***

“yo, chill.”

after the incident about a week ago; after letting yourself freak out about it first, you became pretty content with the fact that you smashed your best friend. despite your perfectly rational fear that things would become awkward after, your friendship remained relatively normal. emphasis on relatively. however, the fact that things didn’t become awkward between you two meant there was absolutely no deterrent against doing it again…. and again, and again.

your roommate wondered why the hell you had overstayed at anton’s by like a lot of days... your friends wondered why you were either late or absent to all the recent gatherings. it was because anton was insatiable. like he couldn’t get up off you.

nestled between your open legs in his bed, anton moved his hips over yours, “i can’t help it. when you touch me, i’m instantly hard. it’s like muscle memory.”

“ou, don’t do that.” you sighed out, trying to ignore the heat pooling between your thighs, “i-i need to get— i have to meet my friends.”

he whined in response grinding down into you, “i know, i know. i won’t keep you long…”

“toni…” you knew and he that he was full of shit. but the featherlight feel of his lips brushing your neck pushed all the rational thoughts out of your head. “okay, okay, fine.”

with your permission, anton’s mouth was immediately on yours, kissing you all sloppy and holding your neck to keep you in place. slowly, he continued humping into you and you wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing them at the ankles.

“fuck, you’re so— you feel warm. i could cum like this.” anton whimpered.

you held onto his shoulder, “wait, i want you inside me…”

didn’t you have somewhere to be..?

already sitting up to strip his clothes, anton laughed, “don’t you have somewhere to be, though?”

you rolled your eyes as you started pulling down your leggings. “just— let’s just not ask questions right now.”

through hooded eyes, you watched as anton pushed his boxer briefs down, letting his dick spring up against his lower ab. you were expecting him to start teasing you. anything but the way he immediately leant down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy.

“i could never get tired of doing this…”

you slid your fingers into his soft hair, tugging gently and sighing heavily. “anton, please.”

“hm? give me a second.” the sound of anton humming vibrated through his lips around your clit, making your eyes roll back. “i’m tryna get you wet for me.”

“i already am—” you whined desperately but anton continued with no remorse.

he flattened his tongue against your pussy, licking a long stripe upwards and your hips bucked into his mouth. “this pretty pussy tastes so good…” moaning against you, he pushed his tongue inside of you and with each twitch of your hips, your clit bumped against his nose. you were so overwhelmed with pleasure that you felt tears start to well up in your eyes. it took everything in him to pull away, but he was feeling like if he didn’t fuck you soon? he could die.

anton tapped his dick against your now puffy pussy lips a couple times before sliding in with comfortable ease. you immediately had to dig your nails into him. he should not have gotten you that close.

anton pressed a kiss just below your earlobe, “i’m gonna put it in, okay, baby?”

you nodded at him and he rubbed his tip against you sensitive clit before finally bottoming out inside of you with a quiet moan, immediately starting to roll his hips into yours with rhythmic ease.

“fuck, you’re wet… does it feel good?”

wrapping your legs around his waist, you nodded.

“yeah? it feels good? let me rub that clit, baby.” he sat upright on his knees, still fucking into you and started rubbing small circles on your bundle of nerves, making you cry out.

“anton—” you cut yourself off with a low moan.

“you feel so fucking good around me.” anton whined above you, “so good to me… hah.”

the sound of his hips smacking into the backs of your thighs grew louder as his thrusts be came more shallow and irregular. he was making it very clear that he was getting close.

“are you gonna cum for me, toni?” you stroked his hair and his face contorted in pure pleasure. he couldn’t answer you.

“please?” you pecked his lips and he couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling back. the tip of his dick pushing against that spongy spot inside you with each thrust had him weak. you wanted nothing more in this moment than for him to cum inside you, because you knew the noises he would make could finish you off.

anton was resilient; determined to keep going for you. he leant forwards again, shifting his weight onto his hands and expertly grinding his hips into yours. this however gave you the perfect angle to start kissing at his shoulders, the crook of his neck, his jaw, his face. he knew it was coming. or was hoping at least. anton opened his mouth slightly and again, your lips met his in a fervent kiss.

he attempted to muffle his moans against your lips but it was no use for him. he was already there. anton pulled his lips away from yours to release a string of high pitched moans and curses as his hips stuttered against you. the friction of his pelvis against your clit triggering your own orgasm.

“anton—”

“mmph.. f-fuck, i’m cumming. i’m cumming for you.” anton’s brows were furrowed in pure pleasure as he fucked his warm load into you. “fuck, baby, take my cum… just like that.”

anton’s body fell limp on top of yours. you gently dragged your nails up and down his back, laughing at the way he twitched as a result.

