hand, grunted as he buried himself deep in your pussy, filling and pumping you full of his cum, making you feel unusually bloated. He didn't pull out, allowing you to lean on him as you catch your breath. He leaned over to kiss your forehead, gently brushing your hair away from your face.

"You alright? Was I too rough?" He asked softly, eyes wide and filled with concern. The sight made your heart fluttered.

You shook your head, managing to smile at him. "No, it's perfect. I hope this is worth it though."

He chuckled. "Oh, you have no idea. I can't wait to see his reaction when he gets it."

"You're such a tease."

"And you love me for that."

◟‿୨୧‿◞ㅤ

Meanwhile on the other side of the world, where it was morning for him, Sunghoon woke up to see he received a video from Jungwon. No caption or no other messages.

Just a video, that's it.

He didn't think twice, clicking play with barely-opened eyes. Only for them to snap open as he shot up from the bed, like he was struck by lightning when he saw both Jungwon and your bodies in the video.

It didn't take him long to connect the dots of the purpose behind the video. Sunghoon watched, eyes focused on the screen as the sounds of your moans echoed in the hotel room he was staying at.

"Shit," he cursed at the feeling of his pants tightening underneath the sheets, watching as Jungwon fucks you while drawing those sweet, intoxicating sounds from you. Sounds he wished he could hear.

⋆˙𐙚 L.HEESEUNG 𐙚˙⋆

it’s nothing new for him—the ache in his chest whenever (y/n)’s attention shifts from him, the heat that burns within when he spots her laughing at someone else’s joke, or the flutter in his stomach whenever she flashes him her sweet, gorgeous smile.

it’s normal. he chalks it up to her being the princess of the group, their moon among stars, a flittering, sparkling butterfly that dulls a bed of flora.

so of course, she’s going to have an effect on him that differs from the rest.

at least, that’s what he thought.

because now, during their tiny comeback party in their dorm, he finds himself warring with his little belief of his sentiments towards (y/n) being ‘normal.’

he gulps another sip of his canned beer as his eyes observe the drunk (y/n) who’s battling sleep. her eyes are drooping, head lolling and threatening to drop against the seat of the couch she leans against while her hand is loosely holding her drink.

the other members are either passed out or too caught up with their own things and heeseung, being the eldest and obviously not just because he wants to be the one to take care of (y/n), decides to be the responsible one.

“that’s enough of that,” he says and gently pulls the tin away from her lazy grip to which she snaps her head up at.

“i’m still drinking that!” she argues weakly and heeseung chuckles with a shake of his head.

“it’s time for bed,” he warmly says and holds her arm before slowly pulling her up to her feet—until she starts kicking her legs and shaking her shoulders in protest.

she whines, glaring at him with half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. “i’m…not sleepy! one more…! one more…drink…”

her words die at the end as her drowsiness wins over and heeseung sighs before slipping one arm under her knees and the other wraps around her back—easily hoisting her up into a bridal carry.

his plush lips pull to a small, victorious smirk when her head drops against his shoulder in defeat and he expertly opens the door of his room with a soft kick before entering.

slowing to a stop beside his bed, he starts to lower her onto it but she clings onto him—fingers curling into his black cotton tee as face buries into his bod.

he freezes, doe eyes widening like a deer in headlights and a strange warmth spreads from his chest to every end of his limbs when he hears her mumble a slurred, “smells nice, hee…”

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

heeseung gulps, throat suddenly dry and feeling hot all over—quickly bending to the point of kneeling just to get her onto the mattress but she’s relentless.

“(y/n), you need to let go,” he says—no, pleads.

and when she whines in protest, refusing to free him from her iron grip while rubbing her face against his chest, heeseung actually feels himself pop! from the cuteness aggression.

it’s so unexpectedly severe that he has to bite down onto his bottom lip and stare up at the ceiling just so he won’t bite off a chunk of her cheek.

calm down, calm down or you’ll wake her up.

he exhales shakily and tries—again—to lay her down and only then does his whole form loosens and he sighs with his forehead against the mattress.

lifting his head up, he admires (y/n)’s peaceful mien and he can’t resist the urge to cup her face as he lovingly strokes the soft skin.

when she hums in delight, he mirrors it, humming in tandem and grinning like he’s the one being doted on but the moment’s cut short when she suddenly hugs his arm.

his breaths hitch when she nuzzles into it like its a bony teddy bear and his first instinct’s to pull away but—

“you know…”

(y/n)’s muffled, drunken voice drawls out and he looks at her in panic, thinking he’s gonna get caught red-handed(he didn’t even do anything) but instead, she smiles.

that awfully, dangerously sweet, tender smile that causes his heart to leap and the way it’s lopsided because of her inebriation just makes it even more cuter and he swears he feels shivers running up and down his spine from it.

“wh-what?” he breathes out, shaky and (y/n) snuggles closer, making his palms sweat and legs shake as he stays kneeled beside her bed.

“i felt like a princess when you carried me,” she whispers with a titter. “which makes you my prince.”

sirens are going off in heeseung’s head. he’s overheating, red all over, his ears are muffled to only have her voice ringing like a siren’s tune, his heart pounding and lungs malfunctioning from the way he has trouble breathing.

“my prince. my prince. my prince. my prince…”

he stumbles backwards and lands on his butt when (y/n) finally pulls away but the pain’s numbed by the emotions and realization that are swirling in him like a whirlpool.

cupping the lower half of his tomato-red face with his hand, he stares at (y/n)’s snoring, sleeping form with wide, panicked eyes before frantically running out of his room with trembling steps.

cans of alcohol did nothing on him, but a single smile and phrase from (y/n) has him losing his mind and balance.

he leans against his now shut door and exhales deeply.

oh, (y/n)… have mercy on me.

⋆˙𐙚 P.JONGSEONG 𐙚˙⋆

he’s always thought (y/n)’s a sweetheart, a dear. if asked who his favourite member is, no doubt (y/n) would be in the top 3. if asked who he’s buying gifts for when he’s on a trip, trust that (y/n)’s name will always be there. and when asked who he’d choose to go on a trip with, again, her name’s going to be squeezed in one way or another.

so is it normal that he’s imagining a future with her? one that’s filled with doing taxes and laundry together, going grocery shopping and buying cute little matching stuff together?

definitely.

not.

jay realised his feelings for (y/n) pretty early, but that doesn’t mean he’s come to terms with it thus, not indifferent on the matter. especially when (y/n)’s making it so hard for him to keep them at bay.

“like this?” (y/n)’s question pulls him back to the present and he meets her inquisitive eyes through the mirror’s reflection.

her hands are holding a small towel draped over his head to dry his dampening hair. even her little gesture to ask has him preening and he clears his throat before straightening his back.

“yeah. just like…like that,” he answers with a clear of his throat, trying to ignore the blush creeping up his neck.

silence enwraps them alongside the soft hums from the girl and jay, constantly sleepy jay, finds his eyelids grow heavy.

he starts swaying—back and forth, side to side—and (y/n) notices.

jay doesn’t even realise her walking away and only jolts back awake when he feels a soft, warm presence against his back.

his eyes flick to the mirror and his heart skips to see him leaning against her torso as she sits on a high stool. his head’s nestled against her chest and spine against her abdomen and the plushness, warmth and fragrance of her being has his blood rushing and mind spinning.

he sits up as stiff as a board now and blinks rapidly when she sighs and gently moves him to lean back.

“just sleep. i’ll be done when you wake up,” (y/n) urges and jay doesn’t have the voice to respond when his heart itself is hyperventilating in its cage.

his ears are red, jaw tight and throat dry as he forces himself to act normal.

ACT NORMAL, PARK JONGSEONG.

“not sleepy, anymore?” (y/n) asks and jay tries to answer. he really wants to but the abrupt feeling of her fingers trailing down his nape to his shoulder—touch so soft, warm, and ticklish like a boneless feather—has him choking and he bends forward coughing.

“s-sorry. i gotta get water,” he quickly covers up and clears his throat before walking out with the small towel still draped over his crown.

(y/n) doesn’t mind. confused, but unbothered and instead flops onto jay’s bed to scroll on her phone.

jay, on the other hand, is a stark contrast—chest heaving and heart pounding as his hands clench into fists—while leaning his hips against the kitchen counter.

he doesn’t think he can keep up this act for as long as he hopes.

⋆˙𐙚 S.JAEYUN 𐙚˙⋆

jake’s always been touchy, loving and affectionate to the point that sometimes, he treats her like his own personal teddy bear to snuggle with during nap times.

but maybe, that ‘casualness’ is exactly the root of this whole dilemma.

because, maybe, juuuust maybe, sneaking into (y/n)’s bed to join her for a nap isn’t the wisest idea when you end up waking face to face with lips almost touching.

jake nearly jumps out of his own skin but chooses against it in fear she’ll wake up and make things more difficult than it already is. so instead, he stays as still as a log—wide, round eyes blinking rapidly and heart hammering inside him like it’s trying to break free.

slowly, carefully, he starts detaching himself from her to at least, create a bigger gap between them. but the further he goes, the stronger her magnet seems to be and he has to pause mid shuffle just to stare at her.

big brown eyes dance across her face admiringly. they’re soft, but his gaze softer as he traces an invisible line across her features. a soft pink blooms on his cheeks now, pupils dilated and tongue darting out to satiate the dryness from his increasing thirst—not for water, but a taste of her—as his plump lips pull to what seems like a permanent smile.

“pretty…” he mumbles absentmindedly and his slender fingers hover her visages, tempted to touch but fearful of the consequences.

he curls his hand into a fist before letting it drop between them.

he isn’t dumb. not at all. sure, maybe gullible and naive at times, but not to the point where he’s unaware of his feelings for (y/n). he likes her—more than a colleague should, or a friend, or even bestfriends. his ‘like’ goes beyond that, or to be exact, on a different direction—leaning to romantic than platonic.

and it kills him sometimes that he can’t portray it, that he has to contain it like it’s some kind of virus. but he found a hack. apparently, little cuddle sessions just between them helps him quell the frustration, the bubbling, boiling sentiments from bursting.

“you don’t know…” he mutters and opts for pressing their foreheads together with arms loose around her waist. his brows are knit and jaw tight from irritation—not of his feelings but the situation—and he sighs before leaning back.

yet, an abrupt shift from (y/n) unexpectedly makes their bent knees collide but it isn’t just that. their lips too.

and jake feels himself lose all senses of his motor and self—feeling like he’s floating on the fluffiest cotton candy cloud and smelling sugary sweet scents that send him spiraling on a sugar rush. his eyes nearly flutter shut but he quickly slaps himself awake, rolls away like the stiff log he is and tumbles down onto the hard tiles of her room.

he grunts and clutches his sore limbs from the crash but quickly hushes when (y/n) garbles something incoherent. stumbling to his feet, he rushes to the door and closes it with a starkly contrasting quiet quality before performing a full stunt of hopping, rolling and skedaddling away to her living room.

his lungs finally function again and he heaves heavily with every inhale and exhale—trembling fingers caressing his lip as he recalls the softness of her lips against them.

jake melts.

a sliver of the man he once was as he flaps his legs and hides his face in the palm of his hands while he lays on his stomach on her couch.

his heart’s palpitating and mind replaying the moment like a tease and he has to start recalling random physics laws to keep himself together.

centripetal force is the force that makes a body follow a curved path. right. just like (y/n) and i and how she makes my world go round—SHUT UP!

he groans loudly into the couch.

⋆˙𐙚 P.SUNGHOON 𐙚˙⋆

sunghoon’s always been a teensy bit protective (and very minimally possessive) of (y/n).

when she collabs with a male celebrity, trust his dark brows to knit and eyes to sharpen in judgement—to make sure she’s safe, obviously. not because he just doesn’t like the idea (he hates it).

and when (y/n)’s given clothes a tad bit too short or revealing than it has to be, he might not say anything or protest blatantly but a short while later, (y/n) will be seen in one of his jackets or shirt or whatever it is that he has to cover her up more.

and when a staff tries to remove it—his eyes will do all the talking: “don’t.even.try.”

…nothing too hostile.

so when news come up that (y/n)’s going to be working with a male idol one-on-one, his whole composure seems to shatter.

but it’s just because he’s protective, right?

sunghoon watches with keen eyes as (y/n) practices her choreography with heechan, an up-and-coming idol who’s of similar age with (y/n), as he leans against the room’s wall across the mirror.

he’s wearing all black—low dark cap, shirt, shoes and all—and his arms are crossed as he scrutinizes them with his shadowed gaze.

to say heechan is nervous is an understatement because he’s more anxious and afraid with the way sunghoon’s watching him like a vulture.

he gulps.

“take 5?” (y/n) suggests a break after finishing the first half of the song. “actually, maybe 10.”

“uh, yeah! sure, sunbae!” heechan chirps and sunghoon’s brows knit as tongue clicks.

because uhm ☝🏻 why is heechan so giddy for? like, tone it down, sir ✋🏻

sunghoon bites his tongue from doing another click and instead walks over to (y/n) with a small smile. “how long have you guys been practicing? it looks so good already.”

the girl chuckles and undoes her ponytail that’s loosened from the dance to redo it. “it’s been a few hours. still need to perfect it though.”

“you were great,” sunghoon says with his hand patting the girl’s crown before he looks at heechan who stands behind. his smile falls. “and you, were good.”

the different level of praise isn’t left overlooked by (y/n) who knits her brows at her teammate but he expected it, instead blatantly ignoring to instead gently hold her by the shoulders—as if staking his claim.

“you just debuted, right?” sunghoon asks kindly, a grin paired with it and heechan nods nervously.

“y-yes,” he answers meekly, daunted by the senior who, for no particular reason, seems to already dislike him. his sweaty hands wring together behind him as he stands straight as a soldier and head down.

but sunghoon does something unexpected. “i’ll guide you. your choreography and (y/n)’s are different and so are your energy. you’re not meant to mimic her, instead, follow your own style.”

heechan’s head shoots up, eyes wide with surprise at the sudden advice. “y-yes?”

and all of a sudden, sunghoon’s guiding heechan through the choreography—having learnt a bit from watching the duo dance—while (y/n) takes a break at the side.

the duo think that he’s being such a considerate senior, who takes care of his junior even at the expense of his own time and effort. and while it’s partly true, majority of it is because he’d rather strain his limbs teaching heechan than see (y/n) touch him again and again to get his moves right.

a single graze has sunghoon’s teeth gritting and a touch has his veins popping. not too mention heechan’s flustered little bashful act every.single.time.

sunghoon’s never hated a choreography so much.

or maybe it’s the circumstances.

or because a man (other than him) is involved.

whatever it is, he just doesn’t like that they’re working together because there’s gonna be so many shipping posts about her and heechan when she’s supposed to be with him—

he freezes mid lesson, eyes staring towards the distance as the realisation dawns on him.

heechan x (y/n) is terrible. but that doesn’t mean he should hope for a sunghoon x (y/n), right?

it’s all platonic…right?

heechan stares with befuddlement at the unblinking sunghoon whose standing stiff and unbudging and (y/n) pats the former’s shoulder.

“don’t worry, he does that sometimes. he’ll come back soon.”

long story short, sunghoon may or may not have searched up some 'sunghoon x (y/n)' content later at the dorm… not that he would ever admit.

⋆˙𐙚 K.SUNOO 𐙚˙⋆

sunoo and (y/n) are some of the closest pairs in the group. not that they aren’t with the rest but the two of them are more public with their closeness. more special.

it’s not common to see sunoo being clingy but with (y/n), it’s noticeable that she’s someone he leans towards. he needs a seat? he’ll find somewhere near her. he wants to hang out? he’ll always choose (y/n) to go with. his hair or look needs fixing? oh, where’s (y/n)? she’ll know what to do.

even during their personal vlogs, they will feature in each other’s videos for a length much longer than others. either by doing their skincare together, or getting a snack.

they’re given ship names, their own hashtags, sometimes fans even make some pairing merchandise of the two. those little trinkets that fit like puzzle pieces or plushies that stick together with magnets.

they’re just that close.

and it’s been fun, always has. until one day (y/n) starts spending more time with the others due to schedule differences and there’s less skincare nights, less drama binges and midnight snacks, less… them.

the larger the distance, the deeper his pouts, the more he sulks and the spicier the sass.

“what’s going on?” (y/n) asks one day when she goes to their dorm. her arms crossed, brows knit and stance firm with the door behind her.

sunoo’s sitting criss-crossed on his bed, his posture mirroring her with his headband on—interrupted mid night routine. “nothing.”

“doesn’t seem like it from how you’re acting. you’ve been pouting for days and you barely even look at me,” she states and plops down beside him. she sighs when sunoo turns his head away. “sunoo…”

it takes some silence and sighs until he finally gives in—pouring his frustrations and how he feels cast aside, how they barely talk and don’t do anything together anymore.

they’re no longer as close as before.

but when (y/n) apologizes and tries to fix it by offering a skincare night to be just as how they were, his first reaction’s a—

“no! i—!” sunoo cuts himself off with a frustrated whine. his face scrunched as he groans with his head thrown back.

i what? what am i trying to say?

he doesn’t get why he’s so upset, why he’s not taking her solution when it’ll clearly fix their issue until it dawns on him.

he doesn’t want this. not just this. sure, he’s fine with doing what they used to but he doesn’t want to go back as how they were.

absence makes the heart yearn, makes it greedy. and it just dawned on him that this whole time, he’s been petty…because of jealousy.

not just because they haven’t spend much time together but because she spent her time with others aside from him.

he doesn’t care now what they do, all he wants is her to be with him. to choose him and give him her all undivided attention.

sure, maybe it’s because he just feels like his best friend’s got stolen but this—

he looks at (y/n) who’s still so patiently waiting for him, staying for him and his heart leaps. he swallows, a rare occurrence of him being flustered.

this is definitely different. she’s special.

“noo?”

her beckon alerts him and he absentmindedly nods to which she cheers before going to get the skincare kit.

the moment his door clicks shut, he falls onto his back on the bed, pillow clutched to his chest as he stares at his ceiling with round foxy eyes.

and with a deep exhale, he says,

“i’m doomed.”

⋆˙𐙚 Y.JUNGWON 𐙚˙⋆

jungwon's witty, smart and sharp, maybe a little too well for his own good. his feelings for (y/n) isn't a mystery to him, he's suspected it since long before. but instead of rejecting it, he's decided to simply...embrace. do nothing about it because in all honesty, what can he do?

he's just going to act as he usually does, and whether these affections grow or diminish, so be it. they intensify? hey, it's a win because they can spend time together. they fade? still a win because hey, they can stay good platonic bestfriends.

but he overlooks something: how love can turn to greed.

it was a random day when (y/n) decided to do some baking at their dorm and jungwon couldn't resist the sweet scent of warm cookie dough. but the moment he snuck onto (y/n) from behind as a little surprise, the fragrance that came from her didn't compare to anything else.

his arms wrapped around her waist, cheek against her shoulder and he had never felt anything warmer, softer. never been flooded so blissfully by someone's presence that even the melting saccharine chocolate became bland for him.

and her giggles when she acknowledged him had his hands curling softly into her flesh before splaying across her front, back hunched to press against her more as he nuzzled into her shoulder with a big grin—fluffy hair jumping as if expressing its own joy.

he stayed awake that night just agonizing over the fact. he shouldn't have done that. it was unprofessional.

so the next time it happened, he reminded himself to keep his distance. keep his cool. but again, desire changes a man. and his possessiveness proved him that.

from warm back hugs to playful yanks to make her sit on his lap whenever she passes by to always needing to be within her vicinity at all times like a territorial cat.

it's bad. he's down bad.

and when (y/n) asks him what's wrong because he seems closed off and distant lately—hands cupping his and gaze flickering between his worriedly—jungwon feels himself gulp down a boulder of guilt while he bites his tongue from spilli—

"fine, then don't tell me. i'm just gonna hang out with someone else."

what.

the speed in which jungwon hugs her tight and strong like he'd never ever want to let go is record time. "i'm sorry. i've just been tired. spend time with me? please?"

he asks almost breathlessly, desperate and remorseful, with his face in the crook of her neck before he pulls away to search her eyes with those wide, catty eyes of his.

when she smiles, he suddenly forgets his objective.

he'll work on it, but maybe... just not today. he can be a little greedy, right?

⋆˙𐙚 N.RIKI 𐙚˙⋆

ni-ki having a crush on (y/n) is a well-known, very plausible and accurate fact among them. even (y/n) knows it.

but at the end of that day, it's always chalked up to them being one of the youngest thus, closest ones of the group. the likeness between them is one of the reasons why they're so close-knit. is what they say...and ni-ki too!

until he realises one day that he can never imagine his life without her. literally.

it’s like everything he does has (y/n) embedded within it. he’s playing games? oh, he has to show his wins to (y/n) every time. and when he loses? he’ll groan out his complains and (y/n)’s always there to cheer him on.

he’s hungry? “hey, (y/n). let’s get something.”

he’s shopping for clothes? “(y/n), which one looks good?”

even when he’s doing absolutely nothing, he searches for her just for the purpose of doing nothing together. it comes to a point that her stuff is all around his room so she doesn’t have to go out.

“where are you going?”

“to get water.”

“your bottle’s on the desk.”

“i want a snack, though.”

“check the drawer.”

“you have my favourites! but i don’t want crumbs on this shirt. it’s new from our last shoot.”

“just grab one of my hoodies.”

he’s known about his feelings wayyyyyy before (not without the typical ‘but, we’re just friends! i must be confused!’ inner dilemma) and his reaction?

WE BALL.

romantic or not, at the end of the day he gets to hang out with (y/n) and they love each other—even if it might be in different ways.

and because they’re so close, no one is even gonna think of it much if they’re so clingy with one another.

it’s a total win in his book. yeah, sure, he might be a little too clingy with (y/n), maybe a little too much like a tailing duckling but it doesn’t hurt anyone aside from his own nonchalant image.

…

……

yeah, he knows he can handle this.

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog—they give me some motivation, ya know? but please do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

when your name showed up on his assignment board he didn’t make a big deal out of it. just looked at the file, then looked up at you when you walked in, and said "you want coffee before we go through this?" like you’d already been partners for years.

the first few weeks were easy in a way that felt almost suspicious. he remembered you took your coffee a specific way after you mentioned it once. remembered you didn’t like being left out of the plan even when your role was minor. he briefed you on everything, never made you feel like the sidekick even when technically that’s exactly what you were.

on your third mission together you had to move through a crowded marketplace, people pressing in from every direction. his hand found the small of your back before you even registered the crowd was getting dense. light, steady, guiding you through without a word. when you glanced at him he was already scanning the perimeter like it was nothing. like it hadn’t meant anything.

it did though. you both knew it did.

the almost moment happened on a rooftop, post extraction, adrenaline still running hot. you were checking his shoulder where a blade ran through and he was watching your face while you worked. too quiet. too close.

"you worry too much," he said softly.

"you get hit too much," you replied without looking up.

when you finally did look up he was already looking at you. not the way a partner looks at you.

neither of you moved. neither of you said anything. and then his comm crackled and the moment dissolved like it had never happened.

he doesn't bring it up. neither do you. but something shifted on that rooftop and you haven’t quite found your way back to normal since.

PARK JONGSEONG

jay runs on preparation and high standards and the unshakeable belief that if something is worth doing it’s worth doing correctly. he’s the agent who submits reports early. who triple checks exit routes. who will absolutely pull you aside before a mission to go over the plan one more time even though you’ve already memorized it.

when he found out you were being assigned to him he had questions. not about you personally—about the pairing logic. he went directly to the director.

"i work better alone," he said.

"noted," the director said. "they’re your partner starting monday."

you heard about this secondhand and when you showed up monday morning and introduced yourself he had the audacity to look mildly embarrassed about it. "i didn’t mean it personally," he said.

"sure," you said. you meant it a little personally.

the first two missions were professionally tense. he was never rude—jay is incapable of being rude—but he was stiff. formal. overly thorough in a way that felt like he was compensating for something.

then on one mission someone got too close to you in a way that wasn’t accidental and jay was there before you'd even fully processed what was happening. calm, deliberate, completely unmovable. afterward he didn’t say anything about it. just fell back into step beside you like nothing happened.

but after that something loosened between you two.

he still runs through the plan twice. but now he looks at you when he does it, making sure you’re with him not just nodding along. in crowded spaces his hand holds onto your wrist lightly without hesitation. it’s a protective instinct dressed up as professionalism and you’ve stopped pretending you don’t notice.

