asian | 23 y/o | btsvt

Smiling, you read post after post as you waited outside one of the many practice rooms in the building. Your fans had been particularly attentive these past few weeks, deciphering messages even you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t the girl giving them; it was entertaining, though, to see them slowly losing their minds with each day that passed and they didn’t get an official confirmation from your company.

Your boyfriend announced his presence before you could sense it, as you usually did, leaning curiously over you to try and sneak a peek at your phone screen. “What’s gotten you so giggly? Are you looking at pictures of that time Jaemin bleached his brows?”

Chuckling, you shook your head. As you switched off your phone, Yangyang took a seat on the floor beside you, waiting patiently for you to elaborate. He was still worn out from practice, skin glowing and dewy with sweat, taut chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Your fans,” you said with a smile. “They’re all going crazy trying to figure out if we’re dating or not.”

Yangyang paused for a moment before reciprocating your giddy smile. “I saw that, too. It’s getting a bit out of hand, though. Don’t want things to get too intense.” That, with a kiss pressed to your temple. Both of you knew too well how quickly these cute, funny online occurrences could turn dramatic, volatile. You hummed, leaning in to the touch.

Your fingers slotted with his when you rested your head on his shoulder, murmuring, “Maybe we should tell the company to release a statement, then. Four years with our relationship to ourselves sounds like long enough, no?”

Yangyang shook his head petulantly.

You chuckled at the childish act. “Baby, they’re going to find out eventually, anyway.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have to yet,” he said, stressing the last word. “I want to keep you to myself for just a little while longer. That’s no crime, is it? For me to want to keep you all for myself? I don’t happen to think so.”

“Neither do I,” you agreed. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before you added, “Especially because I want to keep you for myself for a little while longer, too.”

notes how much of a narcissist am i that i used most of yeri’s pics for reader because we have the same body type… 😁 also i am MAJORLY uninspired in terms of writing anything more than a few thousand words these days so sad that i have to make my smau debut like this, but i hope you guys enjoyed some yangles content from me!! wayv’s been on my mind recently (quick act surprised). apologies if this is actually ass i’m a smau nugu 😞💔 also, this was inspired by a riize version i saw of this trope by @032104 ! their series on this is sooo worth checking out ヽ(´▽`)/

@hyuneskkami @jwiloves @bluedbliss @ayukas @rubiiisyeon

the shout echoed in your living room before you even spotted him. you could recognize that voice even in your sleep. and there he was — liu yangyang, your childhood best friend, the boy you’ve been harboring secret feelings for the last five years, storming in with wild eyes and a kind of frustration that clung to him like static, restless and loud.

you clutched your towel tighter around your body, still dripping wet from the shower, “dude! i know i gave you my code but that doesn’t mean you can just walk in here with no warning!”

yangyang’s eyes flicked over to you, unimpressed. he didn’t even flinch at your half-naked state — too consumed in his own misery to care. he just groaned and collapsed dramatically onto your couch, burying his face into a throw pillow like he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment, “put on some clothes so i can die in your arms in peace, please,” he mumbled, his voice muffled, pout obvious even without seeing his face.

you exhaled, long and patient, already used to this. already too soft on him for your own good, “fine. but just so you know, i’m out of ice cream.”

“ughhhh, i hate my lifeee,” he whined, dragging the pillow closer like it could protect him from reality. you shook your head and padded toward your bedroom, trailing little wet footprints behind you.

this was his routine now — crashing into your space, sometimes drunk, sometimes stone sober, always wearing that perfect mask on the outside until it shattered behind your door. he’d been like this ever since the two of you got back from your internship in germany and found out that his best friend, renjun, and his girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, love, had somehow fell in love with each other in the strangest, most heartbreaking way. a box dropping on her head. temporary amnesia. the illness between memories blurred until she didn’t know who was who. by the time the fog cleared, it was already too late, she’d fallen in love with the wrong boy (or the right one) depending on whose story you hear. yangyang had been stuck in the middle of that impossible truth ever since. he played the part so well, too — polite smiles, easy words about being “happy for them” when people asked. but the cracks always showed when the day ended, when he needed someone who wouldn’t call his bluff. so he came here. to you. and through it all — the late night breakdowns, the way he cycled through the same rants until even his tears felt rehearsed, the quiet collapses on your couch — you never once left his side. not when his voice broke. not when his walls crumbled. not even when your own heart kept breaking quietly in the background, knowing he’d never look at you the way he looked at her.

you pulled on a hoodie and your pajama shorts before returning to the living room. yangyang was still sprawled out into the cushions like he owned them, his head tipped back against the armrest, staring at your ceiling like it might offer him a divine answer. you grabbed the remote, flipped on the t.v. for background noise and nudged his leg with your knee, “scoot over,” you ordered.

he grumbled something incoherent but still obeyed, pulling his legs up and folding into a lazy criss-cross on your couch. you dropped beside him, close enough that your knees brushed, mirroring the way he sat. it had always been like this between you two — automatic, instinctive, like your bodies remembered how to fit together in any space.

from this close, you caught the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. your eyes narrowed immediately, “you went to the dream party, didn’t you?”

yangyang shifted uncomfortably, gaze darting anywhere but you. he tugged at a loose thread on the pillow, shoulders stiff, clearly guilty, “uhhh…”

you tilted your head, raising a brow, “now, why the hell would you do that?”

he let out a long, shaky sigh, finally dragging his eyes back to yours. the vulnerability there made your chest ache, “i-i don’t know! i-i just wanted to see her.”

the words hung heavy in the air. you bit the inside of your cheek, bracing yourself. “and?” you prompted, voice harsher than you meant it to be.

yangyang leaned back, hands fidgeting in his lap, like if he didn’t start talking he might actually combust, “and you would not believe what happened—” he said, launching into the story of what went down at the party.

*flashback to earlier today at the dream fraternity*

the music thumped in his chest, laughter spilling in the air, a red solo cup in his hand as he listened to whatever xiaojun and hendery was talking about, plastering on the same easy grin he’d worn all week, the one that said i’m fine. i’m happy. inside, though, every second felt like his ribs were caving in.

he saw them way before they saw him. their matching color palettes weren’t hard to miss — renjun and love wrapped up in pink. side by side. brushing like magnets, smiles soft and too tender for anyone else to miss. he swallowed down the lump in his throat and took another sip, pretending the burn was enough to numb it.

when renjun finally spotted him and made his way over, yangyang braced himself, smile sharpening onto something lopsided, practiced, “dude,” he said, gaze flicking over, “the pink?”

renjun blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

yangyang tilted his head, grin widening just enough to look genuine and pointed at his best friend’s new hair, “it suits you. makes you look… weirdly happy.”

renjun’s shoulders relaxed a little, mouth tugging into a shy smile. “yeah, well. she picked it.”

“of course she did,” yangyang let out a soft laugh. amused. or at least, pretending to be.

a cautious silence threaded between them like they were both balancing glass in their hands. then renjun’s voice dropped quieter, “can we talk?”yangyang didn’t even sigh. he just nodded and stepped off to the side with him.

renjun began, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but yangyang’s, “i should’ve told you sooner. but it all happened so fast and next thing i know–”

“you love her,” yangyang said simply. his tone was light, steady, betraying nothing. but inside, it was a knife twisting right in his chest. “i know. i saw it all that night we took her to the hospital.”

renjun’s throat bobbed, “yeah.”

“i already forgave you,” yangyang went on, managing a small, resigned smile, “i just needed a couple days to process and the let the sting wear off. besides, you were right. i wasn’t there. i should’ve seen it coming, really. it just makes sense that the two people i love most would fall in love with each other,” he concludes. not entirely sure if he was trying to convince the boy in front of him or himself.

renjun swallowed hard, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“yeah,” yangyang said softly, “but it did. and maybe it was supposed to happen exactly like this.” there was a pause, full of memory, affection, and things left unsaid. yangyang took a sip from his cup, “anyway. the internship called me. i got the job.”

renjun’s eyes widened. “you’re kidding—?”

yangyang grinned, this time genuinely. “nope. full-time offer. i leave right after graduation next year…so really,” he went on, nudging renjun’s shoulder lightly, “it worked out for everyone. i got my future, and you got her. she was always yours, anyway. i was just keeping her heart warm till you were ready.”

“what do you mean?,” renjun asks, curious.

yangyang forced out a grin, pretending every word he uttered wasn't crushing his own heart, “you’ll have to ask her about it.”

renjun’s throat went tight. “yang…”

“don’t get sappy on me now, loverboy,” he warned, letting out a laugh that covered the crack in his chest. he didn’t want his pity. “go. be gross together. and tell her i said thanks for finally getting you to change your hair. i’ve been begging for color since sophomore year.”

renjun snorted, “thanks.” then, after a beat, quieter, sincere, “we’re still best friends, right?”

yangyang nodded once, smile beaming, even though his brain was still screaming a million curse words. “as long as you don’t mess this up.” yangyang says like some sort of wise man. literally, fuck him and his own savior complex. he should be screaming. he should be trashing this place. instead, he’s sporting a beaming smile all for the sake of other people’s happiness.

renjun met his eyes, “i won’t,” he promised. “i’d rather die.”

yangyang let the silence stretch, just long enough for the promise to settle between them. then he nodded once, smile still beaming like it didn’t cost him anything at all. he gave renjun one last look before clapping a hand to his back and heading into the house. the music swallowed him up again, laughter bubbling all around him. the party’s pulse thrummed against his ribs as he moved through the crowd. then he felt the weight of eyes on him. his own gaze flicked up and there she was – love. his ex-girlfriend. renjun’s girl now. for a second, the noise around them dimmed. she didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. just held his gaze across the room, her expression caught between guilt and gentleness, the kind that held both apology and acceptance. yangyang’s chest twisted but he forced his mouth into a small smile. quiet. understanding. and she returned it — a tiny curve of her lips, a silent acknowledgement of everything they had been and everything they no longer were.

*end of flashback*

yangyang’s voice trailed off, the party fading from his memory as reality came crashing back into your small living room. the background noise of your t.v. hummed low, mixing with the sound of his uneven breathing. he looked smaller than usual, hunched forward like the weight of his words was still pressing on him.

“you told him you forgive him?” you asked, incredulous, turning to face him fully, “but….you don’t.” you point out the obvious.

yangyang groaned, dragging both hands down his face before flopping back dramatically against the couch cushions, "i didn’t know what else to say!,” his voice cracked somewhere between exasperation and despair, “what? am i supposed to keep playing the villain and not let them be happy!?”

you stared at him, heart aching and pressed your lips into a thin line, “you’re not the villain, yang.” he tilted his head toward you, eyes glassy and vulnerable in a way he only ever let you see, “—you don’t have to forgive them if you’re not ready,” you added softly.

yangyang sniffled, reaching blindly for a tissue on your coffee table, “i hate this,” he muttered, voice muffled into the tissue as he wiped his nose, “i hate that i don’t even hate them. like…isn’t that what i’m supposed to do? get angry? yell? throw a drink in someone’s face?”

“you?” you snorted, “please. you’d apologize to the person you threw it at for wasting their drink.”

that earned you the tiniest huff of laughter, just enough to soften the tight line of his mouth. you leaned your head against the back of the couch, watching him. he sat criss-cross again, knee brushing yours, hair sticking up from where he’d been raking his hands through it. his chest still rose and fell unevenly, but at least he was breathing easier now.

“you’re allowed to be hurt, you know. you’re allowed to let the world know how you truly feel.” you said quietly.

yangyang stuffed another tissue into his fist like he could bury all his pain in paper instead. “yeah, well,” he mumbled, forcing his voice into something lighter, “lucky for me, i don’t need the world. i’ve got you. free therapist, 24/7, no copay.”

you rolled your eyes, even as warmth bloomed unsteadily in your chest, “don’t flatter yourself. you’re paying me in pizza next time.”

“deal,” he whispered, smiling weakly. then he let out a long, dramatic sigh, suddenly shifting and tossing the crumpled tissue onto your coffee table. before you could ask what he was doing, his arms reached out and hooked around you, tugging you straight into his chest.

“come here,” he murmured, already nuzzling his chin on top of your head like it was second nature.

you groaned, squirming in protest, “yang, no! you reek of alcohol and i literally just showered!”

“don’t care,” he mumbled stubbornly, holding on tighter, “i need my emotional support teddy bear.”

you shoved lightly at his chest, wrinkling your nose, “you’re gross. you smell like cheap beer and regret.”

he tilted his head down to grin at you, eyes glinting, “you love it.”

“i absolutely do not!,” you shot back, though your voice wavered with a laugh.

“yes, you do,” he said, sing-song, tightening his arms until you gave up fighting, “you’re addicted to me. admit it.”

“addicted? please.” you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t try to move away again, “you’re lucky i’m too tired to throw you off my couch right now.”

yangyang chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against your cheek, “so basically…you like me enough to suffer through the smell. that’s real love, right there.”

you smacked his arm without much force, “don’t push it.” but your body betrayed you anyway. relaxing. softening. your head finding its place against his chest like it belonged there. his hand absently traced circles against your back, slow and soothing, the kind of touch that wasn’t meant to mean anything but still felt like everything.

the t.v. murmured on in the background, the glow painting soft shadows across the room as the two of you sank deeper into the couch. yangyang’s heartbeat was too steady, too familiar, it lulled you, each breath syncing with his. the silence between you wasn’t empty. it was lived in — a silence that had grown up with the two of you, evolving from playground whispers to late-night facetimes, from library study sessions to these countless evenings on your couch. it wasn’t awkward, never had been. it was a blanket you’d both wrapped yourselves in a thousand times before, stitched together with years of knowing each other’s rhythms, moods and unspoken words. and just when you thought he’d drifted off, his voice came low and quiet, threaded with a kind of sincerity he rarely let anyone hear —

“thanks for always listening to me, teddy.”

the nickname hit like it always did – tugging at the memory of a third grade classroom where it all began. to your favorite teddy bear lying on the floor, head ripped clean off from a game that got too rowdy, to your little hands clutching the broken stuffed toy, tears blurring your vision and yangyang’s panicked face staring at you like he’d ruined the world, crying with you. the very next day, he showed up to class with a brand new teddy bear in his arms — softer, cuddlier, shinier. he’d shoved it into your chest, muttering rushed apologies and awkward promise after awkward promise that he’d never hurt you again. and you, still sniffling, had promised him something too — that you’d be his best friend for as long as that teddy bear stayed with you. and it had. it still did. the years had worn it down, the fur dulled, one ear a little loose but it sat tucked safely in your bedroom. proof of a promise that hadn’t been broken.

you closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat, breathing him in despite the faint edge of alcohol clinging to him. this time, you didn’t protest, didn’t tease him, didn’t make a joke to deflect the way your chest ached. you just let the words settle over you, warm and heavy. and like so many nights before, you drifted into sleep tangled up on the couch together. two best friends, bound by years and promises, still holding onto each other like that was enough.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 15 - TUESDAY - PAINTING II.

out of every day of the week. yangyang has grown to hate tuesdays the most. he didn’t even understand why he needed this class — he was set after graduation, internship locked in, his future lined up in neat little rows. but a degree was a degree and this class was just another box to check off. — painting ii. should’ve been a class he enjoyed. he loved making things, experimenting with brushes and color, letting his hands move faster than his thoughts. now it just felt suffocating because, of course, renjun and love were in this class too. they came in together. side by side. her arm brushing his. renjun leaning close to whisper something that made her laugh effortlessly. yangyang’s jaw tightened but by the time they were in his line of vision, the mask was already back on. that same carefully constructed, almost-too-bright-i’m-fine smile.

“hey,” renjun greeted, his voice careful, still carrying the weight of friday’s conversation.

yangyang just grinned, like it was nothing, “what’s up?” – easy. effortless. like he hadn’t spend the entire weekend sprawled on your couch with romcoms on autoplay.

love gave him a small nod, polite, almost…grateful. like she knew he was sparing them. like she was silently thanking him for playing along.

but where yangyang’s mask held steady, yours did not — from your seat next to him, you glared daggers so sharp they could’ve cut through steel. your sketchbook was open, pencil poised, but your entire focus was pinned on the couple like you were trying to set them on fire with sheer willpower. yangyang nudged your knee under the shared easel, subtle but firm, a small warning, “stop it,” he whispered, voice low enough that only you could hear. your eyes didn’t move, “they don’t deserve your smile.”

he forced a quiet laugh, leaning back on his stool, the sound too casual, “and what? you’re gonna fight them with paintbrushes in the middle of class?”

“if i have to,” you muttered, jaw tight. he couldn’t help it — despite everything, a smirk tugged at his lips. that was the thing about you. he could be unraveling and somehow, you still made him laugh.

“play nice,” he murmured, shaking his head. you rolled your eyes, finally dragging your gaze back to the page.

right then, professor yuta strode to the front of the studio, clapping his hands once to get everyone’s attention. his black hair was tied back loosely, smudges of paint already dotting his arms like he’d been working before class. “alright, everyone,” professor yuta began, his smile sharp, “today, you’re working in groups of four. you’ll be sketching a concept for the university’s cafe logo — nothing final, just ideas. think simple, think clear and most importantly–,” his gaze swept the room, landing on a few nervous students, “-think something i won’t throw in the trash immediately.” a wave of laughter and a few groans echoed throughout the room along with chairs scraping and stools shifting.

you and yangyang didn’t even need to look at each other. it was automatic — you were a package deal. he angled himself towards you, already doodling a goofy smiley face in the corner like he owned the space.

“guess it’s us,” he said, teasing.

“like it was ever going to be anyone else,” you shot back, leaning over to draw another smiley beside his. he snorted softly, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time that morning. but before he could completely fall into it, shadows fell across your table.

“hey guys,” a familiar voice said. you froze mid-scribble. renjun stood there, love right beside him, her hand brushing his sleeve like it always seemed to do these days. both of them were looking at you and yangyang with polite expressions as if this made perfect sense, as if nothing happened and everything was completely like the way it was before.

“looks like everyone else is already grouped up,” renjun explained, careful, almost apologetic, “mind if we join?”

yangyang’s smile flickered for half a second, the mask threatening to slip, but he caught it just in time. by the time he looked up, it was firmly in place again, “sure,” he said lightly, with a shrug that cost him more than he’d admit. you, however, weren’t nearly as composed. your pencil pressed hard enough against the page it nearly snapped. you forced your lips into a thin line, offering a curt nod that was more grit than grace.

renjun slid into the seat across from yangyang, love sat beside him, right across from you, her gaze flickering to yangyang for a fleeting second, soft and unreadable, before she looked away. yangyang leaned back in his chair, drumming his pen against his notebook like it was just another tuesday. but you knew better.

renjun set his sketchpad down, pencil already moving with the quiet focus he always had. beside him, love leaned over to peek at his lines, her laugh spilling soft and easy when he drew a messy curve. she nudged his elbow, teasing and he caught her wrist in that causal, familiar way. the kind that made yangyang’s stomach twist even if his smile didn’t falter. you had gone still, brush in hand, staring at the blank paper in front of you. yangyang nudged you lightly with his knee again, a silent reminder. play nice. you forced yourself to dip into the paint, sketching out rough shapes.

“so,” love said, tone bright, “maybe something with a coffee cup? simple lines, but kind of cozy?”

renjun nodded immediately, “yeah, and maybe we add steam that curls into letters — N C T U. what do you guys think?”

yangyang tapped his pencil against his page, pretending to consider it, “not bad,” he said lightly, “cozy but still sharp. professor yuta might actually not throw it away.”

renjun laughed under his breath, love’s shoulder brushing his as she leaned closer. the sound of it — soft, unguarded, theirs — filled the small silence that fell over your half of the table. you clenched your jaw. picked up your brush. painted one hard, deliberate line that nearly split the page. and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out—

“god, could you two just…not? we get it. you’re in love. rub it in, why don’t you.”

the brush clattered a little too loudly against the jar of water when you dropped it. silence. renjun froze, pencil hovering midair, his shoulders going rigid. his eyes darted up to you, almost guilty, then quickly away, jaw tightening like he didn’t trust himself to respond. love blinked, caught between shock and guilt, her hand pausing on the page as though she’d forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.

the air went brittle — and then yangyang burst out an awkward laugh, too quick, too loud, too bright. it cracked through the silence like a sparkle burning too hot. “HAHAHA–” he drawled, arm swinging up and draping across your shoulder, pulling you into the curve of his space like it was all just a joke, “she’s kidding guys. don’t mind her. sarcasm’s practically her love language.” his grin was wide, practiced. the kind of grin that screamed easygoing, no harm done, let’s move on. but the weight of his arm pressed heavier than usual and when he turned his head to look at you, the smile didn’t reach his eyes. that pointed look said it all. and you understood what he was trying to say without even saying anything at all — cut it out. stop. please.

you let out a cough, “yeah, kidding,” you murmured, forcing out a fake chuckle. the word tasted bitter but you swallowed it down anyway, for his sake.

the next forty minutes dragged on like hours. renjun kept his comments short, never quite meeting your eyes. love spoke in measured bursts, careful and polite, her laughter gone. you stuck to clipped answers and yangyang….yangyang was everywhere. he cracked dumb jokes, nudged renjun into laughing once or twice, redirected love’s feedback to you with a soft, “hear that? she likes your idea.” every time the tension threatened to snap, he was already there, smiling over the cracks.

by the time professor yuta strolled past to glance at your group’s progress, it looked decent enough — a cozy coffee cup, steam curling into the letters NCTU, framed with warm tones and textured brushstrokes. he hummed approvingly, lingering for a second, “looks good, you four work well together.”

your laugh almost bubbled up at the irony but yangyang beat you to it, “thanks professor,” he said smoothly. perfect smile, perfect tone, like nothing was wrong.

finally, professor yuta clapped his hands together at the front of the room, “time’s up, brushes down. we’ll review the final drafts next class.” the usual post-class chatter buzzed low around the studio. you shoved your brushes into the case a little too hard, movements sharp, clipped. beside you, yangyang was quieter than usual, his tiredness bleeding through. you caught renjun and love laughing softly at something as they packed up. the sound was small, barely there but it crawled under your skin like barbed wire. you could practically feel your blood boil. yangyang noticed them. he always did. and this time, instead of nudging your knee or shooting you that warning look, he just stood — bag slung over his shoulder, eyes forward. he didn’t say goodbye. he just jerked his chin toward the door, a silent let’s go, and slipped out the classroom. you followed, trying to keep up with his pace. but the moment you were far away enough from the art room, he snapped.

“why did you have to act like that?!” yangyang’s voice was sharp, he whirled on you, brows knit tight, anger crackling off him like static, “you couldn’t just let it go for once?!”

you blinked at him, incredulous, heat rushing to your cheeks, “let it go? yang, are you serious right now?” your own voice shot back, louder than you meant, “—i’m sick of them acting like they can just waltz back into your life like nothing happened. like they didn’t—” you stopped, chest heaving, words catching, “—like they didn't rip your heart out!”

his jaw clenched, “you think i don’t know that?”

“then why are you letting them sit across from you like it’s fine?!,” you threw your hands up, protective instinct spilling over into rage, “you’re the one who’s been breaking on my couch for days, yang! and i’m supposed to just…sit there and watch you smile at them like they deserve it?”

“because its not about you!” he snapped back, louder this time. heads turned from students lingering down the hall, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls. his own voice cracked on the edges, fraying, “it’s my mess. my pain. not yours to fight for!”

the words hit harder than you expected, cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. you were a package deal. you take one, you take the other. you hurt one, you hurt the other. apparently…not — you stood there in the hallway, silence ringing in your ears, chest tight, fists curled at your sides. yangyang dragged a hand through his hair, pacing two steps away like he needed the space to breathe. his shoulders heaved, every inch of him vibrating with that mix of rage and hurt he usually hid under jokes and easy smiles.

and now, he wasn’t just upset with them. he was upset with you.

“not mine to fight for?” you repeated, your voice low now, shaking with the effort of holding yourself together, “don’t you get it? every time you’re hurting, i’m hurting, too,” you stopped, chest heaving, like the words themselves were choking you.

yangyang’s laugh was hollow, ugly, a sound that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “you don’t get it. i don’t need a bodyguard, okay!? i don’t need you storming in like you’re gonna save me. i just need–” he cut himself off, teeth gritted, fists clenching tight, “i just need you to let me handle it.”

your throat burned, “handle it?! yang, all you do is pretend. pretend you’re fine, pretend you’re over it, pretend their smiles don’t cut you in half. you call that handling it?”

he turned on you, eyes blazing, “because if i stop pretending, i’ll fall apart! and i can’t–” his voice cracked, raw and sharp, before he swallowed it down, "i can't be that pathetic.”

the words slammed into you, heavy and unyielding. you wanted to reach for him. to tell him he wasn’t pathetic. to remind him you’d hold every broken piece if he let you — but he was already pulling back, shaking his head like your closeness was the last thing he could stand.

“just…stop.” his voice was quieter now, but it cut all the same, “stop fighting battles that aren’t yours. stop making it harder.”

you stood there, nails biting into your palms, your heart a mess of fury and ache. for a second, you thought about pushing further, about forcing him to see that you weren’t just some bystander in his wreckage. but the way he looked at you — pleading, furious, exhausted — froze you in place. so instead, you let out a bitter laugh, “fine.” the word cracked like glass. “if that’s what you want, then handle it. alone.”

his jaw flexed like he wanted to take it back, like something inside him was tearing. but he didn’t. he just nodded once, curt and turned on his heel. the two of you walked in opposite directions down the hall, footsteps echoing, backs stiff. neither of you looked back. and for the first time since the third grade, yangyang has consciously broken his promise.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 18 - FRIDAY - MR. BEAR

three days. it had been three days since that fight in the hallway. three days since the last time yangyang has spoken to you. three days of passing each other on campus like strangers, of him veering left when you went right, of group chats where his replies skipped right over you like you weren’t even there.

thirteen years of friendship, and never — never — had it gone this long. you’d shared lunch tables, secrets, and late-night video calls. you’d cheered each other through every minor victory, every heartbreak. you’d even applied to the same internship, bending and shifting your choices to make sure you were in each other’s orbit. there was no version of your life in which he wasn’t there. no version where the silence between you stretched out like this. and yet here you were, trapped in a version you hadn’t chosen. like he’d built a wall and left you on the other side.

your apartment felt smaller than ever. you sat cross-legged on your bed, your textbooks splayed open but ignored. no matter how many times you read the same line, your brain refuses to absorb it. all you could think about was yangyang.

the brown, worn-down teddy bear sat propped up against your pillow, it’s button eyes staring. you reached for it, clutching it to your chest, your frustration boiling over “can you believe him, mr. bear?” your voice cracked through the silence, sharp and small all at once. you jabbed a finger at the bear’s stitched face, “he’s actually mad at me? out of all people?!” you pulled the bear back to glare at its faded smile, your voice rising, “i’m the one who’s been there through everything. i’m the one who picked him up when he couldn’t even get out of bed. i’m the one who stayed when she left! and he’s mad at me?” the bear’s head lolled to the side, its seams sagging, like it was tired of listening to all of your secrets. you laughed bitterly, shaking your head, “it’s like–what? he’d rather i sit there quietly while he smiles through the pain? am i supposed to just watch that?!” your throat burned, your eyes stinging. you hugged the bear close, pressing your face into its worn fur, your words muffled against it. “he says it’s not my fight,” you whispered, raw and hoarse, “but if i don’t fight for him, then who will?”

the silence stretched, heavy and unyielding. the old bear didn’t answer. it never did. you glared at it’s worn down eyes, “you’ve seen everything, you know? every meltdown, every dumb heartbreak, every midnight pizza run. and now the silent treatment! he’s so—UGH!”

you didn’t hear the door creak. didn’t notice the smell of pepperoni hit the air, “wow,” came a voice you’d know from anywhere, dripping with mock astonishment, “three days of silence and you’ve officially lost it. yelling at mr. bear? should i be worried?”

your head snapped up. yangyang stood in your bedroom’s doorway, pizza box balanced on one hand, his expression somewhere between smug and fond. your heart lurched so hard you almost dropped the bear, “what the hell are you doing here?”

he stepped inside your bedroom like he owned the place. “fulfilling my promise, i owe you pizza remember,” he waved the box, “figured three days was long enough for you to stop being mad.”

you sat up straighter, arms crossing tight over your chest, heat prickling your cheeks, “i wasn’t talking to mr. bear.”

he smirked, setting the box down on your desk, “yeah, okay, teddy…next thing i know you’ll be asking it for relationship advice.”

“don’t call me that.” you muttered, your pout deepening even as your chest pinched the way it always did when he said it. yangyang just grinned wider, like he’d been waiting to use it again. he dragged your desk chair over, spun it around, and straddled it backward — his usual move when he wanted to make himself comfortable. his eyes flicked from the bear to you, amusement softening into something quieter.

“look,” he started, voice lower now, “i know i was an ass. i shouldn’t have snapped at you in the hall. i just—” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, “—i don’t want them to know i’m falling apart…it’s…sad and pathetic. not everyone has to see that side of me.”

your heart thudded painfully against your ribs at the honesty in his tone. “you’re not pathetic,” you whispered, “but you’re human, yang…not a fucking robot. so stop acting like one.”

yangyang tilted his head, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips upon hearing his nickname, “so…truce? or do i need to get mr. bear’s approval too?”

you rolled your eyes, lips pursed in a stubborn line, “three days of silence and you just show up with pizza like nothing happened? like that fixes everything?”

yangyang raised his brows, completely unfazed, he rolled the chair closer until your knees brushed, “i mean…yeah? pizza fixes most things. don’t act like it hasn’t worked the last fifty times we’ve fought.”

“that was different,” you huffed, turning your face away, nose wrinkled, “this was the worst fight we’ve ever had. you were an asshole.”

he smirked, tapping his fingers against your chair, “i was. and you’re still sulking about it like a five year old so i guess we’re even.”

you whipped your head back toward him, glaring, “i am not sulking.”

“oh, no?” he leaned forward, tapping a finger against your pout, then gestured at mr. bear, “so you weren’t just yelling at a stuffed toy when i walked in?”

your cheeks heat instantly, but you cross your arms tighter, chin jutting out, “that’s different. he understands me better than you do right now.”

that got him — yangyang laughed, loud and unrestrained, tipping his head back until the chair wobbled dangerously, “wow. replaced by a bear i bought. didn’t see that one coming.”

you refused to smile, even though the corners of your mouth betrayed you by twitching, “you don’t get to joke your way out of this.”

he leaned closer, grin softening but still teasing, “you’re pouting so hard right now i’m shocked your face isn’t stuck like that...c’mon teddy, just admit you missed me.”

your heart pounded again, the proximity dizzying. you swallowed hard, “i didn’t.”

his eyes glinted, unaware of his effect towards you, voice dropping, “you so did.” you groaned, throwing a pillow at him, which he caught one-handed, still laughing.

“— and i missed you too, you know?,” his voice slipped quieter, softer, the grin fading into something that made your heart skip a beat.

you blinked, your pout faltering, “well, you sure had a funny way of showing it. three days, yang. three.”

he winced dramatically, hand over his heart, “trust me, i felt every second. do you know how boring life is without you? i had to actually…listen to hendery’s girl problems.”

a reluctant snort escaped you, but it melted quickly into a sigh, “you deserve worse than that.”

“yeah,” he said quietly, eyes finding yours, the teasing fading into honesty, “i know. and i’m sorry, teddy. for snapping at you. for acting like i didn’t need you. because i do.”

your throat went tight, the stubborn wall you’d been holding up all week cracking in two, “yang—”

“no, let me say it,” his voice broke slightly, softer than you’d heard it in weeks, “you’re the only one who’s been on my side through all of this. and i…i took it out on you. that was messed up. you didn’t deserve that.”

you swallowed hard, “i only snapped because i care,” you say, voice shaky but firm, “seeing you pretend like you’re fine when i know you’re not—it drives me crazy. i can’t just sit back and watch them hurt you. i’m not as nice as you are.”

yangyang moved onto the bed, even closer now, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. just him, raw and open, “i know. and i’m sorry for making you feel like it wasn’t your place. it is. you’ve always been my place.”

your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt. he didn’t mean it the way you wanted him to. you knew that. but the words still stole your breath.

“god, you’re such a dummy,” you whispered, rolling your eyes playfully to hide the blush that was forming on the apple of your cheeks.

he smiled faintly, hand reaching out to nudge the bear against your arm, “yeah, but i’m your dummy, right?”

you let out a shaky laugh, finally leaning into him, into that familiar warmth you’d missed so much, “yeah. you are.” and when his arm curled around you, pulling you against his chest, your pulse went wild. to him, it was comfort. to you, it was everything.

“i’m sorry, too,” you murmured into his shirt, the words muffled but certain.

“don’t worry about it,” he whispered back, pressing his cheek into your hair, “no more silent treatments. ever.”

you hummed, forcing yourself to sound steady even as your heart thudded erratically. “agreed. now let’s eat the pizza before it gets cold,” you finally pried open the pizza box, the smell of melted cheese filling the room, sharp and comforting all at once. yangyang reached over immediately, snatching the biggest slice like it belonged to him by right.

“hey!” you protested, swatting at his wrist.

he smirked around a mouthful of cheese, “what? you need to be faster next time.” rolling your eyes, you grabbed your own slice, too hungry to argue properly. the only sounds were chewing and the occasional crunch of crust, the tension finally bleeding out of the room. when the last of the pizza was gone, you leaned back against the headboard, full and sleepy, mr. bear perched loyally at your side. yangyang stretched out with a groan, flopping back across your bed like he owned the whole thing.

“ugh, i swear, no one makes better pizza than that place,” he said, one hand resting over his stomach, eyes drifting shut.

you gave him a look, “you’re literally about to pass out, aren’t you?”

he cracked one eye open, a lazy grin tugging at his lips, “maybe. this bed’s comfier than mine anyway.”

your heart gave that stupid lurch again. “you can’t just fall asleep here,” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“why not?” he asked, already burrowing into your blanket like a cat, “we used to do this all the time. remember middle school? after movie marathons? or those all nighters we pulled in senior year?”

of course you remembered. you remembered every one. the sleepovers only stopped when you had your first boyfriend in first year. then was put on hold again when yangyang was dating love. you hesitated, then sighed, scooting down beside him, “fine. but you’re on blanket-sharing probation. you hog it every time.”

“pfft,” he scoffed, already tugging the comforter toward himself, “you’re just bad at blanket defense.”

you rolled your eyes again but didn’t argue, curling up with mr. bear clutched against you. a quiet settled over the room, not the brittle, painful silence of the past three days, but the warm, comfortable kind that wrapped around like the blanket you were reluctantly sharing. your pulse thrummed as yangyang shifted closer, his arm draping over your stomach in that absent, thoughtless way he always did when sleep tugged at him. your body tensed instantly, your heart hammering loud enough you were sure he could hear it. but he didn’t. of course he didn’t. yangyang’s breathing evened out within minutes, his forehead brushing the side of your hair as he slipped under, blissfully unaware of the way every inch of you was burning at the contact. you stared at the wall, hugging mr. bear tighter, trying to steady your racing heartbeat. eventually, exhaustion pulled at your own limbs and you let your eyes close, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him. the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was his soft, steady breathing — familiar, safe, home. and just like that, the old routine returned. the fight, the silence, the ache — it all melted into the simple truth of where you belonged — pressed against him, even if he’d never know what it truly meant for you.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 20 - SUNDAY - SHOTARO.

sunday evening. 6PM. you needed a release — some way to get yangyang out of your head because the last week had been chaotic. the endless rants, the cuddling, the hallway fight, the silent treatment. you couldn’t even sit through a single class without thinking about him. your frustration needed an outlet, and you knew exactly where to turn. you grabbed your phone, texting the one person that was easy. no pleasantries. no teasing. just a blunt:

y/n: u busy?

shotaro: be there in 5

shotaro arrived just like that. the one person who never asked for explanations. no cuddling afterward, no holding, no lingering — just pure release. as soon as the door shut behind him, your hands were on him, pulling him into your bedroom. clothes became a nuisance, tossed carelessly to your bedroom floor. he was underneath you in seconds, hands and lips working in tandem. you straddled him, letting the heat build, letting the frustration and longing you’d been bottling for yangyang spill out.

“god, is this about yangyang again?” shotaro murmured against your skin, teasing in that familiar, knowing way.

“don’t say his name.” you sneered, as you grabbed a condom from your night stand and handed it to him. he wrapped his member with ease, smirking up at you with a teasing grin. you groaned, eyes squeezing shut, “don’t look at me like that…just…fuck me.”

his grin widened, sharp and wicked, before he grabbed your hips and sunk you down. the stretch burned, the ache was sharp but it was exactly what you needed. you rode him, let the world shrink down to skin, heat and sweat. no words, no names, just sex. he whispered little taunts under his breath, teasing you for your obvious crush, obvious to everyone except your best friend himself, but it only made you grind harder, your mind too scattered, too desperate to focus on anything else.

“fuck,” shotaro groaned, his hands gripping your thighs, watching the way your body moved against him, “you’re always so tight when you’re wound up like this.” you didn’t answer, just rode him harder, chasing the friction, chasing the distraction. your hair fell into your face, your chest heaving, nails biting into his shoulders as you moved. shotaro chuckled, low and teasing, “why don’t you just tell him? save yourself the—agh—trouble of coming to me every time you get worked up over your best friend.”

“shut up,” you moaned, slamming down harder on him, chasing the sharp crack of pleasure, “i didn’t call you here for advice, i called you here for dick.”

he laughed amusedly, “say less.” and in one quick motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, driving into you deep, fast, relentless. the shift knocked the breath out of you, a cry tearing from your throat. “this what you needed?” shotaro’s voice was ragged now, his mouth brushing your ear as he thrust harder, rougher, "something to get him out of your head?”

“fuck—fuck, just like that—fuck me—just fuck me—” you arched beneath him, words breaking into high-pitched moans, nails dragging down his back. the rhythm was sharp, unforgiving, each thrust grounding you in the heat of now, pulling you further and further from the ache that had been gnawing at you all week.

•ᴥ•

yangyang let himself into your apartment, unannounced, like he had been doing for the past month, ever since you gave him the code to your door. it was supposed to be like always — raid your fridge, sprawl on your couch, crash out about the same things over and over again until he gets tired enough and falls asleep. but halfway to your bedroom, he froze. the sound hit him like a slap — your voice, high and breathless, tangled in sharp moans. the wet rhythm of skin slapping against skin, faster, harder. the kind of noises he shouldn’t be hearing coming out from you.

“…fuck me—just fuck me—”

his stomach dropped. his brain short-circuited. he should leave. god, he should leave. but his feet stayed rooted, his chest tight, his throat dry. he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop hearing you. the words punched through him and then the answering growl from a man he didn’t recognize. deep. smug. taking you apart. he staggered back, heart racing, palms sweaty. he couldn’t go closer. but he also couldn’t bring himself to walk out. so he dropped into your couch instead, head in his hands, staring blankly at the dark t.v. screen. the sounds from your room carried — every moan, every gasp, every filthy slap of skin against skin. they painted pictures in his head he’d never once let himself imagine. pictures that had his cock twitching, heat pooling low in his gut before he even realized it.

“shit,” he whispered under his breath, shifting uncomfortably. but nothing helped. every noise made it worse — you’d always been his best friend. his constant. he’d never thought about you like this, not once. and now all he could think about was what your face looked like when you cried out, what your body looked like under someone else’s hands. he sat there, trapped, every muscle locked tight, his heart thundering out of control. listening as another man fucked you in a room he’d wandered into a thousand times before.

•ᴥ•

you came undone with a gasp, fingers digging into shotaro’s shoulders as his hips snapped up one last time. he groaned, body tensing before spilling into the condom, the both of you collapsing into the sheets at the same time. for a moment, the only sound was heavy breathing. then, as always, the spell broke. no kisses. no cuddles. no gentle aftermath. just silence and the faint, sweat-slick smell of sex. you pulled the hem of your oversized t-shirt, you’re sure is yangyang’s, letting it fall just enough to cover your thighs, “get out,” you muttered, already reaching for the water bottle by your nightstand.

shotaro just laughed, eyes crinkling with that easy expression he always had, “efficient as ever,” he rolled out of bed, tugging his cargo pants up without a care, “but damn…worth it.”

a few minutes later, shotaro padded out of your bedroom, running a hand through his already misheveled hair. you didn’t bother walking him out the door, staying rooted at the ede of your bed. but the second he stepped into your living room, he froze.

“uh…hi,” yangyang blurted, voice loud enough to snap you right back into your body.

“yang?” you stumbled out of your bedroom and into the living room, in nothing but your best friend's shirt and your blue underwear, heart leaping into your throat, “what are you doing here?”

he stuttered immediately, eyes wide, trying to ignore the fact that you’re wearing his shirt, “i—i just got here, i’ll just, uhm go—“

shotaro, completely unfazed and clearly enjoying the tension, cut in smoothly as he headed towards your door, “no worries, man. i was already on my way out.”

the casual tone, the little smirk on his face, the way yangyang’s ears burned bright red made the air between you sharp, electric, almost unbearable. and then the door clicked shut behind your fuck buddy.

for a second, the apartment was too quiet. just you. just yangyang. just the faint scent of sex lingering and his oversized t-shirt clinging to your skin. yangyang leaned back into your couch cushions, smirking like he had the upper hand, though his posture screamed otherwise. you could tell he was trying to look casual but the way he shifted, one of your throw pillows clutched across his lap, gave him away.

“so…” he drawled, lips twitching, “you and shotaro, huh?”

“shut up,” you shot him a glare but he only laughed.

you marched past him toward the kitchen, snatching up the abandoned empty pizza box you still needed to throw out, just to have something to do with your hands, “we just fuck sometimes. that’s it. don’t make it a big deal.”

yangyang let out a low whistle, rocking forward on the couch, “damn. my best friend’s got a whole secret sex life i didn’t know about.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, “kinda proud, teddy. lowkey impressed you snatched mr. dancing machine.”

you shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass, “i should’ve never given you the code to my door. you muttered, tossing the crumpled pizza box into the trash with a little too much force.

when you turned back, you caught him shifting uncomfortably, one of your throw pillows suddenly clutched across his lap. he tries to play it off, “what? no way. best gift you ever gave me. unlimited therapy session. plus i get to waltz in whenever i want. it’s like—“ he made a sweeping gesture, pillow still in place, “a VIP membership to your life.”

“yeah, a VIP membership to walk in on things you really shouldn’t,” you shot back, raising a brow.

he groaned, tipping his head back against the couch dramatically, “okay fair, but how was i supposed to know you’d be…you know…” he waved vaguely in the direction of your bedroom, like he could erase the memory with a gesture.

you crossed your arms, trying not to grin too much, “that’s why next time, maybe text first?”

you couldn’t help but notice how tightly he was clutching your throw pillow, fingers digging in like he was holding on for dear life. the fabric stretched under his knuckles and the way his arm trembled slightly didn’t escape your attention. “yang…” you said, tilting your head, voice playful but pointed, “why are you gripping my pillow like that?

he froze instantly, the pillow almost molded to the shape of his hand and a faint flush crept up his neck, “i-i’m not…” his voice trailed off and he shifted awkwardly on the couch, trying to loosen his grip without actually letting go.

“mhmm,” you crossed your arms, smirking despite your own heart hammering in your chest as you stepped closer, “—that’s a very relaxed way to hold a pillow, don’t you think?”

his jaw tightened, eyes darting away, but the tension radiating off him was impossible to ignore, “i-it’s just comfortable,” he muttered, still holding the pillow like it was shielding him from the world.

you laughed softly, crossing your arms, pretending to inspect him critically, “i see everything, you know. every little thing you try to hide,” you said, voice teasing, eyes sparkling as you let your words hang in the air.

his ears burned bright red, a mix of exasperation and embarrassment in his expression, “shut up,” he muttered. you walked over and with one swift motion, you yanked the pillow out of his grip before he could stop you. the second it left his hands, you caught the undeniable confirmation — the hard outline pressed against his sweats. your jaw dropped, then you burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your stomach, “you did not seriously get a boner over that. are you a teenager?!,” you gasped between laughter, pointing at him.

yangyang’s face blazed, “can you really blame me? that was like…audio porn!”

you laughed even harder, slapping your knees, unable to believe what you were seeing. he scowled for a moment, then suddenly lunged at you, toppling you backward onto the couch, “okay, you asked for this!,” he declared. the tickle fight that followed left you squealing, squirming beneath him, his hands grabbing at your sides and ribs, laughter spilling out of both of you. but as your bodies pressed together in the struggle, you felt it — the hard, unmistakable heat of him pressing right against the thin cotton of your panties.

yangyang froze for a split second, his eyes wide as he realized you might feel it too. the laughter caught in your throat, replaced by a sharp inhale. both of you were suddenly hyper-aware of just how wrong it was to be half-naked and ridiculously turned on while pretending to have a childish tickle fight. the room feeling heavy and charged —playfulness collapsing into something dangerous.

yangyang cleared his throat and rolled off you like the couch had burned him. you scrambled upright, tugging the hem of his shirt lower, refusing to meet his eyes. the silence was unbearable. so you reached for the remote and flicked the t.v. on. you curled up at the far end of the couch, he leaned against the opposite armrest, still flushed, the pillow back on his lap, pretending to look interested in whatever nonsense flashed on screen. but you could feel the weight of him. the silence between you wasn’t just awkward, it was suffocating. finally, desperate to cut through it, you risked a sideways glance at him and muttered, “...do you, uh…need help with that?”

yangyang’s head whipped towards you, eyes blown wide, like you’d just detonated a bomb in the middle of the room. his lips parted, no words at first. color rushed up his neck, burning his ears. he scoffed weakly, shaking his head, “you’re joking.”

were you? you weren’t even sure. you’d do anything for him if he asked. but of course, he didn’t need to know that.

“of course, i’m joking,” you forced out a teasing grin, leaning back against the cushions, “go to my bathroom and take care of it.”

he groaned, rolling his eyes and threw the pillow at you, “shut up. let’s just…talk about something else and it’ll go away.”

you tossed the pillow aside, smirking, “okay, what do you want to talk about?”

he cleared his throat, clearly grateful for the subject change, though his voice was still rough at the edges. his mind wandered back to the real reason he’d come over in the first place. “i saw them again today,” he started, eyes fixed on the t.v. though he wasn’t really watching. you sighed, sinking back into your side of the couch, already bracing yourself for another one of his renjun and love venting sessions.

•ᴥ•

later that evening, when yangyang shut the door to his room and collapsed onto his bed, it all came rushing back — the sound of your moans, the sight of you in his shirt, the feel of your body warm beneath his. and then your voice, low and teasing, brushing the edges of something dangerous.

“...do you, uh…need help with that?”

what if he’d said yes? would you really have done it? would you have dropped to your knees for him, lips wrapping around his cock, swallowing every ragged sound he’d make? the thought made his whole body tense, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt. a groan tore out of his chest as his hand slipped beneath his waistband, wrapping around himself. he was already leaking, already too far gone from hours of being so fucking hard. his strokes were rough, fast, chasing that impossible image of you — your mouth stretched around him, eyes flicking up, smug and playful even as you hollowed your cheeks. the more he pictured it, the more unbearable it became, until his hips were snapping into his fist, muscles drawn tight as wire. heat coiled sharp and low before it snapped all at once, spilling across his stomach in thick, messy ropes. his head tipped back against the pillow with a guttural curse, relief hitting so hard his thighs trembled.

all he could do was breathe. and when his chest finally slowed, as the sweat cooled on his skin, the guilt crept in — he stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, trying to shove the images away, trying to convince himself it didn’t matter. that it didn’t mean anything. that he was just pent up, just needed a release. that it wasn’t about you.

he wiped his hand on a tissue, tossing it blindly toward the trash and dragged both palms over his face. never again. he told himself. this can’t happen again. because you were his best friend. the one person he could be stupid with, unfiltered with. the one person he trusted more than anyone. he couldn’t let a few reckless urges ruin thirteen years of friendship. he wouldn’t. he swore it to himself, jaw set tight in the dark. she’s my best friend, he thought. that’s all she is. that’s all she can be. but even as the words repeated in his head, he felt how flimsy they were. like paper trying to hold back a flood. because even as exhaustion pulled him under, the realization hit him hard. for the first time in weeks, the thought of you had replaced the thought of her.

not his ex. not the best friend who broke his heart.

just you.

and somehow, that terrified him more than anything else.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 22 - TUESDAY - JEALOUSY.

it had only been a week since the four of you last sat in this class together. a week wasn’t long. the classroom hadn’t changed. the paint-splattered stools, the faint smell of paint, the hum of pencils scratching against sketchbooks.

but yangyang felt completely different.

a week ago, all he could see was them – renjun and love. sitting just a few feet away, whispering into each other’s ears, trading smiles so soft they might as well have been knives. watching them had been torture. watching them had cracked him open, ripped at his scars until they burned fresh again.

but now…now all he could think about was you.

you, sitting right beside him, bent over your sketchpad as you finalized the outlines for the cafe’s logo. the brush of your arm against his, the warmth of your thigh grazing his under the table — it was all suddenly unbearable. at one point you leaned just slightly closer to point out something on your paper and yangyang swore he forgot how to breathe. a week ago, this wouldn’t have registered. he would've been too wrapped up in heartbreak, in hating how much renjun and love looked like the perfect pair. but today, his focus had shifted. things he never noticed before, things he brushed off as meaningless, now had his pulse stuttering in his veins. every laugh you let slip, every time you slapped his thigh when the laughter was too much to hold in, every absentminded brush of your fingers against his, every small, careless detail of your presence, every innocent point of contact — felt like a jolt to his system.

renjun slid his sketchpad forward, tapping his pencil against the rim of the drawn coffee cup, “i added a little more detail to the cup,” he explained, casual but confident, “just to highlight the main focus.”

you leaned in to look, lips curling into something polite and careful, “that’s actually really nice,” you said, your tone smooth, deliberate, “the way you shaded the curve makes it look sharper. good detail.”

you were playing nice. yangyang knew it. he was the one who begged you to not make things harder and you were just doing exactly what he wished for. but now — all yangyang heard was the softness in your voice when you praised renjun, all he saw was the way you leaned in to look closer. his hand froze mid-stroke, pencil hovering above his page. his thoughts consuming him. why do you have to lean in like that? why do you sound so impressed when you talk to him? jealousy burned in his gut, hot and sour. his ex-girlfriend had already chosen renjun over him. would you, too?

renjun looked between the two of you, then casually asked, “what do you think, yang? too much shading?”

yangyang blinked, yanked back to the conversation. “yeah. probably. it’s a little overdone.” his voice was sharper than he meant it to be, his pencil pressing too hard against his own page.

renjun frowned, looking at his sketch. “i was just trying to—”

“—make it perfect, i know,” yangyang cut in quickly, forcing a laugh that didn’t land, “classic renjun, mr. detail.”

you shifted slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. not a word — just a look he understood immediately. the one that asked, what’s wrong with you?

then you looked at renjun, muttering out an encouraging, “i like it. don’t listen to yangyang.” before redirecting your gaze back to your best friend, searching for answers. finally, he shook his head, sharp and small, and when he didn’t elaborate, you exhaled softly and turned back to the page.

yangyang forced his pencil back to the paper but the jealousy didn’t fade. class went on. renjun and love whispered to each other across from him, trading notes and soft smiles, while yangyang continued to sit stiff beside you, pretending to sketch. every time you leaned forward to ask renjun a question or murmured something polite, his chest tightened, green burning under his ribs. he didn’t say a word though. just let it fester, chewing on the inside of his cheek until class finally ended.

the four of you packed up. renjun and love left first. you slung your bag over your shoulder, waiting for yangyang to grab his things. it wasn’t until you stepped out into the hallway, the classroom door swinging shut behind you, that he finally spoke, “you were being awfully nice,” he said, low, almost casual but not really.

you blinked, glancing sideways at him, “huh?”

he shrugged, eyes fixed forward, like it was no big deal, “to them. to renjun.”

your brow furrowed, piecing the pieces together, “okay, wait—” you stopped walking, forcing him to stop too, “so, let me get this straight. last week you literally ignored me for being mean to them and now you’re mad that i’m nice?”

yangyang’s jaw clenched. he didn’t have a good answer and he knew it, “i’m not mad.”

you scoffed, “you sound mad.”