“toni… you sound so pretty.”

anton breathed out a shy laugh. “stop. i’m embarrassed.” he was breathless.

you let out a content sigh, allowing your eyes to dart around to the clock on your wall. yeah, no way you were making it to whatever plans you had. you were gonna have to start making up some excuse real fast because you knew this wasn’t going to be the last time this happened. nor did you want it to be.

it’s the way you tighten around him, the way your breath stutters in his ear, the way your nails sink into his back like you’re trying to mark him up, brand him, ruin him. he loses himself so fucking quickly, he doesn’t even realize he’s already fucking into you like he’s starved, like he needs you more than he needs air.

his moans are breathless, broken, completely wrecked—he sounds more desperate than he should, given that he’s the one in control. but is he really? when he’s like this? when his hips snap forward with reckless abandon, when he’s trembling, when his lips are everywhere, panting praises and curses against your skin like he’s praying?

his voice is shaky, already high-pitched, already pleading.

“f-fuck, baby, i can’t—” his breath hitches as he buries himself deep, forehead pressing against yours. “fuck, i can’t stop, y'feel too good, y'feel so fuckin' good, please—”

please? like he’s the one begging? like he’s the one at your mercy?

he doesn’t even realize how insane his stamina is. doesn’t think about how most men would’ve been tapping out by now, whining about needing a break. but baekhyun? oh, he doesn’t stop. he can’t stop. not even when his body is twitching, not even when his muscles are screaming at him.

not even when he’s already cum once. twice. thrice.

he lets out a choked sob when he spills inside you for the first time, hips stuttering, body shuddering from the force of it. but instead of slowing down—instead of doing the sane thing—he just keeps going, cock still throbbing, overstimulated to hell but refusing to leave your warmth.

his jaw is slack, moans turning into whimpers as he thrusts through the sensitivity, eyes squeezed shut like he’s suffering from how good it feels.

you gasp, feeling him still rock into you, still desperate, still needing. “b-baek, you— you already—”

his hand clamps around your throat before you can finish, not squeezing, just resting there, keeping you exactly where he wants you. his eyes crack open, dark and insatiable.

“ya think i care?” he breathes, voice hoarse. “fuck, baby, i’m not— ’m not stopping ‘til you’re fucking full. ‘til you can’t take anymore. ‘til i can’t move.”

your head spins. his body is trembling, jaw slack, breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushes through the pleasure—too much, too good, too overwhelming, but he doesn’t fucking care. he likes the way it burns, likes the way his overstimulated cock throbs inside you, likes the way his mind goes blank except for the feeling of you wrapped around him, taking everything he gives.

he moves faster. harder. rougher. his hand slips down to press against your lower belly, groaning loud when he feels himself inside you, feels the way he’s filling you.

“ya feel that, baby?” he gasps. “feel how deep i am? fuck, you’re gonna look so pretty when you’re full of me. so fuckin' pretty, aren't cha?”

he’s already close again, doesn’t even care if he’s supposed to last longer. what does it matter? he’ll just keep going until he physically can’t.

“gimme one more, pretty,” he begs, voice cracking on the plea. “just one more, baby, please—fuck, i need it, need to feel you cum around me again, please, i—i fucking can’t—”

his words cut off with a sob when you tighten around him, dragging him under, pulling him apart. his body seizes up, mouth falling open, a wrecked moan punching out of his chest as he cums again—shaking, ruined, unraveling completely inside you.

but even then, even as his body trembles, even as his cock throbs, still pulsing, still spilling inside you, he doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow. doesn’t even think about pulling out.

he shudders against you, forehead pressing to yours, breath hot and broken. still rocking his hips, still sinking deeper, still clinging to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

“one more, baby,” he whispers against your skin, voice so desperate, so utterly pathetic. “j-just… one more.”

A FUCKING LIE.

because one more doesn’t exist with baekhyun. one more would mean stopping. means catching his fucking breath. means giving his body time to recover, to ease out of the mind numbing, all consuming need for you.

but baekhyun doesn’t do stopping. doesn’t do restraint. doesn’t fucking know how to stop—doesn't fucking know to act—when it comes to you.

not when you’re still wrapped around him like this. not when you’re still warm and wet and so, so fucking perfect. not when he can still feel the way your perfect gummy, needy walls throb around him, overstimulated, aching, but still taking it—still loving it.

not when he’s still hard. still needy. still so fucking obsessed.

you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you again, mouth on your shoulder, lips pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses to sweat-damp skin. he’s still inside you—still—cock twitching, still throbbing, still needing. his arms tighten around your waist like you’ll slip away if he lets up for even a second.

you shudder. overstimulated, sore, shaking from the way he’s already rolling his hips again, slow, lazy, but deep. your whole body jerks with every movement, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still crackling through your nerves like static. you’re so sensitive it hurts but fuck, it’s a good kind of hurt. the kind you never want to end.

your fingers tangle in his damp hair, tugging weakly. “b-baek, s'too much, baby. hah—i c-can't!”

he whimpers. actually whimpers. buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans so pitifully it makes you clench around him just from how fucking pathetic he sounds.