"you don’t have to hover," you told him once during a surveillance job, the two of you pressed into a doorway watching a target across the street.

"i'm not hovering," he said. "i’m positioned strategically."

"you’re literally shoulder to shoulder with me."

"strategically," he repeated.

you laughed. he almost did.

the gentleman thing isn’t an act—he opens doors, makes sure you eat, always takes the side of the pavement closest to traffic without thinking about it. small things that add up. the tension between you two lives in exactly those small things and neither of you is in a rush to name it.

SIM JAEYUN

jake sim is the reason people think spies are charming. easy smile, easy conversation, makes everyone in a room feel like he’s glad they’re there. it's useful professionally. it’s also just genuinely who he is which somehow makes it more disarming.

he was excited when he found out you were his new partner. didn't even try to hide it.

"okay but genuinely, this is good," he said at the first briefing, leaning back in his chair with that easy smile like the two of you had already decided to be friends and were just catching up on logistics. "i’ve heard good things."

"from who?" you asked.

his smile tilted just slightly. "around."

you didn’t fully trust the enthusiasm at first—in this job easy warmth can be a front. but jake is one of those people who is exactly what he looks like and that took some getting used to.

missions with jake have an energy that shouldn't work but does. he keeps things light without losing focus, cracks a quiet joke during a stakeout at 2am when you're both running on bad coffee, and somehow that makes the next four hours manageable. he notices when you're tense before you say anything and doesn't push, just redirects.

"okay new topic, if you could eat anything right now—"

"jake we're in the middle of a surveillance op."

"which requires sitting still and waiting, so. food hypotheticals. go."

you told him. he remembered. showed up to the next briefing with exactly that, sliding it across the table toward you without making a big deal out of it. when you looked up he was already looking somewhere else. but he was smiling.

the flirting started small enough that you could almost convince yourself it wasn’t flirting. a comment here and there, casual, always with just enough plausible deniability to make you second guess yourself.

"you know for a sidekick you're kind of impressive," he said once, after you’d pulled off something that had no business working.

"kind of?" you said.

"very," he corrected, and the way he said it wasn’t entirely about the mission.

in tight spaces he doesn't rush to put distance between you. close enough that it stops being just practical and both of you know it. during a cover operation that required the two of you to pass as something closer than colleagues he leaned in near your ear to say something and took a second longer than necessary to pull back.

"you’re enjoying this," you said quietly.

"the mission?" he asked, all innocence.

"jake."

"i’m focused," he said. "professionally focused."

the touches are warm and slightly too deliberate to be accidental fingers brushing yours when he passes you something, the kind of contact that has a built in excuse and uses it every time. he never pushes. never makes it uncomfortable. just keeps the door open in that easy way of his and lets you decide what to do with it.

you haven’t decided yet. he doesn’t seem to be in any rush.

"one day you’re going to admit this partnership was a good idea," he told you after a mission that had gone unusually smoothly, the two of you walking back through the agency corridor side by side.

"i already think it’s a good idea," you said.

he glanced over at you, something warmer than his usual easy smile crossing his face for just a moment. "yeah?"

"professionally speaking," you added.

he laughed softly. "sure," he said. "professionally."

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon’s file reads like someone designed an ideal field agent in a lab. composed under pressure, precise, adaptable. colleagues describe him as professional. what they mean is unreadable.

when you were assigned to him he looked at your file, looked at you, and said "okay." that was it. no welcome, no small talk, no indication of how he felt about any of it.

the first few weeks you were convinced he didn’t like you. not in an aggressive way—sunghoon isn’t aggressive. just in a distant, clipped, minimum necessary communication kind of way. missions ran smoothly because he was good at his job and so were you. but you went home afterward with no idea what he actually thought about anything.

then one debrief he watched you argue a tactical call you’d made—one that had worked, for the record—and when you finished he said, completely deadpan, "bold strategy. very brave. my grandmother could have done it faster but sure."

you stared at him. "did you just—"

"moving on," he said, already looking at the map.

that was the beginning.

the dad jokes arrived slowly, deployed with zero expression and absolutely no warning. you’d be mid mission and he’d say something so dry and so terrible that you’d have to physically suppress a reaction because laughing in the field was not professional. he knew exactly what he was doing. the ghost of a smile gave him away every time.

the teasing is subtle—a quiet comment here, a pointed look there. never mean, never too much. just enough to make you feel like you’re in on something nobody else gets access to. because you are.

the warmer side comes through in the details. he always knows where you are in a room. positions himself near you in situations that look casual but aren’t. in busy streets his hand finds your back without discussion, steady and sure, and stays there. doesn't acknowledge it after. neither do you.

"you’re different when it's just us," you said once, quiet, not accusatory. just observational.

he considered that for a moment. "you’re observant," he said finally.

"is that a compliment?"

"it was a neutral statement." pause. "but yes."

KIM SUNOO

kim sunoo walked into your first joint briefing, sat down across from you, and said "hi, i’m sunoo, i already know we’re going to get along" with the kind of certainty that didn't leave room for disagreement.

he was right, which was a little annoying.

the thing about sunoo is that the warmth isn’t a performance. in a job full of people who have learned to keep things surface level he is genuinely, straightforwardly kind. notices things. remembers things. shows up as a full person and makes space for you to do the same.

here’s the thing the agency doesn’t put in briefing documents—agents and partners don’t usually do what you and sunoo do. there's a line that’s generally understood, professionally speaking. you two crossed it somewhere around month two and have been operating comfortably past it ever since. it's not something either of you announced. it’s just become the way things are.

the way things are: a hand found in the middle of a tense situation and not let go of. a quiet conversation after a hard mission that runs longer than it should. the kind of familiar closeness that makes other agents glance over in the break room and then look away quickly like they didn’t see anything.

"we’re going to get a note from oversight," you told him once, after.

"probably," he agreed, completely unbothered.

"that doesn’t concern you?"

he thought about it genuinely. "not really," he said. "does it concern you?"

it didn’t. that was the honest answer.

in the field he's steady. knows when the bright energy needs to dial down and does it without losing himself entirely. reads situations fast, reads you faster. after difficult ops he checks in properly, not just a quick you good but actually making sure. you’ve started doing the same for him without noticing when that started.

it's not protocol. it's also not going anywhere.

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon leads like it’s the most natural thing he’s ever done and jokes around like he’s forgotten he’s in charge, sometimes within the same minute. the duality is real and the people who’ve worked with him long enough stop being surprised by it. the people who havenv’t yet always underestimate him once before they don’t again.

when you got assigned to his unit he greeted the information with a grin. "okay, good," he said, genuinely pleased in that easy way of his. "i’ve been doing this solo for too long, it gets boring."

"so i’m entertainment," you said.

"you’re a partner," he corrected. "entertainment is a bonus."

starting out was easy. jungwon has a way of making people comfortable fast—not fake comfortable, actually comfortable. the kind where you stop second guessing yourself and just operate. he pulls that out of people. he pulled it out of you faster than you expected.

the playfulness shows up constantly in the small moments. a quiet comment in your earpiece mid mission that nearly makes you break. a look across a crowded room that says "are you seeing this" without words. nudging your shoulder when something goes exactly right, like you’re two people who just won something together and not two agents wrapping a field op.

but then the mission goes sideways and you see the shift. the jokes stop. his voice changes. he becomes someone who knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what everyone around him should be doing and communicates it with a calm precision that makes people move. you’ve watched other agents visibly settle when jungwon takes over a situation. you do it too even when you don’t mean to.

after those moments when things wind back down he always finds you first. checks in, not formally—just are you okay in that direct way he has that means he actually wants to know.

"you always check on me after," you said once.

"you’re my partner," he said simply.

"you don't check on the others like that."

he looked at you for a moment. "no," he said. "i don’t."

neither of you followed that thread any further. but it sits there between you now, unresolved, and he still finds you first every time.

NISHIMURA RIKI

ni-ki’s default setting when he first meets people is quiet. not cold, not unfriendly just unhurried. the kind of person who takes their time deciding where they want to put their energy and doesn't apologize for it. he’ll answer your questions, he’ll do his job, he’s perfectly pleasant. he’s just not going to pretend you’re close before you are.

when he found out you were being assigned as his partner he showed up to the first briefing on time, sat down across from you, and said "hey" with an easy nod. not dismissive. just straightforward. he asked your name even though it was in the file, which you thought was a good sign. then he asked two questions about the mission parameters and got down to business.

"not much of a talker?" you asked afterward, genuinely curious rather than bothered.

he considered that. "i talk," he said simply. "just not about nothing."

fair enough.

the first couple of missions were clean and comfortable in a low key way. he wasn’t distant—if you asked him something he answered fully, if something was funny he’d acknowledge it, if you made a good call he’d say so directly without making it a whole thing. "good catch," he said once after you flagged something he’d missed, no ego about it at all. you appreciated that.

he just didn’t fill silence for the sake of it. and slowly you stopped expecting him to and started just existing in it with him, which turned out to be surprisingly easy.

the shift happened without announcement. somewhere between mission four and mission five he just became more present. started initiating conversation instead of responding to it. small things—a comment about something you’d mentioned offhand weeks ago, a dry observation about a mission detail that was specifically aimed at you because he knew you’d find it funny. he was right. you did.

"you remembered that," you said once, surprised.

he shrugged like it was nothing. "you said it."

the attentiveness had always been there underneath, you realized. h’'d just been quiet about it.

in the field he’s steady in a way that settles something in the people around him. moves efficiently, doesn't waste energy on panic. when things get tense he gets quieter not louder and somehow that communicates more than noise would. you’ve started unconsciously matching his energy on difficult ops—found that it works.

the protectiveness is subtle and consistent. he doesn’t announce it, doesn't make it a gesture. he's just always slightly between you and whatever the variable is in any given room. you noticed it early and chose not to comment because something told you making it a conversation would make him pull back and you didn’t want that.

in crowded spaces he stays close. not hovering—just close.

"you’re easier to work with than i expected," he told you one evening post debrief, casual, pulling his jacket on.

"what were you expecting?" you asked.

he thought about it honestly. "someone harder to be around," he said. "this job attracts that sometimes."

"and i’m not?"

he looked at you for a moment, something straightforward and unhurried in it the way everything with him is. "no," he said. "you’re easy." then, almost as an afterthought, "in a good way."

you smiled. he caught it before he looked away and there was something in his expression that wasn't quite as nonchalant as usual. just for a second. then it was gone and he was heading for the door.

"same time thursday," he said without turning around.

"same time thursday," you confirmed.

the thing about niki is that nothing happens fast with him and that’s not a bad thing. the quiet at the beginning wasn’t a wall, it was just him. and the version of him that exists on the other side of that quiet, the one that shows up once he's decided you’re worth the energy, is worth every second of getting there.

fratboy!jungwon who the moment he stepped foot onto campus, heads turned almost instantly, the low hum of his sports car engine dying down as he parked in a free spot right beside a row of flimsy bikes he had to fight the urge to laugh at, twirling his keys lazily around his fingers before tossing them into the glovebox without a second thought—if it got stolen, he could just buy a new one anyway; the door shut softly, but the attention around him wasn’t, whispers already starting before he even took a step.

fratboy!jungwon who didn’t care for the murmurs around him as he walked through the gates like he owned the place, despite it being welcome week for freshmen—which included him.

his hand tucked into his pocket, phone pressed to his ear as he casually spoke to lee heeseung, or what he liked to call his senior, already in his third year.

“don’t make me wait,” heeseung muttered. earning a quiet laugh from the other end.

and it wasn’t just anyone—it was the same heeseung who taught him the basics of throwing a damn good party behind their parents’ backs, the same heeseung who came from a family just as prominent as his.

fratboy!jungwon who only dressed in designer clothing thanks to his older sister, who refused to let him be seen any other way, her words still lingering in his head—“you are not going to be an embarrassment to me, jungwon, and if you do, at least look half-decent”—so he shows up to classes decked out effortlessly, expensive fabrics sitting on him like second skin, not because he really cared, but because reputation did.

fratboy!jungwon who before even becoming a fratboy had every fraternity fighting to have him in their house, for the sake of keeping up a good image or simply for having yang jungwon under their name—for both his status and his looks; he hears the whispers, the offers, the subtle attempts to impress him, but he never answers right away, just watching, amused, like it was all a game he already knew he’d win.

fratboy!jungwon who only nodded and flashed his signature dimpled smirk as heeseung stood next to him, proudly bragging that he was already part of house dark blood—and as corny as the name sounded, jungwon couldn’t deny it was filled with people like him, rich, connected, and familiar, faces he’d seen long before university, so choosing them wasn’t even a question.

fratboy!jungwon who became the president of the house in the blink of an eye despite being a freshman, all because of a bet that may or may not have involved illegal street racing with the former president—who, in his own stupidity, agreed to it while half out of his mind, laughing like it was a joke, only for jungwon to win within minutes.

fratboy!jungwon who stepped out of his car with a wide smirk, leaning against the hood as cheers erupted around him, the night loud and electric, the former president handing him the house keys in quiet shame while sunghoon and the others rushed toward him with wide grins, calling him insane—but jungwon only tilted his head slightly, like it was expected.

fratboy!jungwon who despite all the attention on him and his frat brothers, his eyes still found you across the street, like everything else blurred out the second you stepped into his line of sight—you, in a body-hugging silky black dress paired with heels that clicked softly against the pavement, your shorter stature only making the look more striking, a black leather jacket thrown over your shoulders.

and for a brief moment, fratboy!jungwon glanced down at himself—black zip-up pulled halfway down, revealing a tank top underneath, baggy jeans layered with chains—and clicked his tongue under his breath, silently cursing himself, “should’ve dressed better”.

fratboy!jungwon who was pulled back into reality by a rough pat on his back from kim sunoo, one of the sophomores he quickly got along with, the older already grinning as he looked at him, “you did good,” sunoo said, voice light and teasing. “why are you so spaced out?”

jungwon didn’t answer right away but sunoo followed his line of sight anyway—and the moment he saw you, a quiet laugh slipped out of him, shoulders shaking slightly as he nudged jungwon’s side. “didn’t know you were into the soft types.”

that was enough to snap jungwon out of it. his head turned sharply, brows furrowing as he looked at him, “you know her?” he muttered, tone low, almost disbelieving.

sunoo only nodded, smile turning knowing as he replied, “yeah, she’s my cousin—(y/n),” letting your name sit for a second before adding, just to make it worse, “do you want her number?”

fratboy!jungwon who thanks to his pride and ego only shook his head at the idea of needing anything, letting out a quiet scoff as if the entire situation was almost insulting.

“what?” he muttered, tone laced with effortless arrogance. “don’t you trust me?”

a pause, then a faint tilt of his head as if the answer was obvious.

“you’re literally talking to the new president of house dark blood,” just as jay suddenly appeared beside him, dramatically throwing an arm out as if presenting a show, “looks like we got a new frat president—everyone, yang jungwon!”

and just like that, the crowd erupted, cheers and hollers bouncing off the night air as all eyes snapped back to him, but fratboy!jungwon only smiled—slow, smug, controlled—already used to this kind of attention, his gaze briefly dropping to the can of red bull in jay’s hand before he exhaled quietly through his nose, yeah… first thing he’s doing is limiting the energy drink stock back at the house

fratboy!jungwon who met your eyes again like it was inevitable, like no matter how loud the world got around him, it always circled back to you—sending a flirty smirk your way that wasn’t subtle in the slightest, watching as you blinked once, then twice, clearly caught off guard, the tips of your ears turning red, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks that only made his smirk widen.

fratboy!jungwon who titled his head slightly in curiosity because you didn’t fit here, not at all—you looked like the type who preferred quiet mornings, polished nails, soft conversations, the kind who’d rather sit in the passenger seat and be taken care of than stand in the middle of something as loud and reckless as illegal street racing—and yet here you were, standing under dim lights and roaring engines was enough to confuse him.

fratboy!jungwon who felt that same smirk get wiped off his face almost instantly the moment the former president—the same one he beat just minutes ago—started walking toward you, his jaw tightening as his expression darkened, eyes narrowing just slightly.

and jake—one of the third-years jungwon got along with let out a low whistle beside him, the sound cutting subtly through the noise. he exchanged a knowing look with sunoo before muttering under his breath,

“yikes… there he goes again.”

jungwon’s brows furrowed immediately as he glanced at you.

“what do you mean?

jake only shrugged, nudging sunoo lightly like he was passing the responsibility off. “you wanna take this one or—”

sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by the drama, before looking back at jungwon again.

when he spoke again, his voice dropped—just enough to make it feel more serious. “the president—well, former—likes her.”

a small pause.

“and he’s not really the type to take no for an answer… no matter how many times (y/n) rejects him.”

and something about that didn’t sit right with fratboy!jungwon at all, his eyes flickering back to you, watching the interaction too closely, jaw set as a quiet, almost dangerous thought settled in his head—because you weren’t just some girl anymore, not when you were sunoo’s cousin, not when luck had already placed you right in front of him—and jungwon, for all his control, had never been the type to let something he wanted slip away.

fratboy!jungwon who made it his mission to bother sunoo the moment every painfully boring frat meeting ended—especially when all they did was talk about something as simple as throwing a party to celebrate him.

so now he’s trailing right behind sunoo in the late afternoon, just outside the house, hands tucked in his pockets as he circles him like he’s got something to say (he does), and sunoo doesn’t even look annoyed, just mildly entertained, like he’s dealing with a kid who wants candy

except this kid could buy the entire store without blinking.

jungwon walks beside him casually before dropping it out of nowhere, voice low, almost too casual, “so… how’s (y/n)?”

and that alone is enough to make sunoo laugh, shaking his head as they step out into the driveway where his car is parked right next to jungwon’s, glancing at him with a teasing smile, “what happened to ‘hi sunoo’ or ‘good afternoon sunoo’?”

fratboy!jungwon who isn’t exactly known for patience, only shrugging slightly as if that counts as a greeting, “good afternoon, sunoo… so, how’s (y/n)?”

sunoo lets out a quiet hum at that, already slipping into his car. he presses a button, and the roof slowly slides back, letting the late afternoon sunlight pour in.

only then does he glance back at jungwon, clearly amused. “you gonna keep asking questions, or are you gonna get in your car and follow me?”

and honestly, jungwon isn’t that hard to convince, huffing softly under his breath as he turns, slipping into his own car and pulling the door shut in one smooth motion, hand immediately reaching for the glove box before starting the engine, eyes flicking toward sunoo just in time to see him pulling out first and heading toward the main road of campus—and jungwon follows without hesitation.

fratboy!jungwon who isn’t someone easily surprised—but he definitely was the moment he and sunoo pulled up and parked in front of a boutique he immediately deemed too girly, too pink, too… not him.

he steps out of his car with a slight raise of his brow as he glanced at the storefront, recognizing the area easily—lined with designer shops he was familiar with—but this one? yeah, he’s never had a reason to step inside somewhere that looked like it catered to silk dresses and soft ribbons when all he ever needed were tailored pants and new silver chains.

fratboy!jungwon who looks at sunoo like he’s about to question his life choices, but the older only nudges his head forward, silently telling him to follow,.

and jungwon can only mutter a quiet, “oh, for fuck’s sake,” under his breath before pushing the door open, the soft chime of the bell greeting them as they step inside.

fratboy!jungwon who isn’t entirely surprised when his eyes land on you almost immediately—standing near a rack, carefully picking between two dresses hung in front of you, your fingers lightly brushing over the fabric like you were trying to decide which one spoke to you more, another pile of clothes stacked messily beside a chair already overflowing with options—and it’s such a contrast to everything he’s used to that he just… watches for a second

sunoo doesn’t hesitate though, already striding in with a bright, “(y/n)!” that makes you turn quickly, your expression softening into a small smile the moment you recognize him.

and then shifting into confusion when your gaze flickers to jungwon standing beside him—but before you can even ask, sunoo is already speaking again, clearing his throat,

“i brought jungwon with me, hope you don’t mind—and don’t worry, my sister already knows,”

you offer a small, polite smile in response, and jungwon catches it instantly, something about it making him straighten just slightly. his eyes flicker briefly to a sign nearby that reads ‘kim’s atelier,’ the name settling in his mind before his attention drifts right back to you.

only for sunoo to suddenly mutter something about needing to check on his sister, already backing away toward another part of the boutique, leaving the two of you standing there in a quiet that feels a little too intentional.

fratboy!jungwon who doesn’t hesitate in approaching you, but still keeps a respectable distance, like he knows better than to crowd you too fast, flashing that signature dimpled smile as his hands slip into the pockets of his trousers, sleeves of his black button-up slightly rolled, exposing toned arms that flex subtly with every movement.

he tilts his head, voice light, almost amused, “typical sunoo,”

and the soft giggle that slips past your lips right after is enough to make something in his chest loosen, a quiet relief settling in as you shake your head slightly, “i know… don’t think too much about it, he’s always been weird like that.”

jungwon only hums in agreement, eyes flickering briefly—noticing the way you’re dressed, the soft fabrics, the shorter skirt, the pile of clothes beside you that all follow the same theme—and he takes note of it, stores it somewhere in his head.

fratboy!jungwon who suddenly finds himself silently thanking his older sister for every forced shopping trip she dragged him to. his gaze drops to the dresses in your hands, tilting his head slightly before speaking without hesitation, “either would look good on you.”

his tone carried a kind of confidence that doesn’t sound like a guess, and it shows in the way your cheeks warm almost instantly, but he doesn’t stop there.

he steps just a little closer—still careful—eyes scanning the fabrics as he adds, “the one on the right brings out your eyes… but the other one’s different—the ruffles at the hem make it softer, more delicate… or, at least, that’s what my sister says.”

he finishes with a small shrug, like he’s brushing it off, but the quick look of admiration on your face doesn’t go unnoticed.

and internally, fratboy!jungwon is thanking every possible god for that one piece of information he bothered to remember. he lets out a quiet breath, slipping back into something smoother, more practiced, as he pulls one hand out of his pocket and offers it to you, “yang jungwon.”

and the moment you place yours in his, softly replying, “kim (y/n),” he doesn’t hesitate—lifting your hand just slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles, slow enough to mean something, just enough to make your breath hitch and your cheeks flush deeper.

and jungwon only chuckles under his breath, still holding your hand—longer than necessary, longer than polite—because it’s soft, because it’s warm, and because he doesn’t see a reason to let go just yet.

fratboy!jungwon who lets you drag him through hallways after class, even if it’s only been a few weeks, even if people are already staring—because there he is, yang jungwon, walking around campus in all black, plain sweater, baggy pants, silver rings catching the light… holding a very obviously pink tote bag covered in bows that sticks out like a sore thumb.

yet he doesn’t complain.

he just adjusts his grip slightly as you hum beside him, glancing at your phone before looking back up with a small frown, “have you eaten lunch yet?”

jungwon only shakes his head, dark bangs falling over his eyes as he answers easily, “no… but i could eat. do you want to?”

before he can even say anything else, you’re already stepping closer, gently nudging him to the side to avoid the crowd before reaching up without hesitation to fix his hair, fingers brushing against his forehead as you smooth the strands down.

for a second, fratboy!jungwon goes still—not because he’s surprised, but because he can smell your perfume, soft vanilla lingering too close, settling somewhere in his mind as something he needs to remember, something that already feels familiar in a way he can’t explain.

fratboy!jungwon who starts picking you up after every class like it’s become part of his routine, going out of his way to drive toward your building even after long frat meetings, barely sparing a glance at anyone as he mutters quick goodbyes, already halfway out the door.

heeseung just huffs behind him, shaking his head, “he’s down bad that fast?”

jay only laughs, leaning back in his seat, “hey, at least he’s useful—those donation drive ideas? we already have three lined up and the event isn’t even for weeks.”

and jungwon doesn’t even hear them anymore, too busy tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulls up outside your building, eyes scanning the entrance like he’s waiting for something important.

fratboy!jungwon who finds himself willingly subjected to your projects—of course you were a fashion major, and somehow, despite the very real mannequin standing untouched in the corner of your dorm, he ends up being your personal one.

he stands still as you adjust fabrics against him, pinning here and there with careful precision, your fingers brushing his arms, his shoulders, his chest—and jungwon, who usually hates being told what to do, just… lets you.

even humming softly under his breath without realizing it, something he never does, no matter how content he is, but there’s something about you, about the way you focus, brows slightly furrowed, lips parted in concentration, that makes him stay still longer than necessary, enjoying it more than he should.