“i’m not,” he insisted, sharper this time. but his voice cracked halfway through, betraying him.

your eyes narrowed, “then what is it?”

his jaw tightened, “nothing.”

you folded your arms, not letting him off that easy, “bullshit. you’ve been sulking since renjun showed his sketch. so go on…say it. what’s actually bothering you?”

yangyang looked at you then, finally meeting your eyes and for a split second something raw flickered there. but just as quickly, he shoved it down. “it’s just—” he faltered, then forced a laugh. “you don’t have to praise him like he’s picasso, okay? it’s just a coffee cup.”

you stared at him, incredulous, “that’s what this is about? you’re jealous over…shading?”

his ears went red, “i’m not jealous.”

you raised a brow, “right. whatever you say.”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “god, you’re impossible.”

“and you’re ridiculous!” you shot back, but softer now, playful. you sighed, letting your arms drop, “i was just trying to do what you asked me to do. be nice. keep the peace.”

that silenced him. his throat bobbed as he swallowed, guilt flashing across his expression before he shoved it away again. for a moment, neither of you said anything. the hallway buzzed faintly with other students passing by but between you two, the tension pressed thick and heavy.

yangyang finally muttered, barely audible, “yeah…i know. i just…don’t like it.”

you blinked at him, then let out a short laugh before a smirk took over your face, casual, easy, “relax. i’m not about to run off and join their little lovefest. you’re stuck with me, dummy.”

that tugged a reluctant chuckled out of him, low and quiet, but enough to soften the edges of his jealousy. the two of you walked on, the tension easing into something familiar again – banter layered over the unsaid, like always.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 25 - FRIDAY - SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN.

the bass downstairs rattles the floorboards, the whole riize frat house alive with drunk laughter and chants. someone’s passed you a red solo cup that’s been refilled too many times already and your head is pleasantly fuzzy, heart beating too fast in your chest. you hadn’t planned to be here. you only came because yangyang dragged you, promising “just one beer, chill night, we’ll leave early.” but somehow just one beer became just one shot and then just one more until you were giggling against the upstairs hallway wall, watching couples stumble into a closet as the next victims of seven minutes in heaven.

you’d been content to watch — until shotaro, grinning at you like the devil he is, suddenly points right at you, “yo, i nominate them,” he says, voice carrying over the cheers, “our favorite besties! yangyang and y/n!” he smirks, saying your name with way too much glee. the crowd roars. your stomach drops. and if looks could kill, shotaro would be five feet under while you fake cry with a bouquet in your hand.

yangyang laughs it off at first, waving them away, “nah, nah, pick someone else—”

but his refusal only made the chants louder, “YANGYANG! Y/N! YANYANG! Y/N!”

then shotaro delivers the killing blow, “if they don’t at least make out, they gotta streak from this room all the way to pool. naked. right now.” yeah, you were about ready to book his funeral date.

the crowd erupts even louder. someone pounds on the closet door for emphasis. you glance at yangyang, mortified. his cheeks are already pink from the alcohol but the flush deepens as his eyes meet yours. yanyang lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of hic neck, “guess we’re screwed, huh?”

before you can argue, hands are on your backs, shoving you both into the closet. the door slams and the lock clicks. the crowd outside starts a countdown, muffled through the wood but relentless, “SEVEN! MINUTES! IN! HEAVEN!”

the closet is pitch dark, the smell of coats and cologne hanging in the air. yangyang stumbles into you, shoulder knocking yours, both of you giggling awkwardly. the sound dies fast. something about being trapped in this tiny closet, being this close, hits you hard. he exhales, voice low, trying to keep it light, “okay, so…either we streak naked in front of like, half the frat…” his pause is long, deliberate, “or…we make out.”

your heart lurches, all those times you’ve been at your best behavior, trying not to ruin your friendship, trying to keep your feelings at bay, just for it to crumble down over a silly little party game. you scoff, trying to keep his light tone, “i’m never letting you drag me into a party again.”

outside, someone yells, “WE’RE LISTENING!," followed by laughter.

yangyang curses under his breath, hiding his own nerves under a giggle. then, after a beat, he adds, softer, almost testing, “honestly? i’d rather kiss you than have our nudes all over social media.” you couldn’t argue with that. plus you had more to lose than he did. the seconds stretch, your pulse thundering in your ears. and then yangyang moves, slowly, his hand brushing your wrist like he’s asking permission.

“you cool with it?”

“yeah,” you whispered, hoping he doesn’t catch the way your voice shook or the way your heart is pounding so loud you could barely hear the roar of cheers outside.

and before you could even register what was happening, he softly tilted you towards him, a finger under your chin — lips on yours in a soft, slow kiss, tasting faintly of beer and hesitation. it lasted five total seconds before you pulled back an inch, breathless. he did too. for a suspended moment, it was just the sound of your heavy breathing. then, as if drawn by the same thought — you both leaned in again. at the same time. firmer this time. mouths slotting together in a rush that felt inevitable. the longer it lasts, the less funny it becomes. his hand slides to your waist, tugging you closer in the tight space. your fingers fisted in the front of his shirt. the kiss grew hungrier, teeth clashing a little, tongues tangling in a way that made your knees week and a whine slip from your lips.

“OH THEY’RE DEFINITELY DOING SOMETHING!,” someone yelled from outside.

yangyang chuckled against your mouth, lips trailing dangerously close to your ear. his breath was hot, his whisper meant only for you, “guess we should give them what they want, huh?” he kissed down your jaw, lingering at your neck until a moan slipped out of you before you could control it. the crowd howled like they’d just won a prize. minutes blurred, heat and alcohol tangling until you weren’t sure where your laughter ended and your moans began. the world outside blurred into static as your world narrows to yangyang’s lips moving hungrily against yours, body flushed, fingers digging into his hair like you've been waiting years for this. which, technically, you have.

by the time someone outside banged on the door and shouted, “TIME’S UP!” you were both panting, clothes rumpled, lips swollen.

yangyang leaned his head back against the wall, laughing breathlessly, eyes gleaming even in the dark, “think we bought ourselves out of streaking duty?”

you couldn’t even answer, too busy catching your breath. his thumb brushed your lower lip, almost absent-mindedly, wiping away your smudged lipstick, like now that he’s touched you like this he could no longer stop.

the lock clicked, the door swung open, and the roar of the party came crashing in. everyone’s faces lit up at the sight of you two flushed and disheveled, shotaro looking prouder than usual. someone even shouted, “DAMN, THEY WENT IN ON EACH OTHER!”

your face burned. yangyang just slung an arm around your shoulders, calm and collected, like nothing happened, grinning lazily, “relax,” he murmured in your ear, sensing your embarrassment as if you weren’t both flushed and rumpled, “we just won the game.” you rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh but your pulse was still racing. the crowd quickly lost interest, moving on to drag their next victims towards the closet while you and yangyang slipped back into the swarm of bodies downstairs. the bass was heavier here, lights flashing orange and white across sweaty faces. yangyang steered you toward the kitchen, “shots?”

you looked at the alcohol like it hasn’t already gotten you in enough trouble for the night, “definitely.” the two of you lined up side by side at the counter, tossing them back one after the other. the tequila burned but it was better than the heat still lingering on your lips. better than the way your chest tightened every time you remembered how’d he pressed you against the closet wall.

you both laughed too loudly, moved too quickly, like if you just kept pouring and swallowing, you could wash away the last seven minutes. back in the living room, ningning pulled you onto the dance floor. yangyang followed instantly, a goofy grin plastered on his face, body moving to the beat with exaggerated moves. you bumped shoulders, trying so hard to act like it was just another party. just another night with your best friend. but every time his hand brushed your waist in the chaos, the memory of his mouth on yours came roaring back. so you drowned it in another shot. and another. and another.

yangyang mirrored you drink for drink, laughing, joking, throwing his head back like nothing in the world had changed. you didn’t notice the way his smile would falter in the moments between — how his gaze would drop to your lips before he tore it away, burying it in the crowd, the music, the liquor.

neither of you could stop drinking, like the burn in your throats was easier to handle than the fire that had just set between you.

•ᴥ•

the party was still raging when you and yangyang finally slipped out, laughter ringing behind you, the smell of alcohol clinging to your clothes. the cool night air hit your cheeks, the two of you stumbling down the sidewalk, drunk giggles bubbling between hiccups of silence.

“my feef hu-urrgh,” you muttered, tripping over a curb.

yangyang caught your elbow, though his own balance was barely steady, “what?” he laughed, blinking hard like it would steady the street spinning under his feet.

“my. feet. hurt.” you repeated slower, enunciating each word like it took every ounce of concentration.

that only made him double over with laughter, his arm looping around your shoulders just to keep the both of you upright. you clung to him, laughing so hard your ribs ached. every step was a stumble, every laugh another collapsed into each other’s sides, until the two of you were gasping for air like idiots. by the time you made it up the stairs to your apartment, your faces ache from laughing. at what? neither of you even knew anymore. yangyang nearly fell against the keypad, both of you struggling to remember the code while giggling like kids sneaking out past curfew. somehow, you got it in, and the door slammed behind you with a heavy thud. shoes kicked off somewhere near the entryway while you stumbled in tandem through the dark before collapsing in a tangled heap onto your bed, too drunk to care about the lights or the mess. the mattress groaned under the weight, the room spinning in dizzy circles, “a-are we spinning?” you giggled into your pillow.

“yeahhh,” yangyang slurred, rolling onto his back beside you, the mattress dipped, his arm brushing yours, his knee bumping your thigh. neither of you moved away. you turned your head, ready to tease him — only he was right there. closer than you expected. close enough to see the glassy gleam in his eyes, close enough to feel the heat of tequila on his breath. and just like that, the air shifted. the laughter died, choked out by the thud of your heart pounding too fast in your chest. his eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your gaze, lazy but sharp, like he was fighting to decide if he’d imagined what happened earlier.

for one suspended second, you swore the room stopped spinning.

then his lips were on yours again — this time sloppy, desperate, all the tension from the night finally slipping over. the second his hand slid to the back of your head like he’d been starving for this, your body gave in. you gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed whole as the kiss turned hotter, hungrier, tongues tangling, teeth clashing, both of you desperate enough that precision didn’t matter. his body heat drowned out everything, pulling you in until you were chest to chest. his hands slid under your shirt, fumbling, tugging you on top of him with a growl muffled against your mouth. you straddled him without hesitation, knees sinking into the mattress, fingers fisting the fabric of his hoodie.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were crossing a line. but with yangyang’s lips moving against yours, breath ragged, hips pressing up into yours — there was no stopping it now.

“fuck,” he groaned, teeth grazing your jaw as his head tipped back, “we shouldn’t—”

“then stop,” you whispered back, dragging your mouth down his throat.

he didn’t. he couldn’t. his hands drag over your waist, clumsy but hungry, pulling your shirt off and tossing it to the side. every brush of his fingers made the blood roar in your ears, making the world tilt. clothes fell away in pieces — his hoodie yanked off, your jeans kicked off the bed. every barrier stripped felt less like a choice and more like inevitability. like this had always been where you were headed. by the time you were both bare, your skin slick against his in the dark — the air was thick with heat and alcohol. and when his hips bucked, the hard press of him against you made your stomach clench. your lips trailed lower, tasting the salt of his skin, kissing down the hard lines of his chest, your hands roaming, desperate to touch everything you’d never let yourself have before tonight. his breath hitched, hips jerking when your lips reached his stomach. and when you finally wrapped your hand around him, hard and heavy against your palm, yangyang’s head tipped back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut, a hoarse curse tumbling out of his lips, “shit—” he groaned, hips bucking up helplessly. his knuckles went white, twisting in the sheets, his head thrown back, hair sticking damp to his forehead. the first slick drag of your tongue had him gasping, the second had him choking on a broken moan that sounded nothing like the playful, smug best friend you knew.

“you’re—shit—you’re bigger than you look,” you giggled before your lips sucked around his tip, collecting his leaking pre-cum.

he let out a strangled sound, a mix between laughter and a groan, his hips jerking helplessly, “don’t—f-fuck—don’t say that,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate, “god, teddy—shit, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

the nickname nearly undid you. you sank your lips further down his length, the weight of him hot and heavy on your tongue, until your throat burned and your eyes watered, but you didn’t care. the more you took, the more you wanted. you were dizzy on the taste of him, the way he was begging, the way his thighs trembled around you, the way his hand clutched your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. yangyang’s voice cracked again, hoarse and pleading, “please—please, more—,” his hips jerked like he was trying to fuck your throat, “you’re so—shit—you’re so good at this.”you choked around him and he nearly fell apart, the sound vibrating throughout his body, his voice breaking into a strangled cry as his cock twitched on your tongue, hips jerking harder.

“f-fuck, i’m gonna—,” his voice pitched high, desperate, like he didn’t even want it to end. his free hand fisted in the sheets, pulling them tight. his eyes rolled back, sweat beading at his temple, voice cracking on your name as he broke off in a long, drawn-out whimper, spilling hot into your mouth. you hollowed your cheeks and swallowed him down, drunk off of the way he fell apart for you, whiny and ruined and begging like he’d never known how to beg before.

you were still catching your breath, lips wet and swollen, when yangyang suddenly surged up, his hand gripping your waist. in a messy blur, he flipped you onto your back. your mind way too drunk to catch up, “yang—,” you gasped as his lips closed around your nipple, teeth grazing, tongue dragging clumsy but desperate.

“shut up,” he mumbled against your skin, breath hot, laugh muffled, “y-you think i’m letting you be the only one? fuck no.”

he was sill so drunk. both of you were. but the hunger in the way he mouthed at you didn’t feel dulled — it felt sharpened, frantic. his mouth blazed down your body, leaving sloppy kisses and bite marks until he shoved his shoulders between your knees. the first drag of his tongue had you gasping, head feeling back against the pillow. the second had you crying out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“yang—ahh—,” the ceiling tilting above you. there was nothing polished about the way he ate you — just raw hunger. he groaned at the taste, pressing deeper, tongue messy, unrestrained, loud slurps, wet sounds, shameless moans that made your whole body shudder, his face buried deep like he couldn’t get close enough.

“holy shitt—you taste—,” his words slurred into nonsense, “—so fucking good—been wanting—god, i’m so—,” he cut himself off with a groan, nose pressing against you as his tongue worked deeper, sloppy and desperate. your thighs trembled, your hips rolling helplessly into his mouth. his grip only tightened, pinning you down, making you take everything he gave you. his hair was damp with sweat under your finger, his own moans muffled against you as he devoured you like he was starving.

“yang—fuck—fuck—,” your back arched, toes curling, the heat in your stomach bulding as his tongue dragged over that perfect spot again and again. you pulled at his hair, desperate for something to anchor yourself to and that only made him shove deeper, his nose bumping your clit as he tongue-fucked you. then two fingers pressed inside you without hesitation, the stretch clumsy but so, so deep, curling until your cry broke sharp and high. every noise he pulled out of you made him groan louder, rutting into the mattress below him. the bed creaked with his pace, each thrust of his fingers matched by his frantic grinding. his cock rock-hard again and leaking all over the sheets but he was too wrecked to care about the mess he was making. not when you were writhing underneath him.

“god, teddy—,” he whined shamelessly, his rhythm stuttering as your walls fluttered around his fingers, he curled them harder, faster, desperate to hear more of your noises, “you’re so hot like this. fuck–please—”

you sobbed out a whine, back arching, nails scraping his scalp and the noise he made was downright wrecked. his hips snapped against the bed, chasing friction, chasing relief. every time you moaned, he whimpered, rutting harder against your bed, smearing precum over your sheets without shame.

“please—please—,” the word tumbled from his lips, incoherent, half begging you to come, half begging himself not to finish again. his tongue lapped around your clit, “you sound so good—taste so good—god, i could—shit—i could do this for hours.

“yangyang—” your voice broke, shivering as his fingers curled impossibly deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

“say it again,” he gasped against you, tongue moving messier, wetter, more frantic, “please—please say my name—” you screamed it this time, back arching off the mattress — and he broke with it. he moaned loud into you, his release spilling against the sheets as he came undone a second time, grinding into the bed like he couldn’t stop. and he didn’t stop. even as he shuddered, even as his cock twitched against the bed, he kept his fingers pumping, his tongue pressing until your climax hit hard — violent, wracking, tearing a broken cry from your throat as yangyang’s tongue and fingers pushed you over the edge. your whole body arched off the mattress, thighs clamping around his head as you came.

“yang—fuck—i’m—” your voice broke, the rest swallowed in a silent moan as you pulsed around his fingers. heat flooded every nerve, your vision going white at the edges. he drew every last shudder from you, swallowing down your release. when you finally sagged back into bed, chest heaving, your vision swam in dizzy stars. yangyang collapsed against your thigh, face sticky, lips slick with you, hair damp with sweat. his cock softening against the ruined sheets but his body still trembled faintly, spent from his own release.

netiher of you spoke. neither of you could. the alcohol, the mess, the sheer exhaustion weighed down your limbs. you reached blindly for him and he came up without hesitation, dragging himself up onto the bed beside you. the sheets were ruined, sticky with sweat and sex, but neither of you could care. you were too drunk, too spent, too wrapped up in the haze of each other’s bodies. you curled into each other automatically, his arm slung heavy around your waist, your forehead pressed against his chest. and just like that, tangled in the wreckage of your choices, you both slipped under.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 26 - SATURDAY - A MISTAKE.

sunlight cut across your room far too bright for your pounding head. the dryness in your mouth hit first, then the throb behind your eyes and then the heat pressed against you.

you weren’t alone.

the realization landed the same second yangyang stirred. his arm was around your waist. your bare chest flush to his. the sheets clung to your legs, tangled between your bodies. you blinked hard, vision swimming, just as his lashes fluttered open. the moment your eyes locked, sober clarity snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight.

“oh—fuck,” yangyang rasped, voice hoarse, eyes wide as he jerked back, only to freeze when he realized he was still naked under your sheets. your stomach plummeted. the pounding in your head drowned out by a harder, colder pulse of panic. you scrambled upright, dragging the blanket against your chest like it could erase the way his skin had been on yours just seconds ago. the silence was deafening. both of you breathing too fast, too shallow. both of you remembering at the same time — the shots, the laughter, the way you’d stumbled into bed together, into each other. the way you’d stripped and kissed each other down.

neither of you could take it back.

yangyang shoved a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath, his voice cracked around the word, “shit. shit. we—”

you cut in, voice sharper than you meant, “yeah, i know what we did.”

the air between you was heavy, thick, everything unsaid pressing down until it felt suffocating. he looked away first, jaw tight, muttering, “we were drunk. it…it didn’t mean anything.”

your chest constricted like he’d punched straight through it. a wake up call. a reminder of the thing you already knew deep down — the boy you’re in love with will never love you back. not in the way you want him to. that last night, to him, was nothing but a blurred mistake in a series of poor decisions. your pulse roared in your ears, but you forced your face blank, forced the words out even though they scraped your throat raw, “right,” you said quickly, too quickly, “it doesn’t mean anything. we were drunk.” you repeat his words, your laugh coming out hollow, brittle, a poor imitation of casual. you clutched the blanket tighter around yourself as if it could hold together the pieces of you splintering from the inside out.

yangyang let out a shaky exhale, his shoulders dropping, some flicker of relief passing across his features, “yeah. exactly. just…a mistake. we’ll forget it.”

a mistake. the word lodged in your chest like glass, sharp and cruel. you nodded anyway because what else could you do? admit you’re in love with him? admit that last night hadn’t felt like a mistake at all? that even drunk, it was the only thing that ever felt real? no. you couldn’t ruin thirteen years of friendship for something he wanted to forget. so you swallowed it down.

the burn of tequila was nothing compared to the ache of swallowing this truth.

“yeah,” you whispered, eyes fixed anywhere but him, “forget it.”

the silence stretched, unbearable, until it felt like the walls were closing in. he moved first, movements hurried, clumsy, as he shoved one leg into his jeans, then the other. his hands shook as he yanked the zipper, as he searched your floor for his hoodie. you sat frozen on the bed, nails digging crescents into your palm beneath the blanket. your body screamed to move, to say something, anything, but you stayed still like a statue.

he didn't look at you when he finally muttered, voice low, “i’ll see you later.” the door clicked shut behind him. and only then, when you were finally alone, did the first crack in your facade give way. your shoulders sagged. the tears you’d been biting back stung hot at the corners of your eyes, spilling silently down your cheeks as your curled into yourself on the bed that still smelled like the remnants of last night. the sheets clung damp to your skin. his warmth lingered like a ghost in the mattress. you pressed your face into the pillow, muffling the sob that tore its way out. the taste of last night still lingering on your tongue.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 28 - MONDAY - THE OBVIOUS.

yangyang couldn’t stop replaying it. the taste of your lips, the heat of your body, the way your laughter had broken into a moan in the dark. images of you flashing and consuming every waking thought he had. and then — yesterday. the look in your eyes. the word mistake. he told himself it was fine. you were fine. best friends go through shit and move on. but every time he tried to focus, the memory pressed harder, suffocating, until he felt like he was choking on the silence he brought upon himself. and the worst part? he couldn’t even talk to you about it. the one person he usually ran to when shit like this happens.

so he ended up standing outside the dream fraternity house, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, debating whether this was the dumbest idea of his life. the door creaked open before he could knock. jeno gave him a curious once-over, one eyebrow arched, before jerking his head inside, “renjun’s upstairs.” yangyang muttered a thanks, his throat dry — he found renjun hunched over his desk, sketchbook open, pencil tapping. the same renjun he’d been avoiding for weeks. the same renjun who had once been closer than a brother before everything fell apart. now here he was. because despite it all, renjun was the next person who would understand him.

renjun’s gaze lifted, sharp, unreadable at first, then softening into a flicker of shock. “hey…everything okay?”

yangyang leaned against the doorframe, suddenly aware of how stupid this is. he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, “i, uh…i need,” he clears his throat, exhaling, running a hand through his hair, “i need to talk to someone.”

renjun set his pencil down, leaning back in his chair, inviting him to come in, “you know i’m always all ears.” something in his tone — calm, patient, not holding the past against him, was enough to crack yangyang’s defenses, a nervous grin tugged on his lips as he stepped inside slowly before taking a seat at the edge of his friend’s bed.

“i–,” he hesitated, then the words tumbled out, low and rough, “i hooked up with y/n.”

the silence hit first. then renjun’s brows rose, not in shock exactly, more like confirmation, “hooked up as in—?”

yangyang groaned, dragging his hands down his face, “as in we were drunk and got to second base.”

renjun whistled under his breath, but his expression stayed calm, almost knowing, “well,” he said, leaning back further in his chair, “took you long enough.”

yangyang’s had snapped up, “the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

renjun tilted his head, studying him with that infuriating but familiar precision, no judgment in it, just quiet truth, “i always knew there was something else there.”

yangyang blinked. the words didn’t compute, “what? no way. we’ve always just been best friends.”

“sure,” renjun said evenly, “best friends who look at each other like the rest of the world disappears. best friends who packed their bags and flew all the way to germany for an internship because it was the only one the both of you got into—”

“what are you trying to say?” yangyang cut in, pulse stuttering, a little annoyed now, defensive because he didn’t know what else to be.

renjun’s gaze softened. his voice was steady, kind in a way yangyang wasn’t prepared for, “you can lie to yourself all you want, yang, but it doesn’t change what’s obvious to literally everyone else,” renjun paused, eyes searching his, “maybe to you, you’ve just been best friends. but y/n? she looks at you the same way i look at love.”

yangyang let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head hard enough to make his messy hair fall into his eyes. “no jun, come on. if that was true, if there was anything like that, don’t you think it would’ve happened by now? we’ve had years of being alone together. sleepovers, drunk nights, heartbreaks, traveling halfway across the world together, even staying at the same shitty hostel in germany. and nothing. not once. until last night, when we were drunk out of our minds. that doesn’t scream fate, that screams…accident. that’s it.”

renjun just leaned back further in his chair, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world. his silence pressed harder than words, like he was waiting for yangyang to trip over his own defenses.

yangyang’s pulse spiked under it, so he filled it, his words tripping over each other, “and don’t start with the whole ‘but look at how she looks at you’ thing. she has a fuck buddy, jun. a fuck buddy. not me. if she really wanted me, why would she need someone else for that?”

“maybe because it’s easy,” renjun replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “because it’s just sex. no strings. no danger of her heart being broken. sometimes a placeholder is easier than the one thing that actually scares the shit out of you.”

yangyang dragged his hands down his face, “that’s…that’s a stretch. you don’t just wake up and suddenly realize you’re in love with your best friend. that’s not how it works.”

renjun tilted his head, gaze steady, “or maybe that’s exactly how it works. maybe she woke up one night and realized that love is the comfort and safety you bring her. and now she’s too scared to ruin the one thing that’s always been safe. people don’t throw grenades into the only home they have unless they’re desperate. and you’d rather pretend it’s not there than risk losing her.”

that hit closer than yangyang thought it would. his throat went dry, “god, listen to how stupid this sounds. you’re making it into something it’s not. i just got out of a relationship…with your girlfriend, if you’ve forgotten. i’m barely keeping my head above water as it is. and now you’re trying to tell me what–,” his head snapped up, frustration and panic bleeding together, “that my best friend’s been secretly in love with me this whole time? that i’m too blind to see it?”

renjun shrugged, calm, unflinching, “not blind, yang. maybe you were just too scared to acknowledge the obvious.”

yangyang’s laugh turned sharp, almost bitter, “you hear yourself right now? you sound insane, jun,” yangyang’s chest rose and fell too fast, words spilling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried, “you think you know everything huh? newsflash— you don’t. you weren’t there.”

renjun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tone maddeningly calm, “then tell me what it was, yang. if it wasn’t what i’m saying, then what was it?”

yangyang shot to his feet like the mattress burned him, “it was a mistake! that’s all! two drunk idiots doing something they shouldn’t have. nothing more. nothing–” he broke off, fists clenching at his sides.

renjun stood slowly, not in challenge but in quiet steadiness, like he knew raising his voice would only make yangyang spiral more, “you keep saying nothing but your whole body’s screaming the opposite.”

yangyang let out a bitter laugh, shoving past him toward the door, needing air, needing escape, he had no idea why he thought coming here would help him, “you don’t know shit, jun. you don’t know me anymore.” his hand tightened around the doorknob, ready to twist, to bolt, to drown himself in anything but this conversation. but then renjun’s voice came, lower this time, not calm in that detached way, but warm, gentle, almost like before everything between them went to shit.

“yang,” he said quietly, “i’m not saying this to fuck with you. i’m saying it because i care. and you can keep yelling, keep pretending it was just some drunk mistake but i know you. and i know the way you’re looking at me right now — like you’re terrified i might be right.”

yangyang froze. his throat worked, but no sound came out.

renjun’s steps were slow, careful, until he was standing just a few feet behind him, “i’m not trying to corner you, yang. i just…don’t want you to ruin something good because you’re too scared to call it what it is. you don’t have to figure it out tonight. but the first step is being honest with yourself. don’t run from it.” the words sank deep. yangyang swallowed hard, staring at the wood grain of the door like it could give him an answer. his grip on the knob loosened, fingers slipping away until his hand fell uselessly to his side. shoulders heavy, he let out a ragged breath, eyes burning with a frustration that wasn’t just aimed at renjun anymore.

“i don’t…” his voice cracked, softer now, breaking under its own weight, “i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing.”

renjun’s expression softened even further, almost brotherly. “that’s okay. you don’t have to know yet. just… stop pretending you feel nothing. that’s the only mistake here.”

yangyang shut his eyes, leaning his forehead briefly against the door, caught between every instinct to run and the quiet relief of not holding it all in alone anymore. slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned and came back. his legs carried him on instinct more than choice and he dropped back onto the bed. when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, raw around the edges, “is this how scared you felt with love too?”

renjun exhaled, his chest deflating, “yeah, i was terrified. scared and guilty. every second i was with her, i knew i was hurting you. knew i was lying to myself, to you, to her. and the worst part? i couldn’t stop. i thought if i buried it deep enough, it would go away.”

yangyang swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening. he hadn’t expected renjun to answer like that — to sound so unguarded, so wrecked. he always thought he had the worst pain of the two.

“and it obviously didn’t,” he says, softer now.

renjun shook his head slowly, “no. it only got worse. until i couldn’t run from it anymore.”

for the first time that night, yangyang didn’t have a sharp comeback waiting. he just sat there, silent, the weight of renjun’s words pressing down on the panic he’d been trying to outrun. slowly, he let his hands drop, fingers flexing uselessly against his knees. his throat bobbed once, twice, before he finally muttered, almost to himself, “...thanks.”

renjun blinked, surprised. “for what?”

yangyang’s lips twisted, like the word itself was foreign to him. “for not bullshitting me. for saying it straight. i needed that.”

•ᴥ•

meanwhile in your apartment, you called the one person you were angry at. he showed up fast, still in sweats, hair messy like he’d just rolled off his couch. when you opened the door, he gave you a half smile, “texting me, already?”

you cut him off, stepping aside, “this isn’t that. sit down.”

shotaro’s brows furrowed, but he obeyed, dropping onto your couch. you stayed standing, arms crossed tight.

“why the hell did you do it?” you snapped.

“do what?”

“seven minutes in heaven! you’re the one who shoved that game on everyone, right? you’re the reason i–” your throat closed for a second, you forced the words out anyway, “the reason i messed up with yangyang!”

shotaro blinked, taken aback. “wait. messed up how—”

“it doesn’t matter!” you said quickly, cutting him off before the shame could choke you out, “what matters is you set it up like it was some kind of joke, and now everything’s fucked!” your voice cracked, fury fraying into panic, “do you get it? you ruined everything! you dick!”

shotaro leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes flicking up to you with something sharper than usual, “okay, first of all, don’t put this all on me,” he said, voice firmer than you’d expected, “you think i could control how you two were gonna act?”

your jaw tightened. “you put us in that position.”

“and you’re acting like you didn’t want it,” shotaro shot back, “c’mon, y/n. you and yangyang have been dancing around each other for years. everyone sees it. i thought maybe—” he stopped himself, shaking his head with a humorless laugh. “i thought maybe you two needed the push.”

your stomach dropped. “a push? you think what happened was some kind of—of fate!? that you did us a favor!?”

“i think,” shotaro said carefully, “that it’s about time you admit you’re in love with him. how long are you gonna keep this charade up for? are you going to be one of those sad best friends standing at his wedding acting like you’re fine? or what, when he has a wife and still runs to you when they have problems? are you gonna sit there and take it like you do now? how far in the future will you keep playing this up?”

shotaro’s words hung in the air. your hands flew up to cover your face, but it was useless — the sob slipped out anyway, sharp and raw. shotaro blinked when you suddenly broke, tears spilling hot and unrestrained down your cheeks. you shoved the heel of your palm against your eyes, but it only made it worse.

“y/n…” he murmured, caught between surprise and worry.

you shook your head hard, voice cracking. “he—he called it a mistake.”

shotaro straightened, frowning. “what was?”

your throat bobbed as you nodded, the words tumbling out messy, jagged, “we—we hooked up. and for one second i thought…i thought maybe i wasn’t insane for feeling the way i do. but then he—” your chest heaved, and you squeezed your eyes shut, “—he said it was a mistake, like it didn’t mean anything. like i don’t mean anything.”

shotaro’s mouth opened, then closed again, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. he only knew the edges of the truth — that you’d been crushing on yangyang for ages. that yangyang looked at you like you held the world in his hands but had no clue. that from the outside perspective, the two of you just made sense.

“y/n,” he said softly, “i don’t think that’s what he meant.”

a bitter laugh broke from you, watery and sharp, “you weren’t there.”

“no,” he agreed, voice gentle, “but i’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes when he thinks no one notices. he wouldn’t mean it in that way.”

you shook your head, shoulders trembling, “you don’t get it. i’m just his best friend! he made it very clear by walking out and leaving me here. and i—i ruined everything!”

shotaro hesitated, then shifted closer, pulling you into him. it wasn’t romantic, not even close — it was messy, awkward, your tears dampening his shirt, his hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured, “he’s scared. or confused. or both. but you? you’re not wrong for feeling what you feel.”

your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline, “it hurts so much.”

“i know,” he whispered, pressing his chin lightly against the top of your head, “cry it out. i’ve got you.” and so you did, not because shotaro could fix it, not because he was the one you wanted, but because right then, he was the only one who wouldn’t call you a mistake. your sobs had quieted into hiccups, your face pressed into shotaro’s chest, when he finally leaned back enough to look at you. his thumb brushed under your eye, catching the stray tear you missed.

“hey,” he said softly, his smile crooked, “you want me to fuck the pain away?”

you let out a choked laugh despite yourself, smacking his chest weakly. “shotaro—”

“what?” he grinned, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “it’s my only real skill set here. shoulder to cry on, dick to distract you. comes in a package deal.”

you groaned, dragging your sleeve across your eyes, “god, you’re annoying.”

“but,” he leaned in, lowering his voice, “you’re laughing.” you bit down on your lip, shaking your head — but yeah, a small laugh did slip out. a real one, even if it was laced with ache.

shotaro leaned back against the couch, satisfied, and slung an arm lazily around your shoulders, “see? don’t underestimate the healing power of bad humor and good dick. it’s science.” you exhaled, the laugh dying down into something quieter, smaller. for a moment you just stared at your knees, twisting the hem of your sleeve between your fingers. the ache swelled again in your chest — not as sharp, but heavy.

“shotaro?” you asked softly.

“yeah?”

your voice cracked a little. “can you just…hold me? for a while?”

his teasing expression melted instantly. no hesitation, no jokes this time. “yeah. of course.” he shifted, tugging you gently into his chest again, this time lying back into the couch cushions so you could curl into him properly. his arm tightened around your waist, the other hand threading through your hair in slow, absent strokes. neither of you spoke after that. the last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek before sleep pulled you under.

•ᴥ•

yangyang stood outside your apartment door, knuckles pressed to the wood, rehearsing the words in his head. this is what you did. this is what you’d always done — you talked. about everything. about bad grades and breakups, about internships and homesickness. if the world felt like it was falling apart, somehow you always put it back together again, piece by piece.

so why should this be different?

he swallowed hard, finally twisting the knob and stepping inside. the lights were dim, your living room quiet. he opened his mouth, ready to call your name. and then he froze — you were curled up on the couch. not alone. shotaro’s arm was draped over you, your face tucked into his chest, his hand still resting protectively on your waist.

yangyang’s chest tightened, heat and cold colliding at once. how could you? how could you kiss him one night, strip away years of boundaries, make his heart pound so hard he thought it’d crack open… make him question everything he thought he knew….and then just… have another man in your arms?

jealousy flared sharp, ugly in his chest, tangling with something deeper he refused to name. possessiveness. hurt. and stupid, stupid him — for even letting renjun’s words take root earlier. because this? this was proof he was an idiot. an idiot who overthinks everything when it was all really just a mistake on your end too.

he lingered a second too long, his jaw tight, breath heavy in the silence of your apartment. then, he turned on his heel and let himself out. the door clicked softly behind him. and it was like he’d never been there at all. he didn’t get far after leaving your apartment. just down the block, just far enough that your building wasn’t in sight anymore, before the weight of what he’d seen stopped him cold. his heart was still pounding, not with the same anger as before, no, this was worse — jagged and hollow at once, like his chest was caving in from the inside.

you were his best friend. his safe place. the one person he thought he didn’t have to question. and yet seeing you in someone else’s arms had gutted him in a way he couldn’t explain. you’d had boyfriends before and it never affected him like this. so it shouldn’t matter. it doesn’t matter. you weren’t his. he was the one who called what happened between you a mistake. he was the one who said it didn’t mean anything. but why did it feel like the ground had been ripped out from under him?

he shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing under the yellow streetlight, muttering under his breath, “fuck, why does this— why do i care?” the answer pressed against his ribs, sharp and undeniable. he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you, holding you, making you laugh when you cried.renjun’s voice echoed in his head, steady and infuriatingly right: you’d rather pretend it’s not there than risk losing her. yangyang laughed once, harsh and humorless, dragging his hands over his face.

“goddamn it.”

🧸 SEPTEMBER 29 - TUESDAY - PRETENDING.

you slid into your usual seat, dropping your bag with a practiced little thud. same class, same canvas, same setup as every other tuesday morning. nothing had changed — at least, that’s what you told yourself as you pasted on that easy smile, greeting the professor, nodding at classmates, settling in like you weren’t suffocating behind the mask.

yangyang was already there, hunched forward, brush spinning idly between his fingers. the second you sat down beside him, the air shifted. a crackle. a hum in your chest. too much silence where there should’ve been jokes, shoulder nudges, shared smiles. it’s the first time you’re seeing him since that mistake.

“morning,” you manage to force out, light and casual.

he glanced up, eyes shadowed, lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “morning,” his voice was low, hoarse, like he hadn’t used it all day.

you busied yourself with your palette, clinking glass jars, swirling water, anything to fill the silence. normally this was when yangyang would lean into your space, make some dumb comment about your color choices or brush his knee against yours without noticing. but today? he sat stiff, shoulders square, every moment careful like even breathing too close to you would give him away.

from across the table, renjun’s sharp gaze flicked between the two of you. he clocked the half-inch of space between your chairs that felt like a canyon. the way your laugh at someone else’s joke rang a little too bright, a little too forced. the way yangyang kept staring at his canvas but hadn’t laid down a single stroke of paint. at one point, yangyang risked a glance at you, just a quick flicker, like he couldn’t help himself, and renjun caught it. their eyes locked across the table. renjun tilted his head, gaze steady, saying without words— you see it now, don’t you?

yangyang’s jaw tensed. he shook his head almost imperceptibly, mouthing a tight “shut up.”

you heard him. of course you did. even when you were pretending not to pay attention to him, you were. you turned your head, “what?”

renjun arched a brow, lips curving. yangyang tore his eyes away from him, looking straight at you for the first time since that night, “n-nothing, i didn’t say anything.” you nod, not having the energy to push further, before busying yourself with your sketchpad. beside him, you kept painting, keeping your mask intact. pretending this was just another tuesday. pretending you didn’t feel your pulse spike every time his knee shifted under the desk. pretending his silence didn’t ache more than words ever could. and yangyang — stiff in his chair, heart hammering against his ribs, was the only one who can tell you weren’t fine.

class went on with the two of you dancing around each other, pretending everything was still the same. pretending you haven’t crossed a line. pretending the mistake was clearly just a mistake. until the clatter of chairs and zip of bags signaled the end of class. everyone filtered out, voices rising as plans for lunch and errands filled the air. you slipped into rhythm, packing up calmly, masking every motion as ordinary. yangyang moved slower. he lingered, dragging out the task of rinsing his brushes, watching the water swirl down the jar until it was nearly clear. he told himself he wasn’t waiting. that it didn’t matter. that he didn’t care if you left first. but when you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder and offering him the same easy smile you gave everyone else, his chest tightened.

“see you later,” you said lightly, voice steady. too steady. he didn’t like it. his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, words gathering, hot and restless — don’t leave like that. don’t act like nothing happened.

but what right did he have to say that? when he was the one who walked out of your bedroom? when he was the one who left you alone?

your back was already half-turned toward the door when his hand twitched against his side. just one word and you’d stop. he hesitated. and then you were gone. your laughter echoed down the hallway as you joined a group of classmates, the sound bright and hollow in yangyang’s ears. he stood frozen, breath shallow, watching the doorway long after you’d disappeared. his chest ached with something he didn’t want to name. but the truth had already lodged itself in his ribs, sharp and undeniable — he didn’t want to be the guy who shrugged it off as a mistake anymore.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 30 - WEDNESDAY - WE’RE OKAY, RIGHT?

at this point it had been three days of quiet war, not exactly the silent treatment but somehow worse it was smiling too bright and saying nothing at all.

you heard the code of your door being entered from where you sat on your couch reading a book and knew that it was only ever going to be yangyang. he stumbled inside like the floor might fall out from under him if he didn’t move fast enough. his eyes were wild, glassy with something that looked dangerously close to panic.

“dude, are you okay?,” you asked automatically, because that’s what you always did, check in, make the space softer. your book stayed open on your knee, pages unread.

“don’t—” his voice came out raw, cracked, a different timbre than you’d heard from him in a while. he pointed, unsteady, as if directing the whole world at you. “don’t act like this. not with me.”

you blinked, “what are you talking about?” you tried to keep it light, because light was your defense and you’d worn it like armor for years.

“that mask!” he ran a hand through his hair so hard it tugged at his scalp. frustration and something else, fear, maybe, flickered across his face. “the smile. the pretending everything’s fine. it’s annoying. i can see it. if you’re mad at me, then yell at me. say it.”

your throat went tight. the words caught somewhere between your lungs and lips. you wanted to ask him what right he had — what right he had to notice, when he never did before? but he was still talking, unraveling, in a way that left him exposed.

“you think i dont know you?” his chest rose and fell fast, his voice raw, “i know when you’re hurting. i can hear it when you laugh too loud. i can see it in your eyes when you won’t look at me for more than two seconds. don’t pull that shit with me, okay? not with me.” he looked wrecked standing there in your living room. like every piece of him was strung too tight.

your mouth opened but only a weak laugh came out, shaky at the edges. you weren’t ready for this. “you’re being dramatic. i’m fine, yangyang, really.”you crossed your arms because you didn’t know what else to do. the shrug felt automatic, the same little lie that had kept you safe for years, “it’s not that deep. like you said, it was just a mistake.”

his eyes didn’t move. they searched yours like he’d been practicing for this moment and somehow never learned restraint. and then, giving up whatever defense he’d planned, he exhaled like someone letting go of a boulder.

“i don’t want to lose you!” he said, the words tumbling out all at once. “not over something as stupid as this. not over one drunk night. you’re—” his breath hitched, his voice thinned to a fragile thread, “you’re my best friend. the only one that’s ever…felt like home. i can’t lose that. i can’t lose you.” the sentence landed like thunder. you felt it in your ribs, in the place that had been hollow for what felt like forever. it cracked something inside you. something older than the night before, older than the mask. you didn’t plan your next move — your arms slid around him before thought could get in the way, fingers folding against the fabric of his hoodie. he went rigid, like you’d startled a wild animal, then softened and wrapped himself around you as fiercely as you held him.

if there was one thing you hated more than being miserable, it was watching your best friend hurt.

you buried your face into his shoulder, breath hitching, “who said anything about losing me?” you whispered, the lie catching on the edges, “i told you—you’re stuck with me, dummy.”

yangyang shook his head, as if to dislodge the panic. his grip tightened so hard your hoodie scrunched under his fingers, “—but we were so awkward yesterday. i hated that.” the simple confession sounded like guilt and regret all mixed together.

you tried to bring the air back to something familiar. “i mean, i did see your dick for the first time, of course it’s awkward,” you teased, voice laced in the old, easy banter you’d always used to glue things back together.

that broke through his storm for just a beat. yangyang choked on a cough, half-scandalized, half trying not to laugh. his ears went a little red. “wow,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you, “out of all the things you could say to lighten the mood, you went with my dick? that’s your angle?”

you grinned, relieved by the flicker of normalcy, “well, it was… memorable.”

“memorable?” his brows shot up, eyes narrowing with mock offense. “that’s it? not impressive? not life-altering? just memorable?”

you let out a snort, pushing his shoulder, “don’t get cocky.”

“too late,” he shot back without missing a beat, smirk tugging at his lips. “you literally just admitted you can’t forget it.”

your jaw dropped in mock horror, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself, “that’s not what i said!”

“close enough.” he leaned back, smugness flickering in his expression for the first time in days, like he’d been starving for this push-pull rhythm. his smirk softened into something gentler, tentative. “so…we’re okay?…right?”

you inhaled, wrapping your arms around him again, “yeah. we’re okay.” the words felt both true and dangerously partial. you nodded harder against him, because movement made the pretense feel more real.

neither of you moved to let go. the hug stretched, elastic and fragile, holding whatever fragile normalcy you could manufacture. you both clung like people who’d decided, with your last breath, to keep pretending a little longer — because the alternative was saying things that might not be fixable. when you finally pulled back, you practiced a small, careful smile, one with cracks patched over. yangyang mirrored it, softer, equally false. nothing more was said. nothing more was allowed to slip. the moment sealed itself — not healed, not whole, but held. for now, that would have to be enough.

🧸 OCTOBER 2 - FRIDAY - WHY DON’T YOU EVER SEE ME?

yangyang let himself in like he always did, the soft click of your door sounding too familiar. you two were okay now, the loose, careful kind of okay you’ve both been practicing, and he’d told himself he couldn’t ask for anything more. that thinking didn’t survive the second he stepped into your apartment — you appeared in the hallway, towel wrapped loosely around your body, wet hair dripping down your shoulders. droplets clung at the hollow of your throat and mapped a glittering path across your collarbone before escaping down the slope of your chest. he felt his breath hitch so hard it hurt.

“god,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you padded back towards your bedroom, “i really need to change my code.”

he forced a laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch and pretending his throat wasn’t suddenly dry. maybe he shouldn’t keep coming in like this without knocking. maybe he needed to stop walking into moments that felt like traps. he told himself all of it while watching you move, trying to be reasonable in the face of the unreasonable. he dropped onto the couch and tried to make himself small, bouncing one leg restlessly, telling himself it was nothing. you’d just showered. he’d seen you in less and been fine before. he could be fine now. he’s not a kid. then he heard the closet door murmur, the zip of fabric, and your bedroom door creak — you stepped out and he swore he forgot how to breathe.

you were in the dress you’d found in that online shop you’d texted him about last month — red. the exact shade that made everything else mute by comparison. the fabric hugged the small of your back, smoothed over the slope of your hips, outlined the line of your thighs where it hugged just so. you turned, bare back exposed, the zipper dangling like an invitation, “can you zip me up?” you asked, voice casual as if you were asking the time.

he moved before he thought. his fingers brushed the metal at the base of your spine, and a small, private electricity sparked between them. for a beat his world narrowed to the warmth of your skin, the soft damp left by your shower, the tiny pulse at the base of your neck. he pulled the zipper up carefully, his hand pausing on the small of your back, thumb resting on the curve of your waist as if he could steady both the zipper and himself at once. it clicked to the top. he stayed there, fingers pressed to the red material, as if reluctant to let go. “there,” he said too softly.

“thanks,” you whispered, turning slightly to face him, practicing that easy smile he’d seen a thousand times.

“where the hell are you going like that?” he asked before he could stop himself. his voice came out sharper than he intended, half-joking, half-accusatory, and he immediately cursed at the tone.

you raised a brow, grabbing your tiny gold hoop earrings from the coffee table, “out.”

“out,” he repeated, like the word tasted wrong in his mouth, “out where?”

you smiled, too casually, too practiced, as you fastened the earrings, “on a date.”

the answer landed like a stone on his chest, heavy and unmovable. his jaw flexed but he leaned back on the couch, feigning disinterest with a lazy shrug, “cool.”

you bent toward the mirror in the middle of your bedroom and bathroom door, sliding lipstick over your mouth. yangyang’s eyes followed the motion like he had no control over them, heat crawling up his neck, “seriously,” he muttered, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve to hide his nerves, “you’re just gonna walk out looking like that?”

“like what?” you asked, tone light, almost mocking.

“like–,” his throat closed on the words — like you belong to somebody else. like you’re about to go love someone that isn’t him. like you’re about to ruin me. — “like you’re trying too hard.”

you shot him a sidelong glance, “that’s kind of the point, yang. it’s a date, not game night.”

he scoffed, leaning further back into the couch, arms crossed like a shield, “just saying, you don’t need to go all out. if the guy’s worth anything, he’d like you without,” he gestured vaguely at your dress, your hair, your lipstick and hated how bitter it came out, “...all that.”

you rolled your eyes, walking back into your bathroom to dry your hair, “gee, thanks, dad.”

and when you moved, he couldn’t help it — his gaze followed. the curve of your waist as you bent, the soft skin of your shoulders where the dress stopped, the soft throat where your pulse beat — felt suddenly like an unfair claim he’d had no right to know was there. you were slipping further away from him with every step. and he hated how much it bothered him.

you were in the bathroom, halfway through smoothing the last of your hair when he stepped up to lean on the doorway, watching you with something that tried to be casual and failed, “so,” he said, voice taut, “who’s this guy anyway?”

you didn’t look up from the mirror, “shotaro.”

the name cracked him open. yangyang straightened like he’d been struck. “shotaro?” he repeated, disbelief sharp in his tone. “i thought you two were just fucking.”

you finally turned, one brow arched, “we are. doesn’t mean we can’t go out for drinks.”

his laugh died in his throat, replaced by something heavier, “right. just drinks.” he muttered, every word wrapped in a film of something that could’ve been hurt if you looked close enough.

you brushed past him, grabbing your heels and bending over to buckle your heel, “why do you care so much?”