“yes, you can,” he pleads, voice wrecked, completely ruined. “baby, please. please, don’t make me stop, i can’t fucking s-stop—”

his body trembles. he sounds broken. like stopping would kill him, like it would physically hurt him more than his overstimulated cock already does, still hard, still buried inside you.

he moves again, pressing deeper, grinding against that spot that makes your vision blur, that makes your nails dig into his back, that makes you gasp because holy fuck, you can’t stop either.

you don’t want to stop either.

you tilt your head back, lips parted, moaning so pretty for him, letting him hear just how fucking gone you are. he loses it. groans your name like a prayer, a plea, a curse, hands grabbing at you like he’s trying to memorize your body with his fingers.

“oh my god, i love you,” he gasps against your skin, his breath hot and unsteady, his voice breaking like he’s about to cry. “i love you, i love you, i fucking love you—”

he’s not even fucking you at this point. just rutting into you, slow and deep, like he wants to crawl inside you, live inside you, make himself a part of you forever. he grips your face, forces you to look at him, his eyes blown wide and glossy, pupils swallowing every ounce of sanity he had left.

“you’re mine, pretty,” he whispers, voice shaking. his hips roll forward, slow, intentional, and you feel him everywhere. “mine. mine, my pretty baby, please, say it. please say it.”

your body aches. your nerves are fried. your mind is so blank, so foggy, so fucking completely consumed by him, by the way he’s looking at you, by the way he’s begging for you—like he needs this just as much as you do.

your fingers slide up to cup his cheeks, and you feel dampness there—tears. he’s crying.

and fuck, you love him. you love him so much it aches, so much it drowns you, so much it feels like there’s no end to it, no bottom to this fall. you didn’t think it was possible to love him more than you already did—but right now? right now, you swear you’re sinking deeper, past the point of return, past the point of ever wanting to be free.

you let out a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against his, whispering against his lips. “yours.”

“say it again,” he begs. “again, baby, again, please, i needa—”

“yours, baekhyun. ah, f-fuck!—yours. always. forever.”

he lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve ever heard and breaks.

his hands slip under your thighs, dragging you impossibly close, pulling your legs around his waist. and then he moves—slow and deep and so fucking needy, so fucking desperate, rocking into you like he’s got nowhere else to be, like this moment is all that exists, like this is the only thing that matters.

your entire body burns. your skin, your muscles, your heart. the overstimulation makes your nerves spark, the pleasure tangled with something sharp, something aching, something too much and not enough at the same time.

and fuck, he smells so good.

his sweat, warm and heady, clings to his skin, mixing with the lingering traces of his cologne—dark, expensive, dangerous. the deep musk of it blends with the sinful scent of sex, thick and intoxicating, flooding your senses, making your head spin. every inhale is him, all-consuming, dizzying, addictive.

his forehead presses to yours, damp strands of hair sticking to his temples, and you swear you could drown in the heat of him, in the scent of him, in the weight of him pressing you down, holding you here, refusing to let you slip away.

he inhales sharply, breath shuddering, like he’s just as drunk on you as you are on him.

his lips brush against yours, barely a kiss, more of a claim. his voice is nothing more than a whisper, raw and ruined:

“how long d’ya think ya need 'til we can go again, pretty?”

praise kink. even though his eyes close every now and then, jisung is lost in his desire to look at you. with his beautiful, troubled face in your hands, your hips move in a strong, rhythmic sway, stimulating his cock. his arms tighten around you, and his mouth hasn’t stopped letting out moans that grow louder and louder as he nears his climax, bathed in compliments. “you’re so good to me, baby— s-so good inside me.” tightly squeezed between your silky walls, his length stretches you out deliciously, stimulating every nerve in your body. The wet sounds only make a pleasurable laugh escape you. “my sweet boy... fuck—” no matter how hard you try not to lose control and keep torturing him by speeding up and stopping, “you’re gonna make me cum, ji...” it’s actually you who’s closest to coming.

nipple play. holding his face in your hands, renjun sucks on your tits, licking them from time to time. your hand wrapped around his painfully erect cock stimulates him, making his moans send shivers down your spine. “fuck, baby— imma cum—...” mouth open and eyes closed with furrowed brows, he cries and whimpers around your nipple, taking it in his hands to shove it back into his wet, soft mouth. humming and hissing, his tongue plays with the erect tip before he sucks on it desperately once more. your eyes flutter and your legs press together, watching the silky creaminess of his semen coat the tip before he ejaculates completely into your hand.

bondage. a low hiss greets you the moment you decide to move, as you adjust to it. your fingers stimulate the swollen, sensitive tip of your clitoris while jeno’s cock fills you completely. then, you’re stripped of mobility when he takes both your wrists and pins them behind your back with just one hand. he takes advantage of the situation to kiss your neck and make you moan with just a little “c’mon baby, ride it.” encouraged, the other hand moves toward your stomach and presses, making you feel it, “it’s all the way in,” you cry, thrusting his pelvis against you and knocking the wind out of you, “you can take it, big girl,” he says, making you move back and forth, carefully.

choking. a smile spreads across your lips, tingled and numb. the constant pounding sends your body lurching back and forth, yet mark keeps you where he wants you, at the edge of the bed, taking every one of his thrusts. filling you with his cock in hard strokes, his hand slips up your neck and the other keeps your legs spread. the weight makes your mind go liquid and your muscles give way. “i'm coming...—” trembling to the core, his voice cuts through the haze. “of course you are. c'mon, pretty girl, show me.”