fratboy!jungwon who leans casually against your door once you’re both done, hands resting loosely on your hips as you fix the tie hanging crooked around his neck, fingers brushing against the fabric, adjusting it with small, precise movements while he watches you from above, amused.

you hum teasingly, “remind me why you’re dressed like a business student again?” even though he’s only in a white button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show his arms, a plain black tie clipped neatly with a small prada pin—and he chuckles under his breath, watching your brows furrow in concentration as you try to fix it properly, finding it a little too amusing how you barely reach his adam’s apple, when you’re not in heels.

tilting his head slightly, he feigns a pout, “baby, i am a business major—you wound me.”

you let out a quiet laugh, pressing your palms lightly against his chest as you smooth the fabric one last time. “all done.”

jungwon just looks at you for a second too long, something soft and obvious in his eyes, a lovesick expression he doesn’t even try to hide as he murmurs, “thank you, baby.”

only for you to hum back casually, “yeah, you’re welcome—now go, you’re gonna be late for your photoshoot,”

fratboy!jungwon who immediately lets that pout return, deeper this time, brows knitting together slightly as he leans closer, “don’t tell me you’re getting tired of me already?”

you roll your eyes, slipping away from him to grab his bag and keys from your bed before placing them into his hands. he sighs dramatically, shaking his head, “can’t believe my own girl is kicking me out of her room.”

even though you aren’t his—not yet—but you don’t argue.

you just roll your eyes again before stepping closer, rising onto your toes, hands resting on his broad shoulders for balance as you press a soft kiss to his cheek, quick but enough to leave him completely still for a second.

his breath catches somewhere in his chest as he blinks down at you, caught off guard in a way that almost never happens—until you pull back, smiling like it was nothing, “now go on, that fraternity photoshoot won’t wait, jungwon,”

when he finally turns to leave, he doesn’t even bother wiping off the very obvious pink gloss you left on his cheek, walking out like that on purpose, smugly claiming it as his—and with the way his grin slowly spreads after that—yeah, there’s no way he was saying no to you now.

fratboy!jungwon who finds himself in a situation he never thought he’d be in—grumbling under his breath as he waits outside his older sister’s building, leaning against the side of his car while the engine hums low, the sound filling the silence.

students pass by and sneak glances at him, and despite the rumors about them not getting along—because of their differences, because she’s already a senior about to graduate while he’s just a freshman—he still came.

he watches her approach from a distance, arms crossed as she stops in front of him, raising a brow, “what are you doing here, jungwon?”

for a second, he almost backs out, almost brushes it off like it was nothing—but he sighs instead, muttering something under his breath, only for her to frown, “speak up, i can’t hear you with all that muttering,”

jungwon finally lifts his head, jaw tight, ears and cheeks faintly flushed against his usual composed expression as he blurts out, “how do i ask a girl out?”

it sounds wrong coming from him—yang jungwon, who’s never had to ask for anything twice, who’s never needed help with something like this—and yet here he is, standing in front of the one person he swore he wouldn’t go to.

fratboy!jungwon who can’t help the small smile that slips onto his face when he takes you out to eat somewhere near campus, sitting across from you as you lean forward without hesitation to try the ramen he ordered, only to immediately stick your tongue out, wincing at the burn as your eyes water.

before you can even say anything, he’s already reaching for the nearest cup, sliding it toward you, “careful,” he mutters.

you take it with teary eyes, and for a second, he just watches you—he had to look away for a second, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his composure—because you look cute, and he’s not used to thinking like that, not used to wanting to say it out loud, so he keeps it to himself, settling for a quiet huff instead.

fratboy!jungwon who surprisingly doesn’t mind you dragging him around malls, even if he used to hate long walks and anything remotely tiring that didn’t involve working out, illegal street racing, or picking fights with people he thought were too full of themselves—now he just follows a step behind you without complaint.

fratboy!jungwon who now finds himself sitting patiently on benches or outside fitting rooms, phone in hand as he takes pictures of you spinning around in skimpy skirts and body-hugging dresses, different colors, different styles, capturing every little turn and smile like it’s important, nodding in approval each time like your opinion somehow depends on his, like he’s already decided everything looks good on you anyway.

fratboy!jungwon who never saw the need to spend his money on anything he considered useless—outside of his own parties, frat events, occasional charity drives (not just for image, he tells himself), and new cars—to him, money was a tool. something to maintain status, control, reputation; never something to waste on small, meaningless things—that’s just how he was raised.

fratboy!jungwon who somehow throws that standard out the window when it comes to you. now he’s the one paying for your overly sweet matcha drinks and tiny cakes without a second thought, covering every shopping spree you drag him into, even offering to pay for your nail appointments like it’s nothing—and the moment you show him a pretty pink set with black details, shyly mentioning you wanted to incorporate him into it, something in him just… settles, a quiet satisfaction he doesn’t question, because at this point it’s obvious—yang jungwon isn’t just spending money anymore, he’s investing in you, and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

fratboy!jungwon who finds himself thinking about you in the middle of football games—something that should be impossible given how loud everything gets, how focused he’s supposed to be—but somehow you still slip into his mind, even when he only joined because heeseung and ni-ki dragged him into it, ending up as a winger like it was nothing, sprinting down the field with sharp precision, breath steady, eyes locked in—yet there’s a moment, just before he makes a play, where he mutters under his breath, almost instinctively, “i’ll win this for you.”

even if you aren’t there—busy with your projects or somewhere on campus catching up with sunoo, and it’s ridiculous, really, how much it drives him—but he doesn’t question it.

fratboy!jungwon who is still the same cocky, egotistical yang family heir everyone knows—the same freshman who somehow became the president of house dark blood because of some illegal street racing bet, the same guy who scoffs at the idea of effort when his money already gets him everything, the same one who doesn’t hesitate to throw a punch just to blow off steam—but there’s something slightly different now, something people notice even if they can’t fully place it, because rumors spread fast in decelis.

fratboy!jungwon who has whispers following him in halls about how yang jungwon has a thing now—a fling? a girlfriend? no one really knows, and jungwon doesn’t bother correcting them, because to him, labels don’t matter, not when you’re already his anyways. the way his arm naturally wraps around your waist when you walk together after class, the way he guides you into the frat house without a second thought, ignoring the stares, the whispers, like none of it matters as long as you’re beside him.

fratboy!jungwon who gets into fights on purpose whenever someone looks at you the wrong way, or when someone else stares a second too long, jaw tightening just enough before he moves without thinking, because control has always been his thing—but when it comes to you, it slips just slightly.

he smirks to himself when he feels the jealous stares around him when you’re together, like he knows exactly what he has, and he doesn’t hesitate to get his knuckles bloodied just because someone got a little too comfortable talking to you while he was gone for a minute.

“watch (y/n) for me, yeah?” he mutters to heeseung before lunging forward, thankful—if anything—that he decided to wear plenty of silver rings that day.

heeseung only sighs, shaking his head, though the amused, almost proud grin he exchanges with jake doesn’t go unnoticed, muttering under his breath, “kids these days.”

as fratboy!jungwon walks back like nothing happened, barely even bothered—and what makes him smile more, what really gets to him, is that you don’t look at him any differently, don’t question it, don’t scold him—the first thing you do is reach for his hand, brows soft with concern as you ask, “do you need a band-aid?” and just like that, all the tension in him melts.

fratboy!jungwon who doesn’t even give you the chance to refuse his invitations to their frat parties—the same parties he meticulously plans during meetings with his frat brothers, already thinking three steps ahead—including you, already coordinating your matching outfits in his head as he casually explains it to you like it’s already decided.

“we should go with red and black this time,” he says, voice thoughtful as his fingers lace with yours.

“i got you this wine red lace dress a few days ago, remember?” he trails off slightly, more to himself now than to you—“maybe i could wear a red leather jacket…”

then he glances back at you, eyes soft but expectant, “what do you think, baby?”

you only shake your head, feigning annoyance as you drag him toward his car, “what makes you think i’m even going?” but jungwon’s quick—always quick—gently pulling you back, hands settling around your waist as he leans down just slightly, a smirk playing on his lips.

“because i told sunoo to cancel his plans with you on friday so both of you could come,” pausing just long enough before adding with a quiet scoff, “he’s an annoying little shit anyway, he keeps stealing you from me.”

fratboy!jungwon who always has an arm around you as he leads you through the chaos of his own party, guiding you toward a quieter corner like he’s done this a hundred times before. the frat house already packed inside and out, people crowding near the pool—something jay very clearly warned against unless they wanted to deal with him later, because he refused to call the housekeepers just to clean up someone’s mess.

the flashing strobe lights replace the main ones, casting everything in neon hues that make the whole place feel more like a club than a frat house, music loud enough to shake the walls as you laugh beside him, watching sunoo try—and fail—to snatch his beer bottle back from sunghoon, who only does it to mess with him.

jungwon takes a slow sip of his whiskey before raising his voice over the music, “can you two at least break that outside? i don’t need broken bottles on my damn floor.”

that only earns a wider grin from sunghoon as sunoo curses loudly, already chasing after him, “oh, for fuck’s sake, jungwon!”

jungwon just laughs, looking back down at you with the same amused smile. even with your heels giving you height, he still leans closer when you mutter, “you’re such a menace.”

he doesn’t deny it—just dips down slightly to press a soft kiss to your lips, the faint taste of whiskey lingering—pulling back with a small grin as he murmurs, “you love me for it”

you hadn’t exactly planned on finishing the bottle, but with the looming threat of exams finally behind you and no morning lectures to sober up for, the champagne went down a little too easy. now, you were far gone—hazy, heavy-lidded, and prone to dissolving into giggles at things that weren't even funny.

the sound bubbled past your lips again when fratboy!jungwon backed you against his bedroom door, his mouth crashing onto yours with a desperate kind of hunger.

he didn’t seem to mind the way your gloss smeared across his cheek or the corner of his lips; he was too busy pinning you there, one arm braced firmly against the wood while his other hand wandered dangerously low, bunching the fabric of your dress to pull you flush against him.

away from the muffled bass of the party downstairs, the room felt stiflingly hot. you felt the cool friction of his red leather jacket under your palms as his lips trailed down your jawline, eventually settling against the sensitive skin of your throat.

he was alternating between soft, bruising sucks and sharp nips that made your eyes roll back to the back of your head. your head fell back, fingers clutching the leather of his shoulders for some kind of leverage, and you swallowed back a whine that caught in your chest.

jungwon pulled back just an inch, his breath hot against your skin as he let out a low, rough grunt of disapproval. he tilted his head, eyes dark and focused entirely on you, “don’t quiet down now,” he murmured, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “i wanna hear that pretty voice of yours, baby.”

you didn’t know how it got to this point, but all you could remember were articles of your clothing being thrown haphazardly onto the carpeted floor, your heels somewhere in the dimly lit room. your dress was bunched down at your waist as the soft, expensive sheets of fratboy!jungwon’s bed overtook your senses.

the room felt like it was spinning, the distant thump of bass from the party downstairs vibrating through the walls, but it all faded into nothing compared to the raw, pounding rhythm of jungwon’s hips slamming against yours.

his cock stretched you wide, dragging along every sensitive ridge inside your clenching pussy with each brutal thrust, the wet sounds of skin slapping skin echoing louder than the music. you could feel every inch of him—thick, veined, pulsing with heat—as he buried himself to the hilt, his balls smacking against your ass with a lewd, rhythmic tap that made your toes curl.

“fuck, look at you,” jungwon growled low in his throat, his voice rough and breathless as he pulled back just enough to watch your face contort in ecstasy. his dark eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with lust, sweat dripping from his brow onto your flushed skin.

he shifted his weight, one hand pinning your thigh harder against your chest to keep you folded beneath him, exposing you completely.

the new angle let him grind deeper, his tip nudging that sweet spot inside you that sent sparks exploding behind your eyelids. “taking my cock so well, like you were made for it. those pretty nails scratching me up—yeah, just like that, baby. mark me. show everyone downstairs who owns this pussy now.”

your breath hitched, a desperate whine spilling from your lips as his words sank in, fueling the fire coiling tight in your belly. the pain from your nails raking down his flexed biceps mixed with the overwhelming pleasure, making your walls flutter around him, sucking him in greedier with every plunge.

“j-Jungwon… oh god, it's too much,” you gasped, your voice breaking into a sob as tears of pure bliss welled up in your eyes. but even as you said it, your hips bucked up to meet his, chasing the friction, the fullness that had you teetering on the edge.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest as it pressed against your heaving breasts, his thumb circling your nipple roughly before pinching it hard enough to make you yelp.

“too much? nah, you can take it. i paid for those nails just so you could dig ‘em into me while i fuck you senseless.” leaning down, he nipped at your earlobe, hot breath fanning over your neck littered with his possessive bites. “tell me how it feels, baby. tell me how my cock’s ruining this tight little pussy.”

the demand sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you, your body arching off the sheets as he snapped his hips forward again, harder, faster, the carpet muffling the creak of the bedframe. “it—ah! it feels so good, won… so deep,” you stammered, your words tumbling out in a rush between moans.

your hands clutched at his shoulders now, nails biting into the muscle there, leaving crescent-shaped indents that made him hiss in approval. the expensive sheets twisted beneath you, damp with sweat, clinging to your skin as the cool air of the room contrasted sharply with the scorching heat where your bodies connected.

jungwon’s pace didn’t let up—if anything, it quickened, his grunts growing more animalistic as he chased his own release, but he was relentless in drawing yours out first. “that’s it, scream for me. let the whole fucking frat hear how i’m splitting you open.”

he captured your mouth again, the kiss messy and devouring, teeth clashing as his tongue mimicked the thrust of his cock. saliva trailed from the corner of your lips when he pulled away, only to spit inside, watching with a smug grin as you swallowed eagerly, your throat working visibly.

“good fucking girl,” he praised, voice dripping with condescension that only made you clench tighter around him. his free hand slid down your body, fingers finding your clit swollen and slick, rubbing firm circles that had your vision blurring.

the dual assault—his cock pounding relentlessly, hitting that spot over and over, and his skilled fingers working you—pushed you closer, the pressure building like a storm about to break. “cum for me, baby. soak my dick. i wanna feel you gush all over me while i breed this pussy.”

you were lost, utterly consumed, your whimpers turning into full-throated cries as the orgasm crashed over you. your walls spasmed wildly around his thrusting cock, milking him as waves of pleasure ripped through you, your body trembling violently beneath his.

“jungwon! fuck, yes—i’m cumming!” the words tore from your throat, raw and desperate, as you scratched fresh lines down his back, the pain spurring him on.

he groaned deeply, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as his thrusts grew erratic, hips stuttering. “shit, that’s it… so tight, baby. gonna fill you up—mark you from the inside.”

with a final, powerful thrust, he came, hot spurts of cum flooding your pussy, coating your walls as he rode out his release, grinding deep to push every drop inside. his body shuddered against yours, breaths ragged, but even in the aftershocks, his grip on you didn’t loosen—he held you close, possessive, as if he never planned to let go.

fratboy!jungwon who leans his forehead against yours after tiring you out, breath still uneven but softer now. he presses slow, lingering kisses across your cheeks just to hear those quiet giggles spill out of you. your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs brushing lightly over his skin, but jungwon is quicker.

one of his hands slides over yours, turning it gently so he can press a soft kiss against your palm, holding it there for a second longer than needed while maintaining the softest eye contact he can manage—something uncharacteristically gentle in his gaze.

you smile at him, brushing his hair away from his eyes, and he just melts into it, leaning in again to press a soft peck against your lips, barely there—but it’s followed by a quiet, almost mumbled: “i love you,”

fratboy!jungwon carefully excuses himself afterward, making sure you’re settled properly on his bed first. he pulls the covers over you for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom. when he comes back out, he’s in nothing but his boxers, a few damp towels in hand. He kneels beside you again, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead before he starts cleaning you up. his movements are slow, careful.

soft apologies escape under his breath every time you so much as wince. “i’m sorry, baby… just a little more, okay?” his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it, almost worried as he glances up at you, “i didn’t hurt you too much, did i?”

you have to reassure him, soft words, small kisses pressed against his jaw, fingers brushing his hair back as he focuses on taking care of you.

fratboy!jungwon who dresses you just as carefully afterward, letting out a small sigh of relief when he realizes your dress isn’t ruined, no stains, no damage—but the marks he left? yeah, he’s definitely proud of those, the faint smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes linger a little too long on your neck and chest, earning an exasperated eye roll from you as he casually drapes his red leather jacket over your shoulders so it matches your outfit, leaving himself in his black button-down, unbuttoned far too low—but he doesn’t care, not when your lipstick marks are still visible across his skin, something he has absolutely no intention of wiping off, at least not until the party’s over.

fratboy!jungwon who sits with you on his lap by the pool, holding you just enough to keep you comfortable, one hand resting lazily on your thigh while the other grips a bottle of beer, both of you illuminated by the soft glow of pool lights and the fairy lights you practically begged him to put up earlier, the atmosphere calmer out here compared to the chaos inside as you chat with sunoo lounging nearby.

while jungwon half-listens, half-argues with heeseung about something as stupid as ramen preferences, the conversation getting mildly heated until heeseung eventually sighs and excuses himself to grab more drinks from inside—and that’s when jungwon’s attention shifts, eyes flickering toward the open back door across the pool, landing on a face he immediately recognizes.

fratboy!jungwon who smirks—slow, wide, completely egoistic—the moment he sees him. the same guy he beat to become president of the frat. the same guy who lost everything that night because he was too cocky, too careless. and now… the same guy who thinks jungwon ‘stole’ you from him, even if you never once acknowledged him the way he wanted you to.

and the look on his face now? pure, burning anger, eyes dragging over you sitting comfortably on jungwon’s lap, over the jacket around your shoulders, over the lipstick stains spread across jungwon’s chest.

jungwon just drinks it in, unbothered, amused even, taking a slow sip of his beer without breaking eye contact before casually lifting his hand to flip him off—subtle but intentional.

he leans down to press a soft kiss to your head like nothing happened, when you glance up at him, clueless, he only murmurs lowly, “keep talking to sunoo, baby.”

his voice is calm—but his eyes were sharp, victorious—because in the end, it’s always the same with yang jungwon: he gets what he wants, and he never loses.

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The thesis wasn't going to complete itself. You told yourself repeatedly over and over while mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. But you couldn’t help it, not when your feed was flooded with videos of cats doing stupid, adorable things.

And then, out of nowhere, your phone buzzes at 3:47 a.m. A text. One word.

“Sorry.”

He was a name you kept buried beneath old playlists and group photos you could never bring yourself to delete. A memory preserved in static. The boy who once meant everything. The boy who ended it all.

And now he was texting you? In the middle of the night? After nearly four years of silence?

You stared at the word until the screen faded to black.

You would spend hours decoding it. Wondering if it was meant for you. If it was meant for now. But you didn’t even get that far.

Because six hours later, the internet got to you first.

BREAKING: LOCAL BOY IMPLICATED IN FEDERAL SECURITY BREACH SURVEILLANCE TECH INTERN UNDER INVESTIGATION ALIBI CLAIMED: HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND TO TESTIFY?

You blinked at your name on the news banner. They said he told investigators he was with you. You weren’t even there. You didn’t even know what there was.

But when the press replayed the leaked footage of the moment he was questioned, there he was, hands in his lap, hoodie too big for his frame, eyes looking directly into the camera.

But when asked where he was that night, Jungwon looked dead into the camera and said, “With her. I was with her.” The words aren’t whispered. They aren’t hesitant. They're clear. Final. Broadcast on every channel like truth.

The lie.

The boy who hadn't spoken to you in over three years, almost four, who tore you out of his life like a chapter best forgotten, after you lost contact just gave you the most dangerous gift of all:

An alibi.

And now you’re the center of a lie you didn’t agree to, for a boy you swore you’d never forgive.

So why does part of you want to believe he’s still protecting you? And from what? You were just an ordinary person who worked part time as an assistant. How were you suddenly tied up in a web of lies you had no idea was spinning?

You didn’t know why. You didn’t know what it meant.

But now your name was everywhere. And so was his.

And the past you thought had been buried with it? Crawling back like it never left.

Your phone is a warzone now. Notifications crawling across the screen in real time.

“You dated Yang Jungwon?!” “Girl, spill.” “This is so romantic I could scream—” “Wait. Wasn’t his brother the one who—?” “You're trending.”

Your name has become clickbait. And your silence? Even louder.

You scroll, shakily, through news threads. Every headline tightens like a noose:

“Jungwon denies involvement in federal data breach.” “Local tech employee’s activity tied to stolen surveillance files.” “Claims he was with former friend during timeframe.”

Former friend. As if that word, friend, hasn’t been dead for years. As if they understand what 1,361 days of silence actually feels like.

-0-

Your fingers hover over your phone, thumbs motionless. 3:47 a.m. Again.

You open the text.

Sorry.

It’s still there. The timestamp burns behind your eyes.

He sent it hours before the world learned. Before the headlines. Before you even knew you were part of a story you didn’t write.

He warned you. But not really.

He didn’t say, They’re coming for me. He didn’t say, I’m scared. He didn’t even say, Help.

Just: Sorry. You lock the screen and throw the phone facedown onto your bed. Outside, it starts to rain.

Because of course it does.

-0-

You’re halfway through rereading the articles when a name flashes across your phone.

Unknown number. No profile picture. Just a message.

Miss Y/N. We need to speak. In person. It concerns Mr. Yang.

You freeze.

Your heartbeat sounds like it’s knocking from inside your skull.

You don’t respond. Not yet. Because the last time someone asked you to meet about Jungwon, it ended with you screaming at him in the middle of an empty park. It was after you had confessed and he blocked you. Words you can’t take back still hang in the air between you, even after all this time.

"You don’t even know what you feel. You keep trying to be your brother, but he’s dead, Jungwon. You’re not him. You never were."

And the way his eyes went glassy. The way he said nothing, just turned and left.

You didn’t chase him. Now, here he is again. Dragging you back into his mess like he never left. And for the first time in years, you’re wondering if maybe he never really did.

And for the first time in years, you’re wondering if maybe he never really left.

You type a reply.

Where.

The typing dots appear immediately. Then a message:

Four p.m. Café Bene. Come alone.

You stare at it. You almost laugh. "Come alone" like you’re in a thriller and not a college student in pajama shorts whose only plan today was finishing a thesis on postmodern feminism and maybe crying about it.

Still, at 3:32 p.m., you’re sitting on the train. By 4:00, you’re at the café. By 4:01, your life will change again.

Because the person sitting at the corner booth isn’t a stranger. It’s him. Jungwon.

Alive, in the flesh, hoodie still oversized. He looks up. Meets your eyes. And says, "I didn’t know what else to do." Your pulse stutters.

Because the boy who shattered your heart just pulled you into something far more dangerous than heartbreak.

You don’t sit right away. You take him in, jaw tighter, shadows under his eyes, that nervous twitch of his fingers you haven’t seen since high school. Still as ethereal as ever, and a bit more muscular. He looked like the shattered twin of a fallen angel, if only the light hit his blonde hair like a halo.

And suddenly, there are a rush of feelings, feelings you'd long buried, feelings that you had wanted to forget, but were probably as forgotten as the shared playlist between you and Jungwon that you listen to everyday.

“What is this?” you ask, arms crossed. He nods to the chair across from him. “Just sit. Please.” You do. But not because he asked. Because you want answers. And you want to hear him say them.

Jungwon swallows, glancing over his shoulder like someone might be listening. “They’re watching everything,” he says quietly. “Every message, every device. Even this place probably has ears.”

“You said you were with me,” you reply flatly. “You lied. And who even is this 'they'?"

“I had to.”

“That’s not an answer.” He leans forward, voice lower. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. The breach, the blame, it all happened in one night. They were looking for a scapegoat. I needed to vanish.”

“So you dragged me into it?” “No,” he says too quickly. “I dragged you out of it. You just don’t know what 'it' is yet.”

You shake your head, eyes burning. “You still talk in puzzles, Jungwon. Even now.” He’s silent. Then: “If I tell you the truth, you’ll never be able to unknow it.”

You scoff. “Try me.” But he doesn’t answer.

Because outside the window, a black car pulls up. Tinted windows. Engine running. Jungwon’s eyes flick to it. He goes pale. “We need to go,” he whispers. "I'm not leaving until you give me answers." you replied stubbornly, his eyes darken with something explicit and unexplainable. "Y/n, now. Please." he said in a warning whisper. That convinced you. You grab your bag, heart in your throat.

He took you by your hand and led you out of there.