“i don’t.” the answer was too quick, too defensive. his arms crossed tighter over his chest, but his jaw was locked, breath shallow, “it’s just—you don’t go on dates with fuck buddies, that complicates things.”

you gave him a dry smile as you reached for your bag, “not everyone overcomplicates things the way you do, yang.” you slung your bag over your shoulder, gave your reflection one last glance and headed for the door. yangyang hadn’t moved from the wall, though every line of his body was wound tight like a coiled spring. your hand hovered on the doorknob, “you’re welcome to stay, lock up if you leave.”

he didn’t answer. just watched you with something unreadable burning in his eyes. you forced a little smile, as if this was normal, as if you weren’t both suffocating under everything unsaid and then you slipped out into the hall. he watched you go. the door clicked shut. the apartment slipped into silence.

yangyang stared at the empty space you’d just left behind, abruptly pacing, running hand through his hair over and over like it could scrape out the image of you in that dress. his chest ached, sharp and unfamiliar. jealousy bloomed — ugly, raw, gnawing with a possessiveness he had no right to feel.

“god, get a grip, she’s just your best friend,” he muttered, but his reflection in the darkened t.v. screen looked back at him with wide, haunted eyes. because now he knew. now he knew exactly what renjun meant. and it terrified him. he paced another circle through your apartment before his steps slowed outside your bedroom door. the air felt heavier in here, familiar in a way that made his chest ache. the last time he was in here you were doing things best friends definitely weren’t supposed to be doing. looking at your bed made the memory flash so hard he had to look away. his gaze landed instead on the stuffed bear propped up against your pillows.

yangyang let out shaky laugh, dragging a hand over his face as he sat on the edge of your bed, he picked up the bear, holding it loosely in his lap, “hey, mr. bear,” he muttered, voice low, rough, half a joke and half not, “long time no talk.” the bear’s stitched smile was the stupidest comfort — unchanging, honest in a way people weren’t. he turned the plush in his hands, felt the seam under his thumbs. he pressed the fur to his cheek because it smelled faintly of you, laundry detergent and something softer he’d never been able to name, and it made his throat close. “—a date,” he said to the bear, and the words went sour in his mouth. “can you believe her?…shotaro.” the name tasted like something he’d swallowed and couldn’t cough up. he pictured you across a table, your mouth moving, your laugh, that ridiculous lipstick. his stomach clenched. his grip tightened on the bear’s paw. “renjun’s wrong, you know. he has to be. because if he’s right, then…” his words faltered, throat burning. “then i’m in trouble.”

silence. the bear didn’t argue. yangyang shook his head, forcing a laugh that cracked halfway, “i can’t lose her, not over something as easily changeable as feelings.”

still no answer. just the bear’s stitched grin. yangyang slumped back against your pillows, hugging it to his chest like it could keep the truth out, “don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “i don’t… i don’t love her…not like that.”

the sentence felt thin in his mouth. he ran his thumb along the bear’s paw, counting excuses. maybe it was the way you’d always been close. maybe boundaries blurred in late-night conversations, in shared hostels and stupid internships. people get attached, that didn’t mean they were in love. people mixed up comfort for something else all the time. but an inconvenient thought slid in and refused to leave. when had he last wanted someone else to hold you? when had the idea of another person making you laugh not made his stomach drop?

he’d made a habit of noticing you — cataloguing little things like a map. the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking, the exact tilt of your smile. the way your breathing is naturally synchronized with his when he has you wrapped in his arms.

knowing, he kept telling himself, didn’t mean anything. it was just being close, like knowing the fastest routes across campus, harmless — but even he didn’t believe that. because the more he came up with excuses, the more he realizes he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince.

his throat tightened until it hurt, and the laugh that clawed out of him was broken, shaky. “fuck,” he whispered, pressing the bear tighter against his chest, forehead dropping against its soft head, “fuck, i think i’m in trouble.”

the words sat there, heavy and terrifying. his heart thudded so loud it almost drowned them out, but not enough to erase them. he let out a breath that trembled all the way through him, closing his eyes, clutching mr. bear like the plush might hold him together, “you always were horrible at giving advice,” he told him, half-smiling despite the ache ripping through his chest, “but you keep secrets. you listen when no one else will.”

•ᴥ•

the bar was loud, packed with music and chatter, but you couldn’t shake the itch of yangyang’s voice still stuck in your head from earlier. you sat across from shotaro at a little round table tucked into the corner. he looked smugly perfect in his button-up and blazer, his easy smile drawing attention from every direction. but the truth was, this wasn’t a date. not really.

“thanks for coming,” he said, leaning closer so you could hear him over the noise, “i just…didn’t want to show up solo, like a loser, you know?”

you arched a brow, sipping your drink, “well, i do owe you one for letting me cry in your arms.”

he grinned, unbothered, “you look hot by the way.”you laughed, rolling your eyes. you weren’t here to play pretend with shotaro. you weren’t even here because you wanted to be. you were here because you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting at home, replaying the feel of yangyang’s hands, yangyang’s words, yangyang’s silence.

shotaro leaned back in his chair, studying you for a beat, “you’re somewhere else,” he said finally, soft but true.

your throat tightened, you forced a smile, swirling the liquid in your glass, “i’m here. with you.” but even as you said it, you both knew it wasn’t true.

the drinks kept coming. one minute it was a whiskey sour, the next a round of tequila shots someone ordered for the whole table, and before you knew it, your head was warm and spinning, your laughter bubbling too easily. shotaro leaned in, whispering in your ear, “you’re a lightweight, admit it.”

you squintied at him through the rim of your glass, nose scrunching, "i'm not–,” you hiccuped mid-sentence and slapped your hand over your mouth, “okay. maybe a little.”

he cracked up that bright, boyish laugh of his, drawing a few curious stares, “you’re adorable when you’re tipsy. don’t tell anyone i said that.”

“too late,” you pointed at him dramatically, though your finger wobbled with your balance, “i’m telling everyone. yangyang will—” you cut yourself off too quickly. the name had slipped out before you could stop it. your stomach dipped. shotaro tilted his head, teasing, but didn’t press. instead, he lifted his glass, saving you from your own slip, “to bad ideas,” he said.

you clunked clumsily against his, “to bad ideas.”from there, the night blurred into easy laughter and stupid dares. you convinced shotaro to try and balance on the barstool and he nearly toppled straight into the ground. he got revenge by dragging you onto the dance floor, where your limbs were looser than your coordination, the both of you laughing so hard you could barely keep upright. somewhere in the haze, the ache in your chest dulled. shotaro was fun. simple. no feelings involved. the more you drank, the easier it was to forget why you were here in the first place. the easier it was to pretend the image of yangyang in your apartment, jaw clenched and eyes dark, wasn’t still burned into the back of your mind. by the time the night wound down, you were clinging into shotaro’s arm, giggling as he half-carried, half-guided you out of the bar.

“you’re a mess,” he teased, shaking his head, “let’s get you home.”

•ᴥ•

shotaro steadied you against the doorframe, your fingers fumbling uselessly against the keypad. every time you punched in the numbers, it beeped angrily, red light flashing. you groaned, pressing your forehead to the cold metal, “why won’t it love meee?” you slurred, giggling.

“maybe because you put 1-0-1-0 three times,” shotaro deadpanned, biting back a grin.

you swayed towards him, whispering conspiratorially, “that’s yangyang’s birthday,” then you laughed like it was the funniest secret in the world. before shotaro could respond, the door snapped open from the inside. yangyang stood framed in the doorway, hair mussed like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times, hoodie hanging loose on his frame. his eyes flicked from your drunken smile straight to shotaro’s steady hand on your arm.

you lit up instantly, arms flying around his neck, “YANG!” you sang, voice too loud, too bright, too happy. you pressed your cheek against his shoulder, giggling like a child. yangyang froze under your touch, breath hitching as your perfume and the warmth of your damp skin from earlier hit him all at once. his arms stayed stiff at his sides for a beat too long before one slid around your waist to steady you before you collapsed. he lifted his gaze over your head, locking on shotaro. his voice was low, sharp, even though he tried to keep it casual, “i got it from here.”

shotaro looked at the two of you — your arms wrapped around yangayng, his hand gripping your waist, and shrugged, unbothered as ever, “yeah, yeah,” he smirked, stepping back with a wave, “goodnight.”

yangyang didn’t wait for shotaro to disappear fully down the hall before tugging you gently inside. he shut the door behind you with a click that sounded too loud in the quiet apartment. you clung tighter around his neck, giggling as he carried you toward your bedroom. he got you into your room and sat you down on the edge of your bed, crouching in front of you to unbuckle your heels as he slid the straps off and tugged the shoes away.

“you’re a mess,” he muttered, but his voice was softer than the words.

you leaned forward until your forehead rest against his shoulder, giggling, “but i’m your mess.”

his chest tightened but he ignored it, tugging gently at your wrist, “come on, teddy. let’s get you out of this thing.” he reached for the zipper at your back, careful, slow, trying not to notice the way the red fabric peeled away from your skin under his fingers. you tilted your head toward him, “yangyang,” you whispered, playful but dreamy, “you’re undressing me.”

his hands froze, “don’t say it like that,” he muttered, trying not to combust, “im just—helping.” you hummed, unconvinced, swaying closer as he eased the dressed down your body. he kept his eyes anywhere but your bare skin, swallowing hard as the fabric slipped lower until it pooled on the floor, leaving you in your underwear. he didn’t linger, he grabbed one of your oversized t-shirts from your dresser, which looked a lot like the t-shirt he’s been missing for weeks, and gently pulled it over your head.

“there. done.” he exhaled like he’d just run a marathon. he guided you to lie back against the pillows, tucking the blanket over your legs. when he sat at the edge, reaching for the makeup wipes on your vanity, you squinted up at him through heavy lashes.

“stay still.” he instructed. you wriggled anyway, just to be difficult, lips curling into a mischievous grin. but the second his hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing softly as he wiped away your lipstick, you went quiet, melting into the warmth of his touch.

the silence stretched until his voice came, quieter this time, careful, “so…how was your date?”

you smiled, eyes closing as you leaned into his palm, “it was soooo fun,” you sighed, cheeks flushed, “shotaro’s funny. he made me laugh a lot.”

the words scraped against his chest but he swallowed them down, “yeah?”

“mmhm, but…,” your lashes fluttered as you peeked up at him, tipsy and unfiltered, “i wish you were there.”

his hand stilled mid-wipe. for a second, all he could do was stare at you — at the way your drunken pout tugged at his heart, at the little hiccup that slipped through your words, at the way your hand wrapped softly around his wrist. his throat went dry. he could feel the words crawling up the back of his tongue, the things he shouldn’t say, things he wasn’t even sure of yet, but all that came out was a rough, “you’re drunk.” he forced his hand to move again, swiping gently at your eyeliner, pretending he didn’t feel your confession sinking into his chest like a hook.

“why don’t you ever see me?”

the words slipped out slurred and soft, dangerous in their honesty. you blinked up at him from under heavy lashes, a little tipsy smile tugging at your lips like you hadn’t even realized what you’d said. yangyang’s head snapped up so fast the motion jolted him. for a beat he simply stared at you, breath gone, “see you?” his voice came out quieter than he wanted, “what the hell does that mean? i see you every day.”

you let out a tiny hiccup that dissolved into sad, hiccupy laugh, “not like that,” you mumbled, eyes glassy, “you just—” your brow furrowed, the words slipping, stalling, before alcohol gave you a shove, “you only ever see your best friend. never me.”

the apartment folded into silence. the fan hummed somewhere, the fridge buzzed. everything felt too loud and too small at once. your lips wobbled into another hiccupy laugh, but this one was sharp with the sting of unshed tears, “why’d you call me a mistake?”

the question hung there, fragile and heavy all at once. you didn’t throw it like an accusation, didn’t spit it out with anger. you said it like an ache you hadn’t been able to bury, like a wound that had festered quietly in the dark until it spilled over.

yangyang’s chest seized so tight it hurt to breathe. he shook his head fast, desperate, like maybe if he shook hard enough the regret would come loose, “i–,” his voice cracked on the first breath, a broken sound that burned his throat, “god, i didn’t mean-”but you were already slipping, lashes sinking, your body curling inward under the blanket as if retreating into yourself. the alcohol had won, pulling you under just as the words had escaped.

and maybe that was the cruellest part — that your truth had finally spilled out when you were too drunk to hold it, and he was left with his regret alone. yangyang sank down onto the floor beside your bed, elbows digging into his knees, hands clasped so tight his knuckles went white. he stared at you through the dim light, your breathing uneven but soft, the blanket rising and falling gently with each inhale.

“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered, words caught in the quiet hum of the room. his voice broke on the edges, too fragile to hold, “i never meant it.”

🧸 OCTOBER 3 - SATURDAY - HAS IT ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS?

you woke up with your skull pounding, only to find a glass of water and a pack of pain relievers on your nightstand. suspicious. very suspicious. dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled out of your bedroom, following the faint sound of pots clinking. when you peeked into your kitchen, yangyang was hunched over the stove, stirring something with more concentration than he’d ever given any of his classes.

“what did you break?” you croaked from the doorway.

he was startled so hard the ladle nearly flew out of his hand, “huh? i didn’t break anything,” he said, a little confused by your question.

you narrowed your eyes and walked up behind him, slipping your arms around his waist in a lazy back hug, chin landing on his shoulder, “then why are you acting like a househusband right now?”

usually, he would’ve shot back with something dumb but this time he just froze. because your body was warm against his back, your breath brushing his neck and suddenly his pulse was thunderous. he gripped the ladle tighter like it could anchor him. “uh…,” he said brilliantly, staring very hard at the ramen, “because…i’m nice?”

you snorted against his shoulder, voice muffled, “liar. you’re only nice when you want something or when you did something. did you clog the toilet? spill on the couch? scratch my switch again?”

“that was one time!,” he protested, voice cracking, “and i told you…your joy con was already peeling.”you squeezed him tighter, laughing, which only made his heart beat harder. usually hugs between you two were nothing — habit, background noise in your friendship. but now it felt like he was hyper-aware of everything. the way your fingers fidgeted against his hoodie, the weight of your chin on his shoulder, the soft sway of your body pressed to his. desperate to distract himself, he tapped the spoon against the pot, “don’t distract the chef, i’m doing very important work here.”

you hummed, still clinging to him, “pretty sure boiling instant ramen isn’t a michelin star situation.”

“how dare you?’ he teased though his ears were burning. after a couple more minutes, yangyang plopped the steaming bowls onto the table with an exaggerated flourish, “breakfast is served. please, try not to cry from how amazing it is.”

you looked up from your chair and gave him a skeptical look, “wow. gordon ramsay better watch his back.”

“exactly,” he said with a grin, sliding into the chair right next to you instead of across like he normally did, “you get it.” you snorted into your noodles. it was definitely the best hungover remedy. and when you slurped too fast and ended up coughing, he was already sliding the glass of water toward you, murmuring, “slow down, teddy,” with a softness that made your chest squeeze.

you nudged his shoulder with yours, “you’re being weirdly sweet today.”

“weirdly?” he raised a brow, “i’m always sweet.” you laughed, shaking your head and for a second his gaze lingered on you too long, his grin softening into something he quickly masked by shoving a mouthful of noodles into his face.

after a stretch of comfortable slurping silence, you set your chopsticks down and tilted your head at him, “by the way, your birthday’s in like, seven days, what do you want to do?”

he chewed slowly, stalling, before mumbling, “i don’t know, maybe we could just rent an airbnb and celebrate like we do every year.”

you paused, blinking, “uh…we usually do that with renjun and them.”

yangyang nodded, sipping his broth, “yeah, so?”

you leaned back, eyeing him, “so…are you okay with inviting renjun this year?”

“yeah, we’re okay now,” he said simply, chopsticks tapping against the edge of his bowl.

your brow arched, “since when?”

he froze mid-slurp, eyes darting anywhere but you, “...since recently.”

“uh-huh, that’s specific,” you teased, leaning in, clearly not letting him off that easy.

his lips twitched, fighting a smile, “drop it. eat your noodles before they get soggy.” but his ears were pink and you knew you’d hit something he wasn’t ready to explain yet.

•ᴥ•

the ramen was gone, the bowls stacked in the sink and the two of you ended up exactly where you always did — sprawled on the couch. your legs tangled, his arm thrown lazily around you, your head pillowed against his chest. it was nothing new. this was normal. routine. but yangyang couldn’t stop noticing how right it felt. the weight of you against him. the way your hair tickled his chin when you shifted. the soft, unconscious hum you let out when you finally settled, like his arms were the only place you could relax. he stared at the t.v. playing teen wolf but he wasn’t absorbing any of it. his focus was on the way his arm curved so easily around your shoulders like it was molded for you. the way his hand rested against your side like it had always belonged there — had it always been like this? had you always fit this perfectly against him? how is it that he was just now realizing it?

your hand absently toyed with the hem of his hoodie, fingers brushing the fabric and he swore his heart stuttered. you let out a soft laugh at some random line stiles stilinski blurted out, your body shaking lightly against him and yangyang’s chest tightened all over again. he didn’t move. didn’t dare. he just held you a little closer, silently wondering when the ordinary started to feel extraordinary.

your phone buzzed from your coffee table. you shifted just enough to reach it, screen lighting up with shotaro’s name. yangyang’s arm tightened instinctively around you before he could stop himself. his eyes dropped, catching the stupid little smile tugging at your lips as you unlocked the screen.

“what’s so funny?,” he asked, casual on the surface but his voice had a sharper edge than usual. you tilted your head toward him, showing him the message without thinking:

shotaro: did you recover from last night?

shotaro: or should i fall off another bar stool to make you feel better?

you giggled, typing something back, “he’s so funny,” you mumbled, thumb flying across the screen. yangyang’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. funny. right. so nice he makes you laugh like that. his chest burned with it, a jealousy that felt too raw to admit out loud. he forced a laugh, nudging you lightly in the side, “wow, look at you, miss popular. am i supposed to get in line behind shotaro now?”

you snorted, tossing your phone back on the coffee table and leaning your weight into him again, oblivious to the storm brewing in his chest, “don’t be dramatic. you’re first in line. always.”

that should have soothed him. should have. but the words only lodged deeper, because at the end of the day he knew shotaro could hold you in ways he couldn’t. could touch you in ways best friends shouldn’t. and yangyang hated how much the word best friend was starting to sound like a prison.

eventually, your weight softened against him, breath evening out as you drifted off to sleep. he felt the exact moment your lashes fluttered closed and your body surrendered fully into his chest. yangyang stared at the ceiling, trying to quiet the noise in his head. but it was impossible with your cheek pressed over his heartbeat, with your hand curled loosely against his hoodie like you had been doing it forever, which you have. he told himself it was just comfort. that this was what best friends did. you fell asleep on him all the time after late-night movies or long days. but something about tonight…about the way shotaro’s name lit up your phone, about how he’d felt a sharp, irrational sting in his chest just seeing it — made everything sharper. he exhaled slowly, his fingers absently brushing along your arm, realizing how silence felt less like emptiness and more like home with you filling it. the thought scared him. because if he let himself believe, it, he wasn’t sure he could ever go back. so he lay there, still and quiet, letting you sleep while his mind circled the same truth he wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

🧸 OCTOBER 4-9 - SUNDAY-FRIDAY - REALIZATIONS.

the next day, you both swore off productivity, ordering greasy takeout and eating cross-legged on the living room floor because it was way more comfortable than your table. you told some ridiculous story — hands waving, face animated. yangyang laughed so hard he nearly choked on his fried rice. then he noticed how easily the sleeves of his hoodie swallowed your hands, how you leaned across the cartons to swat his chopsticks away from stealing another bite. the moment stretched too long. his chest tightened.

on monday, you dragged him for ice cream at the convenience store right after class. you bickered about flavors, your hand brushing his when you both reached for the same one. he laughed it off like always but his skin buzzed where your fingered grazed. later, when you leaned against his shoulder on the way back, arm linked around, spooning bites from your cup into his mouth without think, he had to swallow twice — once for the ice cream, once for the realization that he wanted this forever.

on tuesday in painting ii. you took your usual seats. you dipped your brush, tongue poking at the corner of your lips as you concentrated. yangyang tried to focus on his own canvas but every few minutes he caught himself staring instead — at the slope of your nose, the way your hair slipped loose and you absentmindedly tucking it behind your ear. you had called him out on it with a simple, “why are you staring at me?” his ears burned, he covered it with a scoff, dragging his brush harder than necessary, “please, i’m just laughing at how seriously you’re taking this.” but when you leaned over suddenly to dab a streak of blue onto his canvas, laughing when he gasped, yangyang swore your laughter made his heart stop.

on wednesday, you spent the evening sprawled in your living room, controllers in hand, locked in a mario kart bottle, “stop pushing me off the track!” you yelped, shoving his shoulder. yangyang grinned, not taking his eyes off the screen, “it’s called strategy, teddy.” the nickname he used all the came out sweeter, softer. you groaned dramatically as his kart sped past yours on the final lap, “you cheated!” he laughed but when you pouted, he wondered why winning a mario kart game suddenly felt like a loss.

on thursday, you were stretched out on your bed when he walked in, laptop open, calendar pulled up. he tossed himself onto the bed behind you, phone in hand, mr. bear in the other.

without looking up, you said casually, “i booked the airbnb for your birthday weekend.”

his head popped up “already?”

you hummed, still typing, “yeah, same spot as last year. i figured it’d be easier to just stick with what we know.” you glanced back at him with a small smile, “i invited our usual crew — xiaojun, hendery, ningning, renjun and…uh…the new addition, love,” you said her name carefully, like testing the weight of it. he used to flinch at the mention or brush it off too quickly like he didn’t want to deal with it. but tonight, yangyang just blinked, nodding.

“yeah, cool,” he said. no hesitation. no shift in his expression. just easy, even.

you narrowed your eyes, turning fully to face him, “wait, that’s it? no sarcastic comments, no sighing, no complaints?”

yangyang smirked, shrugging lazily, “what do you want me to say? i’m over it.”

“over it?” you echoed, skeptical.

“over it.” he repeated, getting more comfortable in your pillows. you stared at him for a moment, like you were trying to read between his words. he only stretched out more, feigning nonchalance. but inside, yangyang was reeling — not because of love. but because of how…nothing it felt. the name that used to twist his stomach now barely registered, as if the tether had been cut without him noticing. the only thing tugging at him now was you, sitting cross-legged on your bed in another one of his oversized t-shirts, hair falling into your eyes as you frowned at your laptop. and he was sure — he didn’t care who else came to his birthday. as long as you were there.

by the time friday night settled in, everything felt quieter, softer. the apartment lights were dim, the only glow coming from the t.v. screen where another episode of teen wolf played. you were curled up against him the way you always where. this was what you did every week, every day practically. but just like last week, yangyang couldn’t focus on the screen. his eyes traced the crown of your head, the curve of your cheek pressed against him, the way you unconsciously shifted closer like your body had long decided he was home. his arm curved around you tighter. he couldn’t stop replaying your drunk words in his head, the way you’d whispered, “why don’t you ever see me?” because god, he did. he saw you everywhere now. in the way you looked after him, in the way you teased him, in the way your laugh made something catch in his chest. he saw you in everything. the realization sank into him heavy, immovable, inescapable — he was in love with you. it had slipped in quietly, disguised as years of friendship and routines until suddenly it was all he could feel. he was in love with his best friend.

🧸 OCTOBER 10 - SATURDAY - TRUTH OR DARE?

the eight-seater car was cramped and noisy, hendery and xiaojun in the front arguing over directions, ningning on the aux cord singing at the top of her lungs, love laughing at renjun’s terrible jokes in the back. but for yangyang, the entire drive felt muted. his focus kept pulling back to you, sitting right next to him, in the middle of all the chaos. the way you leaned your head against his shoulder, tapping absentmindedly at your phone. the way your laugh rose above the noise like it was the only sound that mattered. it was his birthday, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything except the fact that you were there, pressed against him, fitting like you belonged in that spot. and when you reached for the water bottle in the cupholder by his side, hand brushing his thigh by accident. he didn’t flinch. didn’t move. he just swallowed, eyes fixed forward, like he could will his heartbeat to steady.

it took a total of two hours to finally arrive at the airbnb where chaos amplified as everyone claimed rooms, bickering about unpacking and setting up the food/supplies that you guys brought. you tugged yangyang along by the wrist, insisting he help you set up the decorations you hid in your bag.

“surprise,” you grinned, throwing up string lights across the living room, “thought we could make it more festive.”

he stared at the lights, then at you, then back again, “shouldn’t you have set it up first and then said surprise,” he teases, trying to ignore the soft pull in his chest.

“you really think i have time to sneak away and set this up without you catching me?,” you giggled, handing him the opposite end of the string light as the two of you decorated the living room together.

the rest of the day unfolded in a blur of noise — hendery grilling, ningning forcing everyone into drinking games, renjun rolling his eyes so hard they almost got stuck, xiaojun turning up his birthday party playlist, laughter and music filling the house. as night fell, everyone was in there swimwears, lounging in the airbnb’s hot tub, steaming under the night sky, stars hazy overhead, bottles clinking against the rim as everyone crammed in shoulder to shoulder. ningning was the mastermind, of course — three beers in and declaring that the only logical next step was truth or dare.

yangyang had been fine all day, riding the edge between best friend comfort and the dizzy new weight of knowing he was in love with you. but now, with you pressed against his side in the crowded tub, legs brushing underwater, hair damp with steam and stray pieces sticking to your cheeks — he felt wrecked.

“okay, okay,” ningning grinned, pointing the empty bottle at him first, “birthday boy starts. truth or dare?”

“truth.”

“boo, boring,” ningning pouted, then leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief, “fine. who here would you most want to kiss?”

the group whooped immediately. renjun looked a little nervous. while xiaojun and hendery banged on the sides of the tub like a drumroll. yangyang’s throat closed. his eyes flickered sideways before he could stop himself — landing on you. you were laughing, shaking your head, splashing ningning in mock protest.

“pass,” yangyang muttered, heat rushing up to his neck.

“no passes on your birthday!,” ningning sang, a smug smile on her face.

yangyang only took another sip, stubbornly silent until henderey hollered, “coward!” and the group dissolved into laughter. the game spiraled from there. dares to shotgun beers, truths about old crushes, ningning trying to get hendery to admit he had feelings for someone. you were glowing from it all, laughter spilling free, leaning heavier into yangyang’s side with every drink. everyone was loose, loud, shoulders bumping and splashing. ningning, of course, was thriving, eyes glittering as she scanned the circle fo her next victim.

“alright, y/n,” she grinned, pointing the empty bottle at you, “truth or dare?”

you thought about it for a second or two, the past two turns you’ve picked truth and now you were drunk enough for something bolder — “dare.”

ningning smirked like she’d just thought of the juiciest thing in the world, “i dare you to—” her eyes flicked between you and yangyang, lingering on the way you were half draped against his side without ever realizing it, “—kiss the person you’d most want to take home tonight.”

the tub erupted in hoots, xiaojun’s obnoxious “ooooOooOoohhHHh,” hendery splashing water everywhere, love grinning from ear to ear, renjun smirked at yangyang with an eyebrow raised like he already knew your answer and was waiting for you to confirm it. your stomach dropped but your grin stayed, drunk and playful. you turned your face toward yangyang, meaning to laugh it off, to share the mortified joke with your best friend. but he was already looking at you. already too close. his eyes unreadable in the dim of the hot tub’s light.

the air shifted. everyone else was still howling, waiting, chanting, KISS, KISS, KISS.

you leaned in just the tiniest bit — maybe to play along, maybe because the alcohol made it too easy, maybe because you wanted to kiss him. then your lips brushed his cheek. quick. harmless. but his hand clenched under the water, near your thigh, and you swore you felt the way his breath caught.

“lammmeee!,” hendery groaned. renjun, though, was smirking like he’d seen something the others hadn’t.

the dares heightened after that. more splashing, more laughter, someone daring xiaojun to stay underwater for two minutes or post an ugly selfie on his instagram story. but then renjun, grinning wickedly, fixed his eyes on yangyang, daring — “truth or dare, yang.”

yangyang swiped his wet hair back, rolling his eyes, “fine. dare.”

his grin widened, “i dare you to let the person of your choice sit on your lap for the next three rounds.”

the group cheered, ningning literally cackling, renjun’s teasing smile burning into his mind because they both knew there was only one person he would choose. yangyang froze before playing it off, like it didn’t have any effect on him at all. he smirked faintly, masking the way his pulse spiked before turning to you and patting his thigh under the bubbling water, “come on, teddy…don’t keep them waiting.”

you punched him playfully on the shoulder, giggling, before taking your seat anyway. and yangyang swore the heat of the hot tub can’t even compare to the heat of your skin against his.

the game went on, laughter and half-slurred joked spilled into the night. everyone was a little loose, a little unguarded, the alcohol smoothing edges that usually stayed sharp. until you were sitting back against the hot tub wall, cheeks flushed from both the heat and the drink. yangyang sat beside you once again, thigh brushing yours underwater in that way that felt accidental but wasn’t.

“okay, back to you,” ningning said, pointing at you, “truth or dare?”

you groaned dramatically, already feeling like the game has been dragging on, “truth.”

renjun smirked like a cat who’d just spotted a cornered mouse, “have you ever had a crush on anyone in this circle?”

yangyang stiffened beside you so suddenly you could feel the ripple of tension run through him. your mouth opened, then closed. you knew it was supposed to be fun and harmless but the way everyone was leaning in made your heart thud in your chest.

“uh–,” you cleared your throat, fumbling, “...maybe,” you admitted, forcing a smile like you weren’t two seconds away from boiling alive. ningning clutched xiaojun’s arm, demanding names, hendery started throwing out wild guesses, starting with himself, and renjun looked smug as hell, satisfied with the chaos he’d caused.

before it could escalate, love, seemed to sense your discomfort. she shoots you a small smile before tugging on her boyfriend’s arm, laughing as she said, “okay, i think we’ve had our fun, come on junie, let’s go,” and when renjun protested, complaining about how the fun just started, love whispered something in his ear and not even a second after, they slipped out of the water together, exchanging a glance that was not so subtle about where they were headed. definitely not just to sleep. ningning yawned next, waving a lazy hand, “yeah, okay you can keep your secret, i’m too sleepy for this,” she padded off toward her room, towel wrapped around her shoulders. xiaojun and hendery weren’t far behind, drunkenly bickering about who had been the worst at the dares. their voices faded as they disappeared down the hall, leaving the night suddenly quiet except for the gentle hum of the hot hub.

it was just you and yangyang now.

the air felt different, heavier, the stars above wide and indifferent to the way your pulse quickened.

yangyang leaned back against the tub wall, tilting his head toward you with that lazy grin that always made him look like he knew too much, “so…,” he drawled, eyes gleaming the low light, “you’ve had a crush on someone here, huh?” his tone was teasingly playful, voice slurring ever so slightly with the beer in his system, but underneath it something flickered sharper like he wanted the answer more than he’d admit, “why’d you never tell me?”

you tipped your head, water glinting off your shoulders as you gave him a sly grin, “that’s not the question renjun asked.”

he let out a low laugh, shaking his head, hair damp against his forehead, “you’re annoying.”

the two of you sat there in silence for a while, the tension coiling tight as the bubbles hummed around you.

“alright,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence with a mischievous lilt, “truth or dare?”

he didn’t even hesitate, “truth.”

you leaned in just a little, eyes dancing, “what’s your birthday wish?”

his lips curved, but this time it wasn’t the usual playful smirk. it was softer, more dangerous, “my wish,” he said, voice low, “is for you to say dare.”

your chest tightened. the steam, the closeness, the weight of his gaze — it all pressed down at once but you nodded, pretending not to notice the way your pulse jumped. “fine. dare.”

his smirk returned but it didn’t reach his eyes. they stayed locked on you, unwavering, “i dare you…to kiss your crush.”

you barked out a laugh, shaking your head, “you realize how ridiculous that sounds? there’s only two of us left here.”

“i know,” yangyang said, serious now, the playfulness stripped away. his hand shifted under the water, brushing against your thigh, grounding and dangerous all at once, “that’s the point. i can’t watch you kiss anyone else.”

your pulse thundered in your ears. the weight of his confession hung between you, heavier than the steam, heavier then the alcohol in your veins.

you swallowed hard, your laugh breaking somewhere in your throat, “what?...” but he was already leaning closer. not enough to touch, not enough to cross the line just yet, but close enough that you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. his eyes flicked down, just once, before snapping back up to yours like was daring you to stop him. you didn’t. instead, your hand, like it had a mind of its own, reached up and curled into the damp hair at the back of his neck, tugging him down that last inch.

the kiss was clumsy at first, a brush of lips softened by too many beers but the second it landed, everything tilted. his mouth slanted over yours with a hunger that startled you both, like he’d been holding back for years without even realizing it. his hand found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him until you were straddling him, water sloshing over the edge of the hot tub. the taste of beer, the faint sting of chlorine, the low groan rumbling from his chest when you kissed him harder — it all blurred into something dizzying, something that felt far too good to be just a dare.

he pulled back just enough to breathe, lips dragging along your jaw before he caught your mouth again. between kisses, his voice rumbled low, teasing but raw around the edges.

“truth or dare?”

you laughed into his mouth, breathless, trying to kiss him again, “yang, seriously?”

“answer the question,” he murmured, lips still grazing yours like he couldn’t stay away.

“truth,” you murmured, too far gone to even think of anything else.

he stilled for half a beat, eyes burning into yours. then, softer than the steam curling around you, he asked, “do you still have a crush on me now?”

you didn’t bother answering his question with words. you leaned in, kissing him harder, pouring everything you didn’t dare say for the past five years into the press of your mouth. he melted into the kiss instantly, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get close enough.

when you finally pulled back for air, your lips brushed against his, whispering, “truth or dare?”

his chest rose against yours, heartbeat erratic beneath your palm, his voice came out rough, almost broken, “dare.”

your mouth curled into a small mischievous smile, though your pulse was thrumming so loud it was deafening, “i dare you…to take off my top.”

the words hung between you, heavy and dangerous. you both froze for a heartbeat, aware of exactly what you were doing. aware of the line being crossed, again, only deeper this time. yangyang’s eyes locked onto yours, molten and unflinching. his hands, still braced at your waist, slid upward, hesitating. and then, right before his fingers reached the tie of your bikini top, he stilled.

“teddy,” he said, voice low but certain, “this is not a mistake.”

you were breathing hard, your heart pounding erratically in your chest at the words you’ve been wanting to hear. your answer came without hesitation, raw and true, “good,” you whispered, leaning closer until your nose brushed his, “i never wanted it to be.”

your words seem to undo him. whatever hesitation that lingered in his chest cracked open, spilling into the space between you. his hand rose, fingers brushing against your damp skin, following the string at the nape of your neck. his gaze never left yours. not once. even as his thumb toyed with the knot of your bikini top, he held your eyes like he needed your permission written there. you nodded once, barely, but it was enough. with a slow tug, the knot gave, the strings loosening under his fingers. your heart pounded so loud you swore he could hear it, feel it. his hand slid down your back to find the second tie, undoing it with the same deliberate care. the fabric slackened, floating away between you until your chest pressed against his. his breath hitched, sharp and reverent, and he immediately pulled you closer, shielding you with his body, as if even the night air wasn’t worthy of seeing you.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, voice wrecked, forehead pressing against yours, “you’re gonna kill me.”

you let out a shaky laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling the heat of his skin against yours, “that’s dramatic.”

he laughed before his mouth claimed yours again and you felt the unmistakable press of him through his soaked shorts, spurring you on, hips moving on instinct, grinding down slowly, his low groan vibrating against your lips.

“shit, teddy–” his hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor you. the scrape of his teeth caught your bottom lip before his mouth trailed lower. the kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, made you shiver even in the hot water. and then he found your breast, lips closing over your nipple, hot and wet and desperate. you gasped, clutching at his hair, arching against him as this tongue swirled over you.

“yangyang—” you whimpered, rocking against him harder, his groan rumbling against your chest, sending sparks straight to your core as his tongue flicked and sucked, the sensation making your head spin.

“fuck,” he rasped against your skin, pulling back just enough to look up at you, water dripping from his hair, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them, “you feel so good. you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

but you did know. you could feel him straining against his shorts with every grind of your hips. you could feel the heat in your stomach curling so hard, begging for release — your body continued rolling against him, nipples swollen from his mouth. the thin barrier of his shorts wasn’t enough anymore. and you know he’s thinking the same thing.

yangyang broke from your chest, breath ragged, voice cracking as he rasped, “teddy, i-i need to feel you….please.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, your lips parted, your chest heaving. the sight of him — pupils blown wide, hair plastered to his forehead, jaw clenched like holding himself back was killing him, made you smirk through your own heavy breathing.

“no one’s stopping you.”

the words were a fuse. his hands shoved his shorts down beneath the water, the movement frantic, desperate. you pushed your bikini bottoms to the side, heat flooding every nerve as the head of his cock brushed against you.

you both gasped at the contact. he was thick, hot, even through the water pressing insistently against your entrance. for a second, yangyang’s hands froze on your hips, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

“fuck, teddy—” he groaned as you took charge, lining him up, the initial intrusion causing his forehead to drop against your shoulder, voice shaking. “you’re so tight, i—” his voice broke off as you sank down onto him slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretching you open in a way that felt impossible.

“y-yeah? well–” you shuddered out a shaky laugh that melted into a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, your body trembling, water sloshing gently against your back as you clung to him, he was so big you swore your breath caught in your throat, “you’re— fuck— you’re huge.”

the moment you were fully seated on him, both of you froze. it was too much. too good. nothing has ever felt so right before. your walls fluttered around him, greedy and unrelenting, and yangyang swore under his breath, a sound wrecked and reverent all at once.

“you feel—fuck—you feel unreal,” he panted, lifting his head just to kiss you — not rushed, not messy, but slow and deep. his tongue with yours, his lips moving in perfect rhythm, like he needed to savor the feel of you wrapped around him as much as he needed the air in his lungs.

you rolled your hips tentatively, a grinding movement that had the head of his cock dragging against every tender spot inside you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths, the sound swallowed in the kiss.

“holy shit,” he breathed against your lips, his grip tightening when you did it again, slower this time, testing just how much of him you could take. the water shifted with every grind, bubbles brushing your bare chest as his mouth dropped back to your nipple, sucking softly, as if the added pleasure would distract him from how close he already felt.

your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging gently, “yangyang—oh my god—you feel so good” you cut yourself off with another whimper, grinding down harder. every grind sent sparks shooting up your spine, left your lips parting against his in a helpless moan. yangyang was shaking under you, every muscle pulled tight like he was trying to hold himself back.

but restraint couldn’t last.

you rocked against him harder, deeper, chasing that spot inside you that made your thighs tremble. his grip on your waist turned desperate, nails digging into your damp skin as though anchoring himself from falling apart too fast. the water sloshed around you, hot and slick, bubbling higher with each movement.

“f-fuck, teddy—” his voice cracked on your nickname, raw and reverent all at once. “i can’t—god, you’re so perfect.”

you moaned into his mouth, biting at his bottom lip as you rolled your hips again. your nails clawed down his back, urging him closer, deeper, “don’t hold back,” you whispered, breathless, half a plea and half a dare.

that undid him. his hands slid from your waist to your ass, hauling you down with every thrust of his hips. the rhythm shifted — messy, uneven, full of wet slaps and broken moans. every push of him inside you had you gasping into his neck, your body quivering against his. the hot tub water splashed against the sides, the whole night echoing with the sound of skin against skin and the helpless noises spilling out of your throats.

yangyang’s mouth was everywhere — your jaw, your throat, your nipple caught between his teeth before he soothed the sting with his tongue. each kiss felt like him branding you, marking you as his.

“teddy, i—shit—” his words tumbled out between gasps, his forehead pressing against yours again, sweat and water dripping down his temples, “i need more, i need all of you—”

before you could even respond, his arms slid beneath you, hoisting you up effortlessly. a squeak tore from your throat as your body hit the cool night air, suddenly perched on the slick edge of the hot tub. goosebumps prickled your skin, but then he surged forward, slipping back inside you in one deep thrust — your body yielding around him like it had been made for him all along.

it was overwhelming. without the drag of the water, yangyang had total control now, and every snap of his hips hit so much harder. your thighs trembled as you clung to his shoulders, meeting every desperate grind, every bruising thrust. the rhythm turned frantic — like all those years of buried tension had come bursting out at once, and now you both couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

“yangyang—oh my god—” you cried, head falling back, nails leaving red trails down his slick shoulders.

“i’ve got you,” he groaned against your chest, voice ragged and low, before his mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hungrily. his hips never faltered, each thrust driving you further against the edge, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing sharp against the bubbling water behind him.

pressure coiled unbearably hot and tight in your belly. your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his mouth up to yours in a messy, desperate kiss. you moaned into him as you ground down harder, and then it broke — your body seized, thighs locking around his waist as pleasure crashed over you in waves, his name tearing from your throat in sobbed cries.

yangyang lost it the second he felt you tighten. his hips jerked erratically, a guttural groan ripped from deep in his chest. “fuck—teddy, i’m coming—oh, fuck—” he buried himself deep, spilling inside you, heat flooding you as his release poured out in thick pulses, making you clench tighter around him. neither of you cared that he came inside. you both kept grinding, chasing every last ounce of it, until the tremors finally slowed. he slumped against you, chest heaving, lips brushing your temple, cock still throbbing inside you, the connection grounding you as the steam rose around your trembling bodies.

you shut your eyes, resting your cheek against his damp hair, listening to the frantic rhythm of his heart, catching your breath. when you finally opened them, his gaze was already fixed on you, dark and unreadable, like he was holding something back. instead of words, he kissed you—slow and soft, a promise tucked inside the gentleness. a way to show that this wasn’t just a one time thing.

silence fell again, heavy with steam and the sound of water bubbling. after a long moment, you whispered, voice raspy, “let’s go to bed, yang.”

his arms tightened around your waist like he didn’t want to let go, then finally loosened. “yeah. okay.”

you slid off his lap carefully, tugging your bikini into place as your shared juices dripped down your thighs and into the water, body still buzzing from him. yangyang climbed out after you, quieter than usual, grabbing a towel—his eyes flicking toward you, then away, like he wasn’t ready to break the spell just yet.

🧸 OCTOBER 11 - SUNDAY - ONE MORE TRUTH.

the two of you split off into separate bathrooms, water running in unison. under the spray, you pressed your palms to the tiled wall, letting it scald your shoulders. the memory of his hands on your body replayed relentlessly — the way he’d held you so tightly in the water, like he was afraid you’d disappear. it hadn’t just been sex. that much you couldn’t lie about, not even to yourself.

yangyang was telling himself the same thing in his shower, he leaned against the wall, eyes shut, trying to steady the rush still coursing through him. he could still feel the shape of you around him, still hear the way you’d said his name, soft and broken. he wanted to call it heat, or alcohol, or just a dare gone too far. but none of that explained the way his chest had clenched when you looked at him, like you were his before either of you said a word.

you move slower than you mean to — careful, deliberate steps as if the floorboards might betray you. your hair is still damp, the oversized shirt clinging to your shoulders, the cotton cool against your skin. when you padded into the bedroom, he was already there. propped against the headboard, scrolling half-heartedly through his phone. he glanced up the second the door clicked, and his mouth tugged into a soft, almost shy smile. he patted the space beside him, “come here.”

the invitation is ordinary, an old habit. you hesitate only because there’s a seam of something new under it, the after of what you did in the water, the newness of the words neither of you have fully confessed yet. you matched his smile and climbed onto the bed.

the awkwardness buzzed faintly between you. the sheet is warm where you settle, his arm wraps around you without thinking. it’s automatic and it’s everything. for a long beat you let the familiar do the work — his chin resting softy on top of your head, the slow, steady cadence of his breath, the way his chest feels against your back, his arms wrapping around your middle. your breaths begin to line up, one inhale, one exhale, a private metronome.

the words that have been circling your chest all night press at the edges again. “what happens now?” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t answer right away, but you feel he pause in his steady heartbeat, “can i tell you another truth?” he asks, voice small in a way you’ve never heard from him before. you twist in his arms, turning so your face is level with his. the lamp casts half his features in soft glow. for a second, the room shrinks to the space between your chests, your foreheads almost touching. when you’re this close your heart does that thing it always does — it remembers every stupid, tender moment you’ve ever shared.

“what’s your truth?” you whisper.

he swallows nervously. his thumb softly swiping over the back of your hand, finding that spot he always does when he’s trying to steady himself–

“teddy—” he takes a deep breath, his gaze solely focused on yours, “i’m in love with you.”

it lands softer than you expected, quiet and seismic all at once. for a beat you only hear the blood in your ears and the faint rasp of his breath. his confession sits on the air between you, vulnerable and impossible. you’ve imagined this. rehearsed it in the quiet parts of late nights for years. but you always thought it would come from your lips, not his.

your mouth quirked before your brain caught up. small at first but honest, “about time,” you breathed, and the laugh that followed was wet and relieved, breaking out of you like a release valve.

he blinked, a strangled laugh tumbling from him out of sheer surprise, then a tiny, disbelieving smile split his face wide, “about time?” he echoed, like it was the most ridiculous and wonderful thing he’d ever heard.

you reach up and press your palm to his cheek, grounding the both of you, “yeah…i’ve been in love with you for a long time,” you admitted, softer than you meant, confession spilling out now because the shape of him in the dark makes honesty easier than pretending, “you just… finally caught up.”

his eyes widened, awe bleeding into guilt, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard, like he couldn’t imagine why he never noticed it before, “but,” he mumbled, voice tightening, “but what about shotaro?”

you giggled, the sound soft but sure, “i told you,” you said, “we just fuck sometimes.” his fingers clamped possessively at your waist without thinking, grip tightening in a way that made your breath catch. the thought of you with another man had a new jagged edge to it now. he didn’t even want to picture it.

“he knows,” you went on gently, eyes searching his, “…about me being in love with you. that’s why it’s easy with him. there’s no feelings involved,” your voice dropped smaller, more vulnerable. “there never were.”

yangyang’s face lifted, a slow, unreadable expression dawning across his features. he couldn’t believe his ears. none of it made sense — how you could have been in love with him all this time and he never noticed? he tries coming up with another excuse.

“but i saw you two cuddling on the couch…after we–” he confessed, faltering on purpose, “then you guys went on a date–”

you shook your head firmly, voice steady, “he was at my place because i cussed him out for initiating the whole seven minutes game,” you said, the memory of that party still sharp, “i got mad at him because i thought our friendship was ruined — and that wasn’t a date. it was a favor. nothing more.” you tucked your hand behind his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and the nervousness in his shoulders began to unravel as he leaned into your touch.

“god, i’m such an idiot,” he laughed, brittle around the edges.

“you always were the slower one,” you tease, thumb stroking the curve of his cheek. the old banter folds in around the new truths like a familiar blanket, “i was always the smarter one between the two of us.”

he snorts, that almost annoyed noise that used to end argument when you were kids. but it’s softer now, threading through with something like wonder, “how long have you been in love with me?”

you smiled shyly, eyes dropping before you forced them back up to his, “like…five years.”

“teddy—” he groaned, burying his face in your shoulder for a second before pulling back with wide, disbelieving eyes. “you kept a secret from me for five years?!”

“hey! you can’t blame me!,” you pouted, “how was i supposed to tell you i was in love with you when you had girl after girl…and then you fell in love and it all just felt…too late. plus i’d rather be your friend forever than lose you.”

yangyang looked at you with something between amusement and heartbreak at your outburst, his lips twitching into a helpless smile, “well…i can’t be just friends anymore,” he said finally, certain in a way that left no space for argument. your chest ached, the good kind, the kind that made everything inside you expand all at once. you cupped his jaw, tilting your face up before your courage could falter. and then you kissed him. it wasn’t like the hot tub or that drunken night. that had been fevered, messy, reckless with want. this — this was slow. careful. the kind of reverence that made your pulse stumble, his hand cradling the back of your neck as if you were something fragile.

but then, right as his thumb traced the corner of your jaw, right as you felt him about to tilt you back into the mattress — you broke into a laugh against his lips. yangyang pulled back, frowning, breath warm against your cheek, “why are you laughing?”

you covered your mouth, still giggling helplessly, “i just—,” your shoulders shook as the absurdity of it all rushed through you, “i can’t believe i’m making out with my best friend.”

his brows furrowed, feeling offended, though his eyes betrayed the smile fighting to break through. he leaned back just enough to glare at you playfully, “correction. you’re making out with your boyfriend.”

the word hit your ears like a spark, and your laugh turned into a grin you couldn’t contain, “boyfriend, huh?” you teased, eyes glinting.

“yeah,” he tugged you back into him with a cocky little tilt of his head, lips brushing yours again, “better get used to it, teddy. i’m not letting you downgrade me to ‘best friend’ ever again.”

but then he tilted his head down, catching the way you were staring at him with an amused expression. “what now?” he asked, suspicious.

you smirked, “just trying to process that my best friend is suddenly my boyfriend.”

he groaned, tossing his head back dramatically against the pillows, “well…process it faster.”

you giggled, nudging his ribs with your elbow. “fine, fine. you’re my boyfriend. happy?”

he angled his gaze back down at you, eyes gleaming, “say it again.”

you rolled your eyes, grinning, “pushy. typical boyfriend behavior already.”

“better than being your dumb, oblivious best friend you secretly loved for five years,” he shot back, pinching your side until you squealed. the room filled with your laughter, tangled together in that familiar, easy way that had always belonged to you.

but when the laughter quieted, his hand didn’t move from your waist. instead, his thumb brushed over your hipbone slowly, thoughtful, like he was weighing something in his head. his voice dropped lower, softer, “you know…i need to make up for that night.”