The day he came home from the final encore show, you wrapped him in sweater-covered arms under the midnight sky. Placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, you whispered an apology for not being able to make it that night. He scoffed as he squeezed you harder, signaling the your sentiment was silly.

The whole night, you listened, that's all you could do.

You let him cry out everything that he forced himself to bury during the concert.

He'd positioned his back in between your legs while you sat on the sofa and he slumped onto the floor. Plates of his favorite comfort meals laid out on the coffee table in front of him. Rubbing his back when he would get choked up on words, you reached for the food and nudged it toward him. Encouraging him to eat and take a moment, reminding him that you were in no rush, that you were planted here for him as long as he wanted. As long as he needed.

He gets choked up when he spoke about the searing pang of guilt he felt when he saw Jisung break on stage. You rub small circles at the base of his neck to try and ease some of the anxiety you know is building up under his skin. Very few people knew that the announcement was coming on Friday. The members had known for a while that he was leaving. But you were the first person Mark even told that he was considering this option. You know the upcoming announcement is the biggest cause of his anxiety. You tried to assure him that the only opinion that matters is his and that everyone in NCT understood his choice. You of course understood why he was so anxious. Fans have not always been the kindest and this is an incredibly huge change. You weren't around for his "graduation" from Dream, but you had seen the headlines. Seen the outcry, the petitions, the reaction. The reaction he had was warranted.

"Could you feel the love?" You ask, trying to lead him away from the nerves and guilt.

"Hmm?"

"When you looked out into the crowd, what did you see? What could you feel?"

A smile hid in the corner of his lips as he recollected the way the fans looked at him with adoration. The unmistakable twinkle in his eyes returned when he spoke of how happy he was performing with the guys. When he finished, you tipped his head back to look up at you.

"That," you say as you soothe circles into his chest, "Keep that with you always."

The smile hiding in the corner breaks out and splays across his lips. Leaning down, you place the softest kiss on nose. As you pull away, you feel his hands cup your cheeks and pull him back towards you. Your lips meet and it's your turn to smile. When he lets you go, you jerk your head towards your bedroom. The mere mention of sleep has him scrambling up. He's halfway down the hall when he realizes you aren't following behind. He turns around with a shocked face. Giggling softly, you gesture him to keep going, letting him know you were just gonna clean up the food first. An argument dies at the tip of his tongue when you sternly deny his ask to help you.

Mark had no schedules for the rest of the week but you were unfortunately were still a working citizen. You came home early on Friday and found him looking at a frame in your living room. The frame was one that you gifted him a while back. It was a picture of his groups after their first ever completed tours. Quietly you approach him and slowly wrap your arms around his waist. He jumps at the sudden contact, but immediately relaxes when he realizes it's you.

"They're gonna be okay, y'know?" You say into his shoulder.

You don't know how much assurance your words give him but you continue to talk. Telling him that although it will be different without him, they'll be able to move forward and they will take care of each other. Reminding him that this decision will never, could never erase the years he's spent with his brothers. That choosing himself will never be something he regrets.

He points to the coffee table where a stack of papers lay. Your eyes follow his hand and you can see his handwriting all over the papers.

"I spent all of today writing and I think I finally have everything down."

You squeeze his hand to affirm that you know exactly what he's asking. You sink into the sofa while he paces around. Papers in hand, you begin to read his goodbye letter. Deep down you knew that whatever Mark wrote would be perfectly fine, but you hold it so close to your heart that you've always been the first person he shared things to.

Your heart aches while reading. You can feel that just like everything, Mark poured his all into writing this. When you reach the end, tears well up in your eyes. Looking up at him, you see him biting his lip.

"It's perfect. As usual," you squeak out.

He nods hesitantly while you continue to instill the belief that his fans will learn to understand. That those who are happy for him to get a break are the ones filled with so much love.

You've moved to your bedroom and you can visibly see the tension in his shoulders release when he finally hits the post button on Instagram. There was a breath in your chest, that you didn't realize you had been holding.

"It's done. I put it out there," he says in a hushed tone. You take his phone from him and delete all the social media apps off them. He watches you without protest, knowing that staying away was the best choice for his peace of mind. Before you return his phone, you send a quick text to notify his members and managers that he'll be off socials for the time being.

"You did," you say with a gentle smile as you hand him his phone back. He pockets it and lays out on your shared bed with his eyes closed. Like moth to a flame, you curl up next to him, alternating between drawing shapes and tapping your fingers on his chest. There is a long beat of silence in your bedroom. You hear the birds chirping outside and the slight jingle of the wind chimes on your patio. Before you can revel in the peace, you feel Mark stiffen beside you. Turning your head to him, his eyes have shot open and there's a question on the tip of his tongue. Lightly tapping his chest, you draw his attention to you.

"What is it?"

"What do I do?"

Your brows are drawn up in confusion. Untangling yourself from him, you sit up and ask him to clarify this seemingly out of the blue question.