You don’t know where he’s taking you. Turns out, it's the parking lot. The car he leads you to isn’t fancy. Navy blue. Dusty. There’s a dent in the rear bumper like it’s been hit and forgotten. He unlocks it with a single beep and throws his backpack in the backseat.

“Get in,” he says. You hesitate. For a second too long.

He looks at you like he used to, eyes rimmed with guilt, voice like a bruise when he adds, “Please.” Your heart wallows in sadness.

You get in.

The engine starts, but he doesn’t drive yet. For a moment, it’s just the low hum of the fan and the storm of unspoken things between you.

You speak first. “Who are they, Jungwon?”

His hands grip the wheel. “I can’t say names. Not yet.” “Then give me something else.” He looks at you. Real, tired.

“You remember that startup I joined senior year in high school?? Nexora?” You nod, of course, how could you forget. Days after he joined the startup, his brother passed away in a car accident. Jungwon had practically idealized his brother.

He used to say it was always them against everyone when you first met back in Freshman year. You had thought Jungwon's brother would be just like him. Sweet, kind, passionate, considerate, a literal angel, but no. Jungwon's brother was the polar opposite, sometimes you'd find it hard to believe they were really siblings.

Needless, to say, you didn't get along. And it upset Jungwon.

After his brother died, Jungwon threw himself into the startup, taking up shifts, blowing out more and more hangouts with you.

At first, you thought it was his way of grieving, but after an year or so after having stepped down to practically mutual friends with Jungwon from you're my ride or die, you finally decided you'd had enough, you brought him to a park, all the time in which he was annoyed by you thoroughly, and confessed at the end.

To which he said no because his brother didn't like you. You blew up and the rest was history.

He continues, “They said it was just tech. Security. Threat analysis. But it wasn’t. It was surveillance. Off-book. They’re watching people they shouldn’t be able to watch.”

“Like who?

He sighed, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath. "I'll tell you." And he drives. You don’t even realize it yet, but the moment he presses the gas, you’re not just running anymore. You’re being hunted.

The car glides out of the lot and merges onto a back road—silent, save for the occasional streetlamp flicking past like a strobe. You glance at him. He hasn’t spoken since he said he’d explain.

He finally exhales.

“They’re called Sundial. Off-grid intelligence firm. Government once tried to shut them down. Failed. Now they’ve embedded themselves inside the system they were built to expose.”

You blink. “And Nexora’s a shell for that?”

He nods.

“They pay well. They recruit young. They tell you it’s for protection. For peacekeeping. They don’t tell you about the black sites. The digital prisons. The data manipulation.”

Your heart skips. “Digital prisons?”

“People whose online footprints got erased. Or rewritten. Or turned into evidence.”

Your stomach flips. "What kind of people?"

“Government officials. Journalists. Whistleblowers. People on protected lists. It goes deeper than I knew."

“And you worked there?”

“I worked on the file logs. Movement records. Geo-timestamps. I thought I was cleaning metadata. Turns out, I was helping scrub people.”

The words settle like ash between you. “And the breach?” He pauses. Then whispers, “It wasn’t a breach.” You stare. “What?” “It was a leak. Intentional. From inside.” His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

“And someone made it look like it was me.” You sit back in stunned silence. I think they chose me because I stopped cooperating. But I think they chose you because they knew I still cared.”

That shuts you up. Because it’s not a lie. Not entirely. You can feel it.

“I gave them your name because it bought me time. It forced the media to look away from the real files for a few hours. I didn’t think they’d pull you in like this.” “And now?”

He finally looks at you. Not like the boy from the past. But someone who’s seen far too much. “Now I think they’re going to erase both of us.”

"B-but-" you racked your brain wildly for ideas, "Isn't there some sort of way to prove you innocence?" You asked desperately. Jungwon remained calm, unnaturally calm, "No, because whoever framed it on me clearly doesn't want the spotlight."

You sit in silence for a while. You turn to admire Jungwon. He really hadn't changed, he was same, blond haired, kind, muscular, talented Jungwon you had left in the park a few years ago. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and you had a sudden urge to kiss it off of him.

No, stop it.

In an attempt to direct you thoughts, you looked outside the window.

You don’t notice the car at first. It’s just headlights in the rearview. Two dots in a sea of city glow. But they don’t blink away. They don’t pass. They just follow.

A left turn. Then a right. Then another. And still, those same headlights.

Your spine straightens. “Jungwon…” you whisper shortly. “I know,” he says, tone clipped. He takes off one hand from the wheel and puts it onto yours. His hand was surprisingly warm and comfortable, like a hot cup of cocoa after a stressful day.

High school you would have felt a zoo exploding in her stomach, but now, you felt nothing more than dread.

You glance back again. “Is that-?” “It’s them.” Your heart drops. “Drive.” He does. The next few minutes blur.

Streetlights whip by like meteors. The car behind you gains ground with every turn. Jungwon takes a hard left without blinking, and you swear your shoulder slams into the door. Tires screech. The other car follows.

You’re spiraling through empty intersections, neighborhood alleys, bridges you didn’t even know existed. He cuts across lanes, merges without signaling, takes exits like you’re being hunted.

Because you are.

“Are we losing them?” you gasp, gripping the edge of the seat so tightly your nails dig into the vinyl. “Almost there,” Jungwon growls, knuckles white, fingers interlacing yours.

You don’t know what there is, but you know it’s safer than here, you feel your heart beating faster with each passing minute, you grip his hand tighter.

And then, suddenly. it’s quiet. The road opens up. No lights behind you. Just trees, a low hill, and silence. Jungwon slows the car. Takes one last turn. A small, slanted-roof house appears like it’s been waiting.

No neighbors. No lights. Just a single red curtain drawn in one of the windows. He kills the engine and sits there, motionless, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon. Your fingers still interlaced like they were woven together.

Your voice is still shaking. “Jungwon…” He turns to you. His hair is slightly damp from sweat. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, then closes again. And for once, he doesn’t speak in riddles.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” You swallow. “Is it safe?” “Safer than anywhere else I could think of.” He gets out, circles around, and opens your door like it’s instinct. You step out. Your knees wobble. The wind is cold. You hadn’t noticed until now.

He leads you up the steps, unlocking the door with trembling fingers, all the while you can feel his cold breath on your neck, and you were pretty sure he could see the goosebumps covering your skin.

The lights flick on. It’s small, lived-in. A single couch, a stack of books, a laptop with wires snaking out of it like veins. A whiteboard covered in red string and printed articles.

"Welcome to ground zero,” he says dryly. You exhale for the first time in what feels like hours. And only now, only now do you realize your hands are shaking.

He sees it. Moves toward you. Then stops himself. Lets the distance breathe. “I’ll make tea,” he says, moving to the kitchen.

And as the kettle starts to hiss, and the silence starts to settle, you realize something strange: This time, you’re not scared because of him. You’re scared for him.

-0-

The kettle whistles. He pours without asking, two mismatched mugs, no sugar, no milk. Just bitter warmth between your palms.

The silence hangs thick as steam.

He sits across from you at the tiny, battered table, not looking directly at you. His fingers tap the edge of his mug like a clock with no second hand. You wrap your arms around yourself, too aware of the fact that you're in his house. That he's in your space again. That there's only one bedroom.

“So…” you say, just to break the quiet. “So,” he echoes, voice low. He doesn’t follow up. You sip the tea. It burns, but you welcome it. The next few days pass in strange fragments.

You sleep on the couch. He offers the bed, but you refuse. He doesn’t argue. In the morning, he’s already up, messy hair swept back, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, eyes red-rimmed from staring at code too long. You sit across from him with toast and too many questions. Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he doesn’t.

At noon, you both squint at articles, archived data, fragments of surveillance logs he pulled off an encrypted drive. You’re not a tech genius, but you're good at patterns. You start highlighting things that don’t match: timestamps that glitch, faces that repeat across locations they shouldn’t, names that appear in redacted reports.

“Do you ever sleep?” you ask once, not looking up from the files. He hums. “Do you?”

Touché. At night, it’s worse.

You curl up in your corner of the couch. He moves around the small kitchen quietly. Dishes clinking. Keys typing. Lights dim. Your phone buzzes once, then again. People asking if you're okay. If you're involved. If you're with him.

You don’t reply. You both know the moment you send something traceable, you’ve exposed yourselves again. Instead, you glance toward him.

He’s hunched over his laptop, hoodie draped over his shoulders, brows furrowed like the weight of the world is pressing against his spine. You hate how well you still know the shape of him.

On the third night, you both end up in the kitchen at 2:00 a.m., barefoot, half asleep.

He’s reaching for water. You’re grabbing leftover instant noodles. Your fingers brush. You both freeze. It’s nothing. Just a second. But it lingers. It triggers you.

He clears his throat first. “Sorry.”

You say nothing. Not because you’re mad, but because if you open your mouth, the truth might spill out. You’re scared of what your truth sounds like. Instead you choose to cry, you feel weak and pathetic, but Jungwon's eyes soften with sympathy and sparkle, "Oh..." He says softly, "Come here."

He embraces you and you hold on. He smells of wildflower and mint, his hands are laced through your hair, massaging your scalp as he whispers against you temple silently, "I know love, I know. But I'm here for you. I'm always here for you."

He picks you up and takes you to the bedroom. Tucking you in as he strokes your hair lovingly. That night, both of you sleep without nightmares.

The next morning, you find the string board updated. Red lines, new names. He’s written something in the corner. A note.

[Timestamp 3:47 a.m.] – test pattern? Loop reset??

You run a finger along the ink. “You think it’s a code?”

“I think it’s the glitch.” He doesn’t even look up. “I think the loop starts over every time someone gets too close.”

“And us?” He finally glances at you. His voice is quiet, the memories of last night come rushing back. “I think we’re the anomaly.”

That night, you wake up from the couch. You don’t remember falling asleep. But your phone buzzes in your hand.

3:47 a.m. You look down. A message.

You shouldn’t be here.

Not from Jungwon. From a number with no name. No trace. You sit up, breath caught in your chest. You look toward the hallway. The door to his room is slightly ajar. Light leaks from beneath it.

"Jungwon," you whisper, after pushing the door back slightly, within a minute, he is by your side, eyes laced with concerned. "Yes love?" You didn't know why he had been calling you that, but you didn't correct him. You liked it.

You showed him the texts, his eyes narrowed into slits.

It was followed by a file. Encrypted. No traceable metadata. But Jungwon stared at the download bar like it held the ghost of someone he never stopped loving.

“…It’s my brother’s ID,” he said, a thousand disbeliefs racing his mind.

You froze. “You mean-?”

“He’s dead. He’s gone. But this signature, it’s his system key. Someone’s using it. Or he never died in the way they said he did.”

Neither of you spoke.

That night, the rain didn’t stop. Neither did the questions.

-0-

It was the fifth night when Jungwon brought it up. It started with a noise.

A glitchy static that bled from Jungwon’s laptop speaker when no tab was open. “Do you hear that?” you asked, looking up from the notes.

He nodded slowly. “It’s not the first time.” The waveform pulsed like a heartbeat. High-pitched, irregular. Then it stopped, mid-cycle. You tapped the screen. It jumped. Jungwon narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t playback.”

You looked at each other. Then at the logs. That’s when you noticed it: your name. Dozens of times. Not just mentions. Full files. Geotags. Daily activity maps. Emotional behavior readings? “What the hell is this?” Jungwon clicked faster, tension rising with each line of corrupted code.

“They monitored you,” he said, voice thin. “But this… This isn’t just tracking. These logs are layered. Look.” He dragged one timeline over the other. Same date. Different details. Different you.

You stared. One version said you were in class. The other said you never enrolled. “Which one’s real?” you whispered.

“I don’t think it matters anymore,” he muttered. “I think they’ve rewritten you.” Your skin went cold. He pulled up the logs on himself. Similar distortion. The timestamps overlapped with erased photos. Posts you almost remembered. It wasn’t just erasure. It was overwrite. Sundial was testing narrative control, changing memories in real time.

“There’s an archive,” he said quietly. “Off-grid. Somewhere Sundial stores raw memory, pre-scrubbed, unedited data backups. No firewall. No stream filter. Just... truth.”

You blinked. “Like a physical archive?” He nodded. “It’s the only way to prove they rewrote us. To find what was deleted. To find who’s doing it.” You stood. “Then let’s burn them.” He smiled, just faintly. “That’s the girl I remember.” Your heart fluttered, you smiled sadly.

-0-

You packed in silence. Only the essentials. Burner phones. Flash drives. Jungwon slipped a printed photo into his pocket, you barely caught it. It was of his brother.

The site was two hours north. An abandoned Nexora warehouse. Power cut. Security manual. No active cameras. No exits once you were inside.

The perfect grave for data. And maybe the people chasing it.

-0-

You arrive just before midnight. The building looms like a mausoleum.

Inside, the air is metallic and stale. You hold the flashlight. Jungwon cracks the control panel. The servers blink to life—like they’d been waiting for him.

And then… files. Hundreds. Thousands.

Timestamps. Surveillance logs. Raw memories. Some of them… yours.

One shows you kissing Jungwon on a bench under stars. It’s tender, beautiful. But it never happened. You know it. And yet… it feels real. You watch in silence as he finds one of his own. A recording. His brother. Alive. Whispering into a terminal:

“If something happens to me, it’s Sundial. Not an accident. Watch the N.”

The N.

Your breath catches.

“3:47,” you whisper. “Three plus four plus seven is fourteen. Fourteenth letter of the alphabet…” “N,” Jungwon finishes.

“Nexora,” you say in unison. “They never stopped,” he adds. “They just changed the name. Rebranded the surveillance under something ‘cleaner.’ Nexora was Sundial all along.”

He nods toward the system terminal.

“Help me package this.” You move quickly, fingers flying over the interface. You don’t even realize you’re crying until Jungwon’s hand covers yours.

“We send this,” you say. “Anonymous tip. Distribute the evidence. Force them into the light.” You look at him. “Ready?”

“For you?” He gives a soft breath of a laugh. “Always.” You press send. There’s no going back.

-0-

A week after the whole Nexora/Sundial came crumbling down. The whiteboard stares back at you, mocking you with its red threads and scribbled fragments. But for the first time in days, there’s clarity. 3:47 wasn’t a time. It was a code.

3 + 4 + 7 = 14. The fourteenth letter of the alphabet is N. N for Nexora. N for the Chairman. N for the man behind everything.

And yet, all you feel is... empty.

You collapse onto the couch, fingers trembling around the edge of your sleeve. Jungwon is pacing, hands in his hair, breathing uneven, mind a thousand miles away and yet rooted in the same hell as you.

“We got it,” you say numbly. “We figured it out.”

He doesn’t respond at first. Just keeps pacing like his body’s too wired to sit still. “It was him. All along. The Chairman. The loop. The messages. My brother’s name in those erased lists, he, he was protecting him, not me—” His voice cracks.

You look up. “Your brother?”

Jungwon freezes. The room stills.

“I never hated you for what you said,” he says suddenly. “At the park.”

You blink. “Jungwon—”

“No, I mean it. You were right.” His laugh is bitter. “I didn’t know how to be me without him. And I tried so hard to become everything he was, even the parts I hated. Because I thought if I didn’t, I’d lose him again.”

He turns to you, raw and glass-eyed. “You were the only one who ever called me on it. And I hated you for it. Not because you were wrong. But because you were the only person who saw me... unraveling.”

You bite your lip. “You blocked me. You walked away.”

“I know.” His voice is a whisper now. “And I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry every single day since.”

You stand. Not because you're angry. But because sitting still is suffocating.

“I loved you,” you say quietly. “Back then, I mean. I loved you, and I watched you become someone I didn’t recognize. And I blamed myself for that.”

Jungwon steps closer.

“I never stopped caring,” he says.

You shake your head, throat tight. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

“Don’t say it just because we’re scared. Just because we might die. Just because we’re running and everything is falling apart.”

“I’m saying it because I should’ve said it before you walked away that night. Before I let my grief swallow me. Before I let fear win.” He’s inches from you now. “I cared then. I care now. I never stopped.”

You look at him, really look. The boy who had once held your heart like it was made of glass. The boy who broke it. And now, the man standing before you, handing it back.

Your voice wavers. “So what do we do now?”

His eyes flick to your lips. Just once.

And then, without another word, without another pause—he kisses you.

It’s not soft. It’s not tentative. It’s everything you’ve both held back—grief, longing, rage, relief, all crashing at once.

You gasp into him. His hands cradle your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Your fingers fist in his hoodie like he’s the only real thing left in a world built on lies.

He kisses you like a man who’s lived a hundred lives without you and just remembered which one he wants.

You kiss him like a girl who finally, finally stopped running.

You break away just long enough to whisper, breathless, “I hate that you still taste like everything I missed.”

He laughs, forehead pressed to yours. “I hate that I never deserved a second chance and still want one anyway.”

You kiss again, slower now. Like forgiveness. Like a promise.

And for the first time in a long, long time, everything feels real, you tell yourself, as you hear him giggling.

The End

This is a really messy story, I just threw a bunch of ideas together.

But he’s already walking straight past the stairs, straight down the hallway, straight to the bathroom where he knows you always slip away when you hear him arrive.

The second the door clicks shut, he’s on you.

Your back hits the sink, his hand hits your throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growls, low, furious in that way that always means he missed you. His thumb presses right under your jaw, tilting your head back so he can kiss you hard, teeth, tongue, a week of pent-up frustration. “A week? You think I’m gonna survive a whole week without you?”

You’re barely able to answer, your breath stuttering because his grip tightens, not dangerous, but possessive, claiming, like he’s correcting your posture with just one hand. His other hand is already shoving your shorts down, cursing when he feels how warm you are.

“You’re already wet?” he laughs, but it’s not a nice laugh, it's a dark, breathless one, like he's the one being pushed to the edge just by touching you. “Yeah. Yeah, of course you are. Bet you were thinking about me every night I wasn’t here.”

He bends you over the sink, fast, rough, like he’s been waiting to do it since Monday. Your palms slap the cold countertop. He kicks your legs wider. Stands behind you, chest pressed to your back, breath hot on your ear.

Then, “Keep your voice down,” he murmurs, and his hand slides back to your throat, holding your head up so you’re forced to see him in the mirror. “If your brother hears you, I’m blaming you for it.”

He pushes into you in one hard, desperate thrust.

Your breath breaks. His grip tightens. The mirror fogs instantly with your gasp.

“Fuck! Jungwon—”

“Shh,” he warns, hips snapping into you again, harder, his free hand gripping your hip so tight you know you’ll see the bruises tomorrow. “You’re being loud already. I haven’t even started.”

He has started. He’s fucking you like he’s trying to make up for every hour he’s been away, fast, sharp, hips hitting the back of your thighs so hard you feel the sting. Every time you open your mouth to moan, his hand squeezes your throat just enough to shut the sound down.

“Look at you,” he pants in your ear, staring at your reflection. “Trying so hard to stay quiet. You’re gonna get us caught, aren’t you?”

Heeseung calls from down the hallway.

“Yo, Jungwon? You want something to drink?”

Jungwon doesn’t stop. He smiles. He keeps fucking you, rhythm steady, brutal, like he wants you to feel his answer.

He leans down, lips at your ear, voice a whisper no one else can hear, “Don’t you dare make a sound.”

You almost do when he slides his hand from your throat to your mouth, forcing your head back against his shoulder, holding you still while he pounds into you harder, deeper, punishing you for leaving him starved for a week.

Your eyes water. Your legs shake. His breath is ragged on your skin. And then he growls,“I’m not leaving this bathroom until you come on my cock.”

Your knees nearly give out. Because he means it. And he’s not slowing down. Jungwon goes still for one second when your brother’s voice carries down the hall.

“Hee’s here,” you whisper, panic in your voice.

Jungwon’s hand clamps over your mouth before you can say another word.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice a razor’s edge:

“I know he’s here. That’s why I’m not stopping.”

He pulls his hips back and slams back into you so hard the sink shifts under your palms. You choke on a cry, muffled entirely by his hand. Jungwon watches you in the mirror as your eyes go wide.

“Look at you,” he breathes, fucking you deeper, slower, deliberately louder against your skin. “All scared because your big brother’s right outside. You shouldn’t like this.”

But you do. And he sees it. His fingers tighten over your mouth as he bends you further, pushing your spine into a bow so he can hit deeper.

“God, if Heeseung knew I had you like this…” Jungwon laughs softly, dark, breathless, the sound of a boy who knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but can’t stop. “He’d kill me. Actually kill me.”

He grinds in slowly, intentionally, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your breath shake behind his palm.

“But you want me,” he whispers, lips to your neck, “more than you want to protect me.”

Your brother’s footsteps echo closer. Jungwon freezes only his hips, everything else stays exactly where it is.

Heeseung knocks on the door. “Hey, anyone in there?”

Jungwon’s hand flies from your mouth to your throat, forcing your head up, pinning you against the fogged mirror as he silently mouths:

“Don’t. Make. A. Sound.” Heeseung rattles the doorknob. “Hello?”

Jungwon stays buried inside you. You’re trembling so hard your knees almost buckle. He answers, voice perfectly calm, not even breathless:

“One sec, hyung! I’m washing my hands!” His hips move. He’s fucking you while talking to Heeseung.

Just small thrusts at first, slow, deep, obscene. His hand around your throat shakes from how hard he’s holding back.

Heeseung sighs. “Hurry up, dude.”

Jungwon’s lips curl into the slightest smirk against your cheek.

“Yes, hyung,” he calls out, and then he slams into you. Hard. Twice. Like he’s punishing you for existing.

You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood. When Heeseung finally walks away, Jungwon exhales, grabs your hips, and snarls: “You’re fucked.”

He bends you even lower over the sink and fucks you the way he’s been wanting to for a week, fast, brutal, filthy, hips snapping into you with loud, wet slaps that echo off the tile.

“I almost came from that,” he admits against your ear, breath shaking. “Your brother talking to me while I was inside you, fuck.”

Your legs give out. He pulls you up by the throat again.

“You’re not done.”

His thrusts get even rougher, punishing, each one lifting you onto your toes.

“You’re coming,” he growls, voice almost breaking, “and you’re doing it quiet. If Heeseung hears you, I’m fucking you again with the door unlocked.”

You fall apart on his cock so hard you nearly collapse, but he catches you, wraps his hand over your mouth, and keeps fucking you through it, whispering, “Good girl, good girl, fuck—just like that—”

He follows you seconds later, burying himself deep, holding you still while he comes inside you, teeth pressed to your shoulder to stop himself from making noise.

The sink is shaking. Your legs are shaking. His hands are shaking. And Heeseung is still in the hallway, completely unaware.

(Masterlist)

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✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

“Yeah,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. “It’s called ‘Fantasy Express.’ Kind of a vibe, right?”

“…Doesn’t that sound like a porn parody of the Shinkansen?”

Sunghoon gave you a blank look. “You said budget. I delivered. Be grateful.”

You snorted and took a sip of your drink. “Right. This better not end with me cuddling you for warmth in a windowless shoebox.”

He grinned. “Is that a threat or a promise, bestie?”

You flipped him off, laughing. But deep down, you were buzzing with excitement — not just because of the trip, but because it had been years since you and Sunghoon got away together.

After college, everything changed. Jobs, time zones, relationships that fizzled out before they even began. But Sunghoon was constant. He was the one person who could make you laugh even when you were crying into your broken laptop at 2 a.m. He was the voice note at midnight, the “I made too much ramen, come over,” the comfort in chaos.

So when the two of you finally managed to book this long-overdue trip to Japan, it felt like pressing pause on real life. No deadlines. No drama. Just the two of you, trains, street food, and maybe — if the stars aligned — a little karaoke.

You’d been talking about it since your second year in college. A pinky promise made over shared takoyaki from a food stall on your campus lawn.

“One day, we’ll go. Just you and me. Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka. A no-plan plan.”

You remembered that promise because Sunghoon never broke his.

Which is why you didn’t question it when he said he’d handle the hotel. And flights. And a few “must-see” locations, because even though you called it a “no-plan plan,” you both knew you were the chaotic one.

The night before your flight, Sunghoon came over to help you pack. In reality, he just sat on your bed, eating your snacks and judging your underwear choices.

“Why do you need seven pairs for five days?” he asked, mouth full of chips.

“In case I fall into a river. Or sweat. Or get possessed and pee myself. I don’t know, leave me alone.”

He laughed and reached over to zip your suitcase, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.

Neither of you mentioned it.

The flight was smooth. You watched a rom-com, he watched anime. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He didn’t move.