“yangyang—” you started, nerves and anticipation colliding.

but he was already shifting, pressing his lips to your temple, then your cheek, then the line of your jaw. each kiss deliberate, unhurried, “that night was sloppy. messy. we were too drunk to know what we were doing,” his fingers skimmed under the hem of your shirt, teasing bare skin as his mouth trailed down your throat, “you deserve better than that. you deserve me… taking my time.” heat flushed through you as he rolled you gently onto your back, his body hovering above yours. the lamp light traced the sharp edges of his features, the tenderness in his eyes. slowly, carefully, he pushed your shirt up, enough to cup your breasts in his hands, pressing kisses on each one, then lower to the curve of your stomach. each one softer than the last, reverent in a way that made your pulse stutter.

when his fingers reached the waistband of your shorts, he glanced up at you, pausing just long enough to let you breathe him in, “let me make it up to you,” he murmured, voice wrecked and earnest. his words settled over you like a vow. you nodded, breath shaky, and his lips curved into something soft before he dipped back down, resuming his trail of kisses. every inch of you got his attention like he was memorizing it. he tugged your shorts down slowly, as if he wanted you to feel the air, the anticipation, the way his fingers brushed your thighs when he peeled the fabric away.

your pulse was erratic, your skin buzzing. he kissed down the inside of your thigh with the same patience he’d shown everywhere else, alternating between soft presses and teasing grazes that had your legs twitching. two of his fingers pressed down on your clit, rubbing slow circles, and your breath hitched causing him to look up at you through his lashes, hair falling into his eyes. the sight alone nearly unraveled you.

“you okay?” he asked, voice low, thumb brushing circles on your hip.

“yeah,” you whispered, your throat tight, “better than okay.”

his smile was quick, almost boyish, before his mouth took over, kissing your clit. then he swiped his tongue, slow and deliberate, through your folds. you gasped, back arching at the contact and he hummed against you, pleased, doing it again — unhurried, savoring the taste of you like it was something he’d been starving for.

“god, teddy…” he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your skin, “you taste so much better when i’m not drunk out of my mind.” your laugh came out strangled, breaking on a moan when his tongue circled your clit with devastating precision. he licked you slowly, thoroughly, like he was relearning you sober — mapping every reaction, every breathless sound you made. his hands pinned your thighs gently apart, thumbs stroking comfort into your skin as his mouth worked lower, then back up again, dragging out your pleasure.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging when the intensity built, but he only groaned into you and pressed closer, like he wanted you to fall apart. right there. every flick of his tongue was patient, teasing, until he found the rhythm that made you cry out his name. he pulled back just slightly, lips shiny, eyes blown wide with heat as he looked up at you, “this pussy’s mine now. you know that, right?”

the dirty talk had you reeling. you nodded desperately, words falling apart in your throat, “y-yeah—yang, please, don’t stop.”

he smirked, dipping his head again, his tongue flattening against you in a long, devastating drag, “didn’t plan on it.” and then he devoured you properly — no rush, no hesitation, just steady, reverent focus, kissing and licking you like he was worshipping every inch of you. the slow build had you trembling, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every deliberate movement until all you could do was gasp his name and hold on. yangyang didn’t let up. every kiss, every slow flick of his tongue was intentional, drawing you higher and higher until you were trembling under him. he alternated between teasing circles and deeper, more insistent strokes, pulling soft whimpers and gasps from your throat that you couldn’t bite back, each one turning into a loud moan, unfiltered.

“teddy,” he murmured against you, voice wrecked, “you’re shaking.”

you tried to reply, but the words dissolved into a moan as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, slow and steady, until your back arched off the mattress — the pleasure coiling so tightly it felt like your body couldn’t contain it. when you finally broke, it was sharp and overwhelming, your fingers pulling helplessly at his hair as waves of heat rolled through you. he held you down through it, tongue softening but never leaving you, coaxing every aftershock until you were pushing him away. only when your thighs stopped trembling did he finally ease back, pressing one last kiss against your sensitive skin before lifting his head. his lips glistened, his hair was a mess, and his smile was small but devastatingly fond.

“that’s how it should’ve been,” he said, voice hoarse, as he climbed up and pressed a tongue filled kiss on your lips, letting you taste yourself on him, as he pulled your shirt back down, carefully covering you.

you let out a weak laugh, body so relaxed you almost slipped into darkness. when his weight settled against your side, you curled into him, face pressing into his shoulder. there was only the sound of your breath evening out, the warmth of him grounding. but then you shifted, reaching for the waistband of his sweats with fumbling fingers, “your turn,” you whispered, trying to push past your sleepiness.

he caught your wrist easily, chuckling, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “you can barely keep your eyes open, teddy,” he teased softly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead.

“i can do it,” you argued weakly, though your body betrayed you with a sleepy yawn.

yangyang laughed again, low and gentle, kissing the crown of your head as he tucked you closer into his chest, “we have all the time in the world for that next time,” he murmured, then his grin turned playful, “but i can’t believe i fucked you out just from that, look at me already being the best boyfriend.”

that earned a weak swat against his chest, “you’re so full of yourself…it’s the beer’s fault, not you.”

he ignores that with a playful eye roll, “and you,” he leaned down to murmur against your temple, “are so loud. i swear, everyone in this house knows what we just did.”

your cheeks burned as you smacked him again, though it lacked any heat, “shut up.”

yangyang laughed, that low, husky sound that made your stomach flip, “i’m not complaining, it was really hot…but i’m just saying, teddy, if you wanted to announce we’re official, there were easier ways.”

you buried your face deeper into his chest, muttering, “i hate you.”

his arms tightened around you instantly, the teasing giving way to something softer, “no, you don’t.”

he kissed your hair, then added with a smile you could hear in his voice, “but i love you.” you pulled him tighter, too sleepy for anything else, earning a chuckle from him again, as he pulled the blanket up around both of you, tucking it securely like he never wanted to let you go.

•ᴥ•

the morning light filtered pale and soft through the curtains when you blinked awake. yangyang was still out cold beside you, one arm draped heavy over your waist, hair sticking up in every possible direction. his lips were parted, breathing slow and even, his face so boyish in sleep. you smile, brushing a stray bang from his forehead. you lay there, soaking in the impossible reality that this was real now — your best friend. your boyfriend.

carefully, you slipped out from under his arm, pulling the blanket back over him when he shifted but didn’t wake. one last glance, one last smile at his messy hair and you padded out of the room.

the kitchen was already buzzing when you joined. love was flipping pancakes while renjun brewed coffee. xiaojun and hendery were arguing over whether eggs needed more salt. ningning sat cross-legged on the counter, scrolling through her phone.

“morning,” you greeted, slipping in to help set plates and pour juice like nothing monumental had happened last night.

“morning,” came the chorus back, everyone too groggy and hungover to notice the spring in your step.

it wasn’t until the smell of coffee filled the air and laughter started to break through the collective hangover fog that footsteps sounded down the hall. yangyang stumbled out, hair still wild, shirt hanging crooked. he rubbed at his eyes, yawning so wide it made ningning snort. and then he saw you — without hesitation, without even remembering himself, he crossed the room, slid behind you, and wrapped his arms around your waist. his chin hooked over your shoulder, his voice still thick with sleep as he mumbled, “why’d you leave me, teddy?”

before you could answer, he pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. then another to your cheek. and then, without any warning, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he turned your face toward his and kissed you full on the mouth.

the kitchen froze. you felt your stomach drop at the exact second the room exploded.

“FINALLY!!!” ningning practically shrieked, nearly dropping her phone she slammed it down dramatically, “i told you guys! i told you!”

“YES!,” xiaojun cheered, throwing his arms up in celebration, “hendery, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“wait, what?!” you and yangyang whirled on the two boys, “you placed bets?!” yangyang asked, bewildered.

renjun smiled into his coffee, amused and smug, “called it,” he muttered, loud enough for yangyang to hear.

love was quieter than the rest — her pancakes cooked to perfection. she stared at the two of you for a beat, then let out a soft laugh that carried more relief than surprise, “i always knew there was… more,” she admitted, shaking her head. “guess i wasn’t crazy after all,” she glanced at renjun, who returns her smile.

yangyang tightened his grip, looking around in surprise, “what? it wasn't that obvious??”

“it literally was!” you hissed, elbowing him in the ribs, which only made them laugh louder. the kitchen filling with overlapping voices, mock cheers, and clattering dishes.

🧸 OCTOBER 12 - MONDAY - BUSY.

the evening settled lazy and quiet in your apartment, the glow of teen wolf flickering across the living room. you and yangyang were tangled up on the couch. the world outside didn’t exist — it was just you, him, and the muffled sound of werewolves snarling on screen. everything was normal. yet everything felt different. every so often he’d murmur commentary, usually something dumb like, “i could totally fight that guy if i had claws” or “why is derek always brooding, like calm down dude.” you’d swat him half-heartedly, but your cheek would hurt from smiling.

your phone buzzed where it rested on the coffee table. yangyang, closest, picked it up without thinking — the way best friends always did. but his entire body went rigid when he saw the name.

shotaro. his eyes flicked to you, then back to the glowing screen. the message was simple, casual.

shotaro: u busy?

you felt your stomach dip. you both knew what that meant. a code for hooking up. you opened your mouth, to grab the phone, to explain, you weren’t sure, but yangyang beat you to it. with a calmness that didn’t match the sharp edge in his jaw, he typed back:

y/n: she is busy. this is yangyang. her boyfriend.

you blinked, “yangyang—”

“he can’t keep texting you this,” he said, trying to conceal the jealousy in his tone. your heart hammered in your chest, torn between exasperation and the giddy flutter of seeing him like this, finding it amusing.

“you’re cute when you’re jealous,” you point out, a tiny smirk on your lips.

“i’m not jealous,” he retorts but the pout on his lips says otherwise.

you kissed it away quickly, making him chase your lips in the process before your giggle snaps his eyes open, “yang, you have nothing to worry about, mu heart is yours and yours only, everyone knows that,” you reassure him, a soft smile on your lips. before he could reply, your phone buzzed, shotaro’s message coming in.

shotaro: 😂😂😂😂😂

shotaro: finally dude, took you long enough!

shotaro: congrats lovebirds ☺️

you couldn’t help it — laughter burst out of you, bubbling until your cheeks hurt, “told you so.”

he shot you a look, somewhere between sulking and pouting, and rolled his eyes hard enough you thought they might get stuck, “this is embarrassing. you’re never letting me live this down, are you?” he muttered.

“not a chance.” you grinned, tucking your face into his shoulder, still giggling. you glanced at him through your lashes, biting back a grin, “well,” you murmured, voice lilting with a mix of tease and challenge, “now that you told him i’m busy, you gotta actually keep me busy.”

yangyang’s smirk was immediate, lazy and smug as he shifted to face you fully, “is that your way of saying you want to have sex with me?”

your cheeks burned instantly, “god, do you have to say it like that?”

yangyang leaned in until the space between you shrank, his hand curling gently around your thigh, “so… should i take that as a yes?” his voice dipped lower, teasing but not careless, like he wanted to hear it from you.

your heart gave a traitorous skip, and you rolled your eyes to cover it up, “just kiss me, dummy.” his grin softened into something quieter, sweeter, and he obeyed without another word. the kiss started light — his lips just brushing yours, testing, as though reminding both of you that this wasn’t like all the half-drunk makeouts of the past. he lingered there, pressing his mouth to yours until your hand came up on instinct to curl in his hoodie, pulling him closer. he tugged your shorts down with ease, hand sliding down your ass, cupping and squeezing like he couldn’t help himself.

by the time you pulled back, your breathing was already uneven. “yang…”

“ride my face,” he murmured, tugging your panties off, the suggestion making you clench on instinct.

“wait, what—”

he hushed you with another kiss, murmuring a “please,” against your mouth before he pulled away. yangyang leaned back on the couch, hair already messy from your tugging fingers, lips pink and swollen from kissing.

“yang—are you sure?”

“come here,” he said, voice low, guiding you until you were hovering above his head.

your palms flattened against the armrest for support, the position leaving you open, trembling. “yangyang, this is—”

“exactly what i want,” he cut in, his breath hot against you. his hands clamped onto your thighs, pulling you down until you were seated fully on his mouth. his nose brushed you, tongue working slow and firm, and you couldn’t stop the sound that ripped from your throat.

“yang—oh, my god—”

he groaned at your taste, the vibrations shooting straight through you. his eyes fluttered shut, messy blond hair fanning out over the cushions, hips twitching helplessly.

“fuck, you’re soaked,” he mumbled against you, his voice muffled and wrecked, “taste so sweet—you’re gonna make me cum in my pants.”

the filthy admission sent heat ripping through you. your nails dug into the armrest, your hips grinding down carefully, whines of desperation slipping from your lips, each second feeling better and better.

“take what you want teddy, c’mon, don’t be shy,” his grip tightened, holding you in place as he guided you to rock against him faster.

no longer able to control yourself, you chased the pleasure, faster and faster, eyes rolling back. the sound of your own wetness mixing with his low groans spurring you on even more. each time you ground down, he moaned like he was being fed something he’d craved for years. his chin and jaw were slick, shining with you, his tongue never faltering.

“feels so—” your voice broke, your thighs trembling harder, “so good, yangyang—”

he pulled back just enough to gasp in a breath, voice hoarse and wrecked, “yeah? then ride my face, teddy. just like that. don’t stop for me.”

the filthy words shattered the last bit of control you had. your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging hard, your thighs squeezing tighter around his head as you used him. his tongue met every desperate grind, licking broad and greedy, then flicking sharp and precise right where you needed him. you couldn’t hold back the sounds tearing out of you — half-moan, half-whimper.

yangyang’s eyes were glazed over, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you from between your thighs, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead. his jaw flexed as he pushed his tongue deeper, then dragged it up, slow and heavy, sucking your clit into his mouth until your hips bucked.

“fucking love this,” he groaned into you, the words muffled but hot against your skin, “love the way you use me.” he was so turned on, so wrecked from eating you out, that he was leaking through the fabric of his sweats without even touching himself.

you fisted his hair tighter, gasping, “yangyang—i’m gonna—”

his tongue flicked rapid and merciless now, sucking at your clit with each drag, matching the frantic way your hips were moving. he growled low, the vibration shaking through you, and it was too much. your climax ripped through you, sharp and blinding, thighs clamping down around his head as you cried out, grinding hard against his face. he moaned into you like he’d just been given everything he ever wanted, holding you down, tongue working you through every wave until your body shuddered and went slack. you slumped against the armrest, chest heaving, sweat slick on your skin.

below you, yangyang looked utterly ruined — mouth and chin drenched with you, lips swollen, pupils blown. he licked one last lazy stripe up your folds before pressing a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his breathing as ragged as yours.

“prettiest sight i’ve ever seen,” he murmured, voice hoarse, his cock straining visibly under the damp patch of his sweats, “you falling apart on me like that.”

your thighs were still trembling when you finally shifted off his face, sinking down onto the couch beside him. yangyang’s chest was heaving, lips red and swollen, chin slick with you. he looked so dazed that for a second you forgot how to breathe — then you leaned in and kissed him, tasting yourself on his mouth.

when you settled against him, your eyes dropped lower — that’s when you saw it. the front of his grey sweats was completely soaked through, darkened with a wet patch that left nothing to the imagination. he was painfully hard, twitching under the damp fabric, leaking without ever laying a hand on himself. you leaned in closer, lips brushing his jaw.

“that turned you on that bad? just me riding your face?” your hand slipped down, palming him through the damp fabric in awe, feeling the heat and the twitch of his cock straining against the thin material.

he groaned, head dropping back against the couch, “teddy—don’t—”

“don’t what?” you teased, giggling, palm pressing firmer against him, slow circles over the soaked outline, “thought you liked being used.”

his hips bucked up against your hand, giving him away, “you’re evil,” he groaned, voice tight, eyes screwing shut, “making fun of me when i’ve been leaking for you this whole time.”

you grinned, dragging your palm over him again, deliberate and slow, “you leaking for me, huh? that’s cute.”

“cute?” he cracked one eye open to glare at you, but his voice cracked halfway through.

you bit back a laugh, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth while your hand kept working him through the damp sweats. “yeah. cute. my big…” you squeezed his cock, making him whimper, “—needy boyfriend can’t even keep it together.”

his groan turned into a laugh, but he can’t hind the blush creeping up his ears, breathless and wrecked, “you’re gonna regret teasing me when i’m inside you.”

your teasing hand finally slipped past the waistband of his sweats — fingers wrapping around the hot, heavy length of him. you pumped him once, twice, slow but firm, and he shuddered under your touch, small whimpers slipping from his lips. the sheer weight of him in your hand, the way he throbbed against your palm, the noises he made, all made your stomach flip.

“god, yang—” you breathed, squeezing him just enough to make his hips jerk. “you’re so hard. already leaking everywhere for me.”

his breath hitched, hips bucking into your hand. his fingers clenched at your thigh like he was holding himself back, “teddy—stop—”

you tilted your head, pretending innocence, “stop?”

he pushed your hand away, chest rising and falling unevenly, “i’m not—” he groaned, frustrated with himself, “i’m not cumming in your hand. not tonight.”

you blinked, a little dazed, your hand still tingling from the heat of him, “then what—”

but before you could finish, he leaned forward, catching your mouth in a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth and pent-up hunger. his hands were already at your shirt, finally tugging it over your head, leaving you completely bare for him.

when you gasped against his mouth, he muttered against your lips, “if i’m gonna cum, it’s gonna be inside you.” your breath caught at the blunt honesty, your body arching into his touch as he pulled his own shirt off completely and pushed his sweats down. he guided you back onto the couch cushions, hovering over you with a look that made your pulse skip.

the kisses had deepened, slower but heavier, with his hands skimming up your sides like he was learning a new map. you shifted nervously against him, letting out a tiny laugh that broke the kiss.

“this is still so weird,” you whispered, in between giggles and kisses.

yangyang laughed too, the sound vibrating through his chest where you pressed against him, tilting your chin back up so he could kiss the corner of your jaw, “it’s weird that it took us thirteen years.”

you gave him a playful glare, but your lips betrayed you by curving up into a smile, “and who set that system up?”

he laughed, kissing you again. he took his time with each inch of skin revealed, drawing tiny shivers out of you that you tried and failed to hide.

“stop smiling,” you muttered breathlessly as he pressed another kiss just below your jaw.

“can’t help it,” he said, voice muffled against your skin, “you’re so beautiful, i should be allowed to gawk.”

“you’re annoying.”

“you love me.”

“i love you.”

he pulled you into another kiss, deeper this time, as he lined himself up against your entrance. when yangyang finally pressed into you, the air punched right out of your lungs. slow, steady, deliberate — like he was trying to memorize the exact moment you fit around him. your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving tiny crescents in his skin as you gasped, “jesus, yang—”

he stilled immediately, eyes wide, chest heaving, “too much?”

you shook your head quickly, breathless laughter breaking out of you even as you squirmed around the thick, heavy stretch, “no — just… how are you this big?”

yangyang groaned, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder, “don’t say that right now.”

“why not?” you teased, threading your fingers through his messy hair, tugging just enough to make him lift his head again.

“because—” he grit out, rolling his hips an inch deeper just to prove a point, “—if you keep saying that, i’m gonna embarrass myself and cum before i even get started.”

you burst into a giggle, though the way your body fluttered around him betrayed just how much the words got to you, “oh my god, are you seriously admitting that?”

he scowled at you, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward, “we’ve been best friends for thirteen years. i don’t get to lie anymore.”

“you never could lie,” you shot back, kissing his jaw in between your laughs, “you get this stupid vein in your forehead—”

“stop—” he groaned again, cutting you off with a kiss, sloppy and urgent, like he had to shut you up before you completely ruined him.

but you were still grinning into it, tugging him closer, whispering against his lips, “biggest i’ve ever had, by the way.”

he made a strangled noise, hips jerking forward before he forced himself to stop, “okay — no. if you don’t want this to end in sixty seconds, shut up.”

you smirked wickedly, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, “fine. but only because i want to enjoy it.” his eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he pushed in the rest of the way, every inch making you gasp and cling to him harder. the stretch burned, but it was the good kind—the kind that had your toes curling and your chest arching up against his.

yangyang groaned, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaky, “god, you feel… so fucking good.”

“yeah?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his, your grin still lingering despite how wrecked you already felt.

“yeah,” he rasped, kissing you again, slower this time, his hips finally beginning to move. you clung tighter, every roll dragging a breathy sound from your throat you couldn’t bite back.

you clenched around him and he broke the kiss with a shaky laugh, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “you’re seriously trying to kill me, huh?”

you managed a grin between gasps, “pretty sure you’re the one doing the damage.”

“not my fault you’re…” he trailed off with a groan as your nails raked lightly down his back, “…tight as hell.”

you giggled, half-wrecked already. “not my fault you fill me up so well.”

his head dropped to your shoulder again, muffling a desperate laugh-groan into your skin, “shut up,” he whined, voice cracking adorably. but the way his hips snapped a little deeper, a little harder, told you he liked it—liked your teasing, liked the way you couldn’t keep quiet with him inside you.

when you hooked your ankles at his lower back to drag him closer, he hissed and shifted, suddenly lifting one of your legs up, then the other, until both were resting against his shoulders. the new angle made you gasp so sharply it turned into a moan, “y-yang—holy shit—”

he froze, smirking down at you even as sweat dripped at his temple, “that good?”

you shot him a dazed glare, though your hips rolled up to meet his without thought, “don’t… act smug—”

he pushed in deep, bottoming out so hard you saw stars. your words broke off into a strangled cry, and yangyang groaned low, burying his face in your neck, “fuck—you’re squeezing me.”

“i can’t help it,” you gasped, grabbing at the back of his neck, pulling him up for another messy kiss, “you’re—god—you’re so—”

“don’t say it,” he cut in quickly, panting against your mouth, “don’t say it or i’m done for.” you bit back your laugh, kissing him harder just to swallow the desperate sound you made when he hit that spot again. the pace stayed slow but deep, each thrust driving impossibly far with your legs curled over his shoulders. his hands gripped your thighs tight, fingers flexing like he needed to hold on or he’d lose it.

you moaned his name, breathless, tugging at his hair, “yangyang—”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his face twisted in concentration, lips red and swollen, “yeah, teddy?”

“i love you,” you whispered, voice breaking, laughter tangled up with need.

he kissed you again, deeper this time, whispering against your lips, “i love you, too.”

his rhythm stayed deep and unhurried, every thrust dragging a sharp cry from you that melted into laughter, into gasps, into his name spilling again and again. then his hand slipped between the two of you, thumb rubbing harsh, precise circles on your clit, pushing you over the edge. your nails scratched at his back, tugged at his hair, every nerve in your body sparking, “y-yang… i’m gonna—,”

“i know, teddy, i know,” he murmured, voice breaking as he kissed your cheek, your mouth, the corner of your jaw, “come all over me, please.”

that was all it took. your body clenched tight around him, and the climax crashed through you, head tipping back against the couch cushion as you moaned his name. he kissed you through it, swallowing every sound, hips stuttering at the way you squeezed around him dragging him to his own climax, “fuck—gripping me so tight—i’m gonna come.”

your body was still fluttering around him when you gasped out, broken and breathless, “inside—please, yang, i want it inside—”

for a moment, he froze, eyes going wide like you’d just asked him to set the world on fire, “are—” his voice cracked, hips faltering, “are you sure?”

you tugged him down, kissing him hard, desperate, your voice wrecked against his lips, “please—please, yang,” you whined.

something in him snapped at that. his groan was raw, guttural, as he buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep enough to steal your breath. his forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping at his temple as he muttered, “fuck—gonna cum—inside you, teddy—,”

your nails dug into his back, pulling him closer, “do it, yang. want it—want you.”

he bit back a curse, thrusts turning frantic but still deep, controlled. his hands held your thighs so tight they’d bruise, his voice low and breaking, “mine—fuck—you’re mine.” you whimpered his name, clinging to him as his rhythm broke apart. then with a strangled groan, he slammed in one last time and spilled into you, hot and endless, the force of it pulling a sob out of his throat.

the aftershocks tore through both of you, your body clutching around him, milking every drop. his chest collapsed against yours, lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, your mouth, like he couldn’t stop. when yangyang finally pulled out, his breath hitched, chest rising and falling fast as he watched his release spilling out of you, shining down your skin in little streaks.

“fuck…” he groaned, voice dropping rough and reverent, “that’s so hot…look at you, teddy, can’t even hold me in.” you whined, trying to close your legs, but he pressed them apart again, eyes dark and fixated. he dragged two fingers through the mess, slow and deliberate, and brought it up between you.

“suck.” his tone was low but coaxing, like he already knew you’d obey. your lips parted, and he slipped his finger past them, watching intently as you closed around him, sucking the mix of both of you clean. his jaw clenched, hips twitching like he could feel it himself.

“god—” he rasped, barely holding back a shudder, “you drive me crazy.” you hummed around his finger, eyes locking with his as you licked him clean, letting the lewd wet sound fill the room. he cursed again, pulling his hand free only to grip your jaw and kiss you deep, messy, desperate, like he needed to taste it on your tongue too.

“so…” yangyang murmured, grin tugging at his lips. “think that’s busy enough, or should we get busier?”

you smacked his chest weakly, too boneless to put any force behind it, “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous,” he echoed, pretending to think. he kissed your nose, playful and soft, “nah. just making up for lost time.”

🧸 OCTOBER 16 - FRIDAY - CRISIS AVERTED.

yangyang let himself in like always, already calling out a lazy, “teddy, i’m here. did you eat yet? i brought—”

then he froze. the sound hit him before anything else — muffled crying, sharp enough to shoot panic through his chest. he tossed the pizza box on the counter with a thud as his pulse kicked up, “y/n!?” he called, voice already breaking with fear. he sprinted towards your bedroom, every worst-case scenario clawing at his brain, you hurt, you sick, you— but when he burst into your room, what he found was you, sitting on the floor, tear-streaked cheeks, clutching something in your lap.

“shit—hey, hey,” he rushed to you immediately, dropping to his knees, “what happened? are you hurt? talk to me.”

you turned toward him, lower lip wobbling, and in your hands… mr. bear. his worn out brown fur and now — his leg dangling, the seam ripped wide.

“i—i was cleaning my bed,” you hiccuped, voice breaking, “and i must’ve pulled too hard or something and—he just—yangyang, i broke him.”

yangyang blinked. his panic collided with relief so hard he had to sit back on his heels. his heart was still racing, but now he could finally see the whole picture — not a tragedy, but the most you kind of meltdown. and he knew exactly the reason. the promise attached to that bear — the one you’d made all those years ago — it all suddenly made sense of why you were crying so hard.

“oh, teddy…” his voice softened immediately as he reached out, brushing your wet cheeks with his thumbs, “you scared the hell out of me. i thought—” he stopped himself, swallowing down the lump in his throat, and nodded toward the bear, “he’s just a little injured. not gone. okay?”

your hands shook as you held the bear up between you, like proof of your failure, “but my promise… i said as long as mr. bear’s okay, we’re okay. and now he’s hurt.”

yangyang’s chest tightened, but not with fear this time. with something achingly tender. he took the bear gently from your hands, setting him carefully on the bed like he was still sacred, then cupped your face, “listen to me,” he said firmly, eyes locking on yours. “mr. bear can lose both legs, his stuffing, his head—and we’ll still be okay. i’ll still be yours. that promise was real, but it wasn’t about a toy. it was about you and me. got it?”

your sniffle cracked into a laugh-sob, shaky and small, “you sound so sure.”

“because you’re crying over a bear, teddy,” he wiped under your eyes again, softer this time, “and because i love you, and i’m never letting some third-grade bear decide that for us.”

you shoved at his chest weakly, embarrassed now, “don’t make fun of me.”

he caught your wrist, grinning, and leaned in to press his forehead to yours, “only sometimes,” he grinned, “but also? you’re lucky i’m amazing with a needle. mr. bear’s about to get the glow-up of his life.” your laugh finally came out properly then, tears still spilling on your cheeks. yangyang felt the knot in his chest finally loosen. he kissed your damp cheek once, then held you against him, rocking you gently on the floor.

“see?” he murmured into your hair, “crisis averted. we’re still best friends. still together. forever’s intact.”

🧸 OCTOBER 18 - SUNDAY - STUCK WITH ME.

two days later, mr. bear was back to his rightful throne at the top of your bed, one leg stitched up neatly with even and earnest thread. yangyang had insisted on doing it himself, tongue poking out in concentration while you teased him for looking like a “mad scientist surgeon.”

now, the two of you were in your kitchen — the apartment smelled like garlic and soy sauce, the pan sizzling as you stirred noodles with a little too much force. yangyang was leaning against the counter beside you, pretending to help but mostly just sneaking bites of the vegetables you’d chopped earlier.

“yang, if you eat one more carrot stick, i’m cutting your fingers off,” you warned, swatting at his hand with the wooden spoon.

he grinned, chomping it anyway, “i’d like to see you try.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. he always had that smug look when he knew he was getting away with something. but then, instead of reaching for another bite, he slipped a hand into his pocket, “actually… i’ve got something for you.”

you glanced at him suspiciously, stirring slower, “what?”

he pulled out a tiny box, holding it out like it was nothing, though his ears were already turning pink, “here.”

your brow furrowed, “yangyang… if this is a prank and a cockroach jumps out—”

“it’s not a prank!” he laughed, shoving it gently against your chest until you took it, “just open it, teddy.”

you wiped your hand on a towel and popped the lid open. your breath caught. inside sat a delicate gold chain with a tiny gold teddy bear charm dangling from it.

“oh my god…” you whispered, smiling instantly.

yangyang rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away like he was suddenly fascinated by the ceiling, “you, uh… freaked out pretty bad when mr. bear almost lost his leg the other day. so i figured… this way you’ve got one you can’t break.”

you turned to face him fully, holding the necklace between your fingers like it was made of glass, “yang, i love it, i—”

“turn around,” he cut in quickly, a little shy. you turned around, holding your hair to the side. his fingers brushed against your nape as he clasped the necklace, lingering there like he couldn’t let go. when he was done, he didn’t pull back. instead, he bent to press a kiss against your neck. then another. and another.

“yangyang—” your voice cracked on his name, heat rising in your cheeks. he rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes catching the charm against your collarbone.

“perfect,” he murmured, voice low and sure.

you laughed softly, leaning back into him, “you know this is kinda unfair, right? you keep one-upping yourself.”

“that’s the point,” he hummed against your skin, lips curving into a smile as he trailed lower toward your shoulder, “i’ve got thirteen years to make up for,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder softer this time, like a promise.

your smiles, “that’s… a long time.”

“good,” he said easily, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw now, “means you’re stuck with me for a while.” you laughed, turning to swat at his chest but only managing to catch his hoodie. he kissed you properly this time, slow and sweet, before leaning back just enough to steal another carrot stick with his free hand.

“there he is,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “the real yangyang.”

“mhm,” he said around the bite, grinning. “still the one you fell for though.”

you rolled your eyes, necklace glinting in the kitchen light as you stirred the noodles again. yangyang didn’t even pretend to help after that. he just hovered, brushing past you every chance he got, sneaking more vegetables, dropping lazy kisses on your neck or shoulder until you smacked at him with the spoon. by the time dinner was plated, you were laughing too hard to stay annoyed. you both ate slowly, the easy chatter filling the quiet of the apartment. he told you about the new song stuck in his head, you complained about an assignment your professor gave, he teased you about how messy you were with noodles.

it was the same rhythm you’d always had — best friends, trading jokes and stories, no one but him. no one but you — except now there was something new threading between it all. a warmth. a weight. his foot brushing yours under the table. his smile lingering longer than it used to. his lips wandering in between stories, a kiss to your temple, a peck on your cheek when you smiled, a soft press to your knuckles as if reminding you, over and over, that he was yours now.

ᥫ᭡ the end.

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

yangyang x teddy coded links: #1. #2. #3. #4. #5. #6. #7. #8. #9. #10. #11.

—

an: and the first of the wayv trio is done!!!! this was kinda tough you guys, i didn’t want to do another fake dating trope so i really had to think about how i wanted yangyang to realize he’s in love with teddy. i hope you liked the nickname!!! i think it’s so cute. i gotta delete the teddy bear emoji for haechan and princess because that belongs to yangyang and teddy now lmfao. also how are we feeling with the yangyang and renjun reconciliation? and love always kinda knowing??? hehe i never planned this but im declaring its canon now that it took her so long to say yes to yangyang because of teddy 😝

last thing: im sorry to say this but the wayv boys will not be getting bonus scenes >.< im lowkey already struggling with the dream ones lol. BUT i hope you enjoyed this!!! and i hope you like the links ;););) #5 is my favorite hehe. as always, thank you so so much for reading!

ᥫ᭡ likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated.

ᥫ᭡ if you enjoy this series and would like to show extra love and support. my ko-fi is open <3

ᥫ᭡ love tags: @mangoescrazy @bamjjwi @jungwooie @erireadsstuff @rjreins @poemzcheng @jungwooismysavior @alexameliamg @neo-moa @dkkyeom @leleszn @rex-ie @generalpuppycloud @mots7g @chenleverse @kj0ne @ninety-nite-99 @xxxnrigi @idkwiexist @pankuya @amazinggraxia @jaeminiwrld @ni-ki-starnetwork @drunkhee @severeanxietyissues @peonyjoo @multifandom2515 @yeosayang @dongyoungknows @aegryo @malaysianctfan @booskies @ingridbirdman @vantxx95 @andluv @fancypeacepersona @heartsforsunwoo @222low @9yuldaengi @cowboyuyu @zarastrawberry @boxofinvisiblethoughts @jwikyo @horanghyuck @combinatoright-blog @emmy-l-r @karleereadssmut @asahisimpnation @httpsxnox

But you didn’t say anything. In fact, you just kissed him harder, with more purpose, and told him dinner could wait. You pawed at his clothes and told him to take you hard and rough. You wanted to feel, but you forgot that your mind is really not strong enough today to handle what you were asking your boyfriend to give you.

Because, you see, Seungcheol has rules.

You had always been a fan of more spice in the bedroom, and you truly feel like you met your match when you got with Seungcheol. For every submissive tendency in your body, for all the times you wanted zero control over your own senses, Seungcheol was more than happy to take the reins. He loved it, basked in it, knew how to play your body like a stringed instrument. His dominance in the bedroom came with only one, all encompassing rule: you don’t do anything he doesn’t give you explicit permission to do. And that includes every single one of your innumerable orgasms.

Usually, you love it. Your job is taxing and overburdening, and sometimes, you want someone else to take charge and just tell you what to do. For years, you have been perfect, the epitome of submission. You’re his good girl, always, disciplined and in-line. There’s only a smattering of brat in you, which Seungcheol tolerates in small doses, but otherwise, you are perfectly pliant, suited for his needs the way he is suited to yours. There’s a harmony here, established by many years of communication and understanding. So you should’ve known. You should’ve said something, told him to take it easy. But you stupidly kept your mouth shut, and hence began your current predicament.

He’s fucking you into the mattress just like you asked, his sweats pulled down just enough to let him pound his cock into you. You’re naked from the waist down, arching, chest constricted in your pale, buttoned up blouse. You hadn’t even let him fully undress you. You didn’t want to take your time, you just wanted him in you. Even when he tried to tighten his grip on you, tried to mumble a ‘slow down’ into your mouth, you didn’t let him, begging, pleading, promising to be good for him if he would just fill you up, and so he complied.

That was the mistake, and it became your undoing when, just minutes later, you are clamping up around him, your body already so stiff and wound up, so glaringly exhausted, that no amount of self control can stop you. You clench hard and come, writhing on the mattress fisting the sheets, wailing as it washes over you in scattered, broken waves. You haven’t even come down from it when tears coat your eyes and you realise what you’ve done.

Seungcheol slows to a stop, still throbbing inside you, but jaw dropped in shock. This might be the first time in years that you’ve come without slurring out your usual ‘please’ or ‘let me’ or ‘can I?’, waiting for his permission. You’d always listened, always done what you were told, never once stepping even a toe out of line.

This is incredibly out of character.

Immediately, he can see it weigh heavily on you. You’re panting, legs still trembling, but your body is stiffening, he can feel it around his dick, and your face is crumpling. He knows you regret it, but he also knows why this happened. He should’ve known. God, he should’ve spotted it the second you walked in through the door. The hard plane of your shoulders, the tight line of your lips. But he had gotten barely two words out of his mouth before you were smothering him with yours, begging in that cute, whiny voice of yours that you need this bad. He had stupidly agreed, and now he’s watching you fall apart.

He needs to fix this.

“I’m-” Your voice is pitched and wobbly. Your arms tuck into your body, legs pulling together as much as they can with him between them. You’re trying to shrink yourself. “‘M sorry. Cheol, I’m so-”

This isn’t on you, he knows this. This isn’t your fault at all. If anything, it’s his. He should know you well enough by now to estimate what you need and give it to you. But now is not the time to beat himself up. You need to forget this happening, or you will do what you always do; think about this to the point of spiraling and making yourself sick with guilt. He also knows that no amount of reassurance is going to make you forget it.

Through your teary vision, you hear a tut of disappointment, and then your boyfriend pulls out. You’re filled with dread, because you don’t want him to step back. You know you’ve fucked up. This is one of his most important rules. There’s just no conceivable universe where you’re allowed to cum without Seungcheol telling you to, and already, guilt is striking your chest like stab wounds from knives.

“That wasn’t like you, sweetheart.” His voice is rough but soft. “I’m very surprised.”

You sniffle, resisting the urge to curl into yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” You feel his hands on your bare knees, closing them and sitting back on his haunches. You sit up shakily, blinking hard to try and see him in the relative darkness of the room. The golden light from the lamp hits the side of his face. His expression is blank. You can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“I am sorry.” You insist again. “I don’t know what came over me-”

“I don’t know what came over you either.” He tilts his head, watching you. “Thats not how good girls behave.”

Your heart lurches. This is your biggest medal. Your point of pride; being good for Seungcheol. Never once in all your years of doing this had you let him down. Never. The mere thought of it might push you to panic. Before you can say anything, you feel Seungcheol’s hand, strong and sure, run over your jaw and cup the back of your neck. He squeezes slowly, affectionately, and you lean into it, wet eyelids fluttering. Every fibre in you hopes he isn’t mad.

“When good girls misbehave, they have to be punished.” He whispers. “I know you never have before, princess, but you know it’s fair.”

You swallow tightly before hesitantly nodding. It’s the rules. You step out of line, you get punished. You will do anything to make up for your misstep. You will take any punishment.

“Okay.” You sniffle. Seungcheol sighs and nods.

“Good.” He says, not ‘good girl’. But you don’t deserve to be called that right now. “Strip.”

Seungcheol stands as he watches you shakily undo your blouse buttons. You tug it off and reach back for your bra. When you’re sat bare before him, you watch him tuck his erection back into his sweats, seating himself on the edge of the bed with his back to you. He reaches an arm back to gesture to you.

“Come here.”

You comply, crawling to him on your hands and knees. He maneuvers your body very easily, settling you on his lap until your stomach is pressed to his thighs, strong and sturdy under the soft material of his pants. Your legs dangle, ass sticking out. You flush at the position, realising what’s coming. You’ve been spanked before, mostly during sex when Seungcheol is whispering dirty things into your ear from behind and slapping your ass. But never like this. You almost jump when you feel his hand run up your right asscheek.

“I think ten sounds good.” He hums. “You will count, and you will say thank you after every single one. Got it?”

Your eyelids flutter. You rest your head on your arms. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

The first one is the biggest shock to your system. Seungcheol’s hand comes down with unbelievable force, full palmed and encompassing your entire ass cheek. You yelp loudly, fingernails digging into your arms. Immediately, tears spring into your eyes. You were just wondering why he decided to do only ten, but now it’s clear to you that even ten will be more than anything you can withstand.

“O-one.” You immediately choke out. “Thank you, sir.”

The second one marrs your other asscheek, stinging just as much, and your entire face scrunches as you cry out. You writhe where you’re draped over his lap. Your skin is screaming, and you already feel dizzy.

“Two.” You heave, the very air feeling like torture on your skin.

“Two what?” Seungcheol snaps. “Already forgetting the rules? Don’t make me start over, princess.”

You shake your head immediately, trying to take long breaths. “I’m sorry, sir. Thank you. Thank you.”

You whisper it again, and again, even as he lands more spanks on your ass. It feels heated now, like it’s on fire, and by the time you reach eight, you are lightheaded, sobbing openly, poor pussy clenching around nothing as the sensitivity spreads all the way down your thighs as well.

Seungcheol tuts and sighs, you can hear him over the sound of your own cries. You lurch when he caresses your stinging skin. He reaches down, one thick finger sliding through your slit and pressing into your aching nub. Your eyes roll, the feeling so intense that you can barely process it. You’ve been edged before, so many times, you’ve been overstimulated and wanting, but never has it felt this divine, the pleasure curling around the tendrils of pain running through your body. Seungcheol dips a finger into your squelching hole, sinking it in to the last knuckle, and you wail at the feeling.

“So wet, baby.” He coos. “Greedy little thing, you even enjoy your punishment.”

“I’m sorry.” You whimper, trying everything in your power to not buck back into his finger. When he pulls out, you almost cry, but he wastes no time, using that already wet hand to spank you again, just as harsh, not losing steam at all.

“N-nine.” You weep. “Thank you, sir.”

You almost feel like you’re seeing spots in your vision. Seungcheol reaches between your thighs again, like he knows this is becoming too much. He cups your pussy, sliding his fingers through the sopping mess side to side, just enough to stimulate your clit.

“Last one, princess.” He encourages. “Ready?”

You nod weakly, voice cracking when you cry out again as his hand meets your ass one last time. You choke out the number, the thank you. You’re openly tearful, face nearly as wet as your cunt, and finally Seungcheol moves. He lifts you up, placing you very gently on your back in the center of the mattress. You feel his lips on your forehead, and you bask in the feeling.

“Such a good girl.” He says finally, hand caressing through your sweaty hair. “You took that so well, baby.”

You keen, pussy clenching desperately around nothing.

“‘M your good girl.” You slur.

You don’t see the fond smile on his face, eyes soft with affection. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, any part of you he can reach.

“Yes, you are.” He reassures you. “My perfect girl. Your first time and you did so good.”

You whine, shaky hands reaching up to claw at his shirt. He takes the hint, sitting back to tug it off, followed by his sweatpants. His cock bobs up, thick and hard, leaking copious amounts of precum.

“I think you deserve my cock now, princess.” He hums. “For being such a good girl.”

You nod eagerly, spreading your legs before he can even do it for you. He settles between them, running the angry, throbbing head through the sticky mess in your slit. He does that a few times, coating his shaft until it’s glistening, before finally reaching down and nudging the entrance. When he slides in, your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling at the feeling. Your ass still stings, especially where it rubs on the sheets, but it sends pleasant, burning tendrils shooting through your skin, and it adds to how sensitive you already are. It does nothing but augment your arousal even more. You moan wantonly as Seungcheol bottoms out, and you hear him softly curse.

“Perfect little cunt.” He groans. “Tight as anything even after I’ve fucked it for so many years. You’re molded to me, aren’t you baby?”

You nod eagerly as he starts moving, your moans punched out of your throat with every thrust, little ‘uh, uh, uh’s that only seem to spur him on more. You’re dripping consistently, wetting his cock as it rams in and out of you at a punishing pace. Every slam of his hips into you jolts your body, your breasts bouncing, and his hungry eyes train on every movement.

“You’ve got the prettiest tits, baby.” He grunts, one hand reaching up to pinch harshly at your left nipple and tug. You cry out. Then, he lets it go, reaching a hand back and bringing it down to harshly slap the swell of it. You gasp.

“Good?” He rasps. You nod enthusiastically and arch up, tempting him more. He groans and does it again, the sting making your eyes roll.

“Dirty slut.” He grits out. “You love this. Love getting slapped around, don’t you?”

You’re so far gone as he rams into you, nearly delirious with it. Even after so long of being together, there are things you’re discovering not only about Seungcheol, but about yourself as well. You’re sinking into the depths of depravity, and you want to fall further into it. So you blink wetly up at your boyfriend, eyes wide and big.

“Only if daddy does it.”

Seungcheol’s hips stutter. You can see the shock pass over his face, but it hardens immediately. His pace slows. He slams his hips into yours and stays there, leaning down closer to you.

“What did you just say?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, clenching wildly around his suddenly still cock. “Only wanna be slapped around by daddy.”

You can see, in real time, Seungcheol’s eyes darken as his pupils dilate. He bites the plump of his bottom lip. Beside your head, his hands fist the sheets tightly.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” He grits, voice low and brassy. You swallow tightly.

“You don’t like it?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. He pulls out slowly until only the head of his cock is snug inside you. Then, he lurches forward, slamming into you so hard your whole body jerks. You gasp.

“I love it, baby.” He does it again. “Maybe a little too much.”

You can’t speak, all the breath knocked straight out of your lungs with every harsh, deep, slow thrust of Seungcheol’s hips. His head smooches the opening of your cervix, a shooting sensation through your lower abdomen that makes you gush around his thick cock. You feel his hand encircle your neck, and your toes curl in anticipation.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for Daddy then, sweetheart?” Another thrust. You feel your hair brush the headboard as your body is pushed up by sheer force. You nod vigorously, unable to say the words. His grip on the sides of your throat tightens, and you start to feel a little lightheaded.

His pace is brutal, picking up speed as he slams into you over and over. He uses his free arm to tuck just above your head so you don’t slam into the bed frame, but he doesn’t let up even once. He mutters the most filthy, unbearable things in your ear, telling you how you’re his perfect little cocksleeve, made to take him whenever he wants it, no questions asked. That he has trained your pussy to be this way, the perfect little slut for him. You moan whenever he loosens his grip on your neck, choking out how much you love getting fucked hard by daddy, how you’re just a hole for him to fuck and use, and when you can’t take it anymore, you ask him the golden question.

“Can I cum, daddy?”

His thrusts immediately get harsher. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He grits. “You think you deserve to, after cumming without permission? I’ve barely forgiven you for that, baby. You’ve got a lot of making up to do before you get a reward.”

You wail, chest heaving as you clamp desperately around his throbbing, huge cock. You know he’s right. You’ve been bad, and some spanking and one offering of your wet pussy isn’t enough to earn you forgiveness. So you don’t protest. You don’t ask again. You only agree.

“I’m sorry for asking, daddy.” You babble. “You’re right, I don’t deserve it. I’m just daddy’s little cum dump. I’ll take whatever daddy will give me.”

Seungcheol’s groan is broken. “God, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I love it, sweetheart. Being such a perfect girl for me, fuck.”

You shake and cry as he fucks into you some more, your head now tilting forward as he folds you closer and closer to the headboard, crowding you against it. You can’t barely breathe at the force. And finally, finally, his movements turn sloppy.

“Think you should be allowed to take my cum?” He grits out. “Feels awfully like a reward, no? Have you earned it, baby?”

Your face crumples. You want to feel it inside you so bad, the heat of his release warming your insides. But you know what he wants to hear, you know you haven’t been good enough to deserve a big reward like that.

“No, daddy.” You whimper. “I don’t deserve it. I haven’t been good.”

Seungcheol’s smirk is sick. He licks over his bottom lip. “You’re so self aware tonight.” His tone is near-mocking, and it makes you tighten pathetically.

When he abruptly pulls out, it feels like getting your insides ripped from you. His hand moves rapidly over his wet cock, and he shuffles up until he’s straddling your torso.

“Open your mouth.” He grits. You immediately obey, sticking your tongue out. Your eyelids flutter when the first rope of it hits your lips, dripping over your tongue. Some of it splatters on your cheek, but you manage to catch most of it as he groans and shudders above you. You can’t take your eyes off him, sweaty and shaky, muscles shifting under his pale skin as he rides his high. Your poor pussy clenches around nothing, deprived so suddenly of the intense pleasure. You swallow every last drop, using your fingers to collect whatever your mouth missed and popping it between your lips. Seungcheol is heaving as he shifts back.

Even though your legs are shaky and you feel dizzy, you manage to sit up, making wide, pleading eyes at your boyfriend.

“Can I clean you up?”

You can see how soft and fond his smile is, the little dimple indenting his cheek with it. He sits back leaning on his hands and nods.

“Go ahead, baby.”

You settle between his legs, using little kitten licks to clean your mess, and some of his, off his soft cock. It twitches under your ministrations, already getting half hard as you keep going. He sighs and hums approvingly, running a soft hand through your hair. This was half your motive, anyway, because you like to see this power you have over him. He’s in control, always, but his dick hardens at your very touch, and that makes you giddy.

He pulls you away with a gentle tug on your hair. You lick your lips for any remnants of his taste, blinking eagerly up at him.

“Lay back now.” He whispers. “I’m not done playing with that pretty cunt.”

He sits with your legs framing his hips, laid back on the mattress. You look up at him half with anticipation and half with hesitation, because you know he will toy with you until you’re begging to cum, and even then, you don’t know if he will let you.

He runs his hands gently up your thighs, delicate brushes that only wind you up more. You try to lay perfectly still, knowing he doesn’t like it when you’re impatient. He massages the creases of your thighs, playing with your pussy lips, stroking over them softly. You’re already sensitive from the harsh fucking he gave you just earlier, so you’re twitching a little before he has even properly touched you. You don’t want to beg, mostly because you still think you’re not entitled to it. This is for him. He wants to play with you, it’s not for your pleasure.

(You both know that it is.)

Finally, his fingers slide through your slit, parting your lips to open you up. Your hole quivers, twitches, and he watches it with heated eyes. He hums and his eyes are reverent as he traces the lines of your pussy. He nudges your clit just barely, and you let out your first, tiny moan.

“Don’t hold back, baby.” He coos. “You let me know whenever it feels good.”

You comply beautifully, little whimpers and sighs that accompany every touch of his fingers over your aching center. He takes his time as he toys with your clit, rubbing, flicking, pinching it until it is swollen and throbbing under his fingers. He circles your opening to collect the wetness, using it to smear over the rest of your cunt and leaving you wet all over. When you feel like your skin is quietly buzzing, hypersensitive because of his touches, he finally dips into your entrance, sliding his index finger in to the last knuckle. You sigh in palpable relief, clenching hard around the digit.

“Yes.” A tear slips down the side of your face. “Thank you, daddy.”

He likes that, because he moves it the exact way you want it, curling it and probing your most sensitive spot. He adds another quickly, watching every shift in your face as you swallow his fingers greedily. Two of his thick fingers means a stretch, the kind that you love, and when he scissors them inside you, you moan loudly.

After your last failed orgasm, this one builds too quickly. Your face pinches, your legs stiffening as you hold back. Seungcheol notices, and it only makes him finger you harder. You whine in protest.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He goads you.

“Feels-” You almost choke as he curls both fingers hard into your sweet spot. “Feels so good. Please.”