"I mean… What do I do now?" The look in his eyes screams sincerity and your heart aches for him.

"You rest. You can rest now," you say softly as you pull him under the covers with you.

“You’re leaving…again?”

It’s been two hours since Mark got home from rehearsal—two hours of you pretending that this still counts as time together. He’d come in quiet, shoulders slumped, hair damp at the edges from sweat, exhaustion rolling off him in tiny yawns. You kissed his cheek, gently, not wanting to add to his pressure by pressing too hard. Then you told him to sit, to rest.

You always let him rest.

You always understand.

You have to understand.

So, in your pursuit of understanding him, you curled up beside him on the couch, tucked yourself into his side like you’ve always done when he gets home, and let the TV fill the silence he didn’t seem to have the energy to bridge. His hand rests on your thigh, but it doesn’t move. It doesn’t trace, doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t absentmindedly pull you closer the way he used to when loving you was instinct instead of effort.

But still—you didn’t say anything.

Because he’s tired. Because he’s busy. Because his world is bigger, louder, faster now, and you’re trying—God, you’re trying—to not be the thing that slows him down. 

So you make yourself smaller.

You bend around his schedule, carve yourself into the little space he leaves behind. Late nights, early mornings, cancelled plans that you pretend don’t sting because he looks so sorry when he does it, and that has to count for something, right?

It has to.

It used to.

But then his phone rang.

With that single ring of buzzing, everything shifted. The way his body went still, the way his jaw tightened slightly before he reached for it. He didn’t, he couldn’t, even look at you when he answered and listened. Not until he sighed and let out the faintest little: “Okay.”

Always okay.

You hate that fucking word because okay always means yes. Never no, not even once. Not even for you.

His hand slipped from your thigh as he stood and started moving around your shared apartment. You followed him without thinking. Bare feet padding against the wooden floor after him. It’s a little pathetic, really. Maybe if you stayed close enough in his shadow he wouldn’t disappear completely.

Short lived thought, because the minute you get to your bedroom, you see him already pulling his packed suitcase from the corner of his closet. 

It’s that preparedness that really does it for you. Hits you hard in the stomach like a rock. The way there’s always a bag waiting, like this—like you—are temporary. Something else can, and will, easily call him away, and he’ll go without needing to gather anything, without needing to choose. 

You never ask him to, and a part of you wonders if that’s because you hate the possibility that the choice is never you. That the likely possibility is not picking you. 

So now you’re in the doorway, arms folded tight across your chest, watching him move around the room like he hasn’t been gone from it more than he’s been in it lately. It’s weird—watching him like this. He knows exactly where everything is, but he barely exists here anymore. 

Your eyes drift, slow, around the space. The bed. The dresser. The windows.

God, the windows.

You remember this place before it ever felt like this. Before it felt…cold. You remember standing here two years ago for an apartment viewing, and there was sunlight everywhere. You’d loved that—the light. The way it made everything feel warm. Mark loved it too, but he loved something else more…

“I can’t wait to fuck you against the windows,” he’d said, mouth right against yours, already smiling. “City behind us, everyone else out there, and you’re just—mine.”

You’d rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. You always were with him back then.

“And then,” he’d added, softer, “I’ll wake up with the sun ghosting over you every morning. Hot as fuck. We’re definitely buying this place.”

You believed that version of him. The one who couldn’t wait to be here. The one who made it sound like this—like you—were the thing he was building his life around.

But now the curtains stay closed most of the time, and the light doesn’t bleed in. He’s not even here to see the sun ghost over you, never mind fuck you. You sit in the dark more than you sit in anything else, phone in your hand, TV on low, pretending you’re not listening for the door.

Waiting.

Always fucking waiting for him to come home. 

“You’re leaving…again?”

He pauses, just for a second, but he doesn’t turn to face you right away. Instead, he just exhales slowly. “Y/N, you know I have to.”

You nod, even though he’s not looking. Even though it feels like agreeing to something you never actually signed up for. 

“Right,” you murmur. “Of course you do.”

There’s a pressing silence where you wait for him to say something else. To explain, or apologise. Or even just for once hesitate when it comes to leaving you. But you know he won’t because he hasn’t done that in years when this first started happening. 

Of course you knew what you were getting into when you started dating Mark Lee. At least—you thought you did.

Back then, he was just Mark from geometry. The boy who tapped his pencil against the desk because he had music drilled into his bones. He sang too loud in the choir and tried to recruit as many people to join the bleachers. You had a huge crush on him back then; it was safe to say you built a life around him before either of you even had one.

You’ve known him since you were teenagers. First crush, first kiss, first everything. When you love someone like that, it’s not a question of if you’ll stay—you just do. You grow around and into each other. 

You knew all about his dreams. As you said, Mark always wanted music, and you loved that about him. You loved him for it. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about it. So you made a promise not to be the thing that held him back. His wins would be yours. His life would be yours. Even if it meant stretching yourself thin trying to keep up with something that was never meant to include you fully. 

And for a while, it worked. Or maybe you just told yourself it did.