When you landed in Tokyo, everything felt surreal — the bright signs, the clean air, the sense that something new was about to happen.

The train ride to the hotel was quiet. You scrolled through Instagram while Sunghoon triple-checked the hotel address on Google Maps.

“We’re almost there,” he said, pointing to a small tucked-away building near the corner of a quiet street.

It looked decent. Small. Cozy. A glowing pink sign above the entrance read:

“Welcome to FANTASY EXPRESS — All Aboard the Love Line!”

You stared at it. Then at him.

“Hoon.”

“Yeah?”

“…Did you just book us into a love hotel?”

Sunghoon blinked. Looked back up at the sign. Back at you. “…No?” he tried, voice cracking halfway through. You deadpanned. “This is literally vibrating with sex energy.”

“I thought it was themed!”

“It is. The theme is fucking.”

He dropped his suitcase. “I swear on everything holy, I didn’t know. I just thought it was quirky. It said ‘train carriage rooms’ and had cute colors!”

You stared at him, unblinking. “You booked us into a love hotel. For five nights.”

A silence.

And then, slowly, the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter — loud, ugly, bent-over laughter as passersby gave you weird looks.

Sunghoon wiped a tear from his eye. “Guess we’re really going on a ride.”

You shoved his shoulder, still laughing. “Idiot.”

The door slid open with a hiss, revealing the room Sunghoon had confidently reserved for five full nights.

You took one look inside and immediately stopped.

“…You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Sunghoon said in a flat voice, already sounding like he regretted every choice he’d ever made.

There were train handles hanging from the ceiling.

The walls had digital screens showing looped footage of Japanese countryside rolling past at high speed.

A faux train announcement played in the background every few minutes: “Next stop… pleasure.”

You turned slowly toward him. “Sunghoon.”

“Okay, wait—just hear me out.”

You stepped in and did a slow, horrified turn.

There was a chrome pole right in the middle of the room.

The bed looked like it was upholstered with actual train seats, complete with seat belts and tray tables. And worst of all, the mirrored ceiling had a blinking LED banner that read:

🚨 “ALL ABOARD — NONSTOP EXPRESS” 🚨

You gaped. “So its really is a love hotel.”

“No it’s not! …Okay maybe. Technically. But—look, I didn’t know! I thought it was just themed!”

“You thought this was a railway-themed budget capsule, and not a sex train hotel?!”

“I didn’t read that far down the listing, okay?! It was cheap and looked… clean! Plus the review said ‘lots of amenities!’”

“Sunghoon. There’s a vending machine for underwear's and condoms next to the door.”

He paused. Looked. “…Okay, I’ll give you that one. You sighed, dragging your suitcase in anyway. “We are going to get diseases just by existing here.”

Sunghoon followed behind sheepishly, dragging his bag. “You know, in a different light, this place is kind of hilarious.”

You turned to him and blinked. “We’re literally sleeping in a porn set.” “A very affordable porn set.”

You flopped dramatically onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling mirror.

He was right. It was funny. And the more you looked at the blinking lights, the mood lighting, and the suggestively placed towel basket beside the bed, the harder it was to stop laughing.

You both ended up bent over, wheezing from laughter as the fake train announcement repeated:

“Passengers, please hold on… for your own safety.”

Ten Minutes Later

“…Wait,” you muttered from the bathroom doorway. “Is that a jacuzzi?”

Sunghoon looked up from his phone. “A what?”

You pointed. “There’s a jacuzzi in here. And… no way. Is that a sauna?” He came over and peeked in. Sure enough, tucked behind the ridiculously clean glass partition was a legit two-person jacuzzi tub with sleek jets, LED lighting, and a discreet shelf of complimentary scented oils. And beside it? A cramped but actual mini sauna, already set to a cozy 45°C.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “They really want people to… marinate before they—”

“Okay! I’m not letting this place win,” Sunghoon cut in. “We are taking full advantage. This shit is expensive in normal hotels.”

You looked at him in disbelief. “You want to use the sex jacuzzi?”

He shrugged. “It’s just a tub. The jets don’t know what’s going on. You want to spend the night pouting, or do you want a hot bath with free tea tree oil?”

You groaned. “I hate that you’re making sense.”

Twenty Minutes Later

You were in the tub first — submerged in warm water, hair tied up, sighing as the jets eased the travel ache out of your spine.

“I feel gross about how good this is,” you mumbled.

Sunghoon was sitting just outside the sauna, half-wrapped in a towel, drinking water. “Don’t get used to it. This is our peak. We’re about to suffer in a train-themed sex chamber for five nights.”

“You say that like it’s not your fault.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair.” You watched as steam curled off his shoulders, his skin flushed slightly pink from the sauna. He looked good. A little too good.

You quickly looked away and sank deeper into the water. Nope. Not thinking that.

You were best friends. The kind who shared hoodies and bitched about exes and had matching pajamas from a failed couples Halloween sale. You weren’t supposed to be noticing how broad his chest was, or how low his towel sat on his hips.

He caught you looking. You snapped your head the other way.

A pause. “You okay?” he asked, voice lower.

“Yup,” you replied, too fast. “Just tired.”

You heard him chuckle under his breath. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You splashed water at him. “Go back to your sauna.”

But the heat in your chest had nothing to do with steam.

You both climbed into the ridiculous velvet-upholstered bed and laid side by side, limbs awkwardly angled to avoid touching too much.

The train screen looped soft countryside visuals.

The LED sign above the mirror blinked softly:

“Don’t miss your stop…”

You stared at the ceiling. “Why does this feel like the foreplay part of a drama?”

Sunghoon’s voice was low. “Because everything here is designed for people to fuck.”

You both went quiet. Too quiet.

Then he added, a little too casually. “If you get cold tonight, just say something.”

You turned your head slightly. His profile glowed in the soft red light. “I won’t.”

“I know.” But neither of you moved. Not yet.

You woke up to the smell of grilled fish and miso soup.

Blinking groggily, you turned your head to find Sunghoon already sitting up in bed, hair messy, skin flushed from sleep, and a gleam of childlike wonder in his eyes.

“Room service,” he said simply, holding up a laminated card with neat checkboxes. “And it’s actually good. Like. Too good for this place.”

You sat up, blinking blearily at the silver-domed trays on the fold-out tray table. “Wait—this place has room service?”

“Apparently. I checked last night before sleeping. They serve breakfast to the room for ‘maximum comfort and pleasure.’” He did finger quotes around that last part. “Very suggestive. But also… delicious.”

He peeled the lid off one tray, and the smell immediately hit you: steaming rice, grilled salmon, soft tamagoyaki, pickled vegetables, and even a little matcha jelly cube for dessert.

Your stomach growled audibly.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, crawling across the bed like a zombie. “I’m never leaving.”

He passed you chopsticks. “See? You talk a big game, but deep down, you’re just here for the perks.”

You dug in. “Mmf—if you booked this place on purpose for this breakfast alone, I forgive you.”

“I’ll take that as my official pardon,” he said, chewing on a piece of miso-glazed eggplant.

For a moment, the room was quiet — just soft clinks of chopsticks, muffled chewing, and the fake train sounds looping in the background.

And then, as always, came the banter.

“So,” you said, mid-bite, “you gonna keep walking around in that towel all morning or…?”

Sunghoon glanced down at himself — still shirtless, his towel hanging loose around his hips as if he were starring in a shampoo commercial. He smirked. “Jealous?”

You scoffed. “Of what? Your man boobs?”

“First of all,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth, “these are pecs. Try not to cry when you see me in real lighting.”

“I’ve seen you in fluorescent kitchen lights eating ramen at 2 a.m. I’ve survived worse.”

“I’ve also seen you drunk with a sheet mask on and mismatched socks, so don’t act superior.”

“Those socks were a fashion statement.”

He snorted. “A cry for help.”

After breakfast and a little too much matcha jelly, the two of you finally started getting dressed.

Or trying to, anyway.

You were standing at the small mirror near the door, brushing your teeth and fussing with your hair when you heard Sunghoon behind you, grunting in frustration.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, spitting out toothpaste.

“Where the hell is the other sock I packed?”

You glanced over and nearly choked — he was half-dressed, hair still wet from the shower, towel hanging on the rack, shirt hanging off one shoulder like a K-drama lead in distress.

You raised a brow. “Check your suitcase. Or maybe the laundry bag?”

He groaned dramatically and flopped onto the bed. “Why does this always happen to me?”

“Because your packing skills are trash.”

“You packed seven pairs of underwear for five nights!”

“Prepared. Not chaotic.”

“Psychotic.”

You tossed a sock at his face. “Shut up and wear this.”

He caught it, looked at the pattern — pastel pink with tiny peaches on them — and grinned.

“Wait… these are your socks.”

“They’re clean. Be grateful.”

He gave you a playful look. “If my feet feel too soft and feminine later, it’s your fault.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could use a little softness.” There was a beat of quiet as you both finished dressing.

And then, almost too casually, Sunghoon asked, “You good with the plan today? Shibuya, food, maybe teamLab Planets?”

You smiled. “Hell yeah. Let’s go get blinded by LED art and overpay for strawberry mochi.”

You grabbed your tote bag, he slung his camera over his shoulder, and together you stepped out into the Tokyo sunlight — blinking against the sudden warmth, the city buzzing with life all around you.

The love hotel’s sliding door closed behind you with a soft mechanical hiss.

“God, being outside feels illegal after that room,” you muttered, stretching.

Sunghoon yawned beside you. “We need to get out as much as possible. If we spend too long in there…”

“…we’ll end up using that pole, and not ironically.”

You said it jokingly, but the second it left your lips, you realized you were both thinking it.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

You both looked away.

Sunghoon cleared his throat and started walking. “Right. Food. Vibes. Let’s pretend we’re not staying in horny train hell.”

You followed, heart doing weird things.

By 10:30 a.m., you were already on your second iced drink and your fifth photo taken by Sunghoon.

"This one’s blurry,” you said, looking over his shoulder as he flipped through the camera roll.

“You moved,” he replied, flicking to the next one.

“I was mid-chew.”

“Exactly. Candid.”

“You got my molar in HD.”

He laughed, slinging the camera back over his shoulder. “You’re welcome. That’s raw content.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and tugged him toward the next street corner, where a little taiyaki cart was steaming golden fish-shaped cakes onto paper trays.

He bought one with custard and one with sweet potato, handing you the first without asking — he always remembered your favorite.

The day passed in a colorful, unfiltered blur.

From Asakusa’s temple streets to Ueno Park’s shaded paths, you strolled through the buzzing city under soft summer clouds, sharing bites of grilled yakitori, stopping at claw machines, and laughing until your stomach hurt every time Sunghoon got scammed by a vending machine.

“Bro,” he groaned as his Pocari Sweat got stuck halfway. “I just wanted electrolytes.”

“That’s what you get for bullying me about my socks.”

“They are ridiculous.”

“And now they’re your lucky socks, so shut up and suffer.”

He grinned, defeated, as you shook the machine for him until the drink finally dropped.

He brought the good camera — the one he only took out during special trips or when he really wanted to remember something.

At first, it was just the usual:

Colorful alleyways, Vintage signs, Cats in front of bookstores and Neon billboards starting to glow as dusk rolled in

But then the lens kept shifting toward you.

He’d tilt the viewfinder just slightly to the left whenever you were sipping your drink, or smiling up at a paper lantern, or holding up a peace sign in front of a giant tanuki statue.

He didn’t make a big deal out of it.

He never did.

Just snapped quietly, a small smile on his face, pretending to be adjusting settings every time you caught him in the act.

“Stop taking pictures of me looking ugly,” you said as you leaned against a vending machine at golden hour.

“You never look ugly,” he replied without thinking.

You blinked. He clicked his shutter.

You smacked his arm. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Park.”

“I was talking about the vending machine, actually.”

“Oh, screw you—”

By late afternoon, the two of you were barefoot, wading through glowing water and walking across mirrored floors.

The floating flowers, the endless lights, the reflection of stars above and below you — it all felt surreal.

Sunghoon was quiet most of the time, too busy adjusting focus, waiting for the exact second a projection shifted, or the water stilled, or your silhouette lined up against the light.

“Stay right there,” he murmured, crouching low.

You stood still, bathed in blue and purple.

A single glowing lily floated past your ankles.

Click.

When he finally looked up from the lens, his expression was soft, like he’d forgotten where you were — like the whole room was quiet just for a second.

You waved your arms. “Earth to perv?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, standing up and brushing dust off his knees. “Just… this lighting’s good.”

“Mm-hmm. You’re not slick.”

Dinner was ramen from a tiny shop hidden in an alley where no one spoke English and the broth was so rich it felt illegal.

You walked off the food through quiet backstreets, with neon signs humming above your heads and laundry flapping on upper balconies.

Sunghoon carried your bag without saying anything.

You bought him an ice cream without asking.

It was so easy. The kind of night you wanted to fold up and keep in your pocket forever.

At one point, you stopped to take a photo of your own — just a snapshot of him in the warm city light, licking ice cream and grinning.

“Got you,” you said, triumphant.

He raised a brow. “You finally captured my beauty?”

“No. I finally got proof you like vanilla.”

“You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“Too late.”

The fake train ambiance greeted you again as you entered the room — soft station chimes, muffled track sounds looping on the hidden speakers. You kicked off your shoes with a groan and threw your bag down like it betrayed you.

Sunghoon collapsed face-first on the bed. “We’ve walked 23,000 steps. I checked.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“My knees are 47 years old now.”

You laughed as you peeled off your socks. “Okay, Grandpa. Want me to book us an onsen for tomorrow?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he lifted his head slowly, eyes narrowing at the frosted-glass door in the corner.

“…wait. We still haven’t used the sauna together.”

You followed his gaze.

The in-room sauna and jacuzzi setup was tucked into the corner like an afterthought — sleek, surprisingly clean, and wildly over-the-top for the price. You hadn’t dared touch it yet.

You raised a brow. “You serious?”

He was already standing.

“I’m not walking like a gremlin tomorrow. Sauna it is.”

The small wooden sauna heated up quickly — enough for the two of you to sit side by side, towels wrapped around your waists, foreheads already glistening.

It smelled like cedar and something citrusy.

“I feel like we’re in a rich person’s armpit,” you muttered.

Sunghoon cracked up, head tilted back, eyes closed. “I feel like we’re about to get a motivational TED Talk from a man named Daisuke about financial freedom.”

You snorted. “We are literally boiling ourselves in a love hotel sauna. What freedom?”

There was a pause.

Then—

“This is nice though,” he admitted. “Like… surprisingly.”

You hummed, wiping sweat from your brow. “We deserve it. That yakitori hunt was a whole workout.”

A beat passed.

“Also, you were sweating this much at the gacha machine, so I feel like this is just your brand.”

“Don’t come for my capsule toys. They bring me joy.”

“Your suitcase is full of tiny plastic sushi. Let that sink in.”

After the sauna, you both flopped into the jacuzzi — towels still on, bubbles swirling lazily, the overhead lighting dimmed to a soft purple glow.

You leaned back against the edge and sighed so dramatically that Sunghoon mimicked it seconds later.

“Haaaaa~”

“Haaaaa.”

“…Why do you sound like a dying anime girl?”

“Why do you sound like a wounded elk?”

You flicked a handful of bubbles at him, and he retaliated by splashing water into your face.

By the time you both settled down, your cheeks hurt from laughing.

He nudged your foot underwater. “Hey. For real.”

You looked over.

“This whole day was perfect. Thanks for not letting me book some sad capsule hotel instead.”

You smiled softly. “Thanks for accidentally giving us the weirdest five days of our lives.”

A pause.

You both sank a little deeper into the water, the bubbles rising quietly between you.

Nothing else needed to be said.

Not yet.

After the sauna and jacuzzi, everything felt heavier — your limbs loose, your muscles relaxed, your brain pleasantly fuzzy in the best way.

Sunghoon handed you your toothbrush like always. Same side of the sink. Same rhythm. You brushed shoulder to shoulder, bumping elbows whenever one of you leaned over to spit.

You wore your oversized shirt — the one with faded cartoon prints and sleeves too long for your arms.

He wore a black tank top and gray sweats, his hair still damp and curling a bit at the nape.

It looked domestic.

Dangerously so.

You didn’t comment on it.

The sheets were still warm when you both flopped down again — you on your side of the bed, Sunghoon sprawled diagonally, legs halfway off the edge like a kid after a sugar crash.

"What do we watch?” you mumbled, tugging the blanket over your legs.

“I found a channel earlier that only plays weird food documentaries,” he said. “One of them was about a guy in Osaka who makes noodles with his feet.”

You blinked.

“That sounds unappetizing.”

“And yet I couldn’t look away.”

He flipped on the TV, and soon enough, soft narration in Japanese filled the room. Onscreen, a slow montage showed close-ups of dough, broth, and a man lovingly caressing noodles like they were his own children.

You both stared.

Then:

“His foot game’s strong,” Sunghoon muttered.

You snorted, smacking his arm. “Stop.”

A second later, he tilted the screen toward you and snapped a photo of your mid-laugh face.

“Delete it,” you said.

“Nope.”

“Sunghoon—”

“That’s a top-tier smile. Archive-worthy.”

You reached for the camera.

He held it just out of reach, laughing as you tried to climb over him, only to lose your balance and flop onto his side of the bed.

He oofed softly as your elbow landed against his stomach.

And then…

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You were both breathing, barely, quiet again except for the soft murmur of the food show and the faint rumble of train sounds from the wall speaker — still looping, still somehow comforting.

Your head rested near his shoulder. His arm lay beside you, palm up.

You didn’t think about how easy it would be to lace your fingers through it.

Because that wasn’t the point.

Not tonight.

Eventually, you mumbled, “I’ll fall asleep right here.”

“Good.”

“Then you’ll complain that I drool.”

“I always do. Doesn’t stop you.”

“…True.”

A beat passed.

Then Sunghoon shifted slightly, pulled the blanket over you too, and said, soft as a sigh:

“Night, dummy.”

You smiled into the pillow.

“Night, Hoon.”

You both woke up later than planned.

To no one’s surprise, the blackout curtains plus the post-sauna coma plus the gentle train track sounds had knocked you both out cold.

When you opened your eyes, Sunghoon was already awake beside you, scrolling on his phone with bedhead and one eye squinting at the light.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted without looking.

You groaned and threw the blanket over your face. “Why are you always so chipper in the morning?”

“I already ordered breakfast. It’ll be here in ten.”

That made you peek out

“Pretty good options. Surprisingly tasty too.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you ate already?”

“I may have had a mini croissant. For science.”

The tray rolled in like a hotel drama — miso soup, boiled eggs, tamagoyaki, rice, fruit, juice, and coffee, all neatly arranged in little porcelain dishes.

“This is way too fancy for a place with a pole in the corner,” you whispered.

Sunghoon burst out laughing. “We should eat on the pole.”

“Try it. Break your back.”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully pouring soy sauce into the tiny saucer while Sunghoon buttered his toast like an old man at a countryside inn.

It was… cozy. Stupidly cozy.

He took a photo of the spread — and then one of you holding a strawberry between your lips.

“You’re so annoying,” you said.

“Smile,” he replied.

And you did.

You both dressed quickly — jeans and sneakers, matching windbreakers by accident (he insisted you copied him), camera packed again.

The plan today was Shimokitazawa, the artsy thrift-store-filled neighborhood that smelled like espresso, vinyl records, and dreams of quitting your job.

You wandered between secondhand shops and cafés, trying on sunglasses, picking up ugly mugs, posing in front of graffiti.

Sunghoon’s camera was out the entire time — and even though he pretended he was just testing settings, you saw how he always pointed it at you when you weren’t looking.

You caught him once.

He didn’t deny it.

“I like how you look when you’re not trying.”

You blinked.

He looked away, adjusting the lens. “Lighting’s better.”

“…Right.”

It was small.

You reached for a cold canned drink at the exact same moment.

Your fingers brushed his. Barely. Briefly.

But it lingered — just a half-second too long.

You felt it. So did he.

Neither of you said a thing.

You were sitting on a bench outside a vintage bookstore, sipping soda while he reviewed the photos on his camera.

“What are you deleting?”

“Blurry ones.”

“Let me see.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Because some are mine.”

“…Some?”

He paused.

Then smiled a little — not in a teasing way this time.

“Some are just for me.”

You didn’t ask what that meant.

You just let it sit there between you.

Warm. Quiet. Weightless.

But not really.

You returned to the hotel a little earlier than Day 1, shoes dusty, legs tired, hands full of little finds — enamel pins, a thrifted shirt, a random keychain he insisted matched your vibe.

In the jacuzzi again. This time quieter. You both leaned back and let the water do the talking.

Later, you brushed your teeth side by side again, yawning into your sleeves, shoulders bumping gently.

You climbed into bed first. This time, when he laid beside you, you noticed how close your hands were on the blanket.

Not touching.

Just… close enough. You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he. It started small.

Just a joke, really. After another long day out — this time at the Shibuya Sky deck and walking through Harajuku — you’d peeled off your jacket and complained about how sweaty you were.

“You’re melting,” Sunghoon commented, flopping dramatically onto the bed while you stood near the mirror, tying your hair up.

“You’d melt too if you had boobs trapping heat.”

He snorted. “Do you want me to confirm that or—” You threw a pillow at him.

“Okay, but real talk,” Sunghoon said as the door hissed shut behind him. “This sauna is saving my life. I’m starting a petition to install one back home.”

You chuckled, stepping inside after him in your towel, feeling the warm steam immediately cling to your skin.

Tonight felt hotter somehow — and not just because of the temperature.

Maybe it was how Sunghoon looked right now. Hair swept back slightly damp, skin already glowing, the soft edge of his collarbone visible. His towel was secure but low, and he sat with one arm resting over the wooden bench behind you, casual, almost… cocky.

“So,” he started, turning slightly toward you. “You gonna keep avoiding the fact that you made a noise when you sat down yesterday?”

“I did not.”

"You groaned like you were starring in a drama.”

You blinked at him. “Are you being flirty right now?”

He smirked. “Would it work?”

You gave him a look.

He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Relax. I flirt with everyone.”

“…No, you don’t.”

He looked at you again, slower this time.

You felt it — that shift.

The quiet drawl in his tone when he said, “Right. I don’t.”

Ten minutes in, the steam got thicker.

You leaned forward to reach for your water bottle, not realizing your towel had come a little… loose.

You tugged it quickly and pressed it tighter to your chest, but the damage was done.

Sunghoon’s eyes had flicked down.

And then—back up.

He cleared his throat and smirked. “…Nice catch.”

You threw him a glare, cheeks hot, but not from the heat.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not being gross,” he said, tilting his head lazily. “I’m just observant. It’s part of my charm.”

“Your charm is a menace.”

“Yeah?” he said, voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. “Still keeping me around, though.”

Later, while drying off, you were both laughing over a dumb quiz show playing on the love hotel TV, towels replaced with your usual comfy clothes. But the air still hadn’t gone back to normal.

You sat on the bed, brushing your hair.

He sat behind you, watching something on his phone, absently letting his fingers toy with the end of your shirt hem.

You didn’t realize he was doing it until he stilled.

Then—

“You always wear this one,” he said softly. “It’s got a little hole in the back.”

You turned to look at him.

“You’re really paying attention, huh?”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“I always do.”

There was no laugh this time. No grin. Just the warm glow from the room lamp and the way his eyes dropped for a second — from your face, to your lips, to your collarbone — before he looked back up.

You swallowed.

He looked way too close all of a sudden.

And yet, not close enough.

You stood up.

Quickly. Casually.

“I’m brushing my teeth.”

“Okay,” he said behind you, quiet… amused. “Run away, then.”The night settled in earlier than usual — maybe because you both agreed your legs needed a break, maybe because the city lights felt better admired from the bed with snacks and cold drinks.

You kicked your feet up, pulling the blanket over your lap while Sunghoon scrolled through the hotel TV’s library.

"We’re not watching something sad,” you warned.

“Why not?”

“Because every time we do, you start doing that emotional whisper voice after.”

He raised a brow, amused. “‘If I die, tell my cat I loved her’ isn’t emotional. It’s factual.”

You snorted and popped a grape into your mouth.

He settled on a coming-of-age romance film — something soft, slow, with golden lighting and friends-to-lovers tension that hit a little too close.

You didn’t comment.

Thirty minutes in, the movie faded into the background. You were half-focused, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sunghoon beneath the same blanket, a bowl of chips between you.