“Please what?”

You buck your hips into him, self control slipping. “Please, can I cum, daddy?”

Seungcheol hums, as if contemplating. His fingers don’t slow for a single second.

“I don’t know. Do you deserve it?”

Your face crumples. You want to, you do. But the submissive, depraved part inside you shakes its head. You know if you are to cum, you want it to be on his cock. So you squeeze your eyes shut and whimper out a little ‘no’.

“Then keep taking it like a good girl.” Seungcheol responds. You know he likes that you’re depriving yourself of this. It strikes a sick part of him. The sounds of his fingers fill the room, filthy, sopping noises that come from his digits slamming into you over and over. You are panting heavily, gripping the sheets so hard that you’re almost afraid you will rip them, toes curled and legs stiff, doing everything in your power to not gush over his fingers, to prove to him that you can take whatever he will give you and you won’t do anything you’re not allowed to.

Seungcheol pulls out his fingers just when you think you’re reaching your limit. His wet hand comes down with a harsh spank on your tingling pussy. You scream. He does it two more times, and you weep through it. Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“Please.” You sob. “Please, daddy. Need your cock. Wanna cum on it, please.”

By this time, he is throbbing hard again, and he wastes not even a single second, groaning as he tugs your body down and stuffs your aching cunt full of himself once again. His pace from the start is rough and fast. There’s no indulgence in him anymore. Watching you shake and tremble under him as he abused your pussy must have been enough, because he is nothing but primal need now. He’s so hard it’s almost painful, like you’re being impaled, but the relief of the stretch has you wailing loudly. The room is dense with the smell of sweat, sex and cum, noises picking up as he fucks you the way you need. Your mind blanks, focused on nothing but the wonderful feeling of it. Your body sings, glows, buzzes with anticipation because this time, you know he will let you reach your peak.

You don’t even have to ask. He cups your jaw, tilts your head and slots his lips into yours. He kisses you until you can’t breathe, your walls spasming hard around him, more than ready, as he whispers.

“Cum.”

You nearly black out.

It’s less like a wave and more like an electric shock, shooting through your body and freezing every nerve inside you. Your breath catches and your lungs scream. You cry and wail through it, not even caring how you sound as you gush around Seungcheol’s cock. He rubs harshly over your poor clit, prolonging an already intense high. You arch so deeply you feel like your soul is leaving your body. You babble nonsense, a mix of swear words, thank yous, and incoherent phrases. Seungcheol holds you down after a bit, draping his weight over you to ground you, and it’s such a welcome feeling that your whole body relaxes into it. When the roaring in your ears lessens, you hear his endless praises, telling you how good you are, how sexy and perfect, cumming so beautifully like that. He thrusts shallowly into you, not even properly leaving your cunt, rutting into you so you’re not empty for a single second.

“That was divine, sweetheart.” He sighs. “So pretty when you cum. You want another reward for being such a good girl? You want my cum?”

You’re already nodding before he even finishes speaking, blinking your tear-heavy eyelids.

“Please, daddy. Need it.”

He shushes you, brushes the hair off your face and presses his forehead to yours.

“No more begging, baby. You deserve it.”

And then he floods you, two or three more thrusts until you feel warmth coat your insides. It’s perfect, it’s everything you could’ve asked for and more. He empties his balls into you, thrusting until it dampens into a slow grind, plugging his cum inside your thoroughly fucked out hole.

It’s silent for a long time before Seungcheol moves. Your chests rise and fall together, slowly catching your breaths. He’s draped over you still, and it feels so reassuring that you can’t help but whine in protest when he moves. It makes him chuckle.

“If you get cold like this, your muscles will be very sore in the morning, sweetheart.” He reasons. He would know, the gym freak that he is, so you curl into yourself as he trudges into the bathroom. You can hear water running, and a familiar fruity aroma quickly drifts into the room through the open door. He’s running you a bath.

The warm water is like balm on your skin as he carries your body into it. You moan appreciatively, letting your boyfriend knead and press into your thighs. His front presses against your back as he slowly works over you in blissful silence, laying tiny kisses on your shoulders as he works. After a while, he finally speaks.

“So,” he begins, “what happened at work today?”

You blink, thinking. After a few seconds, you giggle.

“Honestly, I don’t even care anymore.”

That makes him laugh. “Well, I guess that’s a job well done for me.”

You turn in his arms just a bit to lay a kiss on his lips, and he returns it so softly and sweetly that you almost want to cry. This time from unadulterated bliss.

You don’t even know if you have the words to tell Seungcheol how much you love him. But when he squeezes your body tightly to his, you think you don’t have to. He already knows.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened as he registered the conversation. Children. Family. An image of you flashed through his mind, your soft laughter echoing in a distant memory. His shoulders squared as he finally replied, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.

"We’re working on it," he said smoothly, casting a brief glance your way. "My wife and I want to have a child as soon as possible, but with business being so hectic, it’s been a challenge."

The men nodded in understanding, their attention shifting back to him. Seungcheol seized the opportunity to steer the conversation away.

"Speaking of challenges," he continued, his tone shifting effortlessly, "how’s the harbor, Mr. Kim? Has your son resolved the issues with the government yet?"

Mr. Kim let out a disgruntled sigh. "It’s been nothing but delays," he grumbled, shaking his head.

Seungcheol leaned in slightly, his presence commanding yet unassuming. "Delays can be costly," he remarked. "If you need additional support, let me know. I’ve had some success navigating similar situations."

As the conversation deepened into business matters, Seungcheol's gaze flickered back to you. You were laughing now, your head tilting slightly as you responded to someone. His chest tightened again, the earlier jealousy morphing into something deeper—something unspoken, buried under the weight of his responsibilities.

But for now, he played his role, the perfect husband in a room full of expectations.

Seungcheol excused himself from the group, his movements purposeful as he made a beeline toward where you were standing. You turned toward him, sensing his presence before he even spoke, and the corner of his lips twitched in satisfaction. Without hesitation, his hand found its place on your waist, a silent claim that did not go unnoticed.

“Choi Seungcheol, Ji Y/n’s husband,” he introduced himself to the man in front of you, his voice firm and polished.

The man extended a polite smile. “I’m Hong Jisoo. I attended your wedding a few months ago. Nice to meet you.”

Seungcheol nodded curtly, his sharp gaze scanning the man before replying, “From Hong Property, I presume?”

Jisoo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That’s my father and brother. I work in a hospital,” he clarified, pulling out a business card and offering it.

Seungcheol accepted the card, his eyes briefly scanning the text. Dr. Hong Jisoo, Psychiatry Department. His lips curved slightly, though his grip on your waist tightened almost imperceptibly. When he glanced up, his gaze landed on you, noticing how your eyes flickered to his lips, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Just like every day. Just like how it was supposed to be.

“I wasn’t aware my wife was acquainted with a psychiatrist,” he remarked, his tone casual yet laced with an underlying edge.

“Old friend,” you replied smoothly, your tone light as you cast a brief glance at Jisoo.

That glance didn’t sit well with Seungcheol.

His thumb gently brushed against your side, a subtle reminder of his presence, as he straightened slightly. “I’m sorry, but we have to leave,” he said, his voice firm yet polite. His attention shifted to you, softening just enough to mask the possessiveness simmering beneath the surface. “Love, should we go home?”

You nodded, offering Jisoo a polite smile. “It was nice catching up, Jisoo. Take care.”

“Likewise. Have a good evening,” Jisoo replied, his tone warm yet reserved.

Seungcheol didn’t wait for further pleasantries. With his hand firmly on your waist, he guided you toward the exit, his strides confident and unwavering. The air between you carried a tension he couldn’t quite articulate, but the quiet sense of satisfaction in reclaiming your focus was enough for now.

Seungcheol used to be just a man obsessed with his work, a relentless workaholic. His life revolved around business—expanding, negotiating, multiplying his family’s wealth tenfold. Relationships? They were an afterthought, a distraction. Blind dates came and went, each one predictable and forgettable.

That was, until his parents introduced him to you.

He approached the blind date with little expectation, assuming it would end like all the others: polite small talk, forced smiles, and no sparks. But with you, everything was different.

The moment your eyes fixated on him, he felt it—a current of electricity that surged through his entire being. The way your gaze roamed over him, studying him with quiet intensity, left him unnerved in the best way. You started with his eyes, then trailed downward, your focus lingering on his lips just a second too long. That moment branded itself into his memory, leaving him restless and preoccupied for a week.

He couldn't get you out of his mind. And that was how he agreed to an arranged marriage, a decision that surprised even himself.

Now, months later, he lay beside you in the dim morning light, the quiet intimacy of your shared space filling the air. As he felt you stir awake in his arms, he opened his eyes, his thoughts drifting to the night before. He had been a little rough, a little too consumed by the jealousy that burned in his chest when he caught you looking at someone else’s lips.

“Did I go too rough with you last night?” he murmured, his voice husky and low, thick with concern as he tightened his embrace around you.

You squirmed slightly, shifting to face him, your sleepy eyes meeting his. He searched your expression, his brow furrowing as silence stretched between you.

“Was I too rough? Are you okay, love?” he asked again, his worry evident now.

You shook your head slowly, your lips curving into a soft smile. Reaching up, your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin as you pulled him closer. Without a word, your lips met his in a tender, reassuring kiss, melting away the tension in his chest.

When you pulled back, your voice was gentle, teasing. “Was something wrong last night? You seemed… different.”

Seungcheol hesitated, the tips of his ears flushing red as he avoided your gaze for a moment. How could he admit that the fire in him last night was born of jealousy? That the mere thought of your attention lingering on someone else’s lips had driven him to near madness?

Instead, he exhaled softly and shook his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “No,” he lied, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. “I just can’t help myself around you.”

You laughed lightly, the sound warm and soothing. “Good,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, your lips brushing against his like a promise. Because, as much as Seungcheol tried to play it cool, you already knew—you had him completely undone.

"We’re going to be late if we don’t start getting ready now," you told Seungcheol, glancing at the clock with mild urgency.

He chuckled, his deep voice laced with mischief as he leaned closer. “Five more minutes,” he murmured, his hand brushing yours before pulling you along with him toward the bathroom. A teasing grin spread across his face. “Together, of course.”

Later, as the two of you settled at the dining table, Seungcheol joined you with a fresh, clean look and a calm demeanor that betrayed none of his usual morning rush. “I’ll drive you,” he said casually, sipping his coffee.

You blinked, looking up from your plate in surprise. “What?”

“I’ll drive you,” he repeated, meeting your gaze. “And I’ll pick you up today.”

His firm tone left little room for debate, but the soft warmth in his expression made your heart flutter. You quickly nodded, taking the last bite of your sandwich with a smile tugging at your lips.

At the office, Seungcheol was all business. The moment he stepped through the door, his trusted right-hand man, Lee Jihoon, was already waiting with updates and a detailed briefing.

“Today’s schedule is packed,” Jihoon began, keeping pace with Seungcheol as he strode toward his desk. “The shipping updates are as follows: the cargo from Incheon has cleared customs, and the team is preparing the distribution reports. The Hong Kong shipment—”

“What’s the status on that?” Seungcheol interrupted, his sharp eyes flicking toward Jihoon.

“It’ll arrive tonight,” Jihoon replied promptly. “Do you want to oversee it yourself?”

Seungcheol shook his head as he sat down, loosening his tie slightly. “No need. I trust you to handle it. Just make sure everything is documented thoroughly.”

Jihoon nodded, jotting down a quick note. “Understood, sir.”

As Jihoon left to attend to the shipment, Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, glancing briefly at his watch. His thoughts wandered to you, wondering how your day was going and reminding himself to clear his evening to pick you up as promised. Balancing business and you wasn’t always easy, but for him, it was a priority he wouldn’t compromise.

*

There were a few strict rules in your office, and everyone at Ji Art Gallery knew to follow them without question.

Rule one: never speak to you with your back turned. Communication had to happen face-to-face, ensuring nothing was misunderstood.

Rule two: click the light switch whenever someone entered your office. You always had a mountain of tasks, and multitasking was not your forte. The light switch was an unspoken signal to gain your attention without disrupting your workflow.

Rule three: lunch hours were sacred. During this time, you watched the news alone. No one was allowed to enter, except for your family. It was an unbendable rule, one you wished could explain itself.

To everyone else, you were a perfectionist boss, firm but fair. What they didn’t know was that behind the rules lay a quieter truth—you are deaf, relying on observation and lip-reading to navigate the world.

It wasn’t perfectionism that demanded your routines. It was survival.

As you worked, engrossed in reviewing a painting’s exhibition proposal, the door to your office suddenly opened, and your mother stepped in unannounced. She clicked the blinds shut with a sharp movement before tossing a branded paper bag onto your desk.

"Here," she said brusquely. "Wear this for your next intercourse with Seungcheol."

You glanced at the bag, your expression calm despite the storm brewing inside. The name of an expensive lingerie brand was emblazoned across it in bold letters.

"I’ll send some herbal remedies to your house later,” she continued, her tone cold and matter-of-fact. “Make sure you get yourself pregnant within the next two months."

She flopped onto the couch in your office, crossing her legs elegantly as if she hadn’t just barged in to dictate your life. Her sharp eyes focused on you, scrutinizing every detail of your reaction—or lack thereof.

"Why don’t you say something? You’re deaf, not mute," she snapped, her words slicing through the air.

You sighed softly, your eyes fixed on her lips as you watched each word fall out of her mouth with precision and purpose.

"Yes, Mother," you replied, your voice measured, betraying none of the turmoil inside.

A smile curved on her lips—a smile that never reached her eyes. "Be a good girl for me and your stepfather, Y/n. You have a lot to repay. No one wants to raise a deaf child," she said cruelly, standing up with the air of someone who believed they were owed the world.

Her words were poison, but you stood stoically, refusing to let her see the cracks she left behind.

"But," she added, adjusting the hem of her designer jacket, "once you have the Choi family heir growing inside you, we’ll all be fine. So, make sure you do your job."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heels, the sound of her expensive shoes clicking against the floor echoing in your office. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake.

You sat still, staring at the paper bag she had so carelessly thrown onto your desk. The weight of her expectations pressed against your chest, but you forced yourself to exhale, straightening your shoulders.

Every day, you practiced watching the news, focusing intently on the movement of lips to perfect your ability to read them. It was a quiet, relentless routine, your way of ensuring no one would ever discover your deafness. You wanted people to communicate with you comfortably, unaware of your secret.

It was a weakness you’d been forced to accept 15 years ago. The result of a tragic car accident that not only robbed you of your hearing but also took the life of your stepsister.

You still remembered waking up in the hospital, disoriented and frightened. The first thing you saw was your mother, her face twisted with rage as she screamed at you. Her mouth moved furiously, but you couldn’t hear a single word. You could only guess at her accusations, but you were certain of one thing—she wished it had been you who died instead of your stepsister.

That was the turning point.

From that moment on, you became the scapegoat of the Ji family, the one burdened with their collective frustrations and failures. Surviving that accident, instead of being a blessing, turned into a curse. They treated your survival as an inconvenience, a debt you were expected to repay with unwavering obedience.

“You survived, his daughter didn’t,” your mother’s lips had said once, her voice forever silent to you but still haunting in its clarity. “So make yourself useful.”

From then on, you learned to carry their expectations silently, shouldering the weight of their contempt while striving for perfection. You worked tirelessly, honing your skills, building your reputation, and hiding your deafness as if it were a crime.

Being the "goat" of the Ji family meant you were their sacrifice, their scapegoat, but it also fueled your determination. If survival was your punishment, you would ensure it wasn’t in vain. You would rise above their cruelty, even if it meant enduring the pain of their indifference and the burden of their demands.

You weren’t just surviving anymore—you were fighting. And every day you practiced, every lip you read, every rule you enforced in your life was proof of that.

Every moment of intimacy with Seungcheol was blissful, a haven where the world outside ceased to exist. Even though you couldn’t hear the sounds he made—the soft gasps, the whispered words you imagined he might say—you felt every touch, every movement, as if they spoke directly to your soul. But you always wondered if he felt the same way. Did he share the same satisfaction, the same warmth, the same euphoria at the peak of it all?

You wished you could hear him. Just him.

Seungcheol always looked at you with such tenderness, his gaze soft and unwavering. It made your heart ache with guilt. The guilt of knowing that you and your family had trapped him in this marriage. The guilt of hiding your secret from him—your deafness, the one part of you you couldn’t bring yourself to reveal. And the guilt of knowing your family was draining his wealth under the guise of a business arrangement.

Every time he smiled at you, every time he touched you like you were his world, the weight of your lies grew heavier.

How could you allow yourself to be happy in a marriage built on deception?

The warmth you felt with Seungcheol was tainted by the cold reality of your circumstances. He deserved honesty, love without strings, a partner who could give him everything. And yet here you were, bound to him by a contract you had never wanted but couldn’t escape.

Every night you lay beside him, listening to the silence that enveloped you, longing for a world where your love could be as pure as the way he looked at you.

*

Seungcheol was always amazed by how poised and graceful you carried yourself in public. As a Ji, it was expected, but being married to you had brought a constant stream of surprises he never anticipated.

One of those surprises came during a business meeting involving Wen Junhui, the son of a long-time Chinese producer Seungcheol had worked with for years. Since the business had been handed down to Junhui, negotiations hadn’t been as smooth as before. Seungcheol hoped that meeting in person during Junhui’s visit, accompanied by his wife, would be the perfect opportunity to revive their partnership.

But what Seungcheol didn’t expect was what happened next.

Junhui’s wife, Daisy, had been deaf since birth. It was something Seungcheol had learned in passing but hadn’t given much thought to—until now. As he turned to look for you, he saw you standing with Daisy, engaging her effortlessly in sign language.

His breath hitched. You moved your hands with such confidence and fluidity, your expression lighting up as Daisy responded with equal enthusiasm. Neither Junhui nor Seungcheol could hide their surprise.

“Your wife is incredible. I didn’t expect this,” Junhui said, clinking his glass lightly against Seungcheol’s. “Daisy rarely gets to meet someone who can sign fluently. Thank you for bringing her; she’s finally relaxed for the first time in a long while.”

Seungcheol offered a polite smile, but inwardly, he was stunned. “Thank you,” he said simply, his eyes drifting back to you.

Junhui glanced at his wife before turning back to Seungcheol. “I heard you wanted to negotiate the pricing of our products.”

Seungcheol’s attention snapped back to the conversation. He nodded eagerly. “Yes. We haven’t found a supplier with the same quality as yours. I’d like to propose that we continue the terms we had before. Would you have time tomorrow? I’ll bring the paperwork.”

Junhui thought for a moment before nodding. “Sure. But how about bringing your wife as well? Daisy seems comfortable around her, and it would be nice for her to have someone to talk to while we discuss business.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol agreed, still taken aback by what he’d just witnessed. “I’ll speak to her about it.”

As Junhui moved to speak with someone else, Seungcheol found his gaze lingering on you. He had never known you knew sign language, let alone that you were so fluent. Seeing you connect with Daisy in a way so few others could made him feel something deeper—a mixture of awe, pride, and a touch of guilt for underestimating just how remarkable you truly were.

As Seungcheol mingled with a group of businessmen, his mind was suddenly pulled elsewhere when he realized he couldn’t spot you anywhere. A twinge of unease crept in, but he brushed it off—until his phone vibrated in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he was surprised to see your caller ID.

You never called.

In fact, you hated calling, even in emergencies. It was a well-known rule that anyone needing to contact you had to text or call your secretary, Seo Myungho. For you to call directly was entirely out of character.

Seungcheol excused himself from the lively conversation, weaving through the crowd toward a quieter area. Pressing the answer button, he brought the phone to his ear.

“What’s wrong, love? Where are you?” His voice softened, filled with concern.

The voice that responded wasn’t yours. It was sharp and unfamiliar, carrying a sinister undertone that sent a chill down his spine.

“‘Love?’ Very funny, Choi Seungcheol. Didn’t your father ever teach you not to care too much? Makes you weak, vulnerable.”

Seungcheol froze, his jaw tightening. The words hit like a taunt, a deliberate jab meant to rattle him.

“Who is this?” he asked, his voice dropping to a cold, controlled tone.

“Relax. I’m just a fan of your wife. She looks stunning in black tonight. I’d love to—”

“Where is she? Why do you have her phone?” Seungcheol snapped, his composure slipping as his eyes darted across the ballroom.

A low laugh came through the receiver. “You know, secrets can be dangerous, Seungcheol. Especially the ones your lovely wife is keeping from you.”

“Stop playing games! Tell me where she is!” His voice was edged with desperation now.

The call ended abruptly, leaving Seungcheol gripping the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white. His heart pounded as he scanned the room again, his mind racing.

“Ji Y/n!” he called out, his voice booming across the corridor.

There was no sign of you. The air felt heavier with each passing second, the tension clawing at his chest. He dialed your number again, but the call went straight to voicemail.

Just as he rounded a corner, his hurried steps brought him face-to-face with someone. Relief flooded through him when he realized it was you.

“Cheol?” you asked, startled by his sudden embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his breath uneven as though he’d been holding it in.

“Thank God,” he whispered, burying his face into your shoulder for a moment.

“What’s going on?” you asked, confused by his reaction.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning you as if to ensure you were unharmed. “Where were you? Where’s your phone?”

You blinked, frowning at his intensity. “I don’t know. I can’t find it,” you admitted, rummaging through your clutch only to find it empty.

Seungcheol’s expression darkened. Without another word, he pulled out his phone and called Jihoon. “Get the car ready. We’re leaving now.”

The ride home was tense and silent, the weight of his unspoken thoughts filling the space between you. You glanced at him repeatedly, but his stern expression gave nothing away. His grip on your hand was firm, almost as if he feared letting go.

Once home, Seungcheol ensured you were safely tucked into bed. “Get some rest. I’ll handle this,” he murmured, his lips brushing your forehead.

After he left, you stared at the closed door, unease creeping into your chest. Something was wrong, but you knew better than to press him when he was in this mood.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol retreated to his office, his hands trembling slightly as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. The liquid swirled in the glass, much like the chaos in his mind.

He dialed Jihoon again. “Trace her phone immediately. Whoever has it was at the event. Secure the guest list and cross-check everyone.”

Jihoon hesitated. “That’s going to take time, sir. We’ll need to involve third parties.”

“I don’t care how long it takes. I want answers,” Seungcheol growled, his voice low but seething with authority.

After ending the call, he sank into his chair, his mind running over every possible angle. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest as he stared at the glowing city skyline through his office window.

“Who are you?” he muttered under his breath. The question gnawed at him, the weight of it pressing heavily on his chest.

And more importantly, why would anyone dare to use the person he loved most to threaten him?

*

Seungcheol jolted awake, his breath hitching when his hand reached out to find the other side of the bed cold and empty. A sense of dread gripped him as the events of last night resurfaced in his mind. The mysterious phone call and its ominous implications lingered like a heavy shadow, refusing to let him rest. He’d only managed to get some sleep because you had come into his office and practically dragged him to bed. But even now, his thoughts raced—who was the caller? What secret could they possibly be referring to?

His heart pounded as he sat up, scanning the room for any sign of you. Then, a faint sound from the bathroom caught his attention. He was out of bed in an instant, his strides purposeful as he approached the door.

“Y/n?” he called, his voice laced with concern as he pushed the door open.

There you were, crouched in front of the toilet bowl, your body wracked with discomfort as you emptied the contents of your stomach. The sight made his chest tighten.

“You okay, baby?” Seungcheol took a step closer, but you weakly waved a hand, signaling for him to stay back.

“Don’t… I’m fine,” you muttered between breaths, your voice strained.

Ignoring your protests, Seungcheol was by your side in seconds. He knelt beside you, his large hand gently soothing the back of your neck while his other gathered your hair to keep it out of the way.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured softly, his concern palpable.

When you were finally done, he helped you to your feet, steadying you as you rinsed your mouth at the sink. His hand remained firm on your waist, his protective instincts in full swing.

“Talk to me,” he said gently, guiding you back to the bed. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to call the doctor?” His brows knitted in worry as he tucked you in, his hand brushing stray hairs from your damp forehead.

You shook your head weakly. “I think it’s just food poisoning from last night’s dinner,” you murmured, offering him a faint smile in an attempt to ease his concern.

Seungcheol let out a small chuckle, though the tension in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. “Food poisoning or not, I’m calling Dr. Kim just to be safe. No arguments.”

You sighed but didn’t resist, too exhausted to protest further.

“And no work for you today,” he added firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he reached for his phone. “I’ll let them know you’re not feeling well. Just focus on resting, alright?”

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as his soothing presence eased some of the discomfort. As he dialed the doctor, his gaze lingered on you, the lines of worry deepening on his face.

Jihoon’s phone buzzed just as Seungcheol finished his meeting with a client. He glanced at the screen before answering the call from Dr. Kim, a slight frown crossing his face as he listened. Seungcheol, sitting across from him in the car, noticed the shift in Jihoon’s expression.

"Yes... she is? I see." Jihoon’s voice was calm, but Seungcheol's instincts told him something was off.

After a beat, Jihoon ended the call and turned to Seungcheol, his face betraying nothing but the weight of the news he was about to deliver.

"Your wife is pregnant, sir."

Seungcheol’s heart seemed to stop, his entire body going still as the words hit him like a cold wave. But it wasn’t just the pregnancy that unsettled him. The next words were the ones that sent a flicker of anger through his veins.

"But your wife is in the office now," Jihoon continued, his voice measured. "She has an important meeting with the curator that she couldn’t leave."

Seungcheol’s pulse quickened, the fury within him rising. The news of your pregnancy only added to the questions swirling in his mind, but the fact that you were in the office—at this very moment—was what pushed him over the edge.

"Drive me to her gallery," Seungcheol ordered, his voice dangerously cold.

Jihoon nodded, without a word, and signaled to the driver to make a sharp turn. Seungcheol’s thoughts raced as the car sped toward the gallery. His heart pounded with a mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and a deep, gnawing worry.

Seungcheol arrived at your office just in time to see your psychiatrist friend, Dr. Hong, leaving. His heart skipped a beat as he watched the man walk out, the realization settling uneasily in his chest. He turned to Myungho, your assistant, who had stepped forward to greet him.

"I heard she had a meeting with the curator. Is the curator... apparently also a psychiatrist?" Seungcheol asked, his words barely more than a murmur as his thoughts raced.

Myungho looked momentarily taken aback, his eyes widening before he answered, "Are you referring to Mr. Hong, sir?"

Seungcheol shook his head, frustration mounting as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. The events from last night, the shocking news of your pregnancy, and the fact that you had still gone to work this morning despite his request—everything was colliding in his mind, leaving him on edge.

"Is she free? Can I see her?" Seungcheol asked, his voice quiet but firm.

Myungho nodded without hesitation, immediately leading him to your office. He announced Seungcheol’s arrival before stepping out, leaving the two of you alone.

You looked up from your desk as Seungcheol entered, your gaze softening at the sight of him. "Seungcheol, you're here," you said gently as you stood up.

He approached you slowly, his fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His voice was softer than usual, a tenderness beneath the usual calm. "I told you not to work," he murmured, his gaze searching yours.

You met his eyes, guilt flickering across your face. You bit your lip slightly, feeling a pang of regret. "I'm sorry. But I had a meeting with a foreign curator earlier. I'm glad it went well," you said, offering him a small, reassuring smile.

Seungcheol’s expression softened as he leaned in and kissed your temple, his lips lingering for a moment longer than usual. "I heard about it," he said quietly, his smile widening. "We're going to be parents." The excitement in his voice was undeniable as he took your hands in his. He looked at you with a warmth that melted some of the tension in the air.

You smiled weakly, leaning into his embrace as your head rested against his chest. His comforting presence grounded you, even as the weight of the moment settled over you both.

"You’re going to be an amazing mother, love," Seungcheol whispered, his hands gently cradling you as you closed your eyes, basking in the sincerity of his words. The world outside the two of you seemed to disappear as the reality of your future together began to take root.

*

You stepped into your childhood home, the weight of the news you had to share pressing heavily on your chest. Your mother’s wide grin greeted you before you even crossed the threshold, her hands moving wildly as she signed with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Oh, look who’s finally here," she signed, her expression one of mock excitement. "What’s the good news, Y/n?"

You hesitated for a moment before signing, "I’m pregnant."

Her hands froze mid-air, her face flickering with surprise, but it didn’t take long for that emotion to morph into something much darker. She straightened up, her sharp gaze locking onto you. "Pregnant?" she signed, her movements quick and sharp. "Of course, you are. The Choi heir..."

You fought to steady your breath, trying to brace yourself for the storm you knew was coming. But your mother’s expression softened into something far too calculating. "This will fix everything, Y/n. You’ve done your part, finally. You’ve done something right," she signed, her eyes now gleaming with something almost predatory, like she was already envisioning what this could do for her.

The sting of her words was familiar, yet still sharp. You looked away briefly, trying to gather your thoughts before signing back, "This isn’t what I wanted."

Her laughter was sharp and cruel. "Oh, please," she signed, her tone dismissive, as if your words had no weight at all. "What else could you possibly want, Y/n? You’ve got the Choi family wrapped around your finger. You’re carrying the heir. " Her hands moved with exaggerated flourishes, her gestures mocking the sincerity of your feelings. "You should be thanking us."

You could feel the bile rising in your throat, but you bit your lip, refusing to let her see how much her words stung. "I didn’t ask for this," you signed again, more forcefully this time.

She shook her head, her expression almost pitiful. "Of course, you didn’t," she signed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Who would, right? A girl like you—deaf, unremarkable, never good enough for anything more than a marriage of convenience. But look at you now. You’ve done it. You’ve secured your place."

You bit your tongue, trying not to let the tears sting at your eyes. She had always been this way, using your deafness to remind you of how little she thought of you.

Her next words were even sharper, and you could feel the coldness in every words as she signed, "You’ll never be anything more than a stepping stone for your husband's wealth and power. Look at you, finally fulfilling your role as a good little Choi wife."

You flinched at the bitterness in her words, but you held your ground, trying to keep the hurt from showing on your face. It was clear now that she wasn’t speaking to you as a daughter but as a means to an end. You were nothing more than a transaction in her eyes.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, signing with as much defiance as you could muster, "I’ll make my own future, with or without your help."

She rolled her eyes, signing back with a mocking smirk, "You think you’ll be anything without us, Y/n? The Choi family is your ticket. Don’t you see? You’ve got your future set, and this baby—this baby—is the final piece. You’ll be taken care of for the rest of your life, all thanks to us."

The words hit you like a slap to the face, but you didn’t react. You didn’t need to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

With a final glance at her, you signed, "I’ll make my own choices. You can’t control me anymore."

Your mother’s lips curled into a sardonic smile, her eyes never leaving yours. "Oh, sweetie," she signed, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. "You never did have any real choices, did you?"

The finality in her words hit you hard, but you turned your back on her before she could say more. It didn’t matter anymore. You had made your decision long ago. The Choi family may have given you a life of comfort, but at what cost?

You left her house feeling emptier than when you arrived, the weight of your family’s expectations a bitter reminder of the path you had been forced onto.

"You've been silent. You don’t like the food? I can ask the cook to make you something else," Seungcheol’s voice was soft but laced with concern as he noticed you staring blankly at your plate, barely touching the food. You shook your head, offering a weak smile in his direction, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

"It’s just... I don’t feel like eating," you mumbled, your voice barely a whisper as the weight of everything you were feeling pressed down on you.

Seungcheol sighed, his expression tinged with worry as he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving you. "Do you have anything in mind that you want to eat? You have to eat, love," he urged gently, his tone firm yet filled with care.

You shook your head once more, the knot in your throat tightening as you stood up from the dining table, your legs feeling heavier than usual. "I’m going to bed. My head hurts," you said, avoiding his gaze as you walked away, the words feeling suffocating in your chest.

Seungcheol didn’t push further, though his worry was palpable. He nodded quietly, watching you retreat to your shared bedroom. The soft click of the door closing behind you left an unsettling silence in the air, one that lingered in the room long after you were gone.

As soon as the door was shut, the weight of everything that had been building up inside you crashed over you. You let the tears fall, each one a painful reminder of the life you had been forced into, of the expectations you could never seem to escape. The facade you’d held up for so long finally crumbled, and you were left in the quiet emptiness of your own despair.

Till when do I have to endure this kind of life?

The question echoed in your mind, unanswered, as the tears continued to flow.

*

Seungcheol received a package that morning, its plain exterior offering no hint of the chaos it would bring. At first, there was nothing suspicious about it. But as he opened it, his stomach churned. Inside was a pair of women’s underwear, carefully folded, accompanied by a note that sent a cold shiver down his spine:

"Do you like it when she stares at your lips? I like it too."

Seungcheol crumpled the paper immediately, his fists tightening around it. His heart raced, not from surprise, but from the overwhelming disgust he felt. He knew exactly what the note was referring to—and he hated it. Hated that everyone found your gaze just as captivating as he did. It made him furious, this feeling of possessiveness creeping over him.

"Who sent this?" Seungcheol demanded, holding up the package to Jihoon.

Jihoon glanced at the contents, his brow furrowing with concern. Without hesitation, he dialed the security team. Moments later, he turned back to Seungcheol, his face tight with frustration.

“They said it was just a courier,” Jihoon informed him.

Seungcheol scoffed in disbelief, tossing the crumpled paper onto the desk. "A courier? That’s all they have? I want more than that."

"Can we track the sender?" Seungcheol pressed, his voice sharp with impatience.

Jihoon took the package from his hands, his eyes scanning it briefly. "I’ll get on it. I’ll let you know what I find," he assured him.

Seungcheol wasn’t satisfied, but he knew there was little else to do but wait. He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration building in his chest. There were still so many questions left unanswered.

“What about the person who took my wife’s phone? Have you found them?” Seungcheol asked, his voice hard.

Jihoon handed him a file, his tone quieter now. "The phone was found near the hotel the next day. Whoever took it must have gotten rid of it immediately. It’ll take some time to track the voice, though."

Seungcheol flipped through the file, his gaze hardening as he processed the information.

“Are you familiar with the voice?” Jihoon asked, sensing Seungcheol’s growing unease.

Seungcheol shook his head, frustration bubbling inside him. "No. I don’t think they’re from anyone around me. And as for the Jeon family… Haven’t heard from them since Wonwoo got married."

He said it with a bitterness that was hard to miss. The Jeon family, once a rival of the Choi family, had always been a thorn in his side when it came to business dealings. And now, with a situation like this unfolding, it didn’t feel like a coincidence. Seungcheol couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than simple revenge or some random act.

"Whoever’s behind this is going to regret messing with my family," Seungcheol muttered under his breath.

The same threats arrived with relentless frequency—through emails, packages, and anonymous phone calls. But Seungcheol had long since stopped letting them consume him. None of it mattered as long as he knew you were safe with him. He’d doubled the security around your gallery and fortified the guards at his house. With his child growing inside you, his protective instincts had only intensified. You and the life you carried were his priority—his entire world.

For a while, that mantra kept him grounded. But by the fifth month of your pregnancy, as your belly began to show, the threats took a darker turn. They became more pointed, more unsettling. One email read, “Close her eyes and see what she heard.” Another note taunted, “She’ll never listen.” Each message seemed to inch closer to the secret they claimed to know.

He kept the weight of it all to himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of burdening you. You already endured enough—carrying his child, enduring the discomfort of pregnancy from morning until night. The last thing you needed was to shoulder his fears. No, this was his fight, and he was determined to keep it that way.

“As long as she’s safe.” That was the mantra he repeated to himself every day. It was his anchor, the thought that kept him moving forward despite the shadow looming over him.

“Do you think it could be someone from your past, sir?” Jihoon asked one evening, breaking the silence in Seungcheol’s office. He looked frustrated, just as perplexed as Seungcheol about the source of the threats. Ten years of working together still hadn’t prepared Jihoon for something like this.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I’ve pissed off plenty of people, sure, but nothing to warrant this kind of obsession.”

Jihoon frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. “It doesn’t make sense for this to be random. Someone claims to know her secret. Someone knows you.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. That was the part he couldn’t wrap his head around. He’d always been someone who preferred moving forward rather than dwelling on the past. That was how he lived—how he thrived. But now, the threats weren’t just confusing; they were demanding something he didn’t know how to give.

“I’m not sure what they want. But they’re not getting her. They’ll have to go through me first,” Seungcheol said, his voice low and resolute.

Jihoon nodded, his expression grim. “We’ll figure this out, sir. But the longer it takes, the more dangerous it gets. These messages aren’t empty threats.”

“I know,” Seungcheol said quietly, his gaze hardening. He looked out the window, his hand instinctively resting on his phone in case you called. As long as she’s safe, he reminded himself. That was all that mattered. For now.

*

On your first anniversary, Seungcheol wanted to celebrate with an intimate dinner at home. He hired a renowned chef to curate a fine dining experience and had the house meticulously decorated with flowers and candles. It was meant to be a perfect evening, a celebration of your bond and the life you were building together. You were unaware of his plans, but a single photograph shattered the illusion.

The picture showed your home transformed into a romantic haven, the dining table adorned with delicate arrangements and warm, glowing lights. But as you stared at the photo, your surroundings brought a stark contrast. You were seated in a dim, suffocating room, the air damp and reeking of decay.

Jisoo stood before you, his face illuminated by the faint glow of his phone as he grinned. He closed the device with a soft click, his demeanor unsettlingly calm. You struggled to process the situation, piecing together fragments of memory.

Jisoo had offered to drive you home, assuring everyone—Myungho, the guards, and even yourself—that you were safe in his care. Yet here you were, trapped in a place you’d never seen, with a man you thought you trusted.

"Even like this, you still look pretty," Jisoo murmured, his voice gentle but laced with something sinister. He crouched down to meet your gaze, his hand brushing against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness.

It took a moment for the realization to sink in: Jisoo had kidnapped you. The man who had been your psychiatrist, your lifeline when you lost your hearing, had betrayed you. He wasn’t the kind and attentive figure you had thought; he had been paid by your parents to ensure you stayed functional, nothing more.

"It took me months to get to this point, Y/n, so you better cooperate," Jisoo said, his grin widening. "Or else I’ll reveal everything to Choi Seungcheol."

Your stomach churned as his words sank in.

"A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve him, to be honest," he added, almost as if he were musing aloud. "But hear me out. You’ll leave him in a month. Come with me, or no one will be able to protect you."

"What are you talking about, Jisoo?" you asked, your voice trembling as your hands instinctively moved to shield your growing belly.

Jisoo chuckled, leaning back as though amused by your confusion. "Don’t act so innocent. I know you didn’t marry him for love. It was all for your family’s benefit."

You froze, his words striking a chord of truth that left you paralyzed.

"The investment the Choi family made into your family’s business—it saved them from ruin. But it wasn’t enough, was it? Your parents wanted more," Jisoo continued, his gaze dropping to your stomach with a flicker of disdain.

"No one wants this baby to disappear except for you and me, Y/n," he said, his tone softening into a chilling whisper. "I can give you the life you deserve, away from all of this."

His words sliced through you, leaving a gaping wound of betrayal. You had trusted Jisoo, confided in him during your most vulnerable moments. He had been there when no one else was, not even your mother. You had believed in his kindness, even supported him when he confided about the pain of losing someone he loved. But now, that same man was holding you hostage.

"You don’t understand, Y/n," Jisoo continued, his expression darkening. "All your secrets—your deafness, your marriage—they’ll all come out eventually. Seungcheol will find out everything. And when he does, he'll destroy you. But you don’t have to wait for that to happen. Leave him and run away with me."

"And if I don’t?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jisoo’s grin faded, replaced by a cold, menacing stare. "Then you and the baby... will get hurt."

Your heart pounded as you sat frozen in the suffocating room, his words reverberating in your mind. The man you had trusted was a stranger, his obsession and bitterness now a threat to everything you held dear. Betrayal tightened its grip around you, suffocating and inescapable. This was not a situation you had ever imagined for yourself, and yet here you were, trapped in a nightmare.

"Happy anniversary, love." Seungcheol’s voice was warm as he leaned down to kiss your temple. You barely managed to stand in front of him, your legs shaky and your heart heavier than ever as Jisoo’s words echoed in your mind.

"Seungcheol will find out everything. And when he does, he’ll destroy you."

Your eyes wandered across the room, taking in the meticulously arranged decorations, the fragrant flowers, and the elegant dinner set for two. The sight should have filled you with joy, but instead, it suffocated you. This wasn’t a celebration. It was a cruel reminder of everything you had been hiding. Every affectionate gesture, every whispered “I love you,” all laced with deceit.

Your chest tightened as you looked at Seungcheol. He stood before you with a loving smile, holding a bouquet in his hands, radiating pure happiness. Yet all you could see was the weight of your betrayal pressing down on you.

"It was all for your family’s benefit." Jisoo’s voice rang in your head, relentless and unyielding. You tried to silence it, but it only grew louder, drowning out the world around you.

Every night, as you lay beside Seungcheol, watching his peaceful figure in the dim light, you were reminded of the lies. The way his chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his features soft in sleep, it made you ache. He was so innocent, so trusting, so undeserving of the darkness you had brought into his life.

"I love you," Seungcheol said, his voice steady and sincere. The three words you feared most hung in the air, piercing through your facade. They weren’t just words to him—they were a promise, a testament to how deeply he cared for you. And you had used that love as a weapon, a means to an end.

Your family’s plan had succeeded flawlessly. They had wanted him to fall for you, to depend on you, to bind him to your family with a child. And now, here you were, carrying his baby, living a life built on manipulation.

"You’ll leave him in a month. Leave him and run away with me." Jisoo’s words were a persistent shadow, haunting every step you took.

You wished you could hear Seungcheol’s voice in this moment, soothing and full of love, reassuring you that everything would be alright. But you couldn’t. The silence in your world was unrelenting, leaving you trapped with only your thoughts and regrets.

And you wished you could hear yourself. Maybe then you would know how broken your voice sounded as tears streamed down your face, how your words betrayed your trembling resolve.

"I’m happy," you whispered, a lie wrapped in fragile sincerity. You weren’t happy—not with this life, not with the choices forced upon you. But you had made your decision. You had chosen to stay, chosen to protect the baby growing inside you, chosen to shield Seungcheol from the pain of the truth.

Because despite the lies, despite the betrayal, you couldn’t bear to hurt him. Seungcheol was the first person to love you without condition, without ulterior motives. And you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy the one person who had shown you what real love could be.

*

Seungcheol came home with his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing. Earlier that evening, Seo Myungho, your assistant, had paid him an unexpected visit at his office. It was past working hours, but the usually quiet and composed man had come with urgency etched across his face.

"I'm sorry for taking your time, but there's something you need to know," Myungho said, pulling out a photograph.

Seungcheol leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. Myungho placed the picture on the desk.

"I've worked for your wife for years, and my observations have never been wrong," Myungho began cautiously.

In the photograph, you were stepping out of a building with Jisoo, and the timestamp matched the day of your anniversary.

"I was supposed to drive her home that afternoon," Myungho continued, "but Mr. Hong insisted on taking her instead. I followed them. It took them two hours to get home, and this picture was taken while I was tailing his car."

Seungcheol's brows furrowed deeply. "Are you trying to say she's cheating on me?" he asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

Myungho hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It's not something I can confirm, sir. But I will say this—she hasn’t been the same since that day. If they were involved in an affair, she wouldn’t have told me to stop letting Mr. Hong visit her gallery."

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched as he leaned back in his chair. "What exactly are you insinuating, Seo Myungho?"

After a pause, Myungho finally said what had been weighing on his conscience. "Your wife… I think she’s in danger."

The words hit Seungcheol like a thunderclap.

When he stepped into the house, his voice echoed through the empty halls. "Y/n!" he called. There was no answer. He hurriedly searched every room, his calls growing louder and more frantic.

"Y/n!"

Finally, he made his way to his home office. That’s when he noticed your phone lying on his desk, ringing in response to his calls. The top drawer of the desk, where he kept the bank books, was slightly ajar. His stomach twisted when he realized the bank book with your name was missing.

Unlocking your phone, Seungcheol’s blood ran cold. On the screen was a series of messages, the tone eerily similar to the threats he had been receiving over the past months.

"Leave the house now, or I’ll tell everything about your secret."

Seungcheol’s grip tightened around the phone as he immediately dialed Jihoon. His voice was steady but filled with urgency as he barked orders. "Mobilize everyone. Start searching for her now."

He scanned the phone again, another message flashing on the screen.

"I’ll wait for you at the park near the bank."

Seungcheol sent Jihoon the location before sprinting to his car. He had no doubt now—whoever had been threatening him was after you too.

"My boss… your wife…" Myungho’s earlier words echoed in his mind, the revelation twisting like a knife in his gut.

"She’s deaf," Myungho had said quietly. "She lost her hearing in a car accident. I overheard a conversation between her and her mother once."

Seungcheol pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving through traffic as Myungho’s voice played on repeat in his head.

"Do you know how much your wife has suffered in this marriage? I thought she found solace in Mr. Hong at first. But then she told me to stop allowing him to visit, and that’s when I realized—he wasn’t helping her anymore."

Seungcheol gripped the wheel tighter, fury and dread clawing at his chest.

"Mr. Hong likes your wife, sir. And I believe he’s the one behind these threats."

The puzzle pieces clicked into place. Jisoo had been manipulating everything, orchestrating the threats, and now he had escalated to targeting you. Seungcheol’s heart raced as he sped toward the park, the weight of the truth pressing down on him.

"What is his deal?" Seungcheol muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling in his chest as he raced toward the park. His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone. Seeing Jun’s name on the screen, he immediately answered, his voice commanding, "Speak!"

"Sir, where are you?" Jun’s voice came through, laced with confusion. "Everyone is in front of Seoul Bank, but we don’t see you or Mr. Lee here."

Seungcheol’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as anger flared in his chest. "It’s the park near SK Bank, not Seoul Bank!" he snapped, his voice booming.

Jun hesitated for a moment, clearly taken aback, before replying, "But sir, Mr. Lee instructed us to gather at Seoul Bank."

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. His mind raced as he processed the situation. Why had Jihoon sent his team to a different location? Was it a mistake, or was there something more sinister at play?

"Forget what Mr. Lee said and head to SK Bank immediately," Seungcheol barked.

"Understood, sir. We’re moving now," Jun replied before the line disconnected.

Seungcheol’s mind churned as he pushed the car to its limit. Was there something he was missing? Jihoon was one of his most trusted people, yet this discrepancy felt off. A sinking feeling settled in his chest, whispering that this was more than just a miscommunication.

Every second felt like an eternity as Seungcheol’s thoughts spiraled. Had Jihoon deliberately sent his team elsewhere to buy time? If so, why?

His gut told him the pieces of the puzzle weren’t adding up. If Jihoon was involved in this, there would be hell to pay. For now, all that mattered was finding you.

*

Seungcheol first met Jihoon during the interview for his secretary team recruitment. Even then, he could see the passion and fire in Jihoon’s eyes—a fighting spirit that convinced him this man could help navigate the treacherous waters of the dark business he was trying to expand. Back when Seungcheol left his position at his father’s company to build his own empire, Jihoon had been his first hire, his personal assistant. For the past ten years, they had been inseparable, working side by side through every challenge and victory. Jihoon wasn’t just an employee; he was someone Seungcheol trusted with his life.

But that trust was now hanging by a thread.

Seungcheol’s heart dropped when he saw Jihoon’s car parked by the curb. He hurried over, peering inside only to find it empty. His gaze darted around the area, but there was no sign of Jihoon—and more importantly, no sign of you.

Panic mixed with fury as emotions churned violently inside him. He clenched his fists, his breathing ragged, and immediately dialed Jun. His voice was sharp and commanding when Jun picked up.

“Track Jihoon’s location. Now. He’s missing,” Seungcheol ordered.

“Understood, sir,” Jun replied quickly, not daring to ask further questions.

Seungcheol ended the call, his mind racing. Jihoon had been the first person he’d confided in about the threats. He’d trusted Jihoon to investigate, to handle everything discreetly. But now, the puzzle pieces were falling into place. Jihoon had sent the team to the wrong location deliberately—to buy himself time.

And that could only mean one thing. Jihoon wasn’t just aware of the threats. He was one of them.

A cold realization settled over Seungcheol, chilling him to the core. The man he had trusted for a decade had betrayed him, and now you were in danger because of it.

Seungcheol gritted his teeth, gripping his phone tightly as he fought the urge to call the police. That wasn’t an option, not for him. He’d made the mistake of involving the police before and paid dearly for it. His hands weren’t clean, and he knew better than to invite unnecessary scrutiny into his life.

All he could do now was rely on his people, his resources, and his determination. He couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud his judgment. He had to focus on two things: finding you and finding Jihoon.

And when he did, Jihoon would have to answer for everything. For the lies, for the betrayal, and most of all, for putting you in harm’s way.

A phone call shattered the tense silence as Seungcheol sat in the living room of his parents' house. The air was heavy with shared worry and shock, each family member struggling to process the sudden revelation of Jihoon’s betrayal.

Seungcheol’s spine stiffened the moment he heard the voice on the other end of the line. It was unmistakable—Jihoon. The man who had been his closest confidant for ten years had finally revealed himself.

“Choi Seungcheol,” Jihoon’s voice came cold and calculated, carrying a chilling undertone.

Seungcheol sighed deeply, the weight of realization pressing down on him. “So it’s you,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

A low, mocking laugh echoed through the line, and Jihoon’s voice followed, dripping with venom. “Hong Jisoo did a great job moving Y/n. He’s a better player than I expected.”

Seungcheol gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles whitening. “What do you want, Jihoon? What dragged you into this madness?”

Another laugh escaped Jihoon’s lips, sharper and colder this time. “Beg, Choi Seungcheol,” he hissed. “At least suffer for a bit. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Ruining lives and walking away.”

“Stop speaking in riddles!” Seungcheol barked, frustration and desperation mingling in his voice.

But Jihoon’s next words stopped him cold. “You killed my mother that night,” Jihoon spat, his voice trembling with years of suppressed rage. “Do you even remember? Or is it just another ghost buried under the weight of your family’s sins?”

Seungcheol froze, the accusation hitting him like a freight train. “I never killed anyone! Especially not a woman!” he shouted, his mind scrambling to make sense of Jihoon’s claim.

Jihoon let out a bitter laugh, his tone growing harsher. “Oh, maybe it wasn’t you. Maybe it was your father. Honestly, I don’t care anymore. Your entire family is a wreck!”