Because now—

Now he just keeps packing. And something inside your chest shifts. No—breaks. It’s like a crack splintering all the way through your chest as you notice the way he doesn’t fight for you the way you’ve been quietly, desperately fighting for him.

Your voice comes out quieter this time. “When do you come back?”

He zips the suitcase. That sound is loud and final. “A few days,” he says. “I’ll text you.”

I’ll text you.

You almost laugh. Like that’s enough. Because—what is that supposed to be? A consolation prize? He treats you like you’re something that can be maintained through notifications and read receipts and something to be scheduled in. 

Swallowing hard, you feel your throat tighten and burning because there’s something pushing up that you’ve been suppressing for months, maybe even longer. Every cancelled plan, every “I’m busy,” every night you told yourself next time will be better.

“Mark,” you start, but it falls apart halfway through his name. You don’t even know how to finish it without breaking something open that you won’t be able to fix. 

Do you even want to fix it? 

He finally looks at you then. And for a second—just a second—you see it.  A small wash of guilt that passes just as quickly as it comes. Because, well, it always passes.

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It’s not okay.”

He straightens at that, grip tightening on the handle of his suitcase like he needs something solid to hold onto. “What’s not okay?” he asks, a little biting. “Me going to work?”

You let out a sharp breath through your nose. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t get it. Like you can make this smaller than it is so you don’t actually have to hear me.”

His jaw sets. “I am hearing you.”

“No, you’re not,” you say. “You’re waiting for me to say something unreasonable so you can tell me I’m wrong and we can move on from this.”

His brows pull together. “I’ve never done that.”

“You’re doing it right now!”

A thin, uncomfortable pause settles.

“Okay,” he says finally, forcing himself into patience. “Okay. You’re not okay with me leaving. I get that. But, Y/N, you kn—”

“I swear to God, Mark,” you cut in, nostrils flaring, “if you say I knew what I signed up for when I started dating you, I will genuinely blow a fuse!”

Mark just…stares at you.

Mouth parted, like he’s waiting for the rest of the sentence. Like you’re going to laugh and take it back or tuck it into something smaller and easier for him to hold. And a part of you almost does—because you’ve never spoken to him like this before. 

You don’t speak to him like this.

But you’re so tired.

So unbearably, bone-deep tired of watching him leave—of letting him kick you on his way out and still being the one who bends down after, licking your own wounds clean like a puppy so he never has to look at the mess he’s made.

His lips press together, thinly. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N. You knew. You encouraged it.” 

That makes your eyes narrow. Maybe it’s the impersonal way he keeps saying your name—your actual name. Back when you started dating, he wouldn’t even use it. It was always baby, babe, something cheesy and close and yours. 

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing the sting. “I did encourage it. Because I chose you, Mark. I chose your happiness.” Your voice cracks, but you push through it anyway. “It’s a shame you’ve never been able to do the same for me.”

Defensively, his expression hardens. “What are you talking about? I do choose you. I am choosing you. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

His audacity almost knocks the breath out of you.

“Yeah. For the next five minutes, maybe.” You push yourself off the doorframe, stepping further into the room whilst shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re visiting, Mark,” you tell him. “That’s not the same thing.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” You shoot back, the syllable catching on something jagged in your chest. “Then what is fair? Because I’m trying really hard to understand what part of this is supposed to feel okay to me.” 

“This is my job,” he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair because you’re exhausting him. “You knew that. You’ve always known that.”

“I know,” you say immediately. “I know and I’ve never had a problem with your job.”

“Then what is this?” he gestures between you. “Because right now, it feels like you do.”

“It’s not your job that’s the problem. It’s—” 

The words snag somewhere in your throat. They don’t come out clean. They never do anymore. “It’s everything around it,” you finish, quieter. “It’s what it’s turning us into.”

He shakes his head immediately. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like I’m choosing something over you.” His voice sharpens. “I’m not. I’m doing what I’ve always done. What I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And I’ve been right there,” you cut in, softer now—but it hurts more like this. “The whole time, Mark. I’ve been there for all of it.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” you ask. “Because it doesn’t feel like you do.”

The confession hits him harder than you expect. You can see him processing it—the flicker of something uncertain behind his eyes. Brittle silence stretches between you. You’re certain it could snap if either of you breathes too hard.

“Y/N, I don’t understand—”

“I know you don’t,” you cut in, almost gently. Then to yourself more than him you say, “you never do.”

He drags a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “Then help me understand, because from where I’m standing, this is coming out of nowhere.”

“Out of nowhere?” you repeat, staring at him like maybe—just maybe—he’s joking.

“Mark, I’ve been right here.”

“I know that—”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ve been left right here. Every time you cancel. Every time you leave. Every time you say ‘I’ll make it up to you’ and then don’t—I’ve been right here. Left behind.”

His expression shifts. “I do make it up to you.”

“When?” 

He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you murmur. “That’s what I thought.”

“That’s not fair,” he says again, clinging to it. “You know how busy I am right now.”