He reached over to grab one, and his fingers brushed yours again.

This time, you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

You felt him glance at you — not a quick flick, but a lingering stare.

“…What?” you asked, not looking at him.

"Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m admiring.”

Your heart thudded once.

“…What?”

He smiled slowly, eyes dropping to your mouth. “I said nothing.”

Somewhere between the third snack break and the movie credits, Sunghoon nudged your leg.

“Truth or dare?”

You looked at him sideways. “What are we, twelve?”

“Pick.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Truth.”

He leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his head.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

Your breath caught

He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just watched you — calm, unreadable.

You stared at him, pulse ticking louder.

“…Is that a real question?”

His voice dropped lower. “You chose ‘truth.’”

The silence stretched. You felt it thick in your throat, in the space between your knees touching beneath the blanket.

Then, softly—

“Once or twice,” you admitted.

His lips curved, slow and smug.

You shoved his shoulder, embarrassed. “Okay, your turn.”

“Dare,” he said immediately.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lie.”

You stared at him.

“…Fine. I dare you to—”

“Kiss me.”

Your breath stalled.

“What?”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

He said it casually, but you saw the way his hand gripped the blanket — the slight twitch in his jaw, the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

You licked your lips slowly.

“Sunghoon—”

"It’s just a game, right?” he said, voice velvet-soft.

You looked at him.

At his eyes. His mouth. His flushed cheeks and the way he was so close but not making a move.

Like he was giving you control.

And that scared you more than anything.

Because suddenly, the game didn’t feel like a game anymore.

You leaned in.

Just a little.

Just enough that he felt your breath.

But before your lips touched, you pulled back and whispered, “Next round.”

He exhaled sharply, a chuckle slipping out — part relief, part frustration.

“You’re evil.”

You smiled.

“Just playing the game.”

“I’m sleepy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The tension from the game still clung to your skin, warm and heavy. Your heart was doing too much—pounding like you just ran up a hill instead of almost-kissing your best friend.

You tugged the blanket up and turned on your side, facing away from him.

Or so you thought.

Because as you lay back on the pillows, eyes half-lidded and breath evening out, your gaze landed somewhere else.

Above you.

The mirror on the ceiling.

You blinked.

It was such a stupid, love-hotel thing to have, and you hadn’t even paid attention to it since the first day. But now?

Now you saw everything.

You.

Sunghoon.

Lying side by side, under the same blanket, bodies close enough to share heat.

His head tilted toward you slightly, lips parted like he was going to say something—but didn’t.

Your breath caught.

The image in the mirror wasn’t what friends looked like.

It wasn’t casual. It was intimate.

Too much.

Not enough.

You shifted, just barely.

And in the reflection, you watched Sunghoon do the same.

His hand moved above the blanket.

Closer.

Not touching you—but hovering near your waist.

You felt his knuckles brush the hem of your shirt, barely there.

Goosebumps rose instantly.

Your eyes flicked up again—to the mirror.

He was watching it too.

Watching you.

“…Sunghoon,” you said, barely audible.

He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t blink.

“I know,” he said softly, like he already knew what was in your chest. “You’re sleepy.”

But he still didn’t pull away.

Instead, he let his fingers rest lightly against your side—just enough pressure to make you feel it.

His voice dropped, rougher now.

“But if you weren’t…”

Your stomach twisted.

“If I wasn’t?” you asked.

He met your eyes in the mirror.

“I’d kiss you,” he murmured. “And this time, you wouldn’t stop me.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

The air between you was thick. You felt the heat from his body, the blanket suddenly too warm. His words echoed, burning a hole into your chest.

Still, you didn’t move.

Not away.

Not toward him.

Just… there. Caught.

Heart racing.

Eyes locked in the reflection.

And then—

He pulled his hand away slowly.

A soft breath left your lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

But you didn’t sleep for a long, long time.

Not with his voice still in your ear.

Not with his hand still ghosting your skin.

And not with that mirror burning above you, showing you something you couldn’t unsee.

“C’mon,” Sunghoon said, tugging your wrist gently as you both stepped out of the taxi and into the Tokyo night. “We’re not leaving Japan without at least one club night. Live a little.”

You gave him a look. “You’re the one who googled ‘clubs that don’t have a cover fee’ and filtered by ‘low noise.’”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “I’m a responsible party animal.”

You snorted, but let him guide you in.

The club was tucked away under a neon sign and a set of stairs, with a cozy, crowded feel—dark corners, glowing drinks, and music that thudded deep in your chest.

He ordered you both something sweet and sparkling. The kind of drink that made your lips sticky and your smile looser.

It was supposed to be harmless.

Just a night out.

You wore a black dress—Sunghoon’s pick, actually, from earlier that day.

“I’m not letting you pack a bunch of oversized hoodies for a night out,” he said back in the hotel. “Show some skin. It’s Japan. Everyone’s hot.”

So you did.

And now?

Now you were paying for it.

Two drinks in, you danced near the edge of the floor, swaying with the beat, laughing with Sunghoon beside you. His hand hovered low on your back—not touching, but close enough to be there if you stumbled.

Until he stepped away for a second to use the bathroom.

And they showed up.

Two guys—tall, confident, clearly a little tipsy.

“Hey, you alone?” one of them asked, smiling too much, eyes dipping low.

You smiled politely, shaking your head. “I’m with someone.”

“Oh?” The second guy grinned. “Boyfriend?”

Before you could answer, you felt it—a hand on your waist. Warm. Familiar.

Sunghoon.

“No,” he said smoothly, his voice sharp behind you. “She’s with me.”

You blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone.

Sunghoon wasn’t the jealous type. Or at least, he’d never acted like it before. Not when guys checked you out. Not when they flirted harmlessly.

But tonight?

He wasn’t joking.

One look at his face and you knew.

The guys backed off, muttering something in Japanese you didn’t catch. But you didn’t care. Not when Sunghoon’s fingers stayed on your hip even after they were gone.

You turned to him.

“…You okay?”

He stared at you for a second.

Then he laughed—short, breathless.

“You have any idea how you look tonight?”

You blinked. “Sunghoon—”

“No,” he said, pulling you gently toward a quieter corner of the club. “I let you out in that dress and thought, yeah, sure, I’ll be normal about it. But then I see guys eyeing you like they have a shot and suddenly I’m—”

He cut himself off.

You stared.

“Suddenly you’re what?”

He looked at you. Really looked.

And for the first time tonight, there was no filter.

“I’m not normal about you,” he said simply. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

Your heart stuttered.

The music faded into nothing.

“…Sunghoon.”

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to your lips. “We’re best friends. This whole trip’s been fun. Flirty. Safe. But tonight?”

He leaned in.

“Tonight, I want to make it clear.”

Your back hit the wall, gently.

Not rough.

Not rushed.

Just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re with me,” he whispered, lips barely brushing your jaw.

And you didn’t move.

Not away.

Not at all.

The cab ride back to the hotel was dead silent.

Not because there was nothing to say.

Because everything had already been said — in the way Sunghoon looked at you when those guys tried flirting at the club, in the way his hand gripped your waist like it belonged there.

And in the way he whispered, low and rough:

“You’re with me.”

The words looped in your head the whole ride. And when you stepped into your room — the one with the ridiculous train-themed decor, mood lighting, and giant mirror above the bed — it was over.

The second the door clicked shut—

He kissed you.

Not like a friend.

Not like someone testing the waters.

Like he knew what you tasted like.

Like he needed it.

His hands were everywhere — cupping your face, sliding down your waist, pressing into your lower back until your bodies were flush. You were barely able to keep up with his mouth — all tongue, teeth, urgency.

You gasped when his lips left yours to nip your jaw.

“Sunghoon—”

“I told you,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

He walked you backward toward the bed, kissing you between every step.

You fell onto the mattress, breathless, heart racing. The mirror above showed your reflection — the two of you tangled in shadows and heat, your thighs parting instinctively as Sunghoon leaned over you.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, nose brushing yours, “how many nights I’ve watched you sleep in this bed.”

His hand slid under your dress, fingertips grazing your thighs.

“Thinking about this.”

You gasped when he squeezed your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re soaked through,” he murmured.

“I’ve been—thinking about it too,” you admitted, cheeks warm.

That was all he needed.

Sunghoon yanked off his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the trail of muscle down his abs — you stared shamelessly.

He noticed.

“Like what you see?”

You nodded.

“Use your words, baby.”

“I like it,” you whispered, eyes blown wide. “I want all of you.”

He groaned. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

Then he was kissing down your neck, tugging your dress off slowly, his mouth dragging over every new inch of skin.

“No bra?” he murmured against your chest.

“You told me to wear something easy to take off,” you whispered.

His eyes burned.

“I was joking,” he growled, “but fuck, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”

His tongue circled your nipple before sucking hard, making your hips buck.

“Sunghoon—”

“Be patient,” he said, sliding your panties off. “I’m going to make you cum on my tongue first.”

Then he was kneeling at the edge of the bed, pulling your legs over his shoulders, and diving in.

You cried out.

He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’d just tasted heaven.

Then again. Slower.

His fingers gripped your thighs, keeping you open as he licked you deep — tongue teasing your folds, swirling around your clit, then flattening with just enough pressure to make your legs shake.

You tangled your fingers in his hair. “Sunghoon, please—please—”

He paused, pulled back just enough to speak.

“Say it again.”

You moaned. “Please, Sunghoon—make me cum—please—”

“Good girl.”

He dove back in, and you were gone.

Your orgasm ripped through you, thighs clenching around his head as you came with a broken moan of his name.

He didn’t stop — he kept licking, slow and lazy now, lapping up everything you gave him until you were panting, trembling.

He crawled back up your body and kissed you — letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Then you felt him.

Hard. Heavy. Pressing against your thigh.

You reached down, wrapping your hand around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder with a groan.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “If you touch me like that, I’m gonna lose it.”

You smirked, kissing his jaw. “Then lose it.”

He laughed — low and rough — then pulled back to line himself up.

You were still soaked. Still twitching from your first orgasm.

He met your eyes, voice hoarse.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”

He slid in with one deep thrust.

His hips rolled into you, slow and deep.

One thrust — thick, stretching, deliberate.

You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders as he filled you to the hilt.

“Fuck, Sunghoon—”

“I know,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “You’re perfect like this.”

He stilled inside you, chest heaving. You could feel how hard he was — how much restraint he was using just to not lose control.

Then he pulled back.

And pushed in again.

Deeper.

Your breath hitched.

Above you, the mirror reflected everything — the way your body arched into him, how your mouth parted when he bottomed out, the tension in his jaw as he watched you take him like you were made for it.

You whimpered.

“Look up,” he said softly.

You did.

And your entire body shivered.

The sight was unreal.

His body between your legs.

The way your back curved.

The way your nails pressed into his skin.

Sunghoon leaned in close, lips dragging across your jaw.

“Now imagine if you could see this again.”

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

He reached for his phone.

Tossed a look toward the dresser, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

“I brought the tripod.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re joking—”

“Nope.” He was already sliding the legs out, adjusting the angle toward the bed. “Consent. One hundred percent. Just for us. Just for tonight. I want to remember everything.”

Your thighs instinctively squeezed around his waist.

He placed the phone on the stand, hit record, and returned to you.

Settled between your legs again.

Caged you in with his arms.

Kissed you like it would never be enough.

“This okay?” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded, eyes wide, chest rising.

“Say it, baby.”

You swallowed. “Yes. I want it. I want you.”

He groaned — guttural, raw.

Then he started moving.

Long, slow strokes at first.

His hips grinding into yours, dragging over every sensitive spot with maddening precision.

His hand slid under your lower back, lifting your hips slightly — angling you better, deeper — until you were gasping his name.

“God—Hoon—”

“You hear that?” he rasped, breathless. “That sound you make when I hit here—”

Thrust.

You cried out.

“—that’s going to ruin me.”

His thumb brushed your clit in tight circles while he fucked you, rhythm getting messier — your thighs slick, sheets twisted, the air thick with skin and heat and moans.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Look at how fucking pretty you are when I’m inside you.”

You forced yourself to glance up at the mirror again—

And it was filthy.

Your eyes glassy.

Your body bouncing gently with every stroke.

Sunghoon — hair messy, jaw clenched, sweat slicking his chest — completely lost in you.

His thrusts got faster.

Your fingers clawed at his back.

You were getting close again. Too close.

“Sunghoon—Hoon—I’m—”

“Let go,” he growled. “I want to see it. Want to see you cum all over me.”

His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you in place as he slammed into you, dragging your orgasm out until you were moaning shamelessly, your body shaking under him.

You came hard.

Eyes rolling.

Toes curling.

He groaned loudly, head dropping to your shoulder.

Then he pulled out suddenly — tugged his cock in his fist once, twice—

“Where?” he panted.

“Stomach,” you gasped. “Please—”

And he spilled with a sharp grunt, hot ropes across your skin, your belly, his hips still twitching from the force.

The room was silent except for your panting.

You both stared at the mirror.

Then each other.

Sunghoon let out a soft, broken laugh.

“...We’re fucked.”

The room was still warm.

The soft buzz of fake train sounds from the speaker had long since faded into the background, replaced by only your uneven breathing and the low whirr of the air conditioner above the bed.

Your body was still tingling.

Muscles relaxed, core aching in the best way, thighs sticky with the aftermath of everything you just shared.

Sunghoon was lying beside you — one arm tucked under his head, the other draped lazily across your bare stomach. His fingers traced little, absent-minded shapes there, gliding through the mess he’d left on your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch you.

He looked wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes soft. Lips red from kissing too hard.

But the way he was looking at you now?

Completely different.

Like the teasing and jokes were stripped away.

Like he was finally seeing you.

And maybe for the first time—you were really letting him.

“You okay?” he murmured.

His voice was soft, a little hoarse.

You turned your head slowly, looking at him. “Yeah. More than okay.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Good.”

Then, quieter, “Because that... wasn’t just for fun.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking up at the ceiling. “I know we’ve been friends forever. I know this trip was supposed to be, like, low-budget ramen and chaotic sightseeing and those vending machines you’re obsessed with, and I definitely didn’t mean to—book a fucking love hotel—but—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, rolling over to face him. “Hoon.”

He looked at you, eyes wide.

Your fingers reached up, brushing his hair from his forehead.

“I know it wasn’t just for fun.”

You paused.

“...Did you really mean everything you said tonight? At the club? Back here?”

His gaze didn’t flinch.

“Every word.”

Your breath caught.

“You’ve... thought about this?” you asked, almost shy. “Us?”

He nodded slowly, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “For longer than I should have.”

You swallowed, heart thudding.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He smiled, soft and bittersweet. “Because I didn’t think I had a chance. You’re...you. You flirt with ramen vending machines.”

You laughed, burying your face in the pillow. “I do not.”

“You do,” he teased. “You called that one in Shibuya a good boy.”

You giggled.

Then his fingers stilled on your stomach.

“But the second I saw that guy at the club looking at you like you weren’t the most precious thing in the room... I snapped. I couldn’t keep pretending.”

You looked up at him. “And now?”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours.

“Now I want to be the only one who gets to touch you.”

Your breath caught.

“I want to take you on real dates. Hold your hand in public. Make you breakfast. Wake up beside you without wondering if I crossed a line the night before.”

Your chest ached — in the best way.

You wrapped your arm around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Then let’s do that.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“Yeah?” You nodded. “You idiot. I’ve wanted this too.”

He smiled — slow and real, the kind that reached his eyes.

And then? He kissed you again.

Gentle this time. Lingering. No rush.

Just the start of something real.

When you finally broke apart, curled in the sheets, your limbs tangled—

Sunghoon rested his cheek on your chest, humming softly.

“We’re kind of gross,” he mumbled sleepily.

You blinked. “What?”

He pointed up lazily.

You looked. And laughed. The mirror.

Still foggy. Still showing your bodies — flushed and messy and completely tangled up in each other.

“Let’s clean up,” you whispered.

Sunghoon groaned dramatically. “Can’t move. Dead. Died from your pussy.”

You smacked his arm with a pillow. “Romantic.”

He grinned.

Then he sat up—still shirtless, still glowing—and stretched.

As you slipped off the bed to grab your robe, something caught your eye.

That little panel near the bathroom. The one that looked just a little too clean. Too new.

You padded over, curiosity tugging.

Pushed it open— And found the train.

“Sunghoon…”

Your voice was breathless, laced with awe and disbelief as you stared into the hidden room tucked behind the bathroom mirror.

He came up behind you, still shirtless, eyes scanning the strange, atmospheric glow pouring out of the secret space.

“…What the hell?” he murmured, stepping in beside you. The small room looked exactly like the interior of a luxury train car.

Gold-trimmed velvet seats lined both sides.

The projected windows showed nighttime scenery rushing past, as if the whole place were actually moving.

And above it all? Mirrors. Full-length. Perfect angles.

“Did you book this on purpose?” you whispered.

Sunghoon laughed quietly, slipping his arm around your waist. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

You turned to look at him, still flushed, still warm and full from earlier.

He stared back at you—his gaze darker now, hungrier.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “we can’t just find a secret room like this and not do something stupid.”

You shivered.

“Define stupid.” His lips ghosted your neck.

“Take off your robe,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Here?”

“Here,” he said, nodding toward one of the seats. “There.”

Then he tilted your chin toward the mirror above.

“So you can watch.” Your stomach flipped.

He pulled you inside gently, guiding you toward the plush velvet seat like it was a throne.

“Sit,” he said, voice deeper now. “Right here. Legs open.”

You did. Robe sliding down your arms, bare underneath.

The second you sat, the coolness of the velvet against your thighs made you gasp.

Sunghoon dropped to his knees between your legs, spreading them wider, mouth just hovering over your center.

He looked up at you once—dark eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair. Yours.

“I didn’t get enough of you earlier,” he murmured. “Wanna taste you right. Wanna take my time.”

You whimpered.

Then his tongue was on you. Sunghoon devoured you.

Tongue slow and firm, licking up every drop, nose pressed into your folds, mouth working you open until your head fell back and your hips jerked against his mouth.

You glanced up, dazed—and moaned when you caught the mirror reflection.

Everything. Your legs trembling. Your hands gripping the seat. His messy hair buried between your thighs.

He glanced up mid-lick, locking eyes with you through the mirror.

“Keep looking,” he said, mouth shiny. “I want you to see what you do to me.”

He sucked your clit into his mouth then—hard. You gasped, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Oh my god—Sunghoon—!”

“You gonna cum again, baby?” he whispered, licking slow circles again. “Right here, in this fucked-up train fantasy room?”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Say it.”

“Yes—please—yes, I’m gonna—fuck—”

He flicked his tongue in a perfect rhythm, and when his fingers slid inside you—two, slow, deep—you shattered.

You came on his tongue, thighs shaking around his head, crying out as he licked you through it, swallowing everything you gave him.

When you finally stopped shaking, he kissed the inside of your thighs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up.

Still on his knees. Still hard.

But now? Smiling. Smug. Possessive.

“Still alive?” he teased. You gave a breathless laugh. “Barely.”

“Good,” he said, standing. “Because I’m not done with you.” He pulled you up to your feet and spun you to face the mirror.

Your reflection was glowing—lips parted, chest heaving, legs weak.

Sunghoon pressed up behind you, cock dragging along your ass as he leaned in to whisper:

“Bend over the seat.”

You obeyed—bare hands gripping the backrest, legs shaking as he kicked your feet further apart.

He stroked himself behind you, tip brushing your folds.

“Look how ready you are,” he murmured. “Already dripping again.”

He slid in with one thrust. You both moaned. You watched in the mirror as he grabbed your hips and began to move—slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch inside.

Then harder. Faster. Filthy.

The sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans, his rough grunts—it was insane. His hand slid around to grip your throat gently, tipping your face toward the mirror again.

“Watch, baby. Watch me fuck you.” You did.

And it was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen.You—bent over, mouth open in shock. Him—behind you, wrecked, hips snapping, muscles straining.

And you couldn’t last. You were already so full. So overstimulated. So his. “I’m—gonna—again—”

“Do it,” he panted. “Cum for me. Make a mess. I’m right behind you.” You came again—harder this time, louder, a cry ripped from your throat as your body clenched around him.

And with a final groan—“Fuck, yes”—he came too, spilling deep inside you, his hips twitching, hands gripping your waist tight as he gave you everything. You collapsed onto the velvet seat, breathless, shaking.

Sunghoon leaned over you, arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

You both stared into the mirror. Sweaty. Marked. Ruined.

“…Best love hotel ever,” you mumbled.

Sunghoon laughed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Welcome to the last stops, baby.”

The water steamed around you, warm and humming, tiny waves lapping at your sides as you sank back into the love hotel’s private jacuzzi.

The bathroom light was dim, glowing low and amber, reflecting off the tiled walls like candlelight.

You barely had time to close your eyes before a pair of arms slipped around your waist from behind.

“Round three,” Sunghoon murmured into your shoulder.

“Already?” you whispered, dazed. “You’re serious?”

“You’re mine now,” he said simply. “I’m never gonna be done.”

You moaned as he pulled you back into his chest, your legs floating around his hips, his hands sliding across your stomach beneath the water.

Then higher.

Until he had your breasts cupped in both palms.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’m obsessed.”

You bit your lip, gasping as he started to play with them — thumbs brushing your nipples, squeezing gently like he’d been waiting to get his hands on them all night.

“I always noticed,” he confessed, pressing kisses to the back of your neck. “Every time you stretched in front of me, every time your shirt clung to them when it rained—"

“Sunghoon—”

“—and now they’re mine,” he said, voice rough with need. “So I’m gonna touch them whenever I want.”

His mouth trailed down your neck, then he reached around, shifting you to straddle his lap in the water.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muttered, lowering his mouth to your chest.

Then he kissed your breasts—slow, wet kisses, tongue flicking across your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.

You let out a soft moan, your hands burying in his wet hair. He groaned into your skin, pulling your body even closer until your tits were pressed to his face. His voice was muffled. “I could live right here.” You giggled breathlessly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m obsessed,” he corrected, licking again. “Let me worship you.” You felt his cock harden again beneath you, hot and heavy in the water.

“Sunghoon…”

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, mouth brushing your chest. “One more. Just one more.”

He reached under the water, lining himself up, and slowly eased you down onto him — warm water swirling around your waists as you sank onto his cock, inch by thick inch.

You both groaned. It felt so full like this. So warm. Slippery. Intimate. His forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist.

“Move for me, baby,” he whispered. “Nice and slow.”

You rolled your hips, riding him gently in the water, the movement easy and fluid with the water supporting your weight. And he couldn’t stop watching your chest.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Bounce for me, just like that. Look at them—"

Your tits bounced with every movement, droplets clinging to your nipples, glistening under the soft light. His hands returned to them again and again — massaging, squeezing, sucking one into his mouth as you moved on him.

You whined. “You’re too into this—”

“I warned you,” he growled. “They’re mine now.”

Then he grabbed your hips, took over the pace, thrusting up into you as the water splashed gently around you. Slow, deep strokes. His cock dragging against your sensitive walls, your body already so used to him but still twitching at the stretch. You clung to him, lips brushing his. “You feel so good.”

“I want you to cum on my cock like this,” he breathed. “Wanna feel you clench around me again.”

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb brushing over your clit under the water — slow, tight circles until you were gasping again.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “While I’m buried inside you. I want to feel it.”

You did. With a broken gasp, body trembling in the bubbling heat, your walls tightened around him, clenching so hard he swore under his breath—

“Fuck—yes—fuck, you’re perfect—”

And then he came too, moaning into your mouth as he spilled inside you again, his arms tightening around you as if he couldn’t let you go. You stayed there, clinging to him, your body spent and warm, water lapping gently against your skin.

He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your boob. Again.

“Seriously?” “What?” he said innocently. “They’re the love of my life now.”

The water steamed around you, warm bubbles churning against your skin as Sunghoon's hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his hard body. His lips trailed hot kisses down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers racing through you despite the heat. "Mine" he growled low, voice rough with need, his cock already throbbing against your thigh, slick with the jacuzzi's warmth and his own arousal.

You arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he lifted you slightly, the water sloshing around your waists. His mouth captured yours in a fierce kiss, tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch while one hand slid between your legs. Fingers parted your folds, stroking your clit with firm circles that made you gasp into his mouth. He didn't tease for long—Sunghoon never did when possession burned this hot. Two fingers pushed inside you, curling to hit that spot that had your walls clenching around him.