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol started, trying to piece it together. “What are you talking about? What happened to your mother?”

Jihoon’s voice cracked with raw emotion. “You could’ve saved her, Seungcheol. You were there. You saw her lying in the street after that accident. Instead of helping, you let your driver speed off. You left her—my mother—alone to die at the crossroad near Jongno.”

The memory stirred faintly in Seungcheol’s mind, a shadowy fragment from years ago. A car accident. A desperate night. Could it be true? Had his family been responsible? Was this all Jihoon’s revenge?

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his voice low and steady. “Jihoon, if what you’re saying is true, let’s talk about it. Let’s fix this.”

But Jihoon’s response was icy. “Fix it? You can’t fix what’s already broken, Choi Seungcheol. Your family destroyed mine, and now it’s my turn to take everything from you.”

There was a pause on the line, a dreadful silence that made Seungcheol’s heart race.

“Let’s see if your wife survives this,” Jihoon said, his voice eerily calm.

And then, a deafening gunshot rang through the phone.

“Jihoon!” Seungcheol yelled into the receiver, his voice cracking with panic. But the call had already ended, leaving him in a suffocating void of silence and dread.

*

"You promised not to hurt her!" Jisoo shouted, his voice trembling as he held up a gun, his eyes wide with panic. He had just witnessed Jihoon aiming the weapon at you, your unconscious form sprawled on the cold floor. At the last second, Jisoo lunged, shoving Jihoon’s hand away. The gun fired, the bullet ricocheting off the far wall, narrowly missing you.

Jihoon snarled in frustration, swinging his arm to shove Jisoo aside. Jisoo stumbled and fell hard onto the floor, the gun now pointed directly at him. Jihoon’s gaze burned with fury.

“This is your fault,” Jihoon hissed, his voice like ice. “You left her phone at Seungcheol’s house. Do you realize how close he came to finding us?”

Jisoo glared up at him, his expression a mixture of anger and betrayal. “This isn’t about her! What you want is Seungcheol! There’s no need to hurt her!”

Jihoon let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Seungcheol made me lose someone I loved. Isn’t it only fair he loses his? Who told him to have a weakness in the first place?”

“You’re insane, Jihoon,” Jisoo spat, his voice rising with disbelief. “This was never the deal!”

“I make the deal,” Jihoon said with a cruel smirk. “I decide how it plays out.”

Jihoon had pieced everything together when he discovered who had called Seungcheol using your phone that fateful night. It was Hong Jisoo—your old friend and, ironically, your psychiatrist. Jihoon’s curiosity was piqued. Why would an old friend go so far as to threaten his friend's husband?

The answer came quickly: Jisoo was in love with you. He had been ever since you became his patient. Jihoon saw the truth in Jisoo’s eyes—the way he lingered on your name, the way he spoke about you with barely contained bitterness. Jisoo had been waiting patiently, hoping for his chance. But that chance never came. Your family, powerful and calculating, had arranged your marriage to the Choi family. To someone far wealthier, far more influential than Jisoo could ever be.

Jisoo felt betrayed. Everything he’d done for you, all the time he’d spent caring for you, meant nothing in the end. His motives became clear: he wanted to end your marriage at any cost. And when Jihoon offered an alliance, Jisoo jumped at the opportunity, even if it meant working with someone as dangerous as Jihoon.

The final piece of Jihoon’s plan clicked into place when he saw you. The day of your blind date with Seungcheol, Jihoon had been there, driving the car to pick up his boss. He noticed you speaking with someone in sign language, your hands moving fluidly as you signed, “I can sign because I’m deaf.”

It was a fleeting moment, but it struck Jihoon deeply. His mother had been deaf too, and in that instant, he saw the vulnerability Seungcheol had brought into his life. Jihoon began to watch closely, waiting for Seungcheol to fall for you, and when he did, Jihoon knew he had found the Choi family’s Achilles’ heel.

You.

Seungcheol’s love for you had turned you into his greatest weakness. Jihoon’s plan had been carefully orchestrated, each move designed to exploit that vulnerability and make Seungcheol pay for the sins of his family.

And now, standing over Jisoo with a gun in hand, Jihoon felt the culmination of his years of planning. The question was no longer whether Seungcheol would suffer—it was how much.

Jisoo’s hands trembled as he slowly pushed himself off the ground, his gaze locked on Jihoon, who stood menacingly with the gun aimed at him. The weight of betrayal, desperation, and fear swirled in Jisoo’s mind.

“I won’t let you do this,” Jisoo growled, his voice raw with emotion.

Jihoon cocked his head to the side, his smirk unwavering. “You won’t let me? What can you possibly do, Jisoo? You’ve already played your part. It’s over.”

But it wasn’t over—not for Jisoo. In one swift motion, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a knife, the blade gleaming under the dim light. Without hesitation, he lunged at Jihoon with all his strength, his movements driven by pure instinct and fury.

Jihoon’s eyes widened in surprise as Jisoo’s body collided with his. The gun went off, the sound of the shot reverberating through the air, but the bullet missed its mark, hitting the wall instead. Jihoon staggered back, his grip on the gun faltering as Jisoo shoved the knife into his side with brutal force.

A guttural cry of pain tore from Jihoon’s throat as he felt the blade sink into his flesh. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining the fabric crimson. Jihoon’s hand instinctively tightened around the gun, his vision blurring from the searing pain.

“You think this will stop me?” Jihoon hissed, his voice strained but laced with venom.

Jisoo didn’t respond, his breathing ragged as he pushed the knife deeper, his resolve unshaken. He could feel Jihoon weakening beneath his grip, but he underestimated just how dangerous Jihoon could be, even in his wounded state.

With a surge of adrenaline, Jihoon raised the gun and fired again, this time hitting Jisoo square in the shoulder. The force of the shot sent Jisoo stumbling backward, his grip on the knife loosening as he fell to the ground.

Both men were now gasping for air, their bodies trembling from the pain and exertion. Blood pooled on the floor between them, the room thick with the metallic scent of violence.

Jihoon clutched his side, his hand slick with blood as he leaned against the wall for support. His gaze flickered to Jisoo, who lay sprawled on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder and groaning in agony.

“You really thought you could outsmart me?” Jihoon sneered, though his voice was weaker now, his energy draining rapidly.

Jisoo coughed, his chest heaving as he glared at Jihoon through the haze of pain. “You’re no better than the people you claim to hate,” he spat. “You’ve become the monster you wanted to destroy.”

Jihoon’s expression darkened, his fingers tightening around the gun. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his tone cold. “But at least I’ll have justice for my mother. You? You’re nothing but a coward, Jisoo. Hiding behind your obsession.”

Jisoo’s hand twitched, reaching for the knife still embedded in Jihoon’s side. But before he could grab it, Jihoon raised the gun again, aiming directly at Jisoo’s chest.

“I warned you,” Jihoon said, his voice icy and devoid of emotion. “Stay out of my way.”

The sound of another gunshot echoed through the room. Jisoo’s body went still, his eyes wide in shock before they slowly fluttered shut.

Jihoon let out a ragged, shaky breath, his knees giving way as he collapsed to the floor. His hand instinctively moved to the knife buried in his side, but he didn’t dare pull it out, knowing it would only hasten the flow of blood. Pain shot through him with every shallow breath he took, sharp and unrelenting, as if his body were punishing him for every choice that had led to this moment.

His vision blurred, the room tilting as the strength in his legs failed him completely. He pressed his back against the wall, trying to steady himself, but the cold surface only amplified the chill spreading through his body. Each heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears, a reminder of how quickly his time was slipping away.

As his gaze wandered across the room, it landed briefly on the lifeless form of Jisoo, crumpled a few feet away, his blood staining the floor in dark, viscous pools. The memory of the fight replayed in Jihoon's mind like a broken record—Jisoo’s desperate lunge, the glint of the blade, the deafening crack of the gun.

Jihoon’s breath hitched, his hand pressing harder against his wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. The edges of his vision darkened, the world around him losing focus. His chest heaved as he tried to stay conscious, but the weight of his injuries was too much to bear.

The room felt eerily quiet now, the echoes of their struggle replaced by the faint, distant hum of the city beyond these walls. Jihoon tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling as a bitter smile played on his lips.

*

Seungcheol’s heart hammered in his chest as he and his team stormed through the abandoned harbor. The old warehouse loomed ahead, a towering silhouette against the dark sky. Every breath felt heavier as he pushed forward, each step fraught with mounting dread. They had tracked Jihoon’s location down to this forsaken place—now, all he could think of was finding you, ensuring you were still alive.

The sound of his boots pounding against the cracked pavement echoed in the still night air as he reached the heavy doors of the warehouse. With one forceful push, they creaked open, revealing the cavernous interior dimly lit by flickering overhead lights. The air was thick with the smell of rust and dampness, the kind of place that whispered forgotten secrets.

But what greeted him inside was far worse than he’d imagined.

Blood. It was everywhere. Pools of dark crimson staining the cold concrete floor. A wave of nausea threatened to overtake him as his eyes darted across the scene. His team fanned out, but Seungcheol’s gaze was drawn to the lifeless body of Jisoo, sprawled across the floor in an unnatural position. The unmistakable evidence of a gunshot wound on his chest confirmed that he was beyond saving.

Seungcheol’s pulse quickened, a suffocating pressure forming in his chest. He couldn’t stop his legs from carrying him toward the body. His eyes briefly shut as the weight of the situation settled into his bones. Jisoo—dead.

But where were you?

His breath hitched as his gaze swept the warehouse. There was no sign of you. No trace of Jihoon. The blood led into a narrow corridor at the back of the warehouse. His pulse raced, the fear gnawing at him like a festering wound.

“Search the entire place. Don’t leave a single corner unchecked,” Seungcheol ordered, his voice tight with barely controlled panic.

His men scattered, checking every shadow, every room, but still, no sign of you. His heart sank with every passing second. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of their frantic searching.

Seungcheol moved toward the back, following the blood trail. It led to a door cracked slightly open, its edges stained with crimson. Without hesitation, he pushed it open, his eyes scanning the area for any clue, anything that could point him to you.

There were drag marks. Disturbingly faint, but they were there. Leading toward the docks.

His mind screamed at him to hurry. “Get to the docks! Block all exits!” Seungcheol barked. He could barely hear his own words over the rush of blood in his ears, his vision narrowing with each second.

He needed to find you. He would find you. No matter what it took, no matter the cost.

The water lapped softly against the shore, the only sound that seemed to break the tense stillness. Seungcheol stared out at the dark horizon, feeling the weight of the past few hours pressing on him. Was it too late?

“I’ll find you,” he whispered, barely audible to anyone but himself, as he squared his shoulders. “I swear I will.”

*

You ran, your heart pounding in your chest as the cold night air stung your skin. Your feet, bare and scraped from the rough pavement, barely registered the pain as you pushed your body to its limits. You could still hear the haunting memory of Jihoon’s voice in your head, feel the weight of Jisoo’s betrayal in your bones.

They wouldn't come back. They couldn't come back.

The thought of them finding you again, of them dragging you back into their nightmare, was enough to keep you moving even as exhaustion threatened to pull you under. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your throat dry and tight with thirst, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

And then, just as you were beginning to feel your legs betray you, you saw them—a group of women, dressed in thick wetsuits, their movements confident and assured. They were divers, the kind who harvested abalone, their hands strong from years of working the sea. They noticed you before you could stagger past them, their trained eyes immediately scanning your bloodstained dress and the wild, frantic look in your eyes.

"Young woman? Are you okay?" One of them called out, her voice gentle but concerned.

You lifted a hand, weakly waving in their direction. You could feel your body weakening, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off. The ground beneath you tilted, and your knees nearly gave way. You knew you couldn’t keep running for much longer. Your vision blurred, but you forced the words out.

“I was kidnapped…” Your voice cracked, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The truth hung in the air like a heavy weight. They could see it in your eyes—the terror, the exhaustion, the desperation.

The women exchanged quick glances, scanning your disheveled state, the blood on your dress that stained the night darker still. They didn’t question you. Instead, one of them stepped forward, her tone gentle but firm.

“Come with us,” she said. “You’re safe now.”

You didn’t have the energy to protest. Your legs wobbled beneath you as they carefully supported you, guiding you away from the dangers you’d just escaped.

With each step, you felt yourself slipping closer to unconsciousness. The dim lights of the village shimmered like a distant dream, and you clung to the hope that, maybe, for the first time in what felt like forever, you were finally safe.

*

"What happened that night?" Seungcheol demanded, his voice cold and heavy as he confronted his father. The room was dimly lit, the weight of the topic casting a suffocating shadow over them. The matter at hand was the death of a woman his father’s car had struck 15 years ago—a moment that had come back to haunt them both.

His father took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. "She was a cleaner at our company. But before that, she was a witness to one of our transactions. She confronted the leaders and threatened to report everything to the police unless she got paid off." His tone was calm, detached, as though recounting a mundane business deal.

Seungcheol’s fists clenched. "And?"

"I gave her enough money to raise her children. More than enough. I even found her a job. She was deaf, Seungcheol, and no one was willing to hire someone like that back then."

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened as the pieces fell into place. Jihoon’s mother had been employed as a cleaner for several months before that fateful night. But it didn’t end there.

"She demanded more money," his father continued, voice devoid of remorse. "She wanted more, and I had no better option than to make her disappear."

Seungcheol felt a wave of nausea as his father’s words hit him. He nodded grimly, the memory of that night flashing in his mind. "That’s what I knew. She wanted more money," he muttered, almost to himself. "That’s why I left her that night. I thought she was just another extortionist."

There was silence between them until his father broke it. "And your wife? Has anyone found her?"

Seungcheol shook his head, his heart sinking further into despair. "No. Neither her nor Jihoon." His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. The thought of you out there—alive or worse—was unbearable. You were the first person he had ever truly loved, and now you were gone, all because of the vengeance Jihoon had carried for years.

His father frowned, his brows knitting together. "No body was found in the water either?"

Seungcheol exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "No. But there was blood on the edge of the dock."

His father’s eyes darkened. "Do you think it was Jihoon’s?"

Seungcheol hesitated, biting his lip as his gaze met his father’s. "I wish it was. But..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

His father studied him carefully before speaking. "There’s something else, isn’t there?"

Seungcheol’s throat tightened as he admitted quietly, "was it possible? She’s pregnant."

The weight of the revelation hung in the air. His father nodded in understanding, his expression grim. "We’ll send more people tomorrow," he said firmly, rising to his feet. He placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, his grip surprisingly steady. "We’ll find closure, one way or another."

Seungcheol didn’t respond, his thoughts spiraling. He didn’t want closure. He wanted you. And the uncertainty of whether you were alive or gone was a torment he wasn’t sure he could endure.

One week.

Two weeks.

A month.

Three months.

Time crawled by as the search for you carried on, only to come to a devastating halt. After three agonizing months, Seungcheol made the painful decision to officially call off the large-scale search. The slowdown in the business was affecting countless lives, and he couldn’t justify sacrificing so many for his own personal grief. Yet, in his heart, the search never truly stopped.

Every weekend, Seungcheol would find himself wandering from one village to another near the abandoned harbor, relentless in his quest. He’d strike up conversations with locals and ask questions.

“Do you have a picture of her?” a villager would ask.

Seungcheol would pull out the photograph, his fingers trembling slightly as he handed it over. You always looked beautiful to him, flawless in every way. Even now, with the ache of your absence, he could only see perfection in your face. The day he’d first laid eyes on you, he’d been captivated, unable to believe someone like you could exist.

The truth of your deafness, which your parents finally revealed to him on the night you disappeared, hadn’t changed his view of you at all. If anything, it made him ache more for what you had endured.

“It was my idea to hide the fact she is deaf! Please forgive me, Son-in-law,” your mother had pleaded, her voice cracking with guilt.

Seungcheol had stared at her, his chest tightening with anger and disbelief. “Tell me one reason why her deafness was a secret.”

“Because a woman’s obligation as a wife is to listen,” she replied, the words cutting through him like a knife.

His hands clenched at his sides. He couldn’t imagine the kind of torment you must have endured growing up in a household like this. The burden of expectations, the cruel standard you were forced to meet—it was suffocating to even think about.

Your mother continued, as if the words excused her actions. “We were relieved when we found out she was pregnant. At least she fulfilled one of her obligations. She lost so much after the accident...”

“Stop,” Seungcheol snapped, his voice laced with restrained fury. “Stop speaking about her in the past tense. She’s still with us. She has to be.”

But even as he confronted your mother’s callousness, doubt and fear gnawed at his heart. Every village he visited, every person he spoke to, left him with nothing but disappointment.

“We’ve never seen anyone like her,” a villager said, shaking their head. “She’s so beautiful. Is she your wife?”

Seungcheol nodded, a faint, hollow smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, she’s my wife.”

That evening, as he drove back home, the weight of his failure pressed down on him. The house, once filled with your warmth, now felt unbearably quiet. The memories of you lingered in every corner—the way you smiled, the way you turned your head to face him whenever he spoke, the way you stared at his lips, a habit he’d never fully understood until now.

It was during those lonely nights that everything started to make sense.

Your habit of always needing to face him when he spoke. The lack of phone calls. The way you’d tilt your head and say, “What?” if he wasn’t looking directly at you.

You couldn’t hear him.

And he’d never realized it.

He thought back to all the times Hong Jisoo had tried to hint at the truth through his cryptic threats. Jisoo had known, just as your parents had, that you had been forced into the marriage. Seungcheol clenched his fists, anger and regret churning inside him.

He felt like he had failed you—not just as a husband but as the man who should have protected you from all of this.

And now, you were gone.

His phone rang in the dead of night, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room. Seungcheol groggily reached for it, his heart sinking at the thought of more bad news. But when he saw the caller ID, his exhaustion was replaced by curiosity.

Seo Myungho.

Your former assistant had never called him again after that time, let alone at this hour.

Seungcheol answered, his voice hoarse, “Hello?”

“I found her.”

Three words. Just three words. But they hit him like a lightning bolt, sending him bolting upright from the bed.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice sharp and desperate now, as if he couldn’t trust what he’d just heard.

“I found her, sir.”

*

Myungho’s search for you had been relentless, driven by a determination he couldn’t explain but refused to ignore. He carefully tracked your weeks, estimating your birthing date. His method was simple but meticulous—he regularly visited hospitals and clinics in the areas surrounding the harbor where you had last been seen. It was a grueling process, but last week, his persistence paid off.

He spotted you stepping out of a small clinic, your rounded stomach unmistakable. Myungho’s heart skipped a beat. If his calculations were correct, you were due any day now.

Discreetly, he followed you back to a modest village nestled along the coastline. There, he discovered an elderly woman had taken you under her wing, providing you with shelter and care during these past months. Myungho watched from a distance, observing how you seemed to have created a life for yourself despite everything. He saw you teaching local children sign language, your hands moving gracefully as the kids mirrored your gestures with bright, eager faces.

“What are you doing here, young man?” A gruff voice startled him one afternoon. He turned to see an elderly man approaching, his gaze sharp but curious. “You’re not from around here. Are you from the city?”

Caught off guard, Myungho scrambled for a believable response. “Uh, yes. I’m here looking for a great restaurant,” he said quickly. “The kind that serves abalone.”

The old man’s face brightened. “Well, you’re in luck! I’ve got the best abalone in the area. Come on, come on, I’ll serve you myself!”

With little choice but to follow, Myungho was soon seated at a modest table in the man’s small home. A steaming plate of abalone was placed in front of him, the rich aroma filling the air.

As the man chatted, he grew more animated. “You know, there was a big fuss a few months ago. A young woman came here—a deaf woman, staying at Mrs. Jeong’s house. They say she ran away from her husband. Nobody knows what really happened to her, though.”

“Enough, old man!” a woman’s voice scolded. Myungho turned to see the man’s wife slapping his arm lightly. “It’s supposed to be a secret!”

“I was just talking,” the old man grumbled, rubbing his arm.

The woman sighed and turned to Myungho apologetically. “Mrs. Jeong is a respected figure in this village, and she asked us to keep the young woman’s presence a secret. I hope you understand.”

Myungho nodded, hiding his relief. Mrs. Jeong. Now he had a name—a connection to you. He had finally found the key to bringing you back.

When the due was coming, the pain from the contractions gripped your body like a vice, leaving you breathless. The small clinic in the village had tried their best, but it quickly became clear they couldn’t handle the complications of your delivery. You needed a cesarean, and time was running out.

As you sat hunched on the clinic bench, clutching your swollen belly, Myungho appeared. His presence was unexpected, his expression calm but urgent.

“I’ll take her to the hospital,” he said firmly, addressing the worried midwife.

The midwife looked at you, hesitant. “It’s a long drive, and the baby could come anytime,” she said.

Myungho met your gaze. “We don’t have a choice. Let’s go.”

You blinked, stunned by his sudden appearance. “Why are you here?” you asked weakly, the pain stealing the strength from your voice.

He didn’t answer immediately, guiding you carefully toward his car. His hands were steady but firm as he helped you into the passenger seat. “I’ll explain later,” he said, closing the door and rushing to the driver’s side.

The contractions were coming faster now, each one making you grip the seat harder. The car sped down the uneven village roads, Myungho’s hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Breathe,” he said, glancing at you. “Focus on breathing.”

You tried, but the pain was overwhelming. Sweat dripped down your temple, and your vision blurred. Between the waves of agony, your mind buzzed with questions. How did he find you? Why was he here?

The ride felt like an eternity, each second stretching into minutes. Myungho’s jaw was tight, his focus unwavering as he navigated the winding roads.

When the lights of the hospital came into view, a weak sigh of relief escaped your lips. Myungho pulled up to the emergency entrance and jumped out, shouting for help.

Within moments, a team of medical staff surrounded you, gently lifting you onto a gurney. Myungho stayed by your side until the doors to the operating room loomed ahead.

You reached out, grabbing his sleeve. “Why are you here?” you asked again, your voice trembling.

He paused, looking down at you with an intensity that made your heart ache. “Because someone had to protect you,” he said softly. “And I owe it to him.”

Before you could process his words, the doors swung open, and you were whisked away. As the bright lights of the operating room blurred your vision, one thought lingered in your mind—was he talking about Seungcheol?

*

Seungcheol stormed into the administration ward, his breath ragged as his frantic eyes scanned the room. When he spotted Myungho standing near the counter, clutching a pen and a clipboard, he closed the distance in long, hurried strides.

Without hesitation, Seungcheol grabbed Myungho’s arm, his grip firm but trembling. His voice was raw, almost pleading. “Tell me she’s alive.”

Myungho looked up, startled but composed. “Please calm down, sir,” he said, his tone steady yet empathetic. “I assure you, she’s fine. She’s in the operating room right now.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in shock, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The operating room? Why? What’s wrong?!” His chest tightened with dread as scenarios raced through his mind.

Setting the clipboard aside, Myungho placed a reassuring hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder and guided him toward the waiting lounge outside the operating room. “Today is her due date,” Myungho explained as they walked. “She’s giving birth to your child.”

The words hit Seungcheol like a tidal wave, rendering him momentarily speechless. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixed on Myungho as if needing confirmation that he’d heard correctly. “My… child?” he echoed, his voice laced with disbelief and a glimmer of hope.

Myungho nodded firmly. “Yes, sir. She went into labor earlier, but the clinic in the village couldn’t handle the delivery. It’s a cesarean operation. That’s why I brought her here.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders sagged, a mix of relief and anxiety washing over him. He pressed a hand over his mouth, his thoughts racing between fear for your safety and the realization that he was about to become a father.

“I need to see her,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to maintain his composure.

Myungho shook his head gently. “The doctors are doing everything they can. All we can do now is wait.”

As they reached the waiting lounge, Seungcheol sank into one of the chairs, his head falling into his hands. The sterile smell of the hospital and the faint hum of medical equipment filled the silence around him.

“She’s strong,” Myungho said softly, standing beside him. “She’s been through so much, but she’s strong. And she’s going to make it through this.”

Seungcheol nodded, his jaw clenched as he fought back tears. “I should’ve found her sooner,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “I should’ve protected her.”

“You’re here now,” Myungho said firmly. “And that’s what matters.”

Time crawled by with agonizing slowness as Seungcheol remained in the waiting lounge. His gaze never left the double doors leading to the operating room. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow on his anxious expression, emphasizing the deep lines of worry etched into his face.

He tapped his foot impatiently, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Every passing second felt like an eternity, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily on his chest. Myungho sat a few seats away, silent but observant, giving Seungcheol space while staying close in case he was needed.

Finally, the double doors swung open. A doctor stepped out, his surgical mask still in place, his face partially obscured but his eyes calm and professional. Seungcheol shot to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“Doctor, how is she? Is she okay? And the baby?” he asked in a rush, his voice trembling.

The doctor gave a small, reassuring nod. “Both the mother and baby are safe. The operation went smoothly.”

Relief flooded through Seungcheol like a wave, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. He exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to his chest as if to steady his racing heart. “Thank God,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“The mother is resting now, but you can see her shortly,” the doctor continued. “The baby has been moved to the nursery for observation, but everything looks good.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said earnestly, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out and shook the doctor’s hand firmly, his gratitude evident in his grip.

Moments later, a nurse led Seungcheol to your recovery room. The sight of you lying in the hospital bed, pale but peaceful, made his chest tighten. He approached cautiously, his footsteps soft as if afraid to disturb you.

You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open. When your gaze met his, a flicker of recognition crossed your tired face. “Seungcheol…” you murmured, your voice weak but laced with emotion.

He sank into the chair beside your bed, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry for everything. For not finding you sooner, for everything you’ve been through…”

You managed a faint smile, your fingers curling weakly around his. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re here now.”

Seungcheol leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And I’m never leaving again,” he vowed.

The nurse returned moments later, wheeling in a small bassinet. Inside, a tiny bundle of life stirred, letting out a soft cry. Seungcheol stood, his breath catching as he saw the baby for the first time. The nurse carefully lifted the infant and placed them in your arms.

You both gazed down at the child, a mix of emotions reflected in your tired but radiant faces. “It’s a boy,” the nurse said with a smile before quietly stepping out to give you privacy.

Seungcheol leaned over, his hand resting gently on the baby’s tiny head. “He’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

For the first time in months, the weight on Seungcheol’s heart lifted as he held onto the two people who now meant everything to him.

*

"We don't have to talk about anything yet. Your recovery is my priority now," Seungcheol said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He gently tucked the blanket around you, his touch as careful as if you might break. Leaning in, he placed a tender kiss on your temple, the warmth of his lips lingering like a silent promise.

"Choi Doahn," you whispered, the name slipping from your lips as you cradled your baby for the first time. It was barely audible, but Seungcheol caught it. The way you spoke the name—so full of love and meaning—etched itself into his heart. From that moment, he began calling the baby Doahn.

Doahn now rested peacefully in the small crib beside your bed, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with his soft breaths. Seungcheol couldn’t take his eyes off him. The baby was so small, so delicate, yet he already held a monumental presence in Seungcheol’s life. He crouched beside the crib, his hand hovering over Doahn as if afraid his touch might disturb the baby's perfect tranquility.

Seungcheol’s heart ached with a bittersweet mix of love and regret. How much of this had he missed? The small kicks, the first signs of life, the moments you must have longed to share with him during your pregnancy—he hadn’t been there. He had failed to protect you both when you needed him most.

When the nurse handed Doahn to him for skin-to-skin bonding, Seungcheol felt his breath hitch. The baby stirred slightly in his arms, a soft murmur escaping his tiny lips before settling again. As Seungcheol cradled him against his chest, the warmth of Doahn’s fragile body against his skin unleashed a flood of emotions he had held back for too long.

Tears streamed down Seungcheol’s face, unbidden and unstoppable. They weren’t just tears of relief, but also of guilt, sorrow, and overwhelming love. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Doahn’s head, his lips trembling as he whispered, "I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. But I’m here now, and I’ll never leave you or your mother again. I promise, Doahn."

You watched from the bed, your heart full despite your exhaustion. Seeing Seungcheol with your baby, the tenderness in his touch, and the raw emotion on his face reminded you of the man you fell in love with—the man who always cared so deeply, even if he didn’t always know how to show it.

Seungcheol turned to you, his tear-streaked face breaking into a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Thank you for giving me him… for fighting through everything. I don’t deserve either of you, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you both feel loved and safe."

In that quiet room, the three of you found a moment of peace amidst the chaos that had brought you here. It wasn’t the end of the journey, but it was the beginning of a new one—a chance to heal, to grow, and to finally be a family.

It was late afternoon when Seungcheol finally broached the subject. The soft glow of the sun streamed through the hospital room window, casting a warm light over you as you rested in bed. Doahn was asleep in the crib beside you, his small form wrapped in a blanket. Seungcheol sat on the edge of your bed, his hands clasped tightly together, as though gathering the courage to speak.

"I think we need to talk now," he said gently, his voice low so as not to wake the baby. He searched your face, his eyes brimming with unspoken emotions.

You nodded, your fingers fidgeting with the blanket draped over your lap. You had been waiting for this moment, dreading it but knowing it was inevitable. "Where do we start?" you asked softly, your voice carrying both hesitation and resolve.

Seungcheol took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "I want to start with an apology," he said, his tone steady but thick with emotion. "I failed you, love. I should’ve protected you, been there for you when you needed me most. Instead, you had to face all of this alone." His voice cracked slightly, and he paused, looking down at his hands. "I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. And I’m sorry for not realizing sooner… about your hearing. I should’ve known."

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in your throat. "It wasn’t your fault," you said after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. "I kept it a secret because I was scared. My parents…" You hesitated, the memories of their harsh words and expectations still painful. "They told me I wouldn’t be good enough for anyone if people knew. I didn’t want to burden you with it."

Seungcheol’s heart clenched at your words. "Y/n, you’re not a burden. You never were, and you never will be. I hate that they made you feel that way." He reached out, his hand covering yours. "You’re perfect to me, just the way you are."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met his gaze. "I was so scared, Seungcheol," you admitted, your voice trembling. "When Jihoon took me, when I was alone in that village… I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you’d given up on me."

"I never gave up," Seungcheol said firmly, his grip on your hand tightening. "Not for a second. I searched for you every day. Even when the official search ended, I couldn’t stop. I knew you were out there, and I had to find you."

You nodded, the sincerity in his words soothing some of the pain you had carried. "I know now," you said softly. "And I’m grateful. For everything you’ve done for me and for Doahn."

Seungcheol’s eyes softened as he looked at you. "We’ve both been through so much," he said. "But I want us to move forward together. As a family. No more secrets, no more fear. Just us, starting fresh."

Seungcheol had been watching you with quiet anticipation, his gaze filled with patience and love. You took a deep breath, meeting his eyes with a resolve you hadn’t felt in years.

"If.." you began, your voice steady but laced with emotion. "If we’re going to move forward, I need you to know there are things I can’t compromise on anymore."

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed slightly, his concern evident, but he nodded. "I’m listening," he said softly, leaning closer.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. "I want my freedom," you said firmly, your voice carrying a weight that left no room for doubt. "I want to be free from my parents’ control. They’ve dictated so much of my life—how I should live, how I should act, even who I should marry. I can’t go back to that."

Seungcheol nodded slowly, his expression serious. "You won’t have to," he assured you. "I’ll make sure they understand that you’re your own person now. Whatever it takes, I’ll stand by you."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you pressed on. "And also...," you said, your voice faltering for a moment. "I… I want to hear. I want to try to get my hearing back."

Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "You mean… surgery?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I’ve been thinking about it for a while," you admitted. "Living in that village, teaching sign language to those kids… it made me realize how much I’ve missed out on. But more than that…" You paused, your voice breaking as tears rolled down your cheeks. "I want to hear you, Seungcheol. And I want to hear Doahn."

The raw emotion in your voice made Seungcheol’s chest tighten. He reached out, taking your hands in his. "Love," he said softly, his voice steady and full of warmth, "if that’s what you want, then we’ll make it happen. Whatever the cost, whatever the process, I’ll be with you every step of the way."

You let out a shaky breath, relief washing over you at his unwavering support. "Thank you," you whispered, your fingers clutching his as though he was your lifeline.

Seungcheol smiled faintly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You don’t have to thank me," he said. "This is your life, your choice. And I’ll do everything in my power to help you live it the way you want."

In that moment, you felt a surge of hope—hope for a future where you could finally take control of your own life, where you could experience the world in ways you’d only dreamed of. And with Seungcheol by your side, you knew you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

*

Months passed, and the promise of a new beginning grew stronger with each passing day. With Seungcheol’s unwavering support, you underwent the delicate surgery to restore your hearing—a decision that filled you with equal parts hope and fear. The process wasn’t easy; it was marked by long days of recovery, uncertainty, and moments of self-doubt. Yet, every time you felt like faltering, Seungcheol was there, holding your hand, his quiet reassurance anchoring you to the dream of what could be.

When the moment finally came, when you heard Doahn’s soft, melodic coos for the very first time and Seungcheol’s deep, steady voice calling your name, it was as if the world had burst into vibrant color. A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, tears spilling down your cheeks as you clutched Doahn close to your chest, his tiny hands gripping your shirt.

"He sounds… perfect," you whispered, your voice trembling with wonder, every syllable carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions.

Seungcheol knelt beside you, his gaze filled with warmth and relief. Resting his hand gently on your shoulder, he whispered, "Just like his mother." His voice, rich and tender, was the sweetest sound you’d ever heard.

With your hearing restored, the world transformed into a symphony of wonders. Every sound was a discovery—the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore, the laughter of children playing. Even the hum of the city streets, once distant and imagined, felt alive and vibrant. But nothing compared to the sound of Seungcheol’s laughter. The way his voice softened when he spoke your name made your heart swell, reminding you of how far you’d come together.

Seungcheol honored his promise to give you the freedom you craved. The chains of old expectations were broken, and you stepped into a new chapter of your life with a renewed sense of purpose. You found joy in teaching sign language, helping others rediscover their voices, and advocating for those who had been silenced by circumstance. Doahn grew up surrounded by unconditional love and support, his first words—soft and innocent—brought tears to everyone’s eyes, especially Seungcheol’s.

Though the scars of your past lingered, they no longer defined you. Instead, they became a testament to your resilience. Seungcheol, too, carried the weight of his guilt but turned it into strength. He made it his mission to make up for lost time, pouring his love into every moment he shared with you and Doahn.

One quiet evening, the three of you sat by the ocean, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of gold and amber. Doahn toddled between you and Seungcheol, his giggles echoing like music against the gentle waves. You leaned into Seungcheol, resting your head on his shoulder as a soft sigh escaped your lips.

"This is freedom," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with certainty and peace.

Seungcheol turned to you, his lips brushing your temple in a kiss as tender as his words. "And it’s just the beginning," he replied, his voice brimming with quiet determination and love.

In that moment, you knew that despite everything—the pain, the struggles, the loss—you had finally found your place in the world. A place where love, freedom, and hope could coexist, and where the future stretched out before you like the endless horizon.

*

The moon was about to cast its pale light on the quiet dock as you dragged Jihoon's limp, injured body toward the water. His breathing was shallow, labored, and each step you took felt heavier than the last. Blood seeped through his torn shirt, staining your hands as you struggled to pull him closer to the edge. He groaned, a faint sound of resistance, his body twitching in pain as he fought to stay conscious.

"Stop..." Jihoon rasped, his voice weak but filled with defiance. His head lolled to the side, his eyes flickering open to meet yours.

You crouched beside him, your breath coming in shallow pants. For a moment, you simply stared at him, the man whose vengeance had cost you so much. Despite his condition, Jihoon’s gaze burned with stubborn determination.

But you didn’t speak. Instead, you raised your hands, signing slowly and deliberately so he could follow your words.

“눈에는 눈, 이는 이로는 세상은 눈먼 자들로 가득 찰 것이다.” (An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind.)

Jihoon’s brows furrowed as he struggled to focus on your hands, on the message you were conveying. His lips twitched, forming the faintest shadow of a bitter smile.

“Do you think…” he coughed, blood specking his lips, “… that this will change anything?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you signed again, your hands moving with precision, your expression unwavering.

“복수는 또 다른 상처를 남길 뿐이다. 넌 네 복수의 무게를 견딜 수 있겠어?” (Revenge only leaves another wound. Can you bear the weight of your vengeance?)

Jihoon’s head sank back, his strength waning as he closed his eyes. You could see the conflict in him—the doubt creeping into the cracks of his resolve. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, and for a moment, silence enveloped the dock, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against the wood.

“You… don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It wasn’t just revenge… It was justice.”

You shook your head, your hands signing one final phrase, your movements deliberate and steady.

“정의는 희생으로부터 나와야 한다, 증오가 아니라.” (Justice must come from sacrifice, not hatred.)

Jihoon’s eyes opened, tears brimming at the corners as he gazed at you, his face a mixture of pain and regret. The weight of your words—or perhaps the truth in them—seemed to settle on him like a crushing tide.

You stared down at him, your heart pounding. For a fleeting moment, your resolve wavered. Memories of the good times—of his laughter, his loyalty—flashed through your mind. But those moments were gone, drowned beneath the weight of his betrayal.

“Goodbye, Jihoon,” you signed slowly, the finality in your movements echoing in the air between you.

Then, with a steady breath, you placed your hands on his shoulders and shoved.

Jihoon’s body slid across the wooden planks, his weak protests lost to the flow. The splash as he hit the water shattered the stillness, ripples spreading out in every direction.

You stood at the edge, watching as he sank beneath the surface. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the water settling, the ripples fading into stillness once more.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides as you turned away, the weight of your actions sinking in. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

The dock felt endless as you walked away, the stars overhead offering no solace. Whether Jihoon would rise from the water or disappear into its depths was no longer your concern.

This was the end of the path you had both walked together—and the beginning of a new one, without him.

a/n: omg I'm really doing this? well I'm actually going ahead posting the masterlist so I don't back down. will I ever get better with fic titles? summaries? banners? anything? lmao. writing is amazing, if only I didn't have anxiety *sighs*. the idea of prince! seungcheol has been circling my brain for a while, especially since MFW back in February but I could go as far back as those pictures for the Season's Greetings 2026. My prince in jeans I still think of you lol. So I'm making my own prince fairy tale type something?? whatever. that it has smut? yes. Is it cliché? whatever to that too. just don't hold big expectations for this T.T bc, a lo que yo vine, fue a, ¡ESTO! [YOU'VE BEEN SLAPPED WITH THE PRINCE! SEUNGCHEOL AGENDA. with love.] (that's from a mexican telenovela scene in which someone says "I came here for-!" before, SMACK! someone gets slapped lol. It turned into an audio for memes around latin america in case you didn't get it.). also I picture prince! cheol with his dark colored hair buuut since we had those pictures I thought I'd make good use of them jaja but you can imagine him looking however you want of course. that's the wonder of reading. and yes, there are songs I thought about while writing this as always but this note is alr too long so I might add them later on on the respective ch. if anyone'c actually curious hehe. here goes nothing! see you soon! - chérie <3

Chapter 1 : Bound to Be [+1.9k]

Chapter 2: Cross Paths [+2.5K]

Chapter 3: The Longer I'm With You [+3.5K]

Chapter 4: [COMING SOON]

Chapter 5: [COMING SOON]

Chapter 6: [ COMING SOON]

a/n: omg I'm really doing this? well I'm actually going ahead posting the masterlist so I don't back down. will I ever get better with fic titles? summaries? banners? anything? lmao. writing is amazing, if only I didn't have anxiety *sighs*. the idea of prince! seungcheol has been circling my brain for a while, especially since MFW back in February but I could go as far back as those pictures for the Season's Greetings 2026. My prince in jeans I still think of you lol. So I'm making my own prince fairy tale type something?? whatever. that it has smut? yes. Is it cliché? whatever to that too. just don't hold big expectations for this T.T bc, a lo que yo vine, fue a, ¡ESTO! [YOU'VE BEEN SLAPPED WITH THE PRINCE! SEUNGCHEOL AGENDA. with love.] (that's from a mexican telenovela scene in which someone says "I came here for-!" before, SMACK! someone gets slapped lol. It turned into an audio for memes around latin america in case you didn't get it.). also I picture prince! cheol with his dark colored hair buuut since we had those pictures I thought I'd make good use of them jaja but you can imagine him looking however you want of course. that's the wonder of reading. and yes, there are songs I thought about while writing this as always but this note is alr too long so I might add them later on on the respective ch. if anyone'c actually curious hehe. here goes nothing! see you soon! - chérie <3

Chapter 1 : Bound to Be [+1.9k]

Chapter 2: Cross Paths [+2.5K]

Chapter 3: The Longer I'm With You [+3.5K]

Chapter 4: [COMING SOON]

Chapter 5: [COMING SOON]

Chapter 6: [ COMING SOON]

The first left quietly. Said he was too loud.

The second left loudly. Said he was too quiet.

The third claimed she was frightened. The fourth didn't even give him a reason. Fifth and sixth were some ugly variation of all of the above.

Sukuna stopped caring.

He did care, at one point. That's why he let his coworker convince him to join this stupid 'hybrid nature rehabilitation program' in the first place, right? Because maybe tigers were too bold. Too frightening. Too much.

Too much. That's what the last one said.

Well, if he was too much for anyone, maybe they weren't enough for him.

The agent sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose and probably contemplating why he chose to work for a facility that boasted a 100% rehabilitation record. Guess Sukuna was about to ruin that too. As he did most things.

"Look," the man said. His shoulders slumped. "We do not typically give up on our patients, but surely you understand that we've tried everything in the book for you, right?"

Sukuna didn't reply.

"Behavioural therapy. Group counselling. Mate pairings and courses. You've chased away every volunteer and potential mate. Somehow even frightened off your therapist last month."

"She was weak."

"She was doing her job. You act like. . ."

Sukuna grunted. His claws threatening to lash out and tear up his own shirt. "What?" He knew the answer. Knew that sickening word that they all used for him. "An animal?"

The man didn't answer. Didn't have to. He sighed again and checked his clipboard. "This is your last shot for clearance."

"And if I don't pass?"

"You'll be escorted to a private facility."

Hybrids were monitored under lock and key by the state. Sukuna guessed he couldn't really blame them. They were different. Unpredictable.

Animals.

Sukuna regretted ever approaching the program in the first place. If he knew what he knew now— that he was simply built to be on his own, he would have swallowed the furball and bit his own tail. Lived out the rest of his life without the feeling of being watched.

Now, they knew he was unstable. Now, they considered him a threat. Guess his claws really were clipped.

"Thanks to your last stunt, none of the volunteers stepped up for this," the man said, flipping through his clipboard.

Sukuna huffed. "What's the point then? Just ship me off already." At least he'd get to be alone, then.

"Because miraculously, one of our assistants offered to help." The man looked up. "She's new. And your last shot." He handed over the clipboard with a small picture clipped at the top right.

That's the first time Sukuna saw you.

The second time he saw you, you smiled at him. Stupid move, really. For someone so small, so frail— so breakable.

"It's nice to meet you," he's sure you lied as you stuck out your hand. Chirpier than a bird hybrid. Bright eyed as a squirrel. Were they sure that you were human?

"Yeah. Hi." He gruffed, not reaching for your hand. It looked too gentle for him.

You dropped your arm to your side, still smiling, but softer. Before you trotted off to lug the rest of your belongings into his home.

He helped you, of course. Tiny thing like you probably would sprain her spine if she did it all by herself. Pathetic.

This was his last hope? They might as well cage him and ship him off already.

Within a week, he was sharing his space again. The few days of blissful solitude had come to an end. Now, there was a canvas in his living room. Pink body wash and products littered across his bathroom counter. Books from authors he couldn't even pronounce occupying his empty shelves.

You were sweeter than the three spoons of sugar you dumped in your strawberry tea every morning. Softer than the dinner rolls you insisted on making every Wednesday and Friday. Shy. Gentle.

Too gentle for someone like him.

In the beginning, Sukuna had watched you. Like a tiger stalked its prey. Scouring for the first sign of discomfort. A hint of fear. Even those who started off strong couldn't keep up the act for long. Not with him.

Which was what made it so odd.

You were timid, sure. But not afraid of him. Guess he'd give it some time.

Because that's simply his fate now, right? Watch a new volunteer skip into his lair and run off with their tail between their legs once he got too much. No one stayed. Not like they did with everyone else.

Others made hybrid bonding look easy. They'd join circles and find mates in the same week. Same night, even. Claiming it all as 'the right timing'. The right person.

Sukuna was a wrong person. Therefore, no right person would fit. Like an unwanted puzzle piece.

Not that he cared. He didn't need to fit in with anyone. If he was too much for any twisted jigsaw of companionship then he'd simply be the missing piece. A corner piece no one looked for. The one that made no difference to the puzzle. The one that no one needed.

He preferred being alone, anyway.

If this last ditch effort blew up in smoke, he guessed he'd have his wish. Whatever facility they'd stuff him into— at least he would be alone. It was better that way.

By himself, he didn't have to soften his tongue. By himself, he didn't have to pretend that he did not have stripes, claws and canines. Didn't have to soften himself for someone who wouldn't soften for him.

Didn't have to watch anyone leave when he became too much.

You didn't leave.

A week went by. Then two. Three, before he knew it. You rooted yourself into his floorboards like a flourishing flower and offered him the same sunny smile every morning.

"How'd you sleep, Sukuna?" You'd ask, as if you cared.

"Fine." He'd grumble from the coffee machine. The bitter stain on his tongue refused to ever let him return the question.

Why should he bother with someone who was going to sign him off anyway? Might as well show her what she was getting herself into. His poor behaviour and slacking social skills, as his therapist put it.

You never flinched. Humans sure were resilient.

But he was hybrid. And everyone knew that tigers were ruthless.

He wouldn't shroud his nature to make himself more palatable for you. For anyone, ever again.

It's odd. You actually tried.

You adapted your body clock to him. Sukuna woke up drearily early. To catch the dawn on his ears during his morning run. He supposed you started waking up shortly after him. Giving you enough time to ready breakfast for him when he stepped back through the door.

Eggs. Bacon. Any raw protein you could think of. You were unfortunately, a good cook.

"This isn't necessary," he said from the counter, but still wolfed down your perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs.

"Waking up early has its perks." You mused, sipping your tea. Probably strawberry. Or rose. He hated that he now knew your favourites.

You made his bed whenever he wasn't looking. He scolded you for it, the first few times. You insisted it was fine. That you liked cleaning up.

You tried to watch movies with him. Plopped beside him on the sofa and struck him your signature smile.

"Wanna watch something?" You asked, soft. Already dangling the remote. Sukuna couldn't help but compare the size of your hand to his.

He scoffed. "What? Some romcom?"

"Or horror." You bashed.

His instincts told him that a gentle soul like you wouldn't last ten seconds with a horror movie. Still, he indulged you. The last thing he wanted was to endure some stupid hybrid hallmark film.

A slasher flick. He didn't pay attention to the name. All he knew was that you quivered halfway through it and that stirred an urge in his gut.

Urge to what? Now that, he once again had no answers to.

It was warm. Low. The same way he felt when kids dropped their ice creams and mothers tripped in grocery stores. He couldn't name it. But he did drape his arm over the back of the couch. Not grazing your shoulders but, there.

You'd probably have nightmares tonight. Silly girl. Now he would be obligated to return the favour.

Because you did, a few nights ago. When he tossed and turned. Creased his sheets and slashed his blankets. Sukuna wasn't one to dream— but he did have nightmares.

About the darkness. About the cold. About a void that for some, unfathomable reason, unsettled him.

"It's okay, shh." Your voice reached out to him through the shadow. Light against the darkness.

"It's okay. I'm here. Wake up, please."

You were luck he hadn't broken your arm.

His grip was too tight. Claws too wretched. Not lucid enough to realise that he snatched your wrist when he had woken up.

"Get out." His voice rumbled. Eyes bloodshot and pupils tight. Sweat burned his forehead.

It must have not sounded like a threat, or maybe it was your stupid human resilience. You leaned over him. One knee on his bed and your hand ghosting his shoulder.

"You're freezing," you whispered.

He jerked from you. Rolled over onto his side and refused to allow himself to be vulnerable under your gentle gaze.

"I'm fine." He said.

You insisted. Are you sure? — Can I get you anything? — All the things that people said to catch you off guard and then left anyway.

"I said I'm fine."

His voice boomed, final. It was the first time he'd seen you flinch. He did not bother calling out for you as you shuffled out of the room. Assumed your bags would be packed by the morning. Your pink body wash nowhere to be seen on his counters and your books vanished from his shelves.

You didn't leave. Here you were, a few days later, with shaky knees and a horror movie. But insisting that you were enjoying it for his sake.

You never turned tail. Never backed down. Maybe it was more than human resilience. Maybe it was stubbornness.

That's the only thing that made sense to him. Why else hadn't you disappeared regardless of how much steam he'd blown at you? Especially when he was too much.

"Let's get one thing straight."

You had said something stupid one day in the kitchen. Something about being there for him. Some empty promise he had heard mixed and minced several different ways until it lost all meaning.

As if his mood was not sour enough.

Your back pressed into the fridge. His strong forearm shoved above your head. Sukuna's hulking body shadowed yours. Perhaps this was it. Where you finally became apart of that void that haunted his dreams.

"You and I. Are not. Compatible." His ears pinned back to his head. Tail coiled tight. Like his jaw and teeth that clenched.

Still, you held his stare. Even when it burned.

"Not a thing. Not. Possible." He spat. "So stop acting like you aren't just gonna sign me off so I can be caged up."

"I'm not—"

"I want you to."

He cut you off. Sharp as his heave as he craned closer. Close enough to smell your cherry shampoo— but not a hint of fear.

What was wrong with you?

"I want you to sign me off. So that we can stop pretending like any of this is gonna work and that I'm anything but better off alone."

The fridge rattled as he shoved himself off. He expected your knees to shake. Expected you to clamber out of the kitchen and stuff whatever you could into a suitcase for the night.

Instead, you watched him storm off. With those same, achingly gentle eyes.

Why were you so gentle?

Why did you stay?

Why did he find himself being gentler, too?

Of course, Sukuna didn't want to snap at you. You were simply the closest thing. The softest thing. His hands weren't built to cherish the tender.

Yet, tender were his hands, as they cooked for you. If you handled breakfast, it was only fair that dinner was his responsibility. Even if all he exchanged with you were grunts and gruffs, as long as you went to bed full, he was content.

Content? Odd. That wasn't a word in his vocabulary anymore.