A defeated tut breaks out of you. “God, I am so sick of your definition of fair.” You shake your head, pacing now because standing still feels impossible. “Nobody understands how busy you are more than me. I always know exactly where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with—”

“Because I tell you.”

“And I listen,” you fire back. “Every time. I adjust. I move things around, I cancel plans, I wait—”

“So now you’re mad that I communicate?” He cuts in. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” he presses, frustration rising to meet yours. “Because it sounds like no matter what I do, it’s not enough for you.”

Your chest twists at that. Because that’s not—that’s not what this is. Can’t he see?

And the audacity. 

‘What he does?’

What does he do?

Sucking in a breath, you start slow. “I’m saying that I don’t feel like I’m part of your life anymore.” 

That quiets him.

“I feel like I’m something you visit when you have time,” you continue, throat tightening. “Like I’m… in between things. Like a burden.”

“That’s not true.”

“But it feels like it is,” your voice cracks despite everything you’re doing to hold it steady. “Do you get that? That it feels like it is?” 

He shakes his head immediately. “I can’t control how you feel.”

“No,” you scoff, “but you can at least care about it.”

“I do care—”

“Then why doesn’t it change anything?”

Silence.

The question that’s been sitting between you for months—maybe longer. The one you’ve swallowed over and over again because you were too scared of what the answer might be.

You’ve given him signs. God, you’ve given him so many.

The nights you wake up alone, storms in your eyes with the sheets cold from where he should be, listening to him pacing in another room over something that can’t wait until morning. The way your body has started to feel like it’s running on empty, like something vital is quietly shutting down inside you. The mirror reflecting someone duller, greyer—someone you don’t recognise anymore.

You’re sick. But you thought it would temporary. You thought love would fix it. That time would fix it.

It hasn’t.

“I keep thinking,” you whisper, “if I just give it more time… if I just be more understanding, if I just—be better about it…”

He watches you, silent.

“It’ll go back to how it was.” Your laugh breaks halfway through. “But it doesn’t. It just keeps getting worse.”

“It’s just a busy period,” he tries to soothe you. “It won’t always be like this.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to believe me.”

“How?” you turn to him with an edge flashing through your exhaustion. “This is the life you’ve always wanted, Mark. The busy. The music.”

“It is,” he says without hesitation. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you in it,” he adds quickly.

“Then where am I? “Where do I fit?” you press, voice shaky now. “Because I don’t see it anymore. I don’t see where I’m supposed to go in all of this.” 

“You’re my girlfriend,” he says, like that should be enough.

And if it were different circumstances, it might be enough. But right now, it’s like he won’t admit you’re both broken. 

You’ve been his girlfriend for years, and somehow it’s still like this—still waiting, still bending, still shrinking yourself into something that fits into the gaps of his life instead of ever being part of it.

And it’s not like he’s going to marry you. When would he have the time? When would he ever stop long enough to realise he should? And worse—why would he need to?

He already has you.

You, who will laugh it off, defend him, like the pathological people pleaser you are, by making excuses that sound so convincing you almost believe them yourself when your friends point out his behaviour.

He’s just busy. It’s a big opportunity for him. It’ll settle down soon.

Ten years, and you’re still saying soon.

Because all you’ve ever wanted—all you’ve ever needed—is for him to see you.

Really see you.

And instead, you survive on pieces of him. On the scraps of his attention, the half-finished conversations, the fleeting touches that feel like habits. You take them, hold them, stretch them as far as they’ll go—and tell yourself it’s enough.

Even when it’s not.

“Being your girlfriend isn't a place,” you finally say. “It’s just a label. A word.”

He looks at you like he genuinely doesn’t understand why that isn’t enough. And maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the whole problem.

“I need more than that,” you admit, your voice barely holding together. “I need to feel like you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

“I would miss you.”

“But would it change anything?” you ask. “Would you not go tonight? Would you stay if it meant I’d be gone when you came back?”

He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t.

You swallow, chest aching because it feels like something is physically tearing inside of you. 

“I give you everything I have,” you mutter. “All the best parts of me. The patient parts. I try to be so understanding. I try to be easy to love.”

Your voice shakes.

“I try to be the kind of person you wouldn’t have to choose between.”

A tear slips down your cheek, but you don’t wipe it away.

“And I think that’s where I went wrong.”

He takes a hesitant step toward you, his voice ultra soft. “You didn’t—”

“I made it too easy,” you shake your head. “I made it so you never had to fight for me at all.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then when have you?” you ask, looking at him—really looking at him. “When have you fought for me, Mark?”

He opens his mouth.

Nothing.

And it hurts more than if he’d said the wrong thing. Because at least the wrong thing would be something.

You were waiting. Some stupid, fragile part of you was still waiting—for him to finally choose something. To risk something. To lose something. To prove you wrong. 

He could fucking do it right now. But he doesn’t.

He literally doesn’t.

And you’re fading. 

“See, that’s the issue,” you say, almost laughing through the ache. “You don’t fight, Mark. And I’ve been fighting for both of us this whole time. On the front fucking lines, might I add. I’ve given you nothing but my endless empathy.”