"Fuck, you're still so wet for me," he murmured against your lips, pumping his fingers faster, thumb grinding your clit. The water made everything slicker, hotter, your body responding with desperate bucks against his hand. But he wasn't done worshipping yet. Withdrawing his fingers, he brought them to your mouth, pressing them past your lips. "Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this." You sucked eagerly, tongue swirling around his digits, eyes locked on his darkened gaze.

Satisfaction flashed in his eyes as he pulled his hand away, replacing it with the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. But instead of thrusting in right there, he stood fully, water cascading off his toned chest and abs, muscles flexing as he hauled you up with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the jacuzzi's edge pressing into your back for leverage. "Not like this," he said, voice husky. "I want to fuck you standing, feel every inch of you gripping me while I hold you open."

He shifted, one arm banding around your back to support you, the other guiding his cock. The tip breached you slowly at first, stretching your pussy with that delicious burn as he sank in inch by inch. You moaned, head falling back, the steam-filled air thick with the scent of sex and chlorine. Water lapped at your joined bodies, but it was nothing compared to the heat building where he filled you completely, balls pressing against your ass.

Sunghoon groaned, hips snapping forward in a sharp thrust that buried him to the hilt. "God, yes—tight like this, just for me." He started a rhythm, powerful and unrelenting, each drive lifting you slightly against him, your breasts bouncing with the force. His free hand roamed, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out, then soothing it with his mouth, sucking the peak between his teeth. You clung to him, nails raking down his back, urging him deeper.

The standing position let him angle just right, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting your g-spot with every plunge. Water splashed around you as he fucked harder, possessive grunts escaping him. "No one else gets this. No one else fucks you like I do." His pace quickened, hips pistoning, the slap of wet skin echoing in the steamy enclosure. Your pussy fluttered around him, building toward that edge, clit grinding against his pelvis with each thrust.

He sensed it, shifting his hold to free a hand, fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed in tight, fast circles, matching his brutal rhythm. "Cum for me. Milk my cock while I fill you up." The command pushed you over, orgasm crashing through you like a wave, walls spasming as you screamed his name. Sunghoon followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He held you there, both panting, his forehead pressed to yours as the aftershocks rippled through.

But even spent, his grip didn't loosen. "We're not done" he whispered, already hardening inside you again. "I want more".

Sunghoon's cock twitched inside your still-pulsing pussy, the mix of his cum and your juices leaking down your thighs into the bubbling water. He didn't pull out yet, instead rocking his hips in slow, deliberate grinds that kept the friction alive, his mouth crashing back onto yours. The kiss was messy, tongues tangling with renewed hunger, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he swallowed your whimpers. "You feel that?" he rasped between breaths, one hand cupping your ass to tilt you higher on his shaft. "I'm gonna fuck you until you're ruined for anyone else."

He thrust up again, harder this time, the water churning wildly as he bounced you on his length. Your oversensitive walls clenched around him, every slide sending sparks of pleasure-pain through your core. You gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to beg, but he silenced you with another deep plunge, his free hand tangling in your wet hair to yank your head back. His lips attacked your throat, sucking marks into the skin—dark bruises that would linger as proof of his claim.

The rhythm built fast, his hips snapping with possessive force, cock stretching you wide with each entry. Your clit rubbed against his base, the pressure coiling tight despite the fresh ache from your first climax. "That's it, take it all," he growled, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. You shattered again sooner than expected, body trembling as another orgasm ripped through you, but he didn't stop. Sunghoon kept pounding, chasing his own release while your pussy fluttered helplessly around him, overstimulated nerves firing wildly.

"Fuck, yes—squeeze me like that," he grunted, finally spilling inside you with a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum painting your walls anew. He held you impaled, panting against your shoulder, but his cock stayed buried deep, semi-hard and insistent. Slowly, he lowered you both back into the jacuzzi, the warm jets massaging your joined bodies as he pulled you onto his lap facing him.

His hands roamed your back, tracing the scratches you'd left earlier, before cupping your face for a slower makeout. Lips brushed softly at first, then deeper, his tongue exploring lazily while his hips shifted beneath you. You felt him thickening again, the third round stirring as he broke the kiss to murmur, "On your knees. Show me how much you need my cock."

You slid down eagerly, the water lapping at your chest as you positioned yourself between his spread thighs. His erection stood proud, veined and glistening with your combined fluids. Wrapping your hand around the base, you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the slit, tasting the salty mix of cum and arousal. Sunghoon's fingers threaded through your hair, guiding you gently at first. "Suck it. Take me deep."

Your lips parted, sliding over the head, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed down, taking more with each pass. The jacuzzi's bubbles tickled your skin, adding to the sensory overload as you worked him with your mouth—tongue swirling along the underside, hand stroking what you couldn't fit. He groaned, hips bucking slightly, fucking your face with controlled thrusts. "God, your mouth... so fucking good. Look at me while you do it."

Eyes locked on his, darkened with lust, you hummed around his length, the vibration drawing a hiss from him. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the water, as you deepthroated him, throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. His grip tightened, possessive, holding you there for a moment before letting you pull back for air. "Enough." he said hoarsely, hauling you up for another searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

He spun you around then, pressing your back to his chest, legs draped over his as he positioned you. One arm locked around your waist, the other parting your thighs wide. "Spread for me," he commanded, fingers dipping into your soaked pussy, scooping out some of his cum before rubbing it over your clit. You moaned too cock drunk to speak, arching into his touch, but he was already lining up his cock, slamming home in one fluid motion.

This angle let him go deeper, the head of his dick battering your cervix with every upward thrust. Water splashed over the jacuzzi's edge as he fucked you relentlessly, his mouth on your neck, biting and licking. "You're mine to use"he whispered hotly, fingers returning to your clit, pinching and rolling it until you were sobbing with overstimulation. Your body betrayed you, hips grinding back despite the intensity, chasing the building pressure. "Yours only-fuck— yours." You managed to replied back.

He didn't let up, pace brutal, cock dragging against your g-spot with precision. The coil snapped violently—your pussy gushed around him, squirting in forceful arcs that mixed with the jacuzzi water, soaking his thighs. "Fuck, yes—squirt for me, baby," he praised, thrusting through it, prolonging the waves until you were a trembling mess.

Sunghoon came with a roar, flooding you once more, his body shuddering against yours. He held you close through the aftershocks, kisses turning tender, lips brushing your temple, your jaw. "All mine,"he murmured, finally softening and slipping out, cum trickling from your abused pussy.

Exhausted, he lifted you effortlessly, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you to the nearby lounge chair. The steam still hung in the air as he settled beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms encircled you possessively, one hand stroking your hair as your eyelids grew heavy. "Sleep now" he whispered, voice soft and kissing the top of your head. You drifted off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, safe and claimed in his embrace.

The scent of miso soup and freshly baked melonpan woke you before sunlight did.

You blinked against the soft morning glow spilling in through the patterned blinds.

The mirror above the bed was foggy now from the jacuzzi steam the night before — a quiet, ghostly reminder of everything you’d done in this ridiculous love hotel.

The sheets were wrapped around you like a cocoon, and when you turned over, the space beside you was empty. But only for a second. Because then Sunghoon walked in, shirtless, hair a mess, tray in hand. Room service.

“Good morning, superstar,” he grinned. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “You ordered food?”

“I ordered everything.”

He plopped the tray down on the bed — steaming rice bowls, tamagoyaki, cut fruit in flower shapes, and melonpan fresh enough that you could smell the butter. Two iced coffees sat sweating in the corner. You blinked. “You remembered melonpan?”

“You moaned about it in your sleep,” he teased, climbing back into bed. You slapped his chest lightly. “You’re lying.”

“Maybe,” he grinned. “Maybe I just like hearing you moan.”

You groaned, flopping face-first into a pillow. “Stop talking.”

He chuckled. “That’s rich, coming from someone who begged me in a fake train room last night.”

You threw the other pillow at him.

He caught it mid-air. “I’m keeping this one. Smells like your shampoo.”

You peeked out from under the sheets, still flushed.

“Are you… always like this in the morning?”

“Only when I wake up with my favorite person naked beside me.”

He leaned over to kiss your cheek.

Then your shoulder. Then your chest.

You shoved him back with a laugh. “Eat your breakfast.” “I’m trying, but my meal’s hiding under all those blankets—ow, okay, I’m done—!”

He handed you a cup of coffee like it was the holy grail. You drank. Grateful. Warm in more ways than one. After a moment of silence, your voice dropped.

“So… this isn’t just a one-time thing, right?”

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate.

“Babe. I came like a dozen times and cried into your neck. You’re not getting rid of me.” You snorted into your cup. He reached across the tray, brushing your fingers with his.

“I mean it. I want you. All the time. After we go home. Even when you’re being annoying.”

You narrowed your eyes. “When am I annoying?”

“Specially when your annoying,” he smiled. He reached for his phone and, without asking, snapped a picture of you wrapped in blankets, coffee cup in hand, cheeks flushed from laughter.

You groaned. “No—delete that—!”

“Nope,” he grinned, adding it to an album. “This is my favorite version of you. Hair messy, barely alive, and mine.”

You went still. Then softly, “Yours?”

He looked up. “Of course.” Then quieter.

“...Always hoped you’d be.” You leaned in and kissed him slow. Sleepy. Full of a new kind of sweetness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “So what now?”

Sunghoon leaned back against the headboard, arm around you.

“We’ll finish the trip,” he said. “Take more pictures. Eat ridiculous food.”

Then, with a cheeky grin:

“See if the other rooms here have different themes. Maybe one with clouds? A plane? Hospital bed—?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, but hear me out—”

You shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth.

He chewed, smug.

Then he laced his fingers through yours.

“I want to do this every year,” he said seriously. “Travel. Get lost. End up somewhere weird.”

“With me?” you whispered.

“With you,” he said. “Always.”

@ tobiosbbyghorl 2026

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sweat beads against your core as you continue to loll your head back against the truck's sticky leather. the windows reflect the heat of your moans, hair clinging to your neck in the summer heat, hands locked together- fastened by a set of arms that also seem to push your plush tits together.

you're shaking. lips glossy, brows furrowed, thighs trembling around his wrist that cages you in. jungwon's voice had dropped, but you noticed way before now. "am i," he kisses your breast through your ripped out clothes. "tell me am i too young to have you whimpering like this?"

"won please- let me cum-" you whisper, and his fingers splay out of your pussy as he slaps it. "no." and he means it, "not unless you take me as your boyfriend. i won't."

"won-- fuck, i can't- i -" your eyes are stinging from each finger plunging and curling inside of you, his hard cocking still in his briefs rutting the stained panties hanging onto your thighs- and all you could do was beg.

"so fuckin' composed, huh?" jungwon slaps your thighs, growling against your heat. "'s'that what you think of me? hm?" slap. "is that what you think of yourself too? noona?"

this time, jungwon looks into your eyes as his hands work up to hastily spread your legs apart, wrapping your ankle in a seatbelt. "tell me again," jungwon sloppily groans in your ear. "tell me i'm too young for you while you're creaming on this cock." he shoves his girth into you without hesitation, watching the corner of your lips twitch up in a smile, watching you bite the inside of your cheek- a gesture he knows all too well to know you're enjoying it. you fucking love it.

"wonie!" you cry, and he shudders at his nickname. he watches the tears spill from the corner of your eyes. "i thought you could take it," he cooes, "big girls don't cry, right noona?" he chuckles, fucking you deeper, twitching his cock on purpose just to see you buckle and whimper. "big girls can handle big cocks, right noona?" he gropes your waist and presses it flushed against his crotch, stretching you as your fingers tear at the leather. "won.. i-" you sob, brows curling at the pleasure. he smirks, rolling and snapping his hips tighter, rhythm pacing faster. "if you keep crying like that, i'll stuff your mouth with my cum too."

your moans multiply and for a split second, you smile. you fucking smile, breaking the fact that you hate to see this. "admit it." he spits on your tits, "no man has ever fucked you like i do." "no!" you cry, "admit it," he spanks you, unwrapping you from the car seat's binds and fucking you from behind. "every time you called me just your best friend, was it before or after you fingered yourself to my name?"

you're quivering, shaking under his thrusts, "won please, i wanna cum-" "you wanna cum?" he slaps your cheek after mandhandling you. "block every stupid cunt on your phone and be mine, noona." "yes! i'll do it, i'm yours, wonie! i'm yours," you let out a glutteral moan, "im so fucking yours."

and he lets out a noise so deep into your neck you cum without even warning him. he cums straight after too, manhandling you back to you on his lap as he pumps out the last few bits of his seed far into you, just how you like it. he watches the seats get watered with your slick and cum, while the party in the house continues to boom, bringing your senses back.

"go back in there and tell that fucker who made you cum, okay baby?"

sorry i had to im feigning

permies:

KIM SUNOO has never truly identified as a man, not in the way society tries to define it.

He was born with what people like to label as "male," but the label never felt like it belonged to him. He's always been one of the girls. Not because he was trying to be anything other than himself, but because that's where he belonged, where he felt seen, understood, and safe. There's no pride in masculinity for him, no comfort in aligning with a category that has done nothing but let him down. Whatever was hanging between his legs didn't mean he owed anything to the idea of manhood, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start pretending it did.

And yet, for all his clarity, all his softness, all his truth—Sunoo, no matter how sharp his wit or clever his comebacks, keeps getting cheated on. It used to be just the straight boys he rolled his eyes at, but the betrayal has evolved. Gays aren't safe anymore either. There's no longer a clean line between "they'd never" and "they did." Gay, straight, bi, whatever — the problem is not orientation, it's the universal mediocrity of modern manhood. There's a plague of emotional negligence infecting them all. He trusted boys who called him beautiful, who knew how to flirt over text, who said "I'm not like the others" — and then turned out to be exactly like the others, but with worse excuses!

And still, the question haunts him: Why? Why does it keep happening? Why do they always cheat? What is it about commitment that scares them so much? He's been good. He's been better than good! He listens, he nurtures, he gives. He doesn't ask for much. Is that really too much? Because it feels like no matter how much effort he puts in, no matter how present he is, no matter how he softens himself to make space for someone else, it never ends with someone choosing him back. The worst part is how often he wonders if it's his fault—if maybe he's just not enough. Not hot enough, not loud enough, not strong enough, not whatever version of "desirable" men have invented that week. It eats at him.

"Good thing you broke up with him. He's not better for you, anyways." Sunoo rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back as he stared blankly at the colorful crochet pieces arranged neatly in front of him. They were at the National Art Celebration, wandering through the Art Museum's marketplace.

He didn't respond to his friend's comment. What was there to say?

His fingers hovered over a small adorable crochet strawberry keychain, the kind of thing he'd usually buy without hesitation but he didn't pick it up, because his mood didn't match the softness in front of him. It hadn't even been a full week since everything crashed. His ex had been sleeping with more than just one person behind his back. Sunoo had confronted him head-on, shaking with anger, and left. The next day, he was at a clinic, filling out forms with numb fingers, waiting for results that thankfully came back clean. Still, the damage wasn't something that a negative result could fix.

"I hope he chokes on his small dick and dies," Sunoo muttered under his breath, not even trying to sound playful about it. He turned from the crochet booth and walked a few steps over to the next one, where rows of stickers were arranged neatly across a dark velvet cloth.

His lips twitched slightly as he noticed a sticker of a cat holding a cigarette in its mouth. The drawing was a little messy nothing like the soft pastel style he usually liked. The rest of the stickers shared the same energy—guitars, ghost-like figures, strange shapes in heavy red and black tones. The entire table had a darker, rougher feel to it, but instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in. Something about the way the lines were drawn, the way the art didn't try to be friendly, and it felt honest, that honesty intrigued him. He picked up the cat sticker, turning it slightly under the light. "This is so cute. Are you the artist?" he asked, glancing up at the boy behind the table.

The boy shook his head with a small grin. "Thank you, but no. I'm just her cousin. She went to grab some food. I'm babysitting her table for now."

Sunoo nodded, eyes still scanning the stickers laid out in front of him. He wasn't even sure where he'd put them if he bought any—his laptop was already full, his tumbler too—but something about them felt worth having. Maybe he just wanted to support someone who clearly put effort into making something different. Without thinking too much, he picked out five more, dropped a bill in the little payment box, and gave a quick thank you before stepping back into the flow of the crowd.

"I'm gonna get the car. Just wait here. The parking lot's, like, so far and it's insanely hot," his friend said, already fanning her face with a brochure as she walked away. Sunoo just gave her a lazy nod and stayed in the shade, sipping his strawberry soda and lightly tapping the tip of his shows against the concrete to keep himself distracted.

It was Saturday, supposed to be relaxing day, but Sunoo's mind didn't know how to slow down. The breakup still clung to him, but even beyond that, the stress of his return demo for nursing school kept replaying in his head. It was getting close, and he still didn't feel ready. His eyebags were starting to sink into his face again, darkening with every late night he spent crying or spiraling in bed, wondering how things managed to fall apart this fast. He'd thought about going out again, just to dance, to pretend, to flirt with someone but he already knew it wouldn't help.

Just as he was about to take another sip from his drink, he froze. His nose twitched — Was that... cigarette smoke? Sunoo immediately grimaced, pressing his fingers over his nose and mouth. What the hell? Who the fuck smokes around here? The whole place was filled with kids and art booths, and there was a giant NO SMOKING sign that was printed in bold red letters, stuck on a wall not even ten steps away. His eyes scanned the shaded rest area until they landed on the source.

There you were—sitting alone on the bench with one leg drawn up, smoke curling lazily from your lips, completely unbothered.

"The fuck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another wave of smoke drifted toward him, already starting to irritate his throat. He wasn't trying to start anything, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt like the smoke was reaching out, wrapping around his skin, sneaking into his lungs, clinging to his clothes. He was already dealing with a bad day, and now this?!

You exhaled again, your gaze flicked toward him, catching the look he gave you but you didn't react. If anything, you just blinked, relaxed, fingers still holding the cigarette loosely between them.

Sunoo stood there, clearly expecting you to look guilty or maybe at least pretend to care, but when you didn't, he clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced at the sign again, like pointing it out. "Do you not see the sign?" he said, irritation in every word. "This is a public area, kids are here, and secondhand smoke—do you even know it's worse than smoking yourself? God, the sign is literally right there. It's huge."

You looked at him again, blinking like you didn't quite catch what he was saying. Your hand, holding the cigarette near your mouth, paused midair. Then, slowly, you turned your head to glance over your shoulder, as if making sure he was actually talking to you and not someone else behind the bench.

When your eyes met his again, they stayed on him a second longer. He stood there with a roughness that didn't match the soft features on his face. You let your gaze move over him without shame, noting the little details—the way his hair was clipped back by a cute pink clip, the pale tone of his skin that looked untouched by the sun, smooth, almost too perfect. His lips had a natural flush, a little swollen like he'd been biting them out of stress, and even with that annoyed look carved into his face, there was nothing harsh about him.

What a beautiful man, you thought, not even trying to hide it. You let the moment hang for a bit longer, then flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette with a small movement. Your voice was unbothered when you finally spoke. "You always pick fights with strangers, or am I just lucky today?"

He blinked, caught off guard by how casually you responded. "Start fights?" he repeated, eyes narrowing further. "You're the one breaking the rules. 'No smoking' doesn't mean smoke quietly. It means don't fucking smoke."

You took another drag without rush, then exhaled away from his direction, watching him. "Right. And you yelling about it in public—real mature. Definitely better than me just sitting here minding my own business."

Sunoo stepped forward slightly, jaw tightening. "You're not minding your business. That's the problem."

You shrugged, leaning back just a little on the bench, clearly not moved. "Then move somewhere else. No one's forcing you to breathe next to me. I don't fucking care."

You saw the way the color started creeping into the tips of his ears, how his hands curled into tight fists at his sides like he was holding himself back from saying something worse. He was clearly seething, barely keeping it together. You smiled to yourself then turned your head away to take another drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling softly from your lips.

"Bitch," you heard him muttered under his breath.

You turned your head back toward him, one brow lifting as you exhaled the smoke without rushing. "Excuse me?"

You started to shift, one foot planting on the ground like you were about to stand, but before anything else could happen, a small car pulled up right in front of you. Sunoo didn't waste a second. He walked straight toward it, yanked the passenger door open, and slipped inside as if the vehicle were his escape hatch. He slammed the door, and through the window, you could see the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But what caught your attention was how he didn't look away. Even as the engine came to life, even as the car rolled slowly forward, Sunoo kept his eyes locked on you. His glare was sharp and it's lingering.

You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you took another slow hit from the cigarette, still watching. When the car passed, you caught his reflection in the side mirror, and there he was—still glaring.

You flicked the smoke away from your face, the faintest smirk on your lips as the car disappeared down the road. Hah. He's such a pretty guy. You liked him already.

"Who's that guy?"

Sunoo didn't even try to hide his curiosity as he pointed across the room, eyes fixed on the one person who'd completely pulled his attention. The music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and bodies moved around the house party in various stages of drunken celebration. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, just something to celebrate surviving midterms and their return demonstrations. He wasn't expecting anything wild tonight. Honestly, he'd shown up mostly out of pressure and to avoid looking like a killjoy. As someone in healthcare, he was all too aware of the risks, especially when it came to hookups. The rise of HIV cases was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, and the weight of what his ex put him through was still fresh. He wasn't exactly in the mood to relive that. But even so... looking didn't hurt, right?

"That's Park Sunghoon," someone answered beside him, casually sipping from their red cup. "Physical Therapy."

Sunoo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying the guy. He was leaning against the wall, laughing, drink in hand, head tilted just enough to show off a clean jawline and that effortless hair. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Sunoo asked, still watching.         His friend shrugged. "I don't know? Maybe? You interested? Go talk to him!"

Sunoo rolled his eyes and sipped from his drink. "I don't even know if he's into men." His friend leaned in, grinning. "Ngeh, I don't know either, but he looks like he's giving off some BL energy. Just try!"

Sunoo didn't respond right away, but his gaze drifted back to Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded from the buzz. There was something about him, the kind of guy who knew he looked good but didn't make a show of it. And okay, maybe there was something about the way he stood that didn't exactly scream masculine authority. There was a softness to it, or maybe just an openness that made Sunoo curious.

He tapped his fingers against his cup, considering. He wasn't looking for anything serious but after everything he'd been through, a little fun wouldn't hurt. And if Park Sunghoon happened to be fun and hot? Well... why the hell not?

With one final sip, Sunoo set his cup down and gave his friend a sly look. "Fine. I'll try."

He took a breath, adjusted his shirt, and began walking through the crowd, weaving past groups of loud classmates and half-finished games of beer pong until he finally reached the corner where Park Sunghoon stood. The table beside them was lined with vodka, soda, and mixers. Sunoo casually took his place beside him, pretending to look through the drink options while stealing a glance at the boy he'd just been staring at across the room.

Sunghoon turned his head slightly, noticed him, and smiled. He raised his cup. "Cheers?" he offered.

Sunoo smiled back, trying not to let it show how fast his heart had just jumped. He reached for a drink off the table, tapping his cup gently against Sunghoon's. "Physical Therapy?" Sunoo asked, trying to keep his tone light, confident and a little sweet.

"Yeah. Nursing?" Sunghoon replied smoothly, and when Sunoo nodded, something about the way Sunghoon smiled deepened, more focused now. That voice—fuck. Sunoo could already feel the heat crawling up his neck. His body wasn't even trying to be subtle about how attracted he was. And God, those hands—Sunghoon reached for the bottle of rum to refill his cup, and Sunoo caught a flash of the veins along his forearm, the easy flex of his wrist, the way his fingers moved with control. For a second, Sunoo lost the ability to form a proper thought. Break my bones. Please. I beg.

They were already halfway through the conversation, and Sunoo could feel himself falling a little too deep for comfort. Sunghoon wasn't just attractive—he was engaging in a way that didn't feel forced. He spoke with confidence in his voice, and Sunoo found himself drawn in with every word. It surprised him how someone could make something as dry as tendons sound this interesting, especially when he usually avoided any talk of lectures once he stepped out of school. But with Sunghoon, it felt different. His voice was soothing, and the way he explained things had a rhythm that made Sunoo want to listen, even if he already knew the topic.

"And you know the tendons that connect from the—" Sunghoon started, his fingers gesturing as he spoke.

Sunoo nodded along, genuinely interested, eyes fixed on him, but then, right in the middle of the sentence, Sunghoon stopped. His posture shifted, back straightening, and his eyes flicked past Sunoo's shoulder like something—or someone—had just pulled his attention. Sunoo frowned, eyebrows drawing together, expecting him to finish the sentence, but instead, he watched as Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in recognition, lips curving upward.