His voice dangered tender's territory on nights you'd be out. Work, friends, whatever he never bothered listening to but for some reason found himself worrying over when the street lights switched on.

"Do you need a lift back?" He asked into the phone. Taking note to look uninterested, even if you couldn't see him.

"I should be fine, Sukuna." You chirped.

"You sure? It's almost midnight."

"I'm sure! What's the worst that could happen?"

To a sweet thing like you? A lot. More than he'd like to imagine.

Morals, he told himself. He pulled up in the middle of the morning to pick you up because of his pesky morals.

"Sorry you had to come all this way," you said as you shut the passenger door.

Sukuna considered your dress. Hated himself for it.

"What?" His tongue clicked. "Were you expecting to walk all the way back?"

"What's the worst that could—"

"A lot."

It wasn't like the other times. His voice raised, but didn't roar. His brows narrowed, but didn't glare.

The car ride was silent.

Your smile was sickening.

Cute.

He watched you closer. Not as a tiger stalked prey. Not anymore. He couldn't name this.

He refused to call it gentle.

Even when he carefully observed the way you fixed your hair every morning. How he noted which of your curves that the sun bounced odd of. The soft plush of your body and how your thighs moulded into the couch cushions, or rounded perfectly in your shorts.

Never had he been one to appreciate art— though he stood in front of your canvases and stared at your paint patterns. Swirls of green and blotches of warmth. Illustrations of nature: jungles and wild flowers.

It called to something within him. He assumed his hybrid traits. A tiger yearned for jungle, that was his home.

Home.

Sukuna didn't have a home.

He had a house. He had you. Had pink body wash on his counters and books he'd learnt the names of on his shelves. Had a warm meal every morning and a warmer bed you still insisted on making.

He had movie nights. A running partner. Someone who finally rooted her heels to the floorboards and blossomed in his walls. Stubborn as she was shy.

But not a home.

It was only a matter of time. Until he said something that finally was the thing. Until he'd wake up to your paintings missing, and your shampoo gone. He'd come home to no protein, but a sheet of paper:

I've signed you off. Good riddance.

You told him that you wouldn't, after he insisted it that night in the kitchen.

You padded to doorway of his room, picking at your sleeves with a petal-soft voice.

"All we have to do is clear you for rehabilitation," you said.

Not once did your eyes meet his.

"Then what? I can finally be alone?" He asked, incredulous.

You nodded.

It's what he wanted. What he claimed to want. So why was your agreement a sharp pang between his ribs?

That was then. He assumed your plans hadn't changed much. A silent agreement that if he behaved, you'd leave him be by the end of it all.

That's why he was gentler, he told himself.

Just trying to ensure his goals, he insisted.

For now, he would take care of you as you did him. Whether conscious or not. If it meant that when it was through, he'd get what was best for him.

Solitude.

But if solitude was what he wanted, why did he hate seeing you in others' company?

It was late. Emergency work call. He missed his afternoon cat nap and only scuffed down half of his breakfast.

The sun peeped at him from its sprawl across the horizon. Glaring into the back of his head as he stalked home. Burning him hotter. Hot.

He felt so. Fucking. Hot.

It wasn't even summer yet. Spring had only perked its preppy head. The blossoms bloomed. Their nectar tickled his nose. Couples gifted their flowers.

Sukuna hated spring.

He hoped you hadn't cooked dinner yet. That was his job. His responsibility.

But no, you were outside. Prattling to a neighbour.

All smiles and soft. Cupping your hands in front of you as you listened to the man's stories. The irritable snow leopard that lived next door. With his baby blue eyes and boyish grin.

What were you even doing outside in the first place? Didn't he tell you it was dangerous once the street lights started switching on?

Sukuna did what he did best. He watched. Looming by the telephone wire. Feeling the sun stab into his head. His spine. Feeling the heat gurgle from his gut. Splutter up his lungs. Against the back of his teeth.

That spotted fucker touched your arm.

Sukuna scathed.

Blurred colours. A muffled yelp. His claw caught on your woolly sweater as he snatched your arm.

"Sukuna—!"

Your gasp drowned in the rumble of his growl. Grated from the back of his throat. The leopard backed off. Your muscles tensed under his calloused fingers.

"Inside. Now."

He didn't wait for you to agree nor disagree. Dragging you inside and rattling the walls as the door clattered! shut.

"Su—" he lodged your voice in your throat once more. Shoved your back into the nearest thing— the same splintering door.

Was it hotter inside? Or was that the anger?

A sweat drop sweltered between his brows.

"What the hell were you doing?" As if he had any right to ask. You weren't his mate.

Mate? Of course you weren't his mate.

Then why did his teeth crave to sink into your flesh? Mark you?

His stare hazed. Blinking rapidly. Heaving. The heat blistered into his nerves. Clenched his muscles. Suffocating. It was suffocating.

"Why were you. With him. Why—" he zeroed in. Mistake. Big mistake.

Your scent.

You weren't his mate. Why the hell did you smell like it, then?

Did you always smell this good?

Your gaped at him. Hands stiff on your sides and pressed flat into the wood. Your neck craned to account for the height difference. Were you watching him this time? Was he too much?

His eyes squeezed shut.

"Sukuna," you spoke. His name didn't deserve that gentleness. It ached him deeper today.

"I think you're. . ."

Snapping open his stare, he sucked in breath. Considered your words. The phrase your lips wrapped around.

Rut.

Shit.

He shoved himself away from the door. Away from you. The fire crawled up his throat. Thunked his heart. Thrummed a deep, dark chord in his gut.

The sweat slipping down his spine in the middle of spring confirmed it. He was in rut. With a poor, persistent, pretty human in claw's reach.

"Hey— hey it's okay," you attempted, stepping forward where he stumbled back.

"Don't."

He hissed.

You preserved.

Stubborn. Stubborn, sweet thing.

"Let me help." You offered.

"No."

He tried. Tried to stumble off. Lock himself in his room. He could hump the mattress for all he cared but he wasn't so much as touching—

You took him by the wrist. Might as well have taken his soul while you were at it.

Splintered his restraint.

The door rattled again. Creaked awfully with the weight of him. On you. The thickness of the air. The heat. Your wrists fit well in his big hands. Looked like they belonged there.

You looked like you belonged here. Pinned under him.

His chest heaved. Voice jagged, throaty.

"You don't know what you're getting into." He said.

You gulped. He paid too much attention to your throat. "I did when I signed up for this."

"Do you even know what a rut is?"

"I know you can't be alone right now."

Sukuna's breath hitched.

You relaxed your hips. Let them mould into his. Their plush softness drove him wild.

Lashes hung over deep maroons. The quiet thrummed with your heart beats. His, thundering and wanting. Yours, tender yet eager.

He craned closer. Tuffs of his pink hair tickled your forehead.

"I can do awful things to you." He whispered.

Still no flinches. You never did.

Your eyes batted at him.

"Is that so bad?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

Even the kiss, burned.

Your lips really were petal-soft. Softer than he had imagined. He hated himself for imagining this in the first place.

The knot in his gut wound tight. Urging him to flush you further into the wood. Flush further into you. Patience slipped into the simmer between your mouths. Sukuna kissed you with violence. Nothing contained. Nothing hidden.

He told you that he wouldn't placate himself for you.

Abandoning your wrists, his grip sought your plush. Squeezing your thighs between his fingers gaps. Lifting you into his arms so that your heels pressed into his back. So that he could consume you. Tongues tangling and teeth tackling.

Your hands smacked at his shoulder. Breaths huffed through your nose. A desperate sound that plunged him deeper into heat.

He let you breathe. Barely.

"I can be good for you." Was what you used the privilege to gasp.

His chest rumbled. "Yeah?"

The slope of your throat was so pretty when you gulped.

Sukuna slipped a hand to your cheek. Rough. He couldn't be gentle. Not with you. Not now.

"Gonna be good for me, pretty girl?"

Eyes blown out. Jaw tight. If you said anything other than your whined little yes as his hips ground into yours, he might have lost his mind entirely.

His mouth attacked yours again. Sucking on whatever was left of your lychee lipgloss. Surely bruising your lips in the process. He didn't care. Let him mark you. Everywhere. So that stupid snow leopards didn't get the wrong idea. So that everyone knew what you were.

His.

The home blurred into vertigo colours. The floors creaked under the weight of his footsteps. Sukuna hoisted you with him. Haphazardly avoiding furniture in the stagger to his bedroom. Hands palming at whatever part of your flesh he could reach.

He almost stumbled in the hallway. Caught you against the doorway, one of your hands gripped at it while the other clutched the back of his neck. Fisted his hair between your fingers.

"Sukuna, careful." You whined.

He didn't listen. Too busy humping on your thighs that squished perfectly between his hard body and the cold door. Nurturing his bulge. Tucking its hot curve into the smooth crux of your skin.

"Said you'd be good for me." His growl rumbled on your pulse. Teeth mapping out his new territory: your velvet flesh. "So shut up and take it. Like a good girl, yeah?"

The door swung open. You must have palmed the handle. Feet fumbled in a clumsy waltz. Hands clinging for dear life. He caught you. Kept you pressed against his blazing body as he mouthed down your throat. Latched onto a tender spot. Marked you.

Sukuna handled his ruts the way he handled everything else: alone. His hand, a pillow, and a grotesque amount of tissue boxes. When last had he felt the soft touch of a partner? Held their warmth beneath him while his mind drove him wild with fire?

He was always too much. Too much to handle. Too aggressive. Too big.

But you.

You seemed to want everything.

In the way your nails curled on his shirt. In the pitiful way your neck arched to give him more access. Offering yourself up to him. A pretty deer who craved a tiger's claws in her. His maw latched to your throat.

"You're so eager," he groaned.

You whimpered, "I'm yours."

Fuck.

The mattress sunk. Creaking in retort to the callousness of his shove. Your body moulded into his sheets. Into him, as he staggered over you. Knees digging into the bed. Teeth clamped on the base of your throat.

You jerked. A gasped cry vibrating against his teeth. Palms knocking into his shoulders. To push him off?

No— to grip. Cling. To him. To your mate.

After all, you were his now, weren't you?

Bites bloomed across your neck. Over your collarbone. Down your shoulders. Your clothes threading like ribbons under Sukuna's claws. The sound of fabric tearing accentuated the rough pants and pitched whines in the humid air.

He wanted to speak. Wanted to tell you what a good girl you were being for him. Wanted to grunt into your skin about how perfect you were. Tell you that you were everything he'd been waiting for.

The words lodged in his throat. Sticky on the back of his tongue that could only muster out wet pants and deep growls as he feasted on your flesh.

Every inch of your skin revealed to him was another blessing. Your curves. The dips. The soft slopes of your body. Salivated him all the more.

Your bra never stood a chance. Clawed away. Probably ruined at the wire. He didn't care. He'd buy you a new one. Buy you whatever you wanted if you were gonna carry his cubs.

Cubs.

The word slipped into his mind with ease, and ruined it.

Pupils blown out. Lungs clenching. He made the mistake of eyeing your tummy.

Perfect, round, soft. You'd be the perfect mate. The perfect mother for his young.

The thought spurred his hands rougher. Tearing away offensive fabrics until you were laid completely bare before him. With big, doe eyes batting up at him. So pretty. So his.

From the corner of his eye he spotted your hands slipping. To cover up. Cover what was his. Your wrists were snatched in his hard grip.

"Don't," he warned. Lips assaulting yours. Stealing your breath and tonguing on your whimpers.

"Don't hide what's mine."

Your tits were softer under his tastebuds. Delicate to the harsh swirls of his tongue. So small when compared to his mouth that sought to consume, to claim.

Sweet sounds sighed from your kiss-bitten lips. Your spine curved so that you pressed back into him. Squishing your plush breasts into his face. His groan rumbled into the flesh.

So tender it was maddening. So perfect it was addicting.

Kisses, sucks, bites. He littered your tits in more claims. Feasting on your silk flesh. Fantasising about the image of them larger. Fat and swollen with milk— just as you were round with his cubs.

His cock strained thick in his pants. Flushed hot on your inner thigh. He ground into your warmth. Rutting wildly. Like the animal he always was.

Your hands delving into his hair almost broke him. Almost. He withdrew from your chest. Eyes glowing through the dark as he found your face.

"Taste so good. So sweet." A hand roughed down your side. Cupped your thigh and strung it round his waist.

"Up."

Raw strength scooped you into his palms. Flesh spilling between the gaps of his fingers as he squeezed for good measure.

Your little squeaks were so cute.

Teeth dragged on your flesh. Callous over bites sunk into your gentle flesh. He lapped on the indents of his own canines as he wrest you over him. Shoved your thighs higher. Urging you. Demanding.

"Face. Now. Fucking sit on my face."

Senseless. Each word was a growl. It's a miracle you understood him at all. Maybe you always would. That's how mates were, right?

The cotton of your panties dragged on his collarbone. Frantic eyes darted to your face as your hips locked. Unmoving.

Stubborn little human.

"What?" He husked. Scuffling to shove you over his awaiting face. "I said sit."

Your lips pressed together. Hands scrambling for the headboard. "Wait are you— are you sure? I'm—"

"—driving me mad." He hissed through clenched teeth. The throbbing in his groin pulsed the sickening heat hotter. Seared into the back of his skull. To his hands that groped your ass. To his eyes that narrowed.

"Said I wanna taste you. So get. On."

Was that too much?

Was he too much for you?

No, course not. You wanted to be his good girl. He saw it in your doe eyes batting at him. In the quiver of your lip and the tremors of your thighs. You shuffled over him. Pressing the cusp of your panties against his chin.

"Like this?" You meeked.

"Like this."

Sukuna tugged you over him. Knocking your thighs. You stumbled. Caught yourself with shaky fingers in his hair and an adorable yelp.

The musked cotton scrunched into his nose, his mouth, the rest of his hard face. Stuffing his nostrils with the sweet, intoxicating aroma. His eyes threatened to roll back.

A muffled curse rumbled into your heat. First came his tongue. Abrasive like everything else about him. Lapping on your folds. Drenching the fabric. Trying to suck in your taste through it.

Then came his teeth. Impatient. Tearing into your panties. His head wrest, violent. Claws ripping away the cloth in a feral affair.

Your sweet heat was his reward. Slicking up his face with your clit pressed into his nose.

"Fuck," his groan thrummed. Straight into your velvet. Leaking your pussy into his agitated mouth. "Knew you'd taste s'fucking sweet."

Hands slipped up your thighs. Cupped your ass. Sukuna sought to press kisses to your quivering slit— but you dangled above him. Not pressed, not sat. Hovered.

"Said. Fucking sit."

He hauled you into him. Cramped your thighs into his head. Smothered your pussy into his face. Even with his ears muffled by your plush, he heard your stunned gasp.

The weight was perfect on his head. Your hands were perfect in his hair. Pussy pretty, pulsing, perfect, on his tongue that stroked over your slit. Lathered you in saliva. All the way to your clit.

He darted the muscle. Circled on your bud. Trying to commit to a rhythm. A pattern. It scathed into the heat of his rut. The heat to take, to claim. To make you his. Finally.

Even if you hated him after this.

Even if you signed him off and he finally got what he wanted. Solitude.

Right now, all he wanted was your pussy.

Filthy squirts and sloshes squelched through the room. Brimming the hazed air together with your whines. Moans. Gasps of his name.

He always hated how gently you said it. Like it meant something. Like it ever could mean something. Hearing it broken sounded better. Shaky and whimpered as he fucked you on his tongue.

"S-Suk— kuna, ah."

Sweet. So sweet. Sweeter than he ever deserved. But Sukuna was a greedy man. So he gripped on your thighs, bit his nails into your flesh, and feasted to his heart's content.

"There ya go. C'mon, pretty girl, ride my face."

Spank! went his hand. Clamouring your ass and fisting the jiggles. Pulling you down, harder, closer— till he was suffocating. Suckling on your clit. Guiding your hips into a sinful sway.

Your hips fell into rhythm. Atta girl. Always so sweet for him. Always so obedient. Yeah, if you stayed, you'd make the perfect mate.

He hoped you stayed.

He could make you stay.

Keep you in his bed. Make a den for you. Hold you down and fuck you into his sheets day-in-and-day-out. Fill you up until your tummy grew even rounder. Softer. Until you were swollen. Until you were his.

No. Fuck. That's the rut talking.

The rut talking.

It's the rut that had him palming your ass and squeezing you into his face. The rut that had his mouth kissing, sucking, licking and laving through your creamy mess. The rut that had him fucking you on his tongue and bucking his hip into the air just as yours ground down into his face. Smearing mess all over him.

Yeah. That's the rut. But fuck, if he wasn't drunk on your pathetic moans. Your messy pussy.

Your clit spasmed under the flat of his harassing tongue. Your thighs clamped around his head. Fingers dug into his skull. Even your pain was sweet.

"Shit— kuna." Your voice croaked. Called to him as a mate should. "I'm gonna, fuck. Think 'm gonna. . . gonna—"

His eyes fluttered. Throat rasped.

"Gonna cum? Yeah? Gonna cum, hah, all over my face?"

From between the small gap of your thigh, Sukuna witnessed your face. Eyes rolled back. Jaw slack. Tits bouncing as you rode his face as if he was yours.

He was.

In this moment. In these blurred lines of his rut. Where he pictured you as his mate. Entertained the thought of wanting. Of being wanted. Of not being alone.

He was yours. Even if for a moment.

You sung his name through the haze. Tender even when he ripped you apart at the seams. Delicate even in his claws that threatened to tear into you. Mark you with scars and blood.

Your hips clumsily rocked. Once—twice—locked up in feverish tremors. Your hands bunching his hair. Clinging. Your body hunched over his. Shattering.

Sukuna rode you through an orgasm with his lips latched around your clit. Sucking harsh on its throbs. Teething on its twitches.

You splattered his face in warmth. Sweet, sickening warmth that doused him deeper into his rut's clutches.

"That's it. There you go. Fuck. Prettiest fucking pussy," he slurred into your wetness. Tongue delving between your puffy folds. Lapping up your cum. Greedy.

You toppled over him. Breaths ragged. One hand clutched in his hair and the other on the headboard.

"Wanna— wanna help. Wanna." To his surprise you pulled on his hair. Interrupting his creamy kisses on your slit.

Stares met. His hot. Yours warm. Wanting.

"Wanna make you feel good too."

How pretty you were when you quivered. Lips glossed by drool and lashes soaked with tears. It ached a deep chamber in his heart.

"Wanna be good for me?" He panted.

Your nod was doeish. As everything else about you was. His delicate girl. So fragile in his hands.

He couldn't wait to break you.

The bed creaked again. You squeaked as he hauled you down into the wrinkled sheets. On your back with his hulking weight pressing down on you. His mouth fixed to yours. Magnetic. Addicted. Letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"That mean you gonna let me breed you too, baby?" Catching your lip between his teeth, he grunted. Pressing the swell of his cock between your legs. Staining his crotch in your slick. "Gonna let me breed this sweet pussy?"

Your response was sweet, shy, but oh so eager. A tepid nod, as your fingers slipped to his shoulders. So small. Smaller than him in every way. He took the moment to appreciate it.

You, spread and waiting for him. Your pussy, swollen and twitching. His bulge pressed on your glistening folds dwarfed you entirely.

Oh, how you'd squirm on his cock.

At last he shrugged his shirt off. Shivered when your touch feathered over his chest. He made the mistake of watching your eyes. How they mapped out scars that your fingers traced.

You didn't have to say anything. Your gaze spelt affection he wasn't ready to receive.

"Don't stare at me like that." He gruffed, kicking off his pants.

"Why not?" You asked.

"Makes me think you want me."

"I do want you, kuna."

Damn you.

Damn you and your tenderness. Damn you and that sweet nickname your sugar lips latched onto. Damn you and the way you made his cock throb hard in the strained fabric of his boxers.

He palmed your throat. Focused on your pulse. The control he held over you in the moment.

"Shut up." His hiss muffled with a kiss. Hot and open-mouthed on yours. As if he could suck the words from your tongue and swallow them into his gut that knew better.

Knew that he was better off alone. That this was only for the sake of his rut.

Bulging and angry, his tip nudged between your thighs. Soaking up your arousal. The slippery sensation of your pussy sent shivers down his spine. So wet. For him. Only him.

He let you pull away. Watching as your gaze lowered to his thick cock sandwiched between your folds. Sliding against your slit and dragging on your clit. Your wide eyes eased a chuckle from him.

"What?" He drawled. "Too big?"

"Well. . . yes."

"And every inch's gonna fucking breed you."

He pinned you back into the mattress. Flat on your back with your knees scooped into his big hands. Dwarfed you there too. He pressed them back into you so that they kissed your tits. Folding you in half and completely exposing you entirely to his hungry eyes.

Salivating. He was salivating. Your eyes were too kind for how lewd your pussy spread out for him. Leaking a string of mess. Calling for him. Wanting him.

"Keep your eyes on me, you got that?" Maroon burned into yours. Searching for hesitance. For fear. For something that could cut into this feverish rut and remind him that he didn't deserve you. But no.

You obeyed him.

You wanted him.

His cockhead slotted against your slit. Dipping in to feel the silky sin of your pussy. A deep groan rumbled from the depths of his chest. His brows furrowed. Fuck. When last had he had this?

Blunt nails dug into the backs of your thighs as he sunk in. One inch. Two inch. Three inch. Four— popping through the first tight ring of resistance. Eyes devouring yours the entire time.

He watched your face. How it scrunched up and your mouth parted. How tears clouded your eyes as he pushed past the halfway point.

He stopped.

"You good?" He huffed. Barely gentle.

Very. Gentle.

"Yeah it's— just. . . just a lot." You croaked.

"Too much?"

His face didn't falter, but his heart sure did. His grip loosening on your limbs. Ready to let you go. Free you from him.

But you shook your head. Teary eyed. Twitching smile.

"Not enough."

Hips possessed. Mind a mess. He slammed forward at those two, pretty little words. Till his tip smooched your cervix and his balls squished into your folds. Bottomed out. Filling you to the brim.

The sound you made was sin itself. A blessing. Heaven, hell, and everything in between.

"Oh fuck." You cried, head tossed back. Unable to see him gasping out the same exclaim.

Your syrupy cunt hugged around him. Tight, snug. Nursing on an underside vein and milking him around the tip. Every pulse was your heartbeat, and it devastated him.

Cussing, he pushed down onto you. His heart tugging itself towards yours. To press into your skin as his hips started rutting. Slow, eager.

"Fuck. Look at you take this cock. Like you were born for it," his words husked above you.

Your lashes fluttered. Brows knitting at the centre. He watched your tears threaten to slip as he humped on the sensitive ring that was your cervix.

His tongue clicked. Swapping out a hand on your thigh, he snatched you beneath the jaw instead. Wrenching your face to his hot one.

"Didn't I say keep your eyes on me?"

"M sorry."

"Don't apologise, just take it."

He withdrew. Halfway at first— then shoved back in. The second time was further. And further. Until his thrusts pulled to the tip and plunged back to your womb. Languid, but hard. Sure to make you feel every inch of him pressing into your pussy nerves.

You soaked up his thighs. Splashing his balls and leaking a puddle into the sheets already. The scent was intoxicating. Flared his nostrils and dizzied his head.

The mattress shook beneath the power of his thrusts. Your body bounced with it. He made sure to coil his tail tight around your waist. Held you down like a predator did prey as he fucked you open on his cock.

Pleasure built a knot in his gut. Hot, heavy. Urging his hips to snap harder and chase bruises on your jiggling ass.

Every sound was sin. Sweet. Cries, moans, a whimper than surged into a whine of his name when he removed his other hand from your thigh to instead hold them back with a steeled forearm. So that his palm could press on the bulge swelling up the base of your tummy.

"Fuuckkk," he growled. Ears pinned back to his hair. Jaw hung and canines glinting. "Look at that. See that, pretty girl? What's here?"

You hiccuped, "your— ah. Your cock!"

"Yeah? What's it doing?"

"It's—"

You couldn't answer. Slurred by moans and the delicious drive of his dick stretching you out. He watched your eyes go static.

Spank! his palm landed hot on your clit. Bulging your eyes and jerking your hips up into his frantic thrusts. He laid another. Two. Three— encouraging your pitiful whimpers.

"Asked you a fucking question. What's it doing?"

"It's— hah. B. . . Breeed—"

"Breeding you? Yeah?"

"Uhuh! Breeding. Breeding me s-so . . . s'goood."

Drool bubbled on your lips. Your hands that had tried to scramble on his shoulders and dig your mark into his flesh now fell flat on the pillow. Beside your head. Limp like the rest of your body that surrendered itself to him.

Heat surged down his spine as you clamped around him. Sucking the air from his scathing lungs. Staining his base in a thick, filthy ring of cream.

His hips rammed all the more faster. Harder. Imprinting you into his bed. Your slick. Your sweat. Your scent.

One of your weak hands slipped down. Meeking over to his larger one fixed on your stomach. Wrapping around two of his massive fingers. Or at least trying to.

It strung a deep chord in him. Thin and vulnerable. One he has thought he cut out long ago.

His half slipped over yours. Fingers laced. Pressing you against the bulge he plunged into your tummy. Holding your hand. Holding it tight.

"Sweet pussy's milking me," his grunt fanned your pulse as he swooped down. Mouthing on your neck. Searching for your pulse to feel it race beneath his lips. "Fuck. Wants my cum so bad. Wants my cubs."

"Please!" You slurred.

He swore he could do this for life.

Shoving all the way, Sukuna paused on your cervix. Sweat dripping from his hair. Cock drumming heavy. He clamped you down through your protesting whines.

"Yeah, yeah, shut it." It didn't sound harsh. Especially not with his firm squeeze on your hand.

Slipping out just enough, he watched your juices spray all over him. Mesmerising him. He worked on autopilot. Bundling you into his arms and manhandling you into a different position.

Tossing you to your side, Sukuna slotted behind you. Hips spooning your ass. One strong arm hooked around your neck, choking you on his bicep. While the other strung around your thigh. Wrenching you open for him and his massive cock, that bullied back into your cunt. Squelching your cum and sick in messy streams.

Your angelic cries resonated into his bicep. Making him squeeze it harder against your throat. Headlocking you into his greedy mouth that sucked hickies across your neck.

The angle was deeper. Filthier. Letting him feel so much more of you.

How much smaller you were than him. How you squeezed him just right. How perfect you were in his arms.

Like you belonged.

Shit. Don't go there.

Sukuna tried to drown it out. The returning thought of you. A permanent fixture in his life. Your pink body wash on his counter, that was now his. Your books on his shelves that he could read to you. You, in his living room, painting.

Painting the jungle. Painting home. Being his home.

His cock pulsed hard at the base and sweltered at the tip. The knot in his stomach wound tight. But that thought— that thought gutted him.

That you were here. That you had been here. Warm, and sweet, and soft and for the last few weeks. His.

You could be his.

"No," he wanted it to sound like a grunt. But he whimpered. Panting, heaving, mind dizzy and thrusts frantic—

Sukuna was whimpering.

Your face was pressed into his bicep. Head limp and hand still trying to hold his that clutched your thigh. Still calling his name so sweetly.

"N-No?" You breathed.

Still attuned to him even when he was fucking your brains out.

"Don't want you to leave."

Oh.

Oh.

He hadn't realised that it slipped from his lips. Hadn't realised that through his brutal thrusts— he was breaking. Lost in the burning bliss, the heat, and the warmth of what could be.

Sukuna lost his fucking mind.

"Don't wanna— fuck. Don't wanna be alone." His face fell into your neck. Arms squeezing your body into his. Trying to melt your skin into his. Tuck himself into your warm flesh and the selfish wish you gave him.

Hazed, and hot, and so heavenly yours.

Slick hair pressed into your cheek. His body collapsed onto yours. Pounding his cock up into your creamy cunt. Chasing his blazing nerves as his mouth rambled.

"Don't want you to leave. Don't. Shit. Don't leave me, please, please don't fucking leave me."

His thrusts lost rhythm. As frantic as his rushed whispers. Plunging into your cervix. Bruising your thighs. Clutching you closer. As close as he could muster. As close as it would take to keep you here forever.

"Say you won't— say you," he slurred. Eyes squeezed shut. Words melting into a clumsy splutter of curses. "Say. Say you won't. Say—"

"Won't. Won't. 'kuna I won't— hngahh. Promise!"

That single word. So raw. So true. Choked in a gasp as you tried to nudge your face closer to him.

It shattered whatever pride he had left.

"You promise?"

He croaked. Dangerously hopeful.

You nodded. Cried.

"Promise. I promise S'kuna. Breed me— please."

He should have known you'd be trouble from the moment you first smiled at him.

Heat trapped him. Seeped into every nerve and spasming muscle. Ears drooped. Tail clinging around your waist, as his arms did every inch of you.

He held your hand.

The ache in his hips nulled to the sound of your sweet voice. Tucking promises away in his heart and sealing them with attempted kisses, even when he was choking you.

He felt your orgasm shake through you. Your body locking up as you babbled his name into the humidity. And with that Sukuna finally— finally let go.

Ramming his cock up one, final time. He stilled. Deep and thrumming within you. Heat bursting from his gut and washing over him in a devastating wave of blissful carnage.

Loud and wrecked, his moan vibrated into your back. Hips rocking in small stutters as spluttering, white ropes creamed your cervix. Pouring his thick cum into every inch of your twitching cunt. Brimming you with him and his promise.

"Fucking. . . fuck. . . hah. Take it. Take all this cum in your pretty pussy." Slurs dragged up your throat, to your ear as you face limped into his arm. His voice husked, a vow.

"Just feel me breeding you full. Filling you with my cubs."

You whined, meekly rocking back into him. But he snatched your hips and pressed it down into the mattress with a soft hush.

The throbbing at his base thrummed into swelling. His knot bloomed until it lodged stiff in your cunt. Pulsing with your pathetic little twitches.

He watched your eyes widen and brows furrow. Your body locked up and a whimper strained from your swollen lips. "Mmm. That's your—"

"Mhhm. Just stay still."

Laving his tongue over one of the bites, Sukuna held you near. Savouring your warmth.

The silence finally didn't feel like a void. Even if it was heavy.

He held onto the moment. Clung to its peace as the warmth simmered into cooling sweat on your flesh.

You broke the quiet first.

"Did you mean that?"

He didn't answer you. But his hand cupped your tummy. Fingers still laced in yours as his face tucked against the back of your shoulder.

". . . Was it too much?"

He never thought his voice could ache.

You tried to shift again, and despite the lump in his throat, he clicked his tongue. Squeezed your thigh in warning. "I said stay still, didn't I?"

"You're never too much. Not for me, Sukuna."

There you went, saying his name like it meant something.

Nudging your face to his, Sukuna licked at the tears on your face. A tender act he never thought himself capable of. "Don't say shit like that."

"That I want you? Or that I love you?"

His breath hitched.

Once the knot settled, he pulled out. Hesitantly— especially with your heat still clinging to him.

"You love me?" He muttered, laying a kiss on your cheek. Then to your jaw. To your shoulder. Down your body until you were on your back.

Calloused thumbs swept your folds back. Eyeing the lewd streak of cum leaking out of you.

His eyes found yours as you spoke, tender.

"Do you want me to say it again?" One of your hands raked into his hair.

His face nudged between your thighs. His hummed approval followed the flat of his tongue. Laving up your slit. Licking away the mess and holding your thighs open amidst their intense shivers.

Even as you whined. With your eyes on the brink of tears. They were still soft for him.

"I love you."

You shouldn't.

He shouldn't.

But he still said it back.

"My mate."

Low, and grumbled, not those three words but something that spelt a deeper bond. One he finally had.

After licking you clean, Sukuna bundled you up into the sheets. Pushing himself from the bed and returning with a warm towel and a water bottle.

He cradled the back of your head as he gave you the water.

Worshipped your flesh as he wiped you down. Tracing over bruises and bites. His mark.

And when you were finally tucked into his arms. Dozing off with your head nestled on his heart that now beat for you. His tail curled around your leg and his claws soft on your curves. Sukuna understood.

That his too much was just enough for you.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/pixopix | art cred: @/cakkezzz ( twt )

You're sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of his hoodies while some random variety show plays in the background. The apartment is dim except for the yellow glow from the kitchen lights and the television flickering across the living room walls.

Mingyu disappears into the bedroom for a moment before reappearing with his wallet in hand. “We need to go to the convenience store.”

You blink slowly up at him. “Right now?”

Mingyu leans against the kitchen island with his arms folded across his chest, already dressed in a hoodie, “yeah.”

You glance toward the digital clock glowing beneath the television. 11:47 PM.

Your brows pull together immediately. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“And?” he asks easily, like that means absolutely nothing.

The answer comes way too casually. That alone makes you suspicious.

You narrow your eyes at him instantly, studying the expression hidden behind his annoyingly pretty face. Mingyu only acts this relaxed when he is hiding something.

Usually it comes with a smile exactly like the one he is trying not to show right now, lips twitching at the corners like he already knows something you do not.

“You’re weird,” you mumble slowly.

His grin appears immediately, boyish and completely unapologetic. “You love me.”

You stare at him flatly. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He pushes himself off the counter and walks over toward the couch, stopping right in front of you before reaching down to tug lightly at the blanket wrapped around your legs. “I want snacks.”

“You could’ve ordered them.”

“I don’t want delivery.”

There's a split second pause before you laugh in disbelief because that is objectively the biggest lie he has ever told.

“You literally order everything,” you say, sitting up straighter now. “Groceries. Toothpaste. Protein bars. You ordered batteries online once because you said you were too lazy to go downstairs.”

“That was different.”

“How so?”

“It just was.” You squint at him harder.

“No,” you say slowly. “See, now you’re definitely hiding something.”

Mingyu exhales through his nose like he is trying not to laugh. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“You’re literally smiling.”

“I always smile at you.”

“Smooth,” you admit reluctantly.

“I know.”

You stare at him for another few seconds before sighing dramatically and throwing your phone onto the couch cushions. “If Dispatch catches us buying instant ramen at midnight, I’m blaming you.”

Mingyu’s eyes brighten with victory so quickly it almost makes you regret agreeing. “They won’t.”

You point at him accusingly. “You said that last time and then somebody uploaded a photo of us holding matching umbrellas.”

“That was romantic.”

“That was humiliating.”

He only laughs before leaning down to press a quick kiss against your forehead, entirely too pleased with himself.

“Go put shoes on, baby.”

~

Twenty minutes later, the two of you are stepping out of the apartment building dressed like the most suspicious people alive.

Both of you are in oversized hoodies and sweatpants. Caps pulled low. Face masks covering most of your faces.

You even changed your phone case because Mingyu once claimed sasaengs could identify idols by accessories alone, which still sounded insane to you.

The problem is that Mingyu is unfortunately still very recognisable no matter what he wears.

He is too tall. Too broad. Too handsome.

Even hidden beneath layers, he still looks unmistakably like Mingyu.

The convenience store down the street is almost empty when you walk in. You grab a basket while Mingyu wanders toward the drinks section.

“You’re not even gonna tell me what we came here for?” you ask.

“Nope.”

You shake your head before drifting through the aisles alone. At first you genuinely only grab one bag of chips, but then the late-night convenience store cravings hit you all at once.

Strawberry milk. Gummy candies. Instant tteokbokki. Ice cream. Two random pastries you absolutely do not need. A cup ramen because suddenly you are starving.

You toss things into the basket absentmindedly while humming quietly to yourself, occasionally glancing around for Mingyu.

Every now and then you catch sight of him at the end of another aisle, towering over shelves while reading labels.

At one point you notice two teenage girls near the drinks fridge staring very hard in his direction.

One of them grabs the other’s arm so aggressively that her juice nearly falls out of her hands.

You immediately duck your head lower beneath your cap.

Oh, great.

Mingyu either does not notice or simply does not care. Probably the second option.

By the time you make it to the checkout counter, your basket is embarrassingly full.

You set it down with a sigh while fishing around in your hoodie pocket for your phone.

The cashier glances up lazily at first before completely freezing. His eyes flick between you and Mingyu. Then widen. Immediate recognition.

Mingyu finally walks over beside you, one hand tucked into his hoodie pocket casually. And then, without a single ounce of shame, he drops three boxes into the basket.

Three packets of extra large condoms. Your entire soul leaves your body. You stare at the boxes. Then at him. Then back at the boxes again. Wide-eyed.

“Mingyu.” The word comes out somewhere between a whisper and a threat.

His gaze moves to you innocently. “What?”

You lower your voice instantly. “WHAT is that?”

Mingyu follows your stare down into the basket like he genuinely has no idea what you are referring to. Then he looks back at you. “Condoms.”

“I can SEE that.”

“We were out.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again because the complete calmness in his voice is making this infinitely worse.

Around you, the convenience store suddenly feels painfully quiet.

The cashier, who had looked mildly bored thirty seconds ago, is now staring at the ramen noodles like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

You can physically feel the heat crawling up your neck beneath your mask.

“Mingyu,” you hiss quietly, “you could’ve bought one.”

He shrugs. “I bought three.”

“That’s not helping.”

His eyes crease with amusement above the edge of his black mask, shoulders relaxing like this entire situation is perfectly normal to him.

“Babe, relax.”

“Relax?” you whisper sharply, glancing nervously toward the cashier before lowering your voice even further. “He knows who we are.”

At that exact moment, the cashier avoids looking at either of you so aggressively that it only confirms your fears.

Meanwhile, Mingyu stands there completely shameless, one hand in the pocket of his hoodie while the other lazily taps against the counter.

“Okay,” he says reasonably, “but we still needed them.”

You stare at him in genuine disbelief.

“How are you not embarrassed right now?”

That finally makes him look at you properly, brows lifting slightly beneath the brim of his cap like the thought had genuinely never crossed his mind.

“Why would I be embarrassed?”

“You just threw giant condoms into the basket in public.”

“So?”

“So?” you repeat incredulously. “Do you want the public to know what size condoms you use?”

“There’s one person here.”

“That’s not the point.”

His gaze flicks toward the cashier for half a second before returning to you again, completely unbothered.

“He doesn’t care.”

The cashier suddenly scans the chips with unnecessary intensity. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound somehow makes everything worse.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” You stare at him in disbelief. “Besides, all I did was buy condoms.”

“Three boxes of them? Really?”

He tilts his head slightly. “You say that like it’s my fault we go through them fast.”

You make the most offended sound imaginable while the cashier nearly misses scanning the strawberry milk.

~

On the walk home, you keep smacking his arm while he carries the plastic bags with zero remorse whatsoever.

“You are actually unbelievable.”

“What did I do?”

Your head snaps toward him so fast your cap nearly falls off.

“You could’ve ordered them online like you do with literally everything else!” you whisper-yell while walking beside him down the quiet street, your sneakers scuffing against the pavement as you struggle to keep up with his stupidly long legs.

“Why would you buy something so—”

You cut yourself off abruptly, hands flailing in frustration because you genuinely cannot find the words to describe how insane that entire interaction had been.

Humiliating? Mortifying? Life ruining?

You let out a defeated groan instead, dropping your head back dramatically toward the night sky. “Oh my god.”

Beside you, Mingyu looks entirely unbothered . Actually, no. Worse. He looks pleased with himself.

“You’re overreacting,” he says lightly.

You whip your head toward him immediately. “I am NOT overreacting.”

“You kind of are.”

“The cashier literally saw—”

“He’s probably seen people buy condoms before.”

“Not you!”

That finally earns a laugh out of him. A real one this time. Low and warm and completely unhelpful.

“We needed them immediately.”

The words come out so casually that your brain almost does not process them at first. Then it does.

You stop walking instantly.

Mingyu takes another step before noticing you are no longer beside him. He turns around slowly, streetlights casting soft gold across the edges of his face beneath his cap.

You stare at him. He stares back calmly. Completely serious. Then he gives the smallest shrug imaginable. Like that explanation should make perfect sense to you.

Your jaw drops. “Mingyu.” His mouth twitches. “You’re so annoying!”

The satisfaction in his eyes is immediate. Pure smug amusement sparkles there while he walks back toward you slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie now.

“And yet,” he says smoothly, stopping right in front of you, “you still came home with me.”

You groan loudly, shoving his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh again.

“But am I wrong?”

“Yes.”

“You hesitated.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“Shut up.”

He grins beneath his mask, eyes practically glowing with amusement while you try to ignore how unfairly attractive he looks standing there under the streetlights.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you mumble finally.

His fingers slide easily between yours.

“I know,” he says quietly.

Then, because he cannot help himself, he leans down close enough for you to feel his breath against the top edge of your mask.

“Good thing too. Otherwise those three boxes would’ve gone to waste.”

You stare at him in complete horror before smacking his arm again while he laughs loud enough to echo down the empty street.

~

The next morning is catastrophic. Absolutely catastrophic.

You wake up to your phone vibrating nonstop against the bedside table.

At first you think it is your manager. Then you see the sheer number of notifications. Messages from friends. Messages from staff. Messages from members. Missed calls.

Your stomach drops immediately.

Beside you, Mingyu is still half asleep, face pressed into your shoulder. You unlock your phone. And nearly scream. Worldwide trending.

He leans down to kiss you despite your complaints, smiling against your lips while you groan in embarrassment.

Photos of you and Mingyu walking into the convenience store. Photos of you leaving. A blurry zoomed-in picture of Mingyu holding the plastic bag.

And somehow, horrifyingly, a leaked photo of the receipt. You stare at the screen in complete silence. Then another post appears captioned: “NOT THE THREE XL PACKS?????”

You throw your phone onto the bed. “Mingyu.”

He hums sleepily.

“Mingyu.”

“What?”

“We’re trending.”

That wakes him up slightly. “For what?”

You just point at the phone with the expression of somebody moments away from losing their mind. He picks it up.

Scrolls. Reads. And then the audacity of this man.

He starts laughing. Actually laughing. You’re horrified. “Mingyu, this is not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“The cashier POSTED THE RECEIPT.”

He bursts into louder laughter at that, falling back against the pillows while you bury your face into your hands in pure humiliation.

“Oh my god,” you mumble miserably. “I can never show my face again.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“People know what size condoms you use now.”

“That’s not exactly devastating for me.”

You look at him in disbelief. He’s still grinning. Still completely unbothered.

Then he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you down against his chest despite your protests.

“You know,” he says casually, “the comments seem pretty supportive.”

You groan loudly into the pillow.

A sigh escaped you before you could stop it as you walked towards the frozen section in the supermarket. Lately, you didn’t really feel like cooking, nor did you have the time to do so, so heating up some frozen veggies and some pre-cooked chicken breast had to be enough. 

“I called her pretty recently?” You hesitated a bit before continuing. “I really…don’t want to be...you know, present in the boys' lives? It’s weird, after everything that happened with Sunghoon and with…Jay.”

“First of all, you called Gaeul like two months ago, that's not recent,” Yujin huffed. “And I don't think it’s weird? We are all friends, even if the two of you broke up. For us nothing changed.”

“I know. I just…”, you really didn’t know why the thought of meeting everyone made you feel so queasy. Yunjin was right; they were your friends, or at least close acquaintances. “I don’t know Yu, I feel like it would be weird. I mean, I am really a shit friend. I don’t keep up with everyone's life, and I never have much to talk about except work or uni right now. That's all my life is.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve never seen a worse texter than you, Y/N. But I don’t think the others would mind. They would probably all be excited to see you,” she said, her voice much more gentle than before. ”It’s been a while, and you really deserve a break, Y/N. Even if it’s just one evening.”

You swallowed and stopped in front of the big freezers, looking at row after row of frozen products. 

“I know. I know.”, you sighed again. “Look, Yu, I’ll see what I can do. Maybe someone can switch shifts with me, but don’t get your hopes too high.” 

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 

The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains in your childhood bedroom, bathing everything in warm light. Not much had changed in your room over the last decade; your parents merely used it as a walk-in closet and a guest bedroom, if they needed an additional bed. 

So they just left it be.

It was like walking into a different world, your trinkets, your decorations, everything still there where you left them after you moved out. 

You knew you should hurry, that your mom was probably waiting for you, but you couldn’t get yourself to look away. 

The girl in the mirror looked so different from the one you remembered her to be, how most of your old classmates probably remembered you. 

You seemed so...tired, so exhausted. 

Your eyes flickered to the pictures you had glued to your mirror 10 years ago when you just graduated high school. 

A disbelieving chuckle escaped your lips. 

The girl in the picture, beaming into the camera, had so much life in her eyes, so much ambition.  

You were so excited for the future that was to come, not fully realising that the path you chose to take would be harder than you and anyone else back then could have imagined. 

You were proud of the woman you had become, and you knew that eighteen-year-old Y/N was too, knowing you’ve almost reached your dream. You were so close you could almost taste it. But you had sacrificed so much for it. 

With a sigh, you tore your gaze away from the dusty mirror, opening your makeup pouch to unceremoniously drop its contents onto the counter.

You just wanted to finally be done studying, work in an office outside the hospital until you had enough to open your own, give care to mothers and young girls and whoever else has to go to a Gyno. 

But you were still stuck in that endless cycle of studying, day after day, year after year.

As you applied a generous amount of concealer across your face, your eyes wandered back to the photos. 

The picture of Sunghoon and you at your high school graduation was fading in the sunlight, the colours slowly losing their vibrance. 

You reached up and straightened the corners where the paper lifted from the tape and smiled. 

Sunghoon was really handsome back then. 

The way he looked at you instead of the camera made you feel so bittersweet. You always thought he would be the one you would marry, that you would have your first and only love forever. 

But life was weird sometimes, and it didn’t work out. 

With the breakup and your life at uni getting more stressful, you never really had much time for anyone but yourself and your friends, maybe. Dating wasn’t really on your mind for a long time after you’ve overcome the heartbreak. 

You hoped he did date. 

That today he would come to the reunion telling you about his wife, his kids, and how great his life was. 

He deserved nothing less.

The paper curled back into itself again, and you sighed. Maybe it was better that way, slowly fading in a place where the memory belonged. 

The outfit you, Jaemin, your roommate, and Jeno, his boyfriend, who did not have a choice but to help, spent almost an hour piecing together, was sitting neatly folded on your bed, the silver jewellery you picked out glimmering in the sunlight. 

The fabric of the blouse was soft against your skin when you draped it over your head. You couldn’t remember wearing it out; it was one of your favourite shirts for evenings out when you were still together with Sunghoon, but it hadn’t seen the light of day in a while. Jaemin loved it, Jeno agreed with him and picked out the pants afterwards, convincing you that this was the perfect outfit. It felt wrong, like trying to seem like you would want to impress your ex with an outfit he liked, but the other two assured you that no one would think so. Apparently, your name was ‘no one’. 

“Y/N?”, your mother's voice startled you out of your thoughts, “Are you ready yet, darling? If you want to be on time, we have to go now.” 

“Oh”, you turned around and looked at your mother, who was standing in the doorway to your room. She herself was attending a work dinner and offered to take you with her. She was styled impeccably, her grey hair in a strict bun, and she was wearing a stunning one-piece. 

You could gladly say you inherited her beauty and grace, and annoyingly, her work ethic. „I‘m done, Mom,“ you nodded and grabbed your purse.

„Oh, look how pretty you look!“ She rubbed her hands up and down your arms when you passed her in the doorway. „My beautiful, beautiful daughter. Let’s hurry! I don’t want you to be late!“ 

She ushered you towards the entryway.

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 

The restaurant that had been picked out for the reunion was rather luxurious, or at least it gave the impression of being luxurious. The tables were covered in thick white cloth, decked with wine glasses and multiple plates. Classical music was gently playing in the background when you made your way inside. 

It was fuller than you anticipated it to be; various groups of people, some familiar, some not, were standing at the entrance to the main room. 

You spotted your old friend group pretty quickly. 

A weird feeling welled up in your chest, and you slowly came to a halt a few meters away from them. 

They looked so similar, yet so different. 

Three years was not that much time, but it felt like an eternity now that you saw them again. You had spent every day together in high school, knowing everything about each other, staying close even though all of you went to different universities later on. You were a close-knit group for years, and then suddenly everything stopped. 

At least for you. 

When you and Sunghoon broke up, your world shattered into a million pieces. 

You couldn’t bear to keep in contact with anyone when you knew they were all Sunghoon's friends as well. You hated the thought that it might get awkward for him, for them, that they would have to choose whom to invite, so you just…stopped coming. 

For a second, you thought about turning around, about going home, interrupting Jaemin and Jeno’s movie date to curl up with Luna on your bed and watch videos until sleep overcame you, but before you could move, Heeseung spotted you. 

His face broke out into a grin, and he waved at you, redirecting the focus of the rest of the group towards your figure. His mouth moved in something that looked like ‘Y/N is here!’ and you swallowed, before willing your face to mirror his expression, giving him a weak smile. 

You knew that you should at least pretend to be happy about seeing them, but the knot in your chest was winding tighter and tighter as you made your way through the crowd. 

“Y/N!” Chaehyun was the first to properly greet you, pulling you into a tight hug the moment you were close enough. “You look so good! You cut your hair!”

“Oh. Yeah. A few months ago,” you mumbled, glancing at your hair. 

“It looks fantastic, right? Do you know how long I had to endure her going back and forth about cutting it? Horrible!”, Yunjin whined and wrapped her arms around yours. 

“I wanted to cut enough to donate it, but it wasn’t long enough, and I also desperately wanted to get rid of the hair”, you grumbled and gently shoved her away. 

You actually didn’t want to get rid of your hair, but it was falling out in chunks, the dark strands being everywhere in your apartment. Jaemin joked about how you lost more than his three ragdolls together, which gave you the final nudge to finally get it cut. 

“Did you have enough to donate in the end?” Chaehyun asked and passed you a flute of champagne from the table you were standing around. 

“Yeah. I cut around 25 cm off.” 

“Oh shit, that's a lot,” Jake whistled and threw his arm around your shoulder, “Hi Y/N.” 

“Hi, Jake,” you laughed and boxed him into his side to get off you.

Jake had always been one of your closest friends; your mother was convinced he was your boyfriend until you officially announced your relationship with Sunghoon, his best friend at the time. 

The three of you were inseparable up until you and Sunghoon ended things. 

“My mom told me you're almost done with your residency. Will we be calling you Doctor Y/L/N soon?” he asked and stole the flute out of your hand. You gladly let him take it. You haven’t had a sip of alcohol in a while, and you’ve always been a lightweight, so starting with champagne was probably not a good idea. 

“I already am, Doctor Y/L/N, if I might correct you. I’m done with my residency in a few months, and then I have to study for the board certification exam. So sometime next year I’ll be done with everything, yeah,” you gave him another smile and raised your eyebrows.