Sunoo glanced behind him, confusion setting in. Then Sunghoon cleared his throat, gave him a polite smile, and said, "Uhh, sorry. If you'll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Sunoo," before lightly tapping his shoulder and walking off.

Sunoo's mouth fell open, completely caught off guard. He barely had time to react before his eyes followed Sunghoon's retreating figure—and then he saw exactly where he was heading. Fuck?!

You were leaning casually against the wall near the hallway entrance, drink in hand, watching the whole interaction. You didn't look surprised to see Sunghoon making his way over. In fact, you barely blinked. The moment he reached you, your body turned just slightly to make space for him. Sunghoon leaned in, said something only you could hear, and your quiet laugh in response said everything else Sunoo didn't want to believe.

Sunoo blinked, chest tight. He could almost feel something short-circuiting inside his brain, like a wire snapping clean. His thoughts were a blur, but one thing was clear—you. His pulse quickened as his body processed the shift, his amygdala practically lighting up with one conclusion: you are a threat.

A threat to his night, his mood, his already bruised ego. God, how was it even possible for someone he'd only met twice to piss him off this much? The universe really had the audacity to let you show up again, and not just exist, but actively ruin his chances at getting laid. Because let's be real—he wasn't looking for love, just something to distract him, and now even that had been snatched by the same cigarette-smoking bitch who couldn't be bothered to respect a no-smoking sign?!

His friend appeared beside him, holding a fresh cup and scanning the room. "Hey, where'd Sunghoon go? You two looked like you were hitting it off."

Sunoo didn't turn to look at her. He just brought the rim of his cup to his lips, finished what was left in a single gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "He went to hell," he muttered. "With someone who clearly lives there." His friend blinked, confused. "Wait—what?"

Sunoo turned to her, face tight with a forced smile. "Don't worry about it. Just remind me next time I say I'm open to meeting new people—slap me."

He exhaled sharply as his eyes drifted back to where the two of you had returned from the hallway. And when he really looked—when he took in your outfit, the way you were dressed like you didn't give a single shit what anyone thought—he almost laughed out loud.

A strawberry shirt? Jorts? Those shoes? That's what Sunghoon left him for? Sunoo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly, barely believing it. He looked down at himself—his carefully styled hair, his clean lines, and then back at you. "Seriously," he muttered, eyes still locked on you. "That's the one?"

He couldn't decide if he was more offended for himself or embarrassed for Sunghoon. Whether you were just a friend, a fling, or something in between, one thing was clear to him now: Park Sunghoon had no taste. And if he did, it was broken.

Anyway, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Sunoo wasn't going to waste his energy sulking over one guy, especially not if you were somehow involved. If Sunghoon had any sort of connection to you then Sunoo would rather tap out early and save himself the trouble. He had enough baggage without adding someone who came with your name attached.

At least, that's what he told himself.

But then again, Sunoo had also said there were so many fish in the sea—yet somehow, it felt like every damn fish was just swimming in circles around you. It was getting ridiculous. He wasn't being dramatic, either. There was always something—some random detail, some little coincidence, and suddenly, boom. You. Right there again.

Date number one: a gym instructor. Hot, yes, a little edgy, had that calm, slow-talking voice Sunoo secretly liked. Things were going okay, until the guy pulled out his phone to show pictures of his niece's birthday party and proudly pointed to a group photo. Sunoo was nodding politely, until his eyes caught on one specific person in the background, holding the cake and grinning. He blinked. Zoomed in. Yup. You. Holding a cake with your horrible strawberry tank top. Niece, cousin, whatever—you were related. Add to that the guy reeked of cigarettes the whole time, and Sunoo was done before dessert.

Date number two: a Med Tech student. Good on paper, clean cut, same healthcare background, probably understood his schedule and stress levels. Sunoo was really trying with this one. But on their second date, as they were walking to a café near the guy's family's shop, Sunoo noticed someone standing out front during a break—leaning against the wall, cigarette between your lips, looking bored out of your mind. You. Again. You even smirk at him! Sunoo didn't even finish the coffee. He went home and ghosted the guy the next morning.

Okay, maybe he was being petty. Maybe, in a community as tight as theirs, having overlap wasn't that deep. But could anyone really blame him? Sunoo could admit it—he was petty, fine. He could own that. His feelings were valid. He was the one showing up, putting in effort, trying to start something new while somehow tripping over you every single time.

And if anyone dared to question why he was so quick to shut people down the moment your name and face got involved, well—he'd like to point them toward basic psychology. According to research, the brain forms first impressions within seconds. These impressions are shaped by appearance, voice, body language, even scent—and they trigger implicit biases, unconscious reactions that color how we feel about someone before they even say a word. And what had his brain learned to associate with you? Cigarettes, interruptions, stolen men, smug grins, and the color strawberry.

So, yes. Sunoo was triggered. And he was allowed to be.

"Damn, my neck is killing me from all these hospital duties. I'm seriously craving mint ice cream right now," Sunoo groaned, letting himself collapse face-first into the couch at Jungwon's dorm. He had no energy left and zero motivation to head back to his own apartment. Everything hurt—his back, his neck, even his brain.

"I'm begging for a break," Jungwon said from his desk, not looking up from his laptop. "God, give me a date."

Sunoo's voice came out muffled, his face still buried in the cushion. "I'm fine with God not giving me a date as long as I get a decent eight hours of sleep."

"What happened with all those dates you went on?" Jungwon finally asked, turning slightly in his chair. "None of them worked out?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Sunoo muttered, one hand waving in the air like he could physically dismiss the topic. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it. I'm going to grab ice cream before I start crying about my life again. Want anything?"

Jungwon leaned back and grinned. "Can you buy me some lube?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard. "Get your own, freak."

He stood up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and brushing off invisible lint from his pants. He didn't even know if he actually wanted ice cream anymore or if he just needed an excuse to be alone for a bit. Either way, he needed air. And distance. And ideally, a world where you didn't exist in every corner of his social life.

But of course, fate had other plans—because who else would be behind the counter of the convenience store at 10:42 PM but you, punching in his order with that same lazy grin plastered on your face as your eyes dropped directly to the bottle of lube and box of condoms on the counter.

Seriously. How many fucking jobs did you have? Sunoo stared at you, disbelief turning to horror, then to full-blown irritation. "Can you not grin like that?" he snapped, arms crossed. "What happened to discrete and nonjudgmental service? I need to speak to your manager."

You tilted your head slightly and blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, hand pausing over the touchscreen like you were truly offended. The expression only made his eye twitch harder. "That's discrimination," he added, glaring. "I should be allowed to buy whatever I want without being mentally harassed by your face."

Your lips twitched. You tried to play it cool, but the smirk slipped out before you could stop it. There it was again—that look of yours, amused and smug. So ugly!

Honestly, you hadn't expected to see him again so soon. It was the third time now, and at this point, his dramatic reactions were starting to feel like a reward. The moment he walked through the door and made eye contact with you, something in you shifted—your lips curled up instinctively, and the weight of the day suddenly didn't feel so heavy.      "Huh?" you said innocently, your voice small as you tilted your head slightly, letting your bottom lip pout just enough to be annoying.

Sunoo looked like he was one breath away from combusting, especially when his eyes flicked to your mouth and you knew he caught the glint of the piercing on your lower lip, because his gaze lingered just a second too long before his face twisted in irritation.

"Huh?" he mocked, eyebrows raised and lips pushed out as he mimicked your expression, only to immediately roll his eyes so hard. Without another word, he reached across the counter and snatched the bag from your hands, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet. He slapped a $50 bill on the counter, pointedly avoiding your eyes.

"Keep the change and never show your face again," he snapped, already turning on his heel. "God, bye," he added with a dramatic flick of his head, tossing his hair back.

You barely held in the laugh bubbling up your throat. Cute! you thought, bracing your hands on the counter as your smile widened. "Enjoy your night, sir!" you called after him, loud and obnoxiously cheerful.

You caught the twitch of his shoulders as he froze for half a second at the door. Then, without turning fully around, he glanced at you over his shoulder, hand lifting to flash you a very clear middle finger before pushing the door open and disappearing.

You leaned back, shaking your head with a quiet chuckle. Yup. Definitely your favorite regular now.

With Sunoo buried in nonstop clinical duties, he was starting to believe that God had decided to personally test his patience. Every day was a cycle of waking up too early, surviving rounds with barely any caffeine, and crashing into bed with a brain too tired to think but still too anxious to sleep. If this was divine character development, he wanted a refund. But fine, he'd give credit where it was due. At least he wasn't in a relationship. He couldn't imagine juggling a partner on top of exams, hospital reports, and constant reminders of his nonexistent social life. That would've been a mental breakdown waiting to happen.

Sunoo still hated men or so he said. But hatred, as he often reminded himself bitterly, was a slippery slope. The more you hated, the more they crawled under your skin. And men, those confusing, beautiful disasters, were impossible to avoid. The way they smiled, the stupid flex of their arms when they weren't even trying, those veiny hands that somehow haunted his imagination late at night—ugh. It was criminal, really. He wasn't desperate, but he wasn't made of stone either. If he said he didn't miss at least a little action, he'd be lying.

So when Jake asked him to tag along to the university gym because he was meeting a friend there for a commission, Sunoo agreed—reluctantly at first. But the moment they stepped into the gym and his eyes landed on the group of basketball players practicing on the court, all thoughts of regret evaporated.

"I was waiting for my friend. Sorry to drag you into it. I have a commission with her, she told me to meet her here. Is that okay?" Jake asked, casually.

Sunoo could barely hear him over the internal scream in his head. Of course it's okay. It's so okay he might cry. His gaze was locked on one specific figure—Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, currently making shots. Sunoo's mouth may not have been literally on the floor, but it was dangerously close. His eyes followed every movement of how Heeseung's shirt clung to his back, how his arms flexed with every jump, how sweat dripped down his neck—

Jake nudged him. "You good?"

"Peachy," Sunoo replied, voice an octave too high as he cleared his throat. "Just... appreciating," his eyes scanned the gym, trailing slowly over the players until, inevitably, they landed on the captain, Lee Heeseung. Sunoo raised his hands vaguely, motioning toward the court as if trying to justify the way he was staring. "...physical education."

But of course, like in some movies he never signed up for, the metaphorical glass shattered the moment you appeared. Just walked right into his field of vision. The air shifted, his stomach dropped, and his brows furrowed. His expression twisted into something between disgust and disbelief as his arms dropped in surrender. What the hell were you doing here?! Oh God?! You and him are in the same university?!

And then, just as Sunoo thought the scene couldn't get worse, Jake stood up, grinning wide. "There you are!" he said before pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss on your cheek.

Sunoo's entire soul left his body. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Jake was gay—openly and proudly gay—and Sunoo, as judgmental as he sometimes got, couldn't help but squint suspiciously. Are you seriously friends with his friends? Because if anyone was giving homophobic vibes, it was definitely you. Sunoo blinked hard. The math wasn't mathing. Did Jake not feel the same tension he did? Oh no. Jake needed help. Jake needed saving. God, someone had to sit him down and explain a few things before it was too late.

"Oh! Meet Sunoo! He's my best friend from nursing."

And there it was—the inevitable moment where Sunoo had no choice but to lock eyes with you. The second your gaze met his, you smiled so sweetly it made his entire body crawl. You even added a little wave, like this was the friendliest encounter on earth, and not the fourth time you'd popped up in his life. Sunoo felt the twitch in his eye before he could stop it, jaw clenching as he forced the most plastic smile onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with pure performance. He stood up, cheeks already aching from pretending, leaned in for a polite cheek-to-cheek like he wasn't imagining pulling your hair back in pure rage, and was immediately hit with a mix of cigarette smoke and YSL Libre perfume. Ugh.

Jake, completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding, beamed as he gestured between the two of you. "She's a fashion design major! Does commissions too—drawings, paintings, cakes, you name it."

Sunoo nodded stiffly, barely reacting. Inside, he was sighing so loud he could practically hear himself. As Jake went on, clearly proud to know someone like you, Sunoo watched you nod and smile with just the right amount of humility, your tone gentle, polite, soft—like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. This is fake. You're fake. This whole performance is fake. God, Jake deserves better friends. He forced another smile, barely hanging onto his sanity. Because the way you were looking at him right now and you knew he was crumbling inside was enough to make his blood boil.

And worst of all, you looked delighted about it. Bitch. You're a bitch. Sunoo didn't even try to be polite about it in his head anymore. He had fully accepted the fact that you existed in his life for the sole purpose of testing his patience.

But of course, it didn't stop there. Since Jake thought you and Sunoo were getting along just fine, he began inviting you everywhere. Lunch, coffee breaks, study sessions—any time he had a free hour, he'd text both of you like this was some little trio. Fuck him!

And every time you showed up, Sunoo could feel that familiar twitch start behind his eye, the one that pulsed when he was one annoyance away from losing it. Your voice would float into the conversation like you had no idea you were driving him slowly insane.

But the worst part? The absolutely most humiliating part? He was starting to notice things. Little details that stuck with him even though he never asked for them. You smoked Marlboro Reds, but you always kept a strawberry-flavored vape in your bag. You wore outfits like you just rolled out of a punk indie concert, all black with layered chains and boots that could kill a man, but he'd bet money your favorite color was red—based on the red phone case, the red liner under your eyes, the strawberry pins you sometimes wore on your bag. You had a piercing on your tongue—he found that out when you bit into a donut one afternoon and casually stuck your tongue out in surprise because of the powdered sugar.

He didn't mean to remember all of this. He didn't even talk to you. Not directly, at least. Every time Jake tried to bridge conversation between you two, it felt like some weird form of punishment. Sunoo would answer, you'd smile knowingly, and Jake would keep chatting like this three-way exchange wasn't slowly draining Sunoo's soul.

"Jake has a fear of needles, so maybe stop trying to convince him to get a piercing or a tattoo," Sunoo said, not even glancing up from his drink.

He hadn't meant to speak, but with Jake in the restroom and the silence between you two stretching, the words slipped out. His tone was calm but the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cup betrayed the irritation simmering under his skin.

You turned your head, raising a brow slowly as if deciding whether to entertain this or not. "Hmm? I didn't know we were handing out unsolicited advice now," you said, tilting your glass to make the ice clink. "Is that your subtle way of joining the conversation, Ddeuno?"

His jaw flexed the moment the nickname left your lips. He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. "It's not joining if I'm already in it. Jake was talking to both of us. And it's Sunoo. Not that hard."

You smiled, amused by the twitch in his expression. "Sure, Sunoo. But don't you think Jake's capable of making his own choices?"

"He is," he said, voice a touch tighter as he leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other. "Which is exactly why I know he wouldn't have asked if you didn't plant the idea in his head."

You rested your elbow on the table and glanced at him with casual ease. "I didn't plant anything. He saw my piercing and asked. Maybe you're just not used to people being curious about something you can't control."

He scoffed, shaking his head as he stirred his drink, the metal spoon tapping against ceramic. "Right, because nothing screams freedom of choice like peer pressure with a side of aesthetic superiority."

"I never pressured him," you said, eyes locked on his. "But if he wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stop him. You, on the other hand, sound like you'd tackle him to the ground before he could book an appointment."

Okay, fuck this. Sunoo's patience was thinning by the second, and he could feel the irritation rising and rising and rising! He hadn't come here to argue, but the way you kept smiling, like you knew how to push every single one of his buttons, made it impossible to let it slide.

He wasn't trying to control Jake. He was just looking out for him because someone had to. Sunoo had this belief, stubborn as it was, that people who covered themselves in piercings and tattoos didn't exactly value their skin the way they should. It wasn't about being judgmental, it was about keeping things clean, presentable, safe. Sure, he wouldn't tell strangers how to live their lives, but when it came to the people around him? The people he cared about? He preferred them untouched.

He turned to you again, eyes hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the people I care about to take care of themselves properly."

You didn't flinch, just tilted your head slightly, like you were waiting for more. "Tattoos and piercings aren't unhygienic if done right," you replied. "But sure, let's pretend this is about safety and not just your obsession with control."

Sunoo laughed under his breath, the sound hollow. "Yeah? And let me guess—you're the expert now because you sat through a couple needle sessions and watched some tattoo TikToks?"

You leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze unshaken. "No. But I'm someone who understands that self-expression doesn't need your permission."

The tension in the air crackled. And just when it felt like one more word would tip things over the edge, Jake returned to the table, smiling. "Miss anything?" he asked, completely unaware.

You leaned back smoothly, picking up your drink like nothing happened. "Not a thing."

That was it. He couldn't keep letting this slide. As much as he tried to convince himself he was just being overprotective, he knew deep down he was past the line of tolerating your presence. You were a bad influence on Jake—he was sure of it—and sooner or later, someone had to say it. That someone was going to be him.

Later that day, when you'd left first and it was just the two of them walking toward the station, Sunoo finally spoke. "Do you... ever feel a certain vibe from her?"

Jake blinked, looking over at him with an innocent confusion that made Sunoo want to scream. "Huh? Vibes? What kind of vibes?"

Bitch vibes, Sunoo almost blurted out. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Just... like, the way she talks. She always has something to say, and it's never just casual. It's like everything's meant to get a reaction."

Jake tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to follow. "You mean, like, she's too witty?"

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "No, like... she's too comfortable? It's weird. And I don't trust it."

Jake just laughed, brushing it off too easily. "She's just chill. That's how she is with everyone. She's a good person, Sunoo. You just haven't gotten used to her yet."

Sunoo sighed, irritated. "That's the problem. I don't want to get used to her. And maybe you shouldn't either." He let the word slipped on his mouth.

Jake glanced at him, and for the first time, his smile faded a little. "She's my friend. You're my friend. Just... try not to be mean, okay?"

Maybe he had sounded a little too harsh, a little too pointed—but it wasn't like he was being mean for the sake of it. Sunoo knew what it looked like, but deep down, it wasn't about jealousy or drama. He was just trying to protect something that mattered to him before it got tangled up in whatever messy situation. He didn't trust easily, and the way you walked into their lives set off every internal alarm. But Jake... Jake wasn't the type to see danger. Not like Sunoo did.

"Sorry," he said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Jake's hand with a small smile. Jake just nodded and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return, the silence between them filled with a quiet understanding even if they didn't see eye to eye on everything.

Meanwhile, from your side of things, things were quite different.

The more time you spent around Kim Sunoo, the more curious you became. You weren't really interested in men. They were too predictable, too performative, too eager to please and too quick to disappoint. They were fun, sometimes, but they didn't hold your attention. But Sunoo was something else. You didn't even notice when it started. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the way he bit back when provoked, or how he tried so hard to hide that he cared too much about the people around him.

You'd seen beautiful people before. You'd had flings, hookups, distractions. But Sunoo... he stuck. You were clearly interested. and there were moments that he annoyed you, sure. Challenged you. Threw shade but he made your brain work. He made your skin itch in that specific way only people you couldn't quite figure out ever did. And fine, maybe it was because he looked a little like a girl. Soft skin, pouty lips, those lashes that curled perfectly for no reason. You couldn't stop looking at him.

Well, too bad for you, he didn't seem the least bit pleased with your presence. And honestly? The feeling was mutual. He had that almost condescending way of speaking that made everything sound like a warning label. Foul controlling mouth, always ready with a "don't do this," or a "you shouldn't do that." He was a walking killjoy wrapped in pretty skin, constantly policing the air around him like joy was something to be monitored.

It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?

"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.

You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.

Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.

You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."

That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"

And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.

He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with  him, though. Not just a friend.

If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.

And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.

And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!

Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."

And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.

And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.

His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.

You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"

Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."

You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."

"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.

"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."

The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.

Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.

So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."

The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.

Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.

You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"

"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."

You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."

He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."

You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"

You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."

He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.

"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."

Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."

The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.

"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.

You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.

You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."

Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."

You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."

He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.

"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."

Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."

He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!

"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.

"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."

Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."

Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"

"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."

Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."

Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"

Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.

He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"

Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.

Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.

"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"

Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.

"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."

Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"

Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.

Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.

"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"

Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.

There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!

So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.

Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"

Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"

You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"

Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"

You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."

Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"

"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.

He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"

"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."

He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"

"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.

Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.

You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.

He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"

"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"

"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.

You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."

"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.

You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.

That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.

His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.

You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.

"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.

Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.

You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."

He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.

"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."

He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."

Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."

Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."

You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.

Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.

He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.

The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.

You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.

When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.

Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.

Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.

He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.

He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.

And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.

Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.

"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.

You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.

Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.

Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.

And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.

His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.

"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.

You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.

Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.

"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.

Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.

Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.

"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.

You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.

Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"

"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.

You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."

But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.

"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."

He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.

"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."

You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"

You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"

"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"

"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"

"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"

Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.

Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.

"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"

You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.

"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."

You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.

Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.

"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.

You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.

Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.

He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.

He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."

Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.

"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."

Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.

It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.

Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —

"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"

Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.

The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"

Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."

Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."

Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.

All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.

You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.

Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.

But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.

Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.

The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.

"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"

You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.

Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.

What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.

What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.

"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.

You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.

"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.

You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.

"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."

Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."

Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.

Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.

"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."

"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.

Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."

You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.

"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.

Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"

Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"

"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.

You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.

Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.

You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.

Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.

You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.

"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.

You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"

He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."

You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"

His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."

You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"

That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.

He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"

The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.

God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"

You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.

"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."

Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.

"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."

Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."

You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."

"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."

His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.

"Okay," you said. "Sorry."

You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"

You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."

His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.

"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."

He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.

You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.

He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.

Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.

You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.

"My shirt's in the living room—"

"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.

You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"

He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.

Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.

"You're hard."

Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."

The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.

You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.

He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."

You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"

"No. You're the one making it complicated."

His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.

You waited. "Never what?"

"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."

"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"

He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.

His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.

There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.

Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.

The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.

"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...

He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.

His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.

With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.

Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.

You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."

And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.

Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.

He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.

Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.

And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.

"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."

"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.

Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.

Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.

Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.

You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.

Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.

It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.

"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.

You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.

"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."

He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."

You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.

"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.

You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.

Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.

You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.

You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"

He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.

You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.

"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"

"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"

Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.

Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.

There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.

"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.

But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"

You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.

He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"

You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.

Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"

For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."

He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."

That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.

He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"

You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.

He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.

"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.

"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.

Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.

"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.

The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.

But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.

At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."

The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."

"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"

"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"

Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."

When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.

Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."

Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.

It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.

"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.

Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."

You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.

"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.

You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.

From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"

You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.

Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"

You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.

"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."

Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.

"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.

He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.

"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"

That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.

"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.

If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.

You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.

"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.

Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.

You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."

"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.

You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.

"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"

You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.

"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.

"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.

Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."

Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."

That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.

You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered.  "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"

He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.

You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"

His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.

"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"

He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.

And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.

His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.

Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."

Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.

His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."

You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.

His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"

Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."

He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.

Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.

You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.

"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."

He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.

He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.

Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.

So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.

His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.

"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.

When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.

"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.

His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.

Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.

This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.

Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.

He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.

When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.

But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"

He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.

Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.

You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.

"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.

"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.

But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.

Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.

Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"

You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.

Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."

You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"

You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."

Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.

You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.

Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.

You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.

You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."

He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.

As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.

The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.

Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.

"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"

His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.

You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.

You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.

Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."

Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.

"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."

You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.

You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.

You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.

His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.

Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.

And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.

So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.

"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"

He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.

"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."

You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."

Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.

Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.

"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—"  your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.

The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.

Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.

Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.

And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.

"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.

He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.

"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.

Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.

You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.

Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.

"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."

Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.

Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."

You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.

After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.

4 Months Later.

"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"

Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.

Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.

His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.

He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."

You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.

"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.

You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."

You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.

It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.

By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.

He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.

You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.

Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."

He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.

"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"

Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."

You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"

You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."

"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.

You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."

Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.

The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.

"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.

Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.

You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."

You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"

You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."

Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.

"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."

Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."

You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.

Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.

On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"

You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"

"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"

There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.

"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.

Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."

Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.

When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.

Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.

"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."

You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."

His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"

"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."

You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."

You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.

"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.

You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.

You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.

"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."

"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."

Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."

You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"

Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."

Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."

You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."

"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."

Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."

"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.

"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."

You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.

Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.

So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."

He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."

You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."

"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."

You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"

You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.

He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"

"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.

Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.

You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder

"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."

You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"

Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"

You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."

He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."

"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"

"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."

You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.

Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."

You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."

The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him,  your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.

The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.

"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.

You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.

You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.

One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."

You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.

Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."

You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."

Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"

"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"

You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.

By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.

That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.

"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.

Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."

You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."

"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."

Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."

You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."

Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."