“It’s so crazy you are pulling this through. You’ve got my deepest respect for that, Y/N.” Jake tutted and shook his head. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a doctor”, you shrugged and smiled at him, despite the feeling of pure despair that overcame you at just the thought of having to study for that exam. The amount of stress that came with that exam and working at the same time was nothing anyone looked forward to. 

Jake was about to reply, but Daewhi, your former class president, interrupted him. “Everyone!”, he was standing on a stage further into the room, “It’s lovely to see you all. Please take a seat, as we would like to start with ordering food. You’ll have enough time to mingle later on.”

“Let’s go,” Jake pulled you with him toward one of the tables in the middle of the room, not even giving you the chance to try to leave somehow, so you just settled down next to him. Yunjin dramatically sighed and rested her chin in her hand, glancing down the table. 

“I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we graduated. When was the last time we were all together?”

Jay answered without looking up. “The funeral.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a second before you could breathe out normally again. He was right; that was the last time you saw most of them. Your gaze snapped to your hands, your fingers slowly curling into your palm to stop them from shaking. The knot in your chest now pressing down even more. 

You couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

Even so much time later, so many patients later. “Yeah,” Yunjin murmured. “That wasn’t exactly the best time to catch up.”

Jay looked up and gave her a small smile. “It wasn’t. I’m still glad you all came. It meant a lot to me to have your support.” 

You felt his gaze on your figure. It didn’t take a genius to know that he was referring to you, that he knew how much you struggled with the decision of whether coming was appropriate. In the end, you did go, taking the day off, standing at the end of the crowd, him spotting you anyway. 

“Of course,” you said, your voice a bit hoarse, when you finally met his eyes. “How is Haneul doing? She should be in kindergarten by now, right?” 

Jay nodded and gave you a small smile. “She is, yes. Would you like to see some pictures? I would have loved to bring her here, but my girlfriend insisted on having a girls' evening with her.” 

You gave him a small smile, hearing that he had found love again eased the feeling of nausea in your chest. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

Jay shifted slightly in his seat, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. He unlocked his phone, his thumb moving swiftly until he turned the screen toward you. “Here, this was last month. She dressed up as a tangerine for kindergarten.”

You leaned in, your smile slowly growing. “Oh my god… she’s huge already. And her hair’s gotten so long.”

“Right?” He grinned softly, flicking to the next picture. “This one’s my favourite.”

You let out a soft laugh, watching his screen as he kept scrolling, birthday parties, park visits, messy dinner selfies. Her in a doctor's costume, holding a stethoscope upside down.

“She’s really cute,” you said, smile tugging at your lips as Jay tapped through another photo. “She looks like trouble.”

“She is,” Jay answered, clearly proud of his daughter. “My genes did not have a chance against Minhees. She was such a troublemaker, and it went straight to Haneulie.”

You smiled again, this time more to yourself, and leaned back in your chair. Your gaze wandered to a very familiar figure making its way towards your table, and it felt like your heart did a quick jump under your ribcage. 

Sunghoon looked immaculate. 

He was wearing a navy suit, with his hair styled neatly and a bag slung over his shoulder. Your eyes met for a second, and without any hesitation, he gave you a small smile. You returned it almost automatically and then looked back at Jay, who showed you another picture on his phone, but you weren’t really comprehending anything. 

With each second and each meter that he came closer, your heart started racing more and more. 

Sunghoon greeted Jay and Jake with a handshake before hugging Yunjin. You were unsure if you should stand up or not, but before you could do anything, he leaned down, and one of his arms came around your shoulder in a quick hug. You weren’t fast enough to return the hug, your arms frozen halfway up. He didn’t seem to mind and slid into the empty seat next to you. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he said lightly, setting down his bag before removing his coat. “My client wouldn’t stop talking.”

“Do they ever?” Heeseung, who had made his way over to Sunghoon, asked, clapping his shoulder.

Sunghoon laughed, low and tired. “I don’t mind as long as they keep on paying.”

Heeseung said something else that made the table laugh, but you didn’t hear what he said, just laughing along. Your eyes were raking over Sunghoon's face, over his shoulders, to the few grey strands in his dark hair. He always joked about going grey early, as his father did. You didn’t realise that three years were enough for that to actually happen.

The waiter interrupted the conversation, asking Heeseung to sit down again as they were now starting to take everyone's orders. You almost wished he hadn’t, because now Sunghoon's focus shifted to your figure. 

“Hi Y/N,” he was almost beaming at you. “It’s been so long. How are you doing?”

You blinked at him for a second. “Good? Good. I’m doing well.”

“That’s so nice to hear.” Sunghoon gave you a soft smile, the one he always gave you when he knew you were uncomfortable. You cursed him for being able to read you so well, but you assumed that just came with being together for as long as you were. 

“How…how have you been?”, you asked, averting your gaze, opening the menu, the waiter had just placed down next to you, trying to seem casual. 

“I’m doing well as well,” Sunghoon leaned back slightly in his chair, resting an arm casually along the back of yours. “This year has been good. I made it to partner in February.”

You blinked, your head snapping to him, the menu forgotten. “Already?”

He gave a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, it’s brutal hours, and my phone might actually be fused to my hand now, but… I like it. Most days.”

You laughed in disbelief. “That’s… wow. That’s impressive, Sunghoon. Your mom must be over the moon.”

Sunghoon actually laughed out loud at that, and you felt warmth rushing to your cheeks. It was unfair, truly unfair, that he had this effect on you, when it was entirely inappropriate.

“She truly is. It’s even more annoying than I thought it would be. I can’t go anywhere without being recognised as Eunkyung's son, who is a lawyer under the age of thirty. Even the rude lady from the dalgona stand knew and gave me some for free,” he chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. “For free, Y/N. I felt like a celebrity.”

You chuckled. “You might be. Your mom always loved boasting about you and Yeji's accomplishments around.” 

“She does, yeah,” Sunghoon said, focusing back onto the menu. You swallowed and did the same, willing your brain to actually read the different options this time. 

The dishes actually sounded really nice, surprising you somehow and making it hard to decide. It’s been a while since you had the opportunity to eat out like this, so you wanted to eat something you would actually enjoy. 

With a small sigh, you flipped between two pages, trying to figure out what you wanted when Sunghoon leaned a little closer. “Take the fish. You’ll like it.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “The fish?”

“I’ve been here before. It’s good. Not too heavy either. You’ll like it.”

You gave him a small nod. “Okay.” 

A moment passed before he gently closed his menu and turned towards you again. “Are you still at SN?”

You hummed, remembering that when the two of you spoke to each other the last time, you were actually considering moving to another hospital. “Yeah. I didn’t think changing hospitals would have changed my workload after all.”

“Do you still like it?” he asked with a small hum.

You hesitated. Your residence was one of the main reasons why you and Sunghoon broke up. Somehow it felt like a touchy topic. “Most days, yes. Some days are just hard. But every job is like that, right?”

“Mhm. That’s true”, he turned aback towards the table, reaching for the wine card. “Are you still living with Jaemin?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He adopted three cats a few months ago.”

He laughed, eyes flicking back to you. “Three?”

“Yep. And of course, Kai’s allergic, so now when we want to study, we have to meet at his place or at a cafe or something.”

That made Sunghoon pause, his brow ticking up slightly. “Kai? The tall one?”

“Yeah, we have a lot of shifts together, and when we’re off, we use the time to hang out, which results in us studying most of the time”, you shrugged. 

Sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded a little before he asked his next question. “So you started studying for the board already?”

Yunjin snorted, bursting your small bubble, reminding you that you weren’t alone with Sunghoon. “She is driving everyone crazy with the exam, and it’s like a year and a half until she has to take it.”

You blinked, your cheeks flooding with warmth. “I’m not. I mean, yes, I am…studying.”

“Y/N,” he said with a grin, not even pretending to be subtle about how funny he thought your embarrassment was. “I'm sure you won’t be able to remember anything if you’re studying already. That didn’t work in school, nor when you were doing your bachelor's. ”

“I–I know,” you said, blinking rapidly, curling your hands into a fist again, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. “It’s just a lot. And I want to be prepared. You know?”

“Oh,” Sunghoo laughed, reaching for a champagne flute on the table. “I am well aware, Y/N. You like to plan and prepare everything to the smallest detail.”

Before you could try to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t let you sound like an offended toddler, the waiter interrupted you, taking the table's order. You ordered the fish. 

“And your parents?” Sunghoon asked once the waiter stepped away again. “Still working?”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. My mom’s been talking about retiring for three years now, but we both know she’d go crazy without it. She seriously has to find a hobby. My dad is still working in the hospital, but not as chief physician anymore. He said he was too old for that amount of stress.”

Sunghoon laughed quietly. “Sounds about right.”

You glanced down at your hands and chuckled. “I try to visit when I can. Usually, it’s whenever Yoona brings my niece to my parents. My mom complains about me visiting the baby more than I do her."

“Well, are you?”

“I’m just very strategic about my days off,” you deadpanned, and he laughed again.

You let yourself look at him, really look. His hair was a little longer than you remembered, styled neatly. There was a soft crease between his brows you hadn’t noticed when he first walked in. Tiredness, maybe.

“Do you still live around Gangnam?” you asked, deciding that it was your turn to ask questions. “Or did you move for work?”

“I moved,” he hesitated for a second. “Actually, I moved back in with my parents. Just a couple of months ago.”

You blinked. “Didn’t your sister move back in as well?"

“She did,” he said, then glanced down at his watch for a beat too long. “She and her husband divorced last year. But she’s back in Busan now.”

“Oh.” You paused, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Sunghoon never really liked his brother-in-law. They fought hard when she told him she would marry him; he told her he wouldn’t give him his blessing, only for his sister to tell him she didn’t need his blessing. Sunghoon and Yeji didn’t talk for months afterwards, and he was devastated by it. 

He shrugged lightly. “It’s alright. She’s doing better now.”

“Why did you move back?” you asked softly, after a beat of silence between the two of you. 

He tilted his head slightly. “Mhm. I was living with my girlfriend. For about a year. We broke up in the spring, and I moved into her apartment when we got together.”

You felt a soft pang in your heart. As much as you wished for him to be happy, to have found love, it hurt a bit to hear that he actually did. “Oh. I’m sorry, Sunghoon.”

“It’s fine. I am over her. She was nice, but…it just… wasn’t working. I was always gone. And when I wasn’t, I wasn’t really there, you know?” He looked at you then, and you knew exactly what he meant. “We were both too tired to argue about it. It felt like deja vu,” he chuckled softly at that and took a sip of his champagne.

You nodded silently, trying to turn your attention to the rest of your friends. Jake was animatedly telling a story about something that happened at his workplace, but before you could find a point to join the conversation, Sunghoon spoke up again. 

“Is Jaemin still together with Jeno?”

The question caught you a bit off guard. “Yeah,” you nodded. “Why?”

“Oh, just,” he gestured with his hand dismissively. “I just wanted to know if someone is getting the two of you into shape. He was always cooking for Jaemin, wasn’t he?”

You chuckled, his face being full of faux calmness, but you knew he was never a fan of you being this close with a male friend, even when Jaemin stated, multiple times, that he was gay and not into girls. Only when Jeno came into the picture, Sunghoon relaxed whenever the topic came up. “He still is, yeah. But Nana and I have been cooking as well. Occasionally.” 

“As in ramyeon?” Sunghoon raised his eyebrows, and he gave you a disbelieving look.

You nodded slowly, pouting a bit. “And…like meat and other proteins, and..vegetables.”

Frozen vegetables and packaged tofu in your ramyeon, but Sunghoon didn’t need to know that. 

“Damn,” Jake, who had apparently finished his story and had been listening to the two of you, interrupted you. “Did you just say you're eating proteins?” 

You nodded, humming, before taking another sip of your water. “Yeah, why?”

“Y/N, you have been eating the most unhealthy shit for our whole life, and you hate ninety nine percent of all vegetables. What changed?” he said, chuckling.

“I… realised the benefits of eating healthy, and I put MSG on everything. I still have nightmares of unseasoned chicken.”

“My chicken,” Sunghoon injected, “was not unseasoned, Y/N. Your taste buds are just weird.” 

“Hell nah man,” Jay snickered from across the table. “You were either eating white chicken or those nasty protein shakes. No flavour or seasoning in sight for like six months.” 

You were shaking your head. “I swear to god, if you’d asked me to meal prep plain chicken breast one more time, I would have used my anatomical knowledge for some illegal activities, Sunghoon.”

He gave a sheepish grin. “I was trying to hit macros. And you yourself claimed to appreciate my biceps.”

“I still have nightmares about our air fryer,” you deadpanned. “For weeks, the entire apartment smelled like chicken and eggs.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Sunghoon said, nudging you gently with his elbow.

“I am not,” you insisted. “You once brought chicken breast to brunch with our parents cause you were afraid they wouldn’t prep anything with proteins in it.”

Sunghoon shrugged, unbothered. “Gains don’t rest.”

“You were unbearable,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed as you gave him a narrowed look.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink. “I was bulking.”

“You were insane,” you shot back. “Do you remember the protein powder in your coffee?”

“It tasted fine.”

“You mixed it with my expensive vanilla almond milk. And you made the entire kitchen smell like dirty socks.”

He grinned. “And yet you still ate my chicken.”

“Because I was too tired to cook my own, you menace”, you said flatly. 

You took a sip of your water, the conversation around you dissolving into background noise as Sunghoon leaned a little closer, resting one arm on the back of your chair again.

“I still don’t get how you survived my meal prep,” he said casually, eyes flicking to yours.

You gave him a look. “Oh, I suffered.”

He grinned. “That dramatic streak of yours hasn’t changed, huh?”

“Park Sunghoon,” you warned, narrowing your eyes slightly, “I swear, if you say one more thing about me being dramatic, I will curse you out so thoroughly you’ll have flashbacks to every anatomy study session I ever made you suffer through.” “Oh, jeez, please not. I don’t think I would survive that. You were so mean.”

“I was under a lot of pressure!” you said, biting back a smile. “Do you know what it’s like to come home after a 28-hour shift just to find someone boiling chicken again at midnight?”

He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “I said I’d cook for you.”

“Yes, but like a soup or I don’t know some rice, but not plain chicken, Sunghoon!”

“You did eat it?” He said, giving you a teasing smile. 

You exhaled, amused, tipping your head slightly toward him. “Do you still eat like that? Or have your taste buds evolved?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “But my mom doesn’t curse me out if I stink up the kitchen.”

You hummed. “Tragic. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

He smirked. “Ah, you and your endless compassion.”

“Oh shut up,” you muttered, lips twitching. “I’m about to be compassionate all over your fancy suit.”

He laughed again, quieter this time, and nudged your knee under the table.

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 

Since the reunion, Sunghoon somehow slithered his way back into your life. 

You’ve seen him at least three times in the last month, which is more than in the last three years. It was probably due to the new outbound clinic you were transferred to, being close to your parents' house, which caused you, much to your parents' delight, to sleep at home. And considering Sunghoon is living just over the street, meeting him after work was somehow something that happened now. 

Miraculously, it hasn’t been awkward at all. 

Talking to him felt like it did in high school, easy, almost refreshing. It was weird, but it was as if nothing had happened, as if you were…friends. It was even weirder that you loved it. 

You loved spending time with him, even if it were conversations when bringing out the trash or walking home at the same time, you loved being around him. 

You knew you shouldn’t, that it wasn’t good for your heart, that you weren’t over him, even three long years after your breakup. People always said one never forgets their first love; it seemed like your heart refused to let go and forget that it’s not his anymore. 

You were taking your time walking home from work a few weeks after the reunion, trying to take in the last few rays of sunshine, before the sun would disappear again. 

A familiar figure hurried past you, almost brushing your shoulder, when the two of you crossed the main street. You recognised him almost immediately, even though his face was turned towards his phone as he was typing furiously on his phone. 

You accelerated your speed, stepping in sync next to him: “Sir, do you perhaps live in this neighbourhood? I'm in dire need of directions; I might be a bit lost here.”

He flinched, and his head snapped in your direction. 

“Jesus, you just scared the shit out of me, Y/N,” he said, breathless, holding his phone against his chest. 

“Sorry, Sunghoon,” you laughed and patted his shoulder. 

“I am afraid I can't offer you directions, though. I might be equally lost right now. It seems like we are in dire need of a guide that guides us towards a certain GS25 to buy some ice cream, perhaps?" he said, raising his shoulders in faux confusion. 

“Oh! I think I saw a particular GS25 on my way here, but I am afraid I really want to get home! It appears like my niece has been brought to my mother's, and I really want to cuddle my very adorable niece, perhaps an ice to go?” You nodded and walked backwards up the hill. 

“That’s a noble excuse,” he said, adjusting his bag and shifting his jacket to the other arm. “But would you accept delivery instead? My mom’s in a bad mood today, and if I go home, I might spontaneously combust.”

You tilted your head, thinking of the consequences of what you were about to do, before ignoring every logical thought in your brain. “Hmm. I suppose if you’re fleeing maternal wrath, I can offer sanctuary. My mom will probably force-feed you the second you walk through the door.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said, grinning as he fell into step beside you.

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The second you stepped through the front door, your mom peeked around the corner from the kitchen, eyes lighting up.

“Y/N-ah! Oh, you brought a surprise with you!” she said, hands dripping wet. “How lovely!”

You sighed dramatically, kicking off your shoes. “I found Sunghoon on the street and had to rescue him. Auntie is in a bad mood today, and he needs shelter.”

Your mom tutted but looked pleased. “Come in, come in. Look at you! So skinny! You need to eat something.”

She reached up without warning and patted his cheek affectionately, as she used to when you were teenagers. Sunghoon just blinked and let it happen, offering a half-bow and a sheepish smile, ignoring how much he must have hated that she touched his face.

“Hi, Aunty. Sorry to show up uninvited.”

“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here,” she said, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Sit, sit! I just made some jeon. Do you still like that?”

"Sure, Aunty!" Sunghoon said, and his eyes wandered to you before he carefully wiped his cheek with his sleeve. You had to stifle a laugh at the view, but shook your head and slipped out of your shoes to follow your mother into the kitchen. 

“Is Gaeun awake?”

She was already reaching for an additional plate for Sunghoon. “She fell asleep a few minutes ago.”

You were about to turn around when she stopped you. “Let her sleep, Y/N. You can go and feed her when she is awake later.” 

You groaned, deflating and pouting. “I’m just gonna check on her. I’m not gonna wake her up, I promise, Mom. Sunghoon hasn’t seen her, so I’ll just…you know, show her off.” 

“Hey, don’t pull me into this,” Sunghoon protested, pushing you out of the way to enter the kitchen. “Thank you for letting me eat with you, Auntie.” 

“Oh my boy,” she waved her hand, diminishing in the air, handing him his glass. “You’re always invited here. I haven’t seen you in so long. I want to hear from Eunkyung's golden son himself how well he is doing.” 

Sunghoon chuckled at that, and you watched his ears flush a slight red hue as he cleared his throat. “Yeah…well..I’ve been doing well, Auntie.” 

“Okay, so I'm gonna go to Gaeun, come on Sunghoon,” you said, not giving your mother the option to embarrass him, before your dad would come for dinner and do the job properly. Your hands closed around his biceps, and you guided him towards the living room. 

Sunghoon let you pull him with you. “Didn’t spend enough time with babies today?”

You shot him a look. “Not the cuddly kind.”

He raised a brow as you crossed to the blanket pile on the couch and gently peeked in at the sleeping baby. “Weren’t you at the clinic today?”

“I’m on outbound rotation,” you explained, your voice hushed. “So lots of prenatal consults. It’s mostly OB-GYN. So yeah, technically babies, but unborn babies.”

“Ah,” he hummed. “Makes sense.”

You knelt beside Gaeun and ran your fingers softly through her hair. “She’s my one and only baby, though.”

Sunghoon leaned over you to get a glimpse of the baby as well. “Do you have another niece I missed out on?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Just Gaeun.”

She shifted in her sleep, one chubby fist curled near her cheek.

“She’s literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” you cooed, doing your best not to wake her up.

Sunghoon crouched beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “You say that every time you see a baby or a dog.”

“Because it’s true every time,” you said, gently pulling her blanket up. “Look at her cheeks. I want to bite them. Is that weird?”

“A little.”

You gave him a side-eye. “She smells so good as well. I would die for her.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love, Sunghoon. You wouldn’t understand.”

He just shook his head, smiling. “I wouldn’t, no.”

“She’s going to grow up thinking I’m the cool aunt.”

“She only has one aunt.”

“Exactly.”

You watched her for another long beat, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily, while the smell of jeon slowly drifted into the room, followed by your mom’s distant voice calling your name.

You sighed. “Let’s go eat before she decides we’re both too skinny and starts force-feeding us.”

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When the two of you entered the kitchen, it felt weirdly nostalgic, as if time had stopped one day ten years ago and you weren’t lawyer Sunghoon and gynaecologist Y/N but high schoolers again. From the way your mom decked the table to the way you were seated in your usual seats, to the plate of jeon in the middle of the old oak table, everything was the same but so different. 

“So, Sunghoon,” your dad began, leaning back slightly in his chair, while you poured water into everyone's glasses. “Are you still working yourself to death?”

Sunghoon let out a small laugh, accepting his with a small nod. “Trying not to. But yeah, now that I’m a  partner, I’m working a lot.”

“I’m so proud of you, Sunghoonie. Partner! The little boy from across the street is so successful,” your mom said, smiling warmly at him. “I’m sure your parents have told you plenty of times how incredibly proud they are of their son.”

Sunghoon nodded sheepishly, the smile on his face deepening a fraction. “Thank you so much for saying that, Auntie.” 

Your parents started grilling him with questions you were pretty sure they already knew the answers to. It was coming from a good place and very lighthearted. After all, Sunghoon had practically grown up in this kitchen, so it was a given they wanted to hear from the man himself where he was now in life. 

You couldn’t count how many times he had skipped out on dinners at his own house to crash yours instead.

He answered patiently, a bit sheepish but not uncomfortable. 

You could tell he didn’t mind it. 

By the time your dad had moved on from work questions to retelling the same story about your high school prank war for the third time, Sunghoon had finally settled deeper into his seat.

His sleeves were rumpled, he had unfastened the top button of his shirt at some point and rolled his shoulders back, laughing at something your mom had said about his childhood appetite. 

You couldn’t stop watching him.

It wasn’t intentional; you weren’t even sure what had pulled your gaze back to him in the first place. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about how familiar it all felt.

How natural it still was to have him here.

Like nothing had changed at all.

Maybe not everything had.

Your parents still looked at him like he was the son they never had. Your mom still offered him second servings before anyone else. He still used the honorifics around your dad even though he had been told not to twenty years ago. He still looked like the same boy who had come over three or four nights a week in high school, when his own house felt cold. Unforgiving of the imperfect.

Sunghoon had always been the golden boy: top grades, varsity athlete, polite to a fault. 

Your teachers loved him, which was why he was able to get you and Jake out of sticky situations almost easily back when you were in high school. 

He was admired by everyone. You couldn't remember a single person who didn't like him. But at home, he had never been enough.

He learned to be charming because being himself was never quite the right answer. 

You have always hated his mother for doing that.

He could have brought home the moon, and his mom still would’ve asked why it had craters.

And yet your mom loved him the second you brought him home at age 5. She gave him as much food as he wanted, gave him all the attention he needed, and came to every skating event, even if his parents couldn’t make the time. She somehow managed to get off work every time, sitting in the bleachers of those ice rinks, cheering for Sunghoon together with you. 

She had treated him like a teenage boy, like a kid, deserved to be treated: not perfectly, just kindly.

You always dreamt of becoming a mother like yours was, loving, warm, heartfelt.

Sunghoon was laughing at something your dad said, his hands working through the perfectly styled hair, messing it up in the process.

That was the version of him you fell in love with so many years back.

Not the one in suits or figure skating costumes. Not the teen winning competition after competition, or the successful lawyer. Not the perfect golden Park boy. 

But Sunghoon.

Just Sunghoon.

The one who grinned with his whole face. Who passed side dishes to your dad before being asked, who muttered sarcastic little asides only you would catch. The one who used to steal bites from your plate and fall asleep on the living room floor with his head resting against your knee.

The version of him you thought you knew forever. 

The version you thought you would always have.

Sunghoon looked over, just briefly, catching your eye mid-laugh.

“What?” he asked, mouth still curled into a smile.

You blinked, startled. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m digesting and looking at nothing. My brain is tired.”

He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion, but let it go.

You glanced down at your plate, heart suddenly too full and too tired at once.

You were wrong. 

So much had changed. 

You weren’t the two carefree teens you once were; too many things have happened for those to ever come back, no matter how much your heart wished for it.   

Just then, a sharp wail echoed from the living room.

You were already halfway out of your chair, mentally thanking Gaeun for choosing now to wake up. “It’s okay, I got her–”

“Y/N, sit–” your mom began, but you were already waving her off.

“I got her,” you said again, as you darted out of the kitchen.

In the living room, Gaeun’s face was red and scrunched, tiny fists balled up near her cheeks, her cry high-pitched and frantic.

You knelt beside her, scooping her up in one smooth motion, pressing soft kisses to her temple.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered, rocking her gently as you reached for the bottle your mom had prepped earlier. “You’re hungry, huh?”

She latched on instantly, her cries quieting between gulps.

You sat down with her in your lap, humming softly under your breath as she fed, your hand gently stroking her soft hair. No matter how many babies you’ve met in the course of your career, none had ever triggered your maternal instincts as much as she had. You had loved being there for her sister during her pregnancy, during all the trials and errors she made in the beginning. It made your heart feel so full and heavy at the same time. 

You didn’t hear Sunghoon approach, his voice startling you slightly when he spoke up from the doorframe. “Impressive diagnosis, Dr Auntie.” 

You turned to look at him, bouncing Gaeun gently. “Years of clinical experience. And also I just… really love her.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you cradle the tiny baby. “I can tell.”

You chuckled. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I’m not,” he said, but his voice had gone quieter. “You’re just… good at this.”

You glanced down at Gaeun, who had started to calm a little, blinking up at you with watery eyes.

It was silent for a long moment before Sunghoon stepped into the room, lowering himself onto the sofa next to you. When he did speak again, his voice was softer than before. “You’ve always loved kids.”

“Yeah,” you murmured.

He nodded slowly. “You used to say you wanted three.”

You laughed under your breath. “I did. I also said I wanted a dog that talks and a husband who bakes soufflés. And for most of my life, I knew I would never be able to have that. I don’t think you could have made soufflés. And a baby is just as impossible right now, I have no one who could make me bad sufflés, nor do I have time to get pregnant within the next few  years.”

“That’s so sad,” he said quietly. “You always wanted this.” 

You didn’t answer right away, just rocked the baby gently and let the silence stretch between you. He was right, you wanted this, you had desperately wished for this to be your shared future. 

“I don’t know. The older I get, the more it feels… unreachable. Like, even if I wanted a kid right now, I couldn’t.​ I’ve spent so long working toward this career… I’m just now getting to the part where all of it might pay off.” You took a breath. “Having a baby would derail everything.”

After a few beats, you glanced at him sideways, wanting to change the topic. “How was your day?”

He blinked at you at the sudden switch, but leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he answered your question. “Oh, you know. Same circus, different set of clowns.”

You raised a brow. “That bad?”

He let out a quiet laugh. “I spent my whole morning fixing a report someone else screwed up, then got blamed for responding ‘too bluntly’ in an email. And someone scheduled a meeting over lunch. Again.”

“Oh,” you knew the frustration of not being able to get out of work in time for lunch or in time in general, all too well. “That’s shit.”

“Hey, no bad words in front of your niece,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t mind the job. Honestly, I like it. I worked my ass off to get here. It’s just…some of these people make me question humanity.”

You laughed. “That bad, huh?”

He turned to you with a dry smile. “If natural selection applied to PowerPoint formatting, I’d have peace.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I wrong, though?”

You shook your head, a little smile playing on your lips. “I don’t know. I've not opened PowerPoint in like a decade.”

Gaeun finished her bottle and made a sound, turning both your and Sunghoon's attention to her. You cooed softly. “Oh, are you done, my love?” With a soft pop, you pulled the bottle from her mouth and set it down on the sofa table. You felt Sunghoon's gaze on you when you gently lifted the small baby up to burp her. 

His voice came out soft and quiet when he continued speaking. “But really... I’m lucky. I know that. I’ve got a solid team, a good salary, and stability. I just wish I didn’t have to babysit full-grown adults while pretending to care about their feelings.”

You nodded slowly, gently tapping Gaeun's back, waiting for her to release the air trapped in her stomach. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is. But…” he paused, his eyes catching yours. “You kinda just accept it. Like, this is what it looks like. Being a grown-up.”

You were quiet for a second.

“Yeah,” you murmured, without breaking eye contact. You both sat in silence for a bit, looking at each other until a quiet series of burps made you avert your eyes. 

You gently moved your niece into a lying position, not wanting to put her down. Her fingers reached for your hair, the strands only centimetres away from where her chubby fingers would reach. 

“You know,” Sunghoon said after a long moment, “your mom… she really did take me in like a son.”

You turned to look at him.

“I don’t think I ever said it out loud, but I’m so grateful for her. And for your dad, too. They’re such–” He paused, trying to find the right word. “They’re just… really good people.”

Your heart tightened a little. He wasn’t the kind of person to say things like that unless he truly meant them.

A beat passed before he added, more quietly, “And you… You’re turning out just like them, you know?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. You opened your mouth, unsure of what to say, but before you could respond, your mom’s voice came from the hallway.

“Sunghoon-ah, my son,” she called warmly, stepping into the room in her worn slippers and a floral apron still tied around her waist. “I’m heading to bed. You should go home too, it’s getting late, you look tired.”

Sunghoon stood, his posture straightening instinctively, whatever moment you just shared broken. “Yes, of course. Thank you for having me.”

She waved him off, already moving to turn off the lights and tidy a stray cushion. “Oh, don’t you worry about that! Come over more often, please, even if Y/N isn’t here.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll do that, Auntie.”

With a soft goodnight, your mom disappeared down the hallway, the floor creaking familiarly under her steps.

The room was quiet again, save for Gaeun’s babbling.

Sunghoon turned to you, his smile lopsided. “Guess I'd better go before she packs me leftovers for the whole week.”

You gave him a weak grin, standing to walk him to the door. “You know she probably already did.”

At the door, he slipped on his shoes and turned back toward you.

“Thanks for letting me crash dinner.”

“No worries,” you said, leaning against the frame. “You apparently needed it.”

He nodded, then paused, as if he wanted to say something else, but didn’t.

Instead, he gave you a little wave. “Night, Y/N.”

“Night, Sunghoon.”

The door closed with a quiet click.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway.

Gaeun had stopped talking and had snuggled against your chest. Her tiny breaths warmed the fabric of your shirt as you stood in front of your door, not wanting to move, to break the illusion of this being normal, of everything being back to normal. 

After a few minutes, she started to get a bit fussy, and you brought her into your room, gently lowering her into the crib your mom had set up in there. 

She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake up.

You watched her, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the little sigh she gave as her fingers curled near her cheek.

Then, slowly, you turned and climbed into bed without changing or going to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth.

The ceiling hadn’t changed. 

Neither had the sound of cicadas outside the window nor the way the floor creaked when someone walked down the hallway.

But you had.

And lying there, in the same room you used to stay up in texting Sunghoon under the covers, you felt the quiet ache of time slipping past.

So many things had changed.

And yet tonight, for just a few moments, it had felt like nothing had.

You turned onto your side, pulling the blanket up over your shoulder, your gaze drifting toward the crib in the corner.

“Night, Gaeun,” you whispered.

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The monitor wouldn’t stop.

The slow, persistent beeping was too loud and not loud enough at the same time. You wished it wouldn’t be here at all, that you wouldn’t be here at all, but you couldn’t go. You couldn’t leave him. 

Your fingers moved in slow, practised motions, tracing the outline of a cheek you couldn’t feel, a stomach you couldn’t warm. 

There was no feedback. 

No softness. 

Just resistance and the faint drag of latex against the skin.

You wondered if the baby could feel any of it.

Probably not.

Your eyes burned so badly that it felt like you had been staring into the wind for hours. Maybe you had. Time didn’t make sense on night shifts; everything blurred into dim lights, humming machines, and the constant, suffocating awareness that every second mattered to someone too small to understand it.

The baby moved, its hand reaching for your fingers in a weak movement. It was so fragile, so sick. 

“I know,” you whispered, your voice dry, cracking slightly. “It’s fine, I’m still here.”

The baby didn’t know. That was the worst part.

It cried a thin, strained sound escaping its mouth. It sounded so wrong. It wasn’t the loud, angry cry of a baby demanding to be fed, to be held, to be burped; it was a cry for help. For something to make the pain stop. 

You knew his pain would stop, and there was nothing you could do about it, no medicine in the world, no love, no attention could save him. He has been fighting all day long, so so much, but you knew he would lose this battle tonight. 

Your jaw tightened.

God, you hated this place.

Not because it was loud. It was never loud enough. The NICU wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be hope, wasn’t it? Small victories. First breaths. Fighting chances.

But all you ever saw was how fragile it all was.

How easily everything just came…to a stop. 

Your fingers slowed.

They didn’t even get a chance.

The thought hit harder tonight. Maybe because you were too tired to keep pushing it away. Maybe because it was your third night in a row, and you didn’t have the energy to rebuild the walls you usually kept in place. Maybe because tomorrow, three years ago, you stood in this very place, holding the baby of your best friend, before you couldn’t anymore. Because it was going to be three long years tomorrow. 

The baby’s tiny chest stuttered under the blanket, uneven, like it couldn’t quite decide on a rhythm. 

You swallowed hard, your throat tight.

Life wasn’t fair. You knew that. You had known that long before this job, long before these shifts and these rooms and these tiny, impossibly fragile bodies.

But this, this felt wrong in a way you couldn’t rationalise.

These small creatures, these small humans, didn’t get the chance to live, to get outside, to feel the sunlight on their skin, to figure out what their favourite song, their favourite taste, their favourite colour was. Things so normal to you, some of them would never experience.

Your hand pressed a little firmer against the plastic.

Could he feel that? 

Did it hurt? 

Did he feel alone? 

Or did he feel nothing at all?

Your stomach twisted.

The glove suddenly felt unbearable. Too smooth, too artificial. 

You were touching without touching, comforting without warmth, present without really being there.

“I’m here,” you said again, but it sounded hollow this time. Thin. Unconvincing.

Because what did that even mean here?

‘Here’ didn’t promise anything.

'Here’ didn’t guarantee he would make it to the morning.

You leaned your forehead briefly against the incubator, the surface cool against your skin as you tried to blink away your tears. 

“I hate this,” you whispered, the words so quiet you barely even heard them yourself.

The baby’s hitched in his sleep again, the beeping of the monitor coming in a slower rhythm.

Your head lifted immediately.

“No, no, no. Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft but urgent now, your hand moving again, tracing the same slow pattern. “Stay with me, okay? Just… just stay.”

As if you had any control over that.

As if wanting was enough.

Your hand didn’t stop moving.

It couldn’t.

Because even if you hated this place, even if you hated what it showed you, over and over again, you couldn’t be the person who walked away.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, hoping he would understand somehow.

The baby’s breathing evened out again under your fingers. 

You exhaled shakily, your shoulders dropping just a fraction.

For now, that had to be enough.

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The sun felt wrong.

Too warm, too bright.

You stood there anyway, letting the rays of sunlight hit your skin. Her dress clung to you in a way that made you hyper-aware of your own body, of the fact that you were still here, still breathing, still existing in a world that had kept going without her.

She would’ve loved it if she knew you had worn her favourite dress today. 

She always claimed you looked better in it than she did. 

That thought alone almost made you turn around.

But you didn’t. 

You just stared.

At the grave. At her name. At the dates that didn’t make sense, no matter how many times you read them.

Too short.

Everything about it was too short.

You had almost not come.

But you had to. You owed it to her; at least one time a year, you had to come. 

And now you were here.

Alone.

You swallowed, your throat tight, your chest heavy in that familiar, suffocating way that had followed you everywhere lately.

There were already so many flowers.

More than you expected.

They framed the grave in soft colours, carefully arranged bouquets, ribbons, and notes tucked in between. Thoughtful. Beautiful. Intentional.

Loved.

Of course she was.

Your grip on your own flowers tightened slightly.

They suddenly felt… small.

Unimpressive.

Almost embarrassing.

Your throat tightened. You swallowed, but it didn’t help.

“I–” Your voice broke before you even started, forcing you to stop, to breathe and try again. “I didn’t know what to bring,” a weak, breathless exhale left you, something between a laugh and a sob. “That’s stupid, right?”

The only answer you got was the faint sound of the traffic outside the graveyard and the crunch of the gravel underneath your feet. 

Your vision blurred as you spoke up again. “I’m sorry.”

Careful not to disturb the other arrangements, you stepped forward slowly and crouched down. For a moment, you just hovered there, unsure where to put yours, like there wasn’t really space for them. 

Like, there wasn’t really space for you.

“They’re your favourites,” you murmured finally, placing them down anyway, your hands lingering there. 

“I almost didn’t come,” the words slipped out before you could stop them. “But I–” you exhaled shakily, your shoulders dropping. “I had to. I think I had to. It’s been so long.”

You sat back slightly on your heels, your eyes tracing over her name again, like you were trying to force your brain to accept it.  

It still didn’t. Three long years later, it still didn’t feel real, as if she had just forgotten to read her texts again, too busy doing other things. 

“I miss you,” you said, your lips turning into a small quivering smile, before the first tear rolled down your face. “I miss you so much, it’s–”

Your voice gave out completely. Your vision blurred, more tears slipped down your face, slow at first, then faster, your throat tightening to the point where it almost hurt to breathe.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, between tiny sobs. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Your hands fell into your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.

“I feel like I’m living my life and… and I’m not at the same time,” you continued, your words uneven, stumbling over each other. “Like everything’s still happening, but I’m not really there for it. I’m just…watching it pass.”

Your chest ached when you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

“I hate it. You’re supposed to be here,” another shaky breath rattled your chest. “You’re supposed to be part of this. All of it.”

The wind shifted slightly, brushing against your skin.“He shares your day now.” Your brows pulled together, your gaze dropping to the ground.

“A little boy,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper. “I met him yesterday. In the NICU.”

Your stomach twisted when you thought about it, about the sound stopping, about the silence afterwards. “He didn’t make it.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to steady yourself, but it didn’t work.

“Your death day,” you murmured, the words feeling wrong in your mouth. “It’s not just yours anymore. I think it’s the reason why I came today,” your breath hitched, “because I was scared you would be lonely and scared. You were so scared, Minhee. And I couldn’t do anything. I just–”

Your voice broke off into a sob, and you just left the sentence unfinished. Saying it out loud made it so much worse. You wiped at your face, but it was useless; the tears wouldn’t stop.

“I saw them,” you went on after a moment. “Jay… and the others.”

A few birds passed over your head, chirping loudly.

“For the first time since your funeral.”

Your lips trembled slightly.

“I forgot what that felt like,” you admitted. “Just… being there. With them. Like before,“ your gaze dropped, your voice lowering even more. “I missed that. I miss that version of me. I think–” your voice broke and more tears dropped down your face, hot and heavy drops hitting the stones. “I think a part of me died when you did.”

Your hands shook slightly as you curled them into a fist.

“I wasn’t there,” you whispered. “I wasn’t there for any of it. For him. For you. For–” your voice broke again. “For her.”

Your chest tightened painfully at the thought. “She’s all that’s left of you. And I just– disappeared.” 

The guilt you felt for years surged up, overwhelming you, suffocating you.

“I was supposed to be her godmother,” you choked out. “I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to help him, to be around, to show up, and I just–”

You shook your head, unclenching your fingers.

“I didn’t answer texts. I didn’t call. I didn’t…do anything. I–” A hiccup interrupted you. “I left him alone. He lost you, and then he had a daughter to take care of, and I just– I just vanished like it was nothing. What kind of person does that?”

The question hung there, unanswered.

You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back the sob building in your chest, but it didn’t work. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, weaker this time. “I’m so, so sorry.”

A soft sound broke the silence behind you, someone clearing their throat. 

You froze, and your heart dropped instantly.

Slowly, you turned.

And there he was.

Jay.

For a second, everything in you went cold.

Your hands moved instinctively, wiping at your face, trying to pull yourself together.

“I–”

He didn’t let you finish.

Jay stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

Your body tensed for half a second, caught off guard, but then it gave in. Completely.

A broken sound left you as your hands clutched onto him, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed into him, the words rushing out, tangled and desperate. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there, I should’ve been there for you, for her, I should’ve–”

“Hey,” he murmured, holding you tighter. “It’s okay.”

“No,” you shook your head immediately, your voice cracking against him. “No, it’s not okay.”

Your grip tightened against his back.

“I left you alone,” you cried. “You needed help–you had her, and everything was–everything was falling apart, and I just disappeared.”

Your breath hitched violently.

“I was supposed to be there,” you repeated. “I was supposed to be her godmother. I was supposed to–love her, take care of her, be part of her life, and I just–”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Because there was nothing to justify it.

Nothing to soften it.

“I missed everything,” you whispered. “Her first months, her first years. I missed all of it because I couldn’t handle it.”

Your shoulders shook harder in his grip, his hands slowly rubbing against your back. “I couldn’t even answer a text,” you admitted, shame lacing every word. “What kind of person does that?”

“You were grieving,” Jay said quietly.

“That doesn’t excuse it,” you shot back immediately, your voice breaking. “You were grieving too.”

Your hands loosened slightly in his shirt, but you didn’t let go.

“I just left.”

Silence stretched between you for a second, filled only by your uneven breathing.

“You didn’t leave,” he said. “You just… got lost.”

You let out a weak, disbelieving breath.

“It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

You didn’t argue. Because you didn’t have the energy to. Because part of you didn’t believe him anyway.

Your grip tightened again, just slightly.

“I missed her,” you whispered. “I missed your daughter.”

Saying it out loud made it worse.

Real.

It had been real since the reunion, since you saw her, actually saw pictures of her, of how much she looked like Minhee, of how old she was. 

“I don’t even know her.”

Jay’s hold softened; he wasn’t letting you go, but he was also not pressing you against him as much as before. He was just holding you gently now, as if you were something fragile, something breakable.

“You can,” he said quietly. “It’s not too late to get to know Haneul.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your vision still blurred, your face still wet with tears.

“You think so?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” Jay paused for a second. “We were thinking about going on a trip. All of us.”

Your brows knit together faintly.

“What?”

“We’re going on a trip,” he repeated. “We talked about it a few weeks back. Heeseung wanted to text something into our group chat in a few days about it. I want to bring Haneul. You can meet her there, spend time with her.”

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

You were lying in your bed, your blanket pulled up to your chin, one arm shielding your eyes from the light bleeding through your half-closed blinds. Everything was either too bright or too loud.

It was almost 1 a.m., and you were acutely aware that in just under four hours, your alarm would go off. 

You really, really needed to sleep.

But you hadn’t been able to, not properly, for a few nights now.

Ever since you met Jay a few days ago, and Heeseung had sent the official invite for the trip into the group, you just couldn’t sleep. 

You wanted to go.

But you weren’t sure.

If you could get the time off.

If you could afford to take the time off.

You gave up trying to fall asleep. Tossing your blanket aside, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled out of your room. 

The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the kitchen. You padded in barefoot and found Jaemin hunched over the microwave, heating leftover curry. He was still wearing his scrubs, and his hair was a mess.

For a moment, you stood there, just watching him. Then, without a word, you stepped forward and dropped your forehead onto his back.

“Jesus,” he jolted slightly, startled. “You scared me.”

You didn’t say anything, just stayed there, your face pressed between his shoulder blades. He let out a breath, softening immediately.

“Long day?” he asked, turning around and opening his arms automatically.

You nodded and stepped into the hug, arms wrapping around his middle. He smelled faintly like antiseptic, the fabric of his scrubs soft against your face. Jaemin rested his head on top of yours, while his hand started rubbing slowly up and down your back. “You’re warm,” he mumbled. 

You nodded into his shirt. 

“Can’t sleep again?” he asked after a beat, his voice gentle now. 

You pulled back slightly but didn’t let go. “My friends from school are planning a trip. In October.”

Jaemin leaned back just enough to look at your face. “That sounds fun.”

“It does,” you admitted. “But I don’t know if I can get the time off. And even if I do... I should probably be studying.”

“You’ve been studying since July,” he said, deadpan. 

You sighed. “I just… don’t know if I can justify it.”

He gave you a look.

“Take your books with you. Study there. Wake up early and do your flashcards while everyone else is making pancakes or whatever. I am sure no one would be mad if you did a bit of revising.”

You pressed your forehead against his collarbone again, muttering, “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

He smiled into your hair. “You always say that.”

“Because I always do,” you mumbled.

The microwave beeped, and the smell of curry wafted up between you. He reached behind you blindly to open it, still holding you with one arm.

“I’ll warm you some up too,” he said, already grabbing a second bowl.

You just hummed and closed your eyes, not moving from where your arms were wrapped around his torso. He set the curry down on the counter with one hand and petted your hair softly with the other one.

“Don’t you think it would be weird?”, you said against his chest. “I’ve not really been a good friend to anyone since Minhee died.” 

“You know,” he said slowly, “you were so excited when you came back from the reunion. You kept talking about how good it was to see them again, how you missed them, how you didn’t realise how much time had passed until you were sitting next to them.”

You blinked, but stayed silent.

“It might be weird, but it might also be really great, Y/N. It’s alright if you want to go,” he added. “I know you do. You just feel guilty about it, even though there is nothing to feel guilty about.”

Your silence must’ve been enough of an answer, because Jaemin gently pushed you away from his chest so he could look into your eyes properly.

“You know it’s not your fault. No one thinks that, Y/N,” he said, softer now. “You’re allowed to miss people. And you’re allowed to want something that isn’t hospital walls and emergency pages and OB rounds at 3 a.m. You can take your books. You can wake up early and study. Hell, you’ll probably shame everyone into feeling productive.”

That earned a small, reluctant laugh from you.

“But you can also sit on a porch with your friends and a cup of tea and just be for a few days,” he said. “You’re burning yourself out again at this rate, Y/N. You deserve a break.”

You looked down, chewing on your bottom lip. 

He tilted his head and gave you a knowing smile. “And don't pretend like you're not already halfway convinced. You wouldn’t be standing here with your head on my spine at 1 a.m. if you weren’t.”

“Traitor,” you muttered.

He grinned. “Guilty.”

You huffed, then finally gave a slow nod. 

Jaemin slid a bowl across the counter toward you and sat down beside you, spoon clinking lazily in his curry.

“I mean,” he said between bites, “if I play my cards right, pull a few strings here and there… maybe sweet-talk your boss…”

You snorted. “You’ve never even met my boss.”

“I’ve seen him once. He looks like the type who caves when someone brings good snacks and compliments his hairline.”

You gave him a look. “He’s bald.”

“Exactly. Low bar.”

You rolled your eyes, but the edge of your lips tugged upward despite yourself.

Jaemin shrugged. “Just use like… two vacation days. Plan your night shift compensation properly. Worst case, you stack five NICU shifts and hate yourself for a week?”

“But wouldn’t I hate myself during the trip then? You know, the week after five NICU shifts?”, you asked, blowing the curry on your spoon to cool it down slightly. 

He grinned into his food. “When don’t you hate yourself? I’m just saying: go. Take the trip. Drag your flashcards along, torture everyone with study sessions if you must. But don’t skip it. You’ll regret it.”

He was right. You would regret it. You would regret missing out again. You didn’t look up, but your voice came out a little smaller. “What if I get behind?”

“You’re already ahead. You’re always ahead. For God's sake, I haven't even bought the books I’ll need Y/N. You started two months ago. And you still have 7 to go.”

There was a long pause.

Then you murmured, “Okay. I’ll go.”

Jaemin smiled, finishing his last bite. “Good girl.”

You lifted your head just to smack his arm with your spoon.

He winced dramatically. “Are you assaulting your emotional support roommate? Unbelievable.”

“Three cats are my emotional support. You just do the dishes.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Then let me earn my keep and make sure you don’t work yourself into an early grave.”

You sighed. But this time, you were smiling.

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

You were sniffling slightly when you stepped into your apartment two months later. 

It was quiet except for the soft clicking of claws on the hardwood floor when Luna wandered to the door to greet you. 

Her fur was soft against your hand. “Hi, love,” you whispered, and she nudged her head against your palm, purring loudly. 

You closed your eyes for a second and took a deep breath before standing up again. The hallway mirror caught your attention when you looked up. Your eyes were puffy, your skin sickly pale, and your once neat braid was slipping out of its tie, hair clinging to the back of your neck.

With a groan, you rubbed your hands over your face, ripping your gaze away from the mirror. 

Jay would be here in less than thirty minutes, and you still had to shower and finish packing the rest of your clothing. You figured you could ask him to stop at a rest area on the way and get something to eat and a coffee there.

After all, the others wanted to hike today, so caffeine sounded reasonable to keep you awake. 

You rolled your shoulders back and padded to the bathroom. Setting the water to the coldest temperature you could bear, you quickly washed off the hospital. You didn’t even bother applying makeup or properly styling your hair, only blow-drying it. Right now, standing barefoot and with wet hair in your bedroom, the idea of spending four days around people felt overwhelming.

You got dressed anyway, pulled on a random hoodie that was draped over your chair and sank down on your bed.

Today had been heavy. The last week had been heavy. Jaemin was right, you were able to get the week off by getting more nightshifts, but you hated every second of it. You had to drag yourself to work, to get dressed in your scrubs, to see your patients, even though you loved that part of the job. 

Lucy had followed you from the bathroom into your bedroom. The soft padding of her paws against the floor broke the heavy silence in the room. She jumped onto the bed with a small meow and curled up next to you, expecting you to go to sleep as you would usually do, wanting to bask in your body heat. You reached out and gently scratched behind her ears, the fur soft under your fingers. For a second, you closed your eyes, trying not to think about the hospital or the certification. 

You thought about calling your mom, telling her how tired and exhausted you were, how you wanted to come home to her having cooked lunch, how you just wanted to spend time with her, be her little girl for a day, but it was early, and she always rushed through morning phone calls with too many things on her plate. Maybe you would find some time to call her when you were at the house later.