His brows pull together. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Because you don’t ever have to!” You shout. “Because I just do it because I love you, asshole,” you grit. “Because I thought that’s what loving you looked like.” 

Silence settles again. 

“So what are you saying?” he asks finally. “That I don’t love you?”

You hesitate. Because this—this is the answer that, once spoken, won’t let either of you go back to what this was before.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Do you?”

His head snaps up like you’ve slapped him straight across the face. A part of you wants to. 

“Of course I fucking do,” he bites, anger flashing quickly across his dark eyes. “Are you serious?”

It’s funny. His confession sounds like anger instead of certainty. Feels like defence instead of love. 

Now he decides to be a soldier, huh?

“How can you love someone and not realise they’ve died?” 

“What do you mean?” he asks, and the anger drops out of his voice so fast it almost echoes. “What does that mean?”

For a second, he looks panicked. Really panicked.

Which is odd, because you’re not.

You’ve spent years matching him. Meeting his urgency with your own, your heart racing every time his did, bending and breaking in real time just to keep up with him.

But now—nothing.

No spike. No pulse. No desperate need to fix the situation. You search for it anyway, out of habit. Press against your ribs like you might find something still beating for him there. There’s nothing. Only empty. 

And something that feels a little too much like peace. And maybe… a little like pity.

“Y/N,” he says again, stepping closer now, reaching out for you with one hand. “What does that mean?”

You glance down at his offering. One hand. One fucking hand, because the other one still has the suitcase hanging from it. 

He’s still packed. Still ready to go. 

And that’s your answer.

“How long can we really keep doing this, Mark?” 

“Baby, don’t—” 

You turn away from him before he can finish, moving toward the dresser, your hands already reaching for your own bags—only yours aren’t ready to go. You’ve never thought about this…about leaving. 

Confusion etches his brow. “What are you doing?” He asks. 

You don’t answer right away. You just pull open the drawer, grab the first few things you see. A shirt. Jeans. Underwear. 

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time. “Answer me, please. What are you doing?”

You unzip a bag and start folding without really seeing what you’re touching. “See?” you say, glancing at him for only a second. “It’s not a nice feeling, is it?”

His brows pull together. “What are you talking about?”

“Watching your partner leave,” you clarify. “It doesn’t feel good, does it?”

Alarm scorns across his features. Real alarm and worry. “You’re leaving?” he asks. “You’re—are you serious right now? I can’t believe you, Y/N.”

You let out a breath, but it doesn’t steady you. Nothing really does anymore.

“This isn’t optional for me,” he goes on, frustration bleeding and clinging to the only argument he’s ever had. “You think I like this? You think I want to be running around all the time instead of being here?”

“It doesn’t matter if you like or want it, Mark,” you cut in, finally looking at him properly. “You’re doing it. And honestly…” your voice softens, not out of kindness, but because there’s nothing left in you that can rise to meet him anymore. “You’re losing me.”

His eyes flick down to the bag in your hands. To the way you’re folding things. His jaw tightens. “Looks like I already have.”

There’s a pause.

A long one.

Because this is where you usually step in. This is where you fix it. Where you laugh a little, relieve it and tell him that’s not true, that you’re not going anywhere, that you’re still his.

But you don’t. You won’t. 

Standing there, holding the edge of your bag, you realise for the first time since you were teenagers, you’re not sure love is enough to make you stay.

“Well,” you sling the bag over your shoulder. “What’s that saying?” 

He looks up at you. You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should. Long enough for it to hurt when you land the final blow.

You stir the pot on the stove, the aroma of Jeno's favorite stir-fry filling the kitchen. It's been like this for weeks—cooking his meals with extra care, hoping the gesture might spark something in him. Your lips wrap around the wooden spoon as you taste the sauce, sucking gently, the wood smooth against your tongue. It's a habit now, this oral fixation that's crept in since the last time you felt his cock stretching your mouth. Two months without it, and you're aching, needy in ways that make your cheeks flush when you catch yourself biting your lower lip or fiddling with straws during lunch. It's innocent on the surface, but deep down, it's all about craving him.

Earlier that day, you met your friend at the café. She eyed you over her coffee, tilting her head. "You look... off, Y/N. Where's that glow? You used to light up talking about Jeno." You laughed it off, stirring your drink with the straw, sucking on it absentmindedly while your mind wandered to his thick length. "Just busy," you said, but she wasn't buying it. "Girl, you need to get laid. That post-sex radiance? It's missing." Her words stung because they were true—your body screamed for release, for him to fill you up and breed you like you'd fantasized since your honeymoon whispers about kids.

Back home, you slip into that short silk robe, the one that barely covers your thighs, hugging your big tits and round ass. No panties underneath, just like always around the house, hoping he'll notice. You bend over to pick up a magazine from the coffee table as he sits nearby, reading one of his thick books, glasses perched on his nose. Your ass cheeks part slightly, the robe riding up, but he doesn't look up. Just turns the page. Frustration bubbles in your chest. You make it obvious—crossing your legs so the hem hikes higher, or leaning forward to adjust the pillows, your cleavage spilling out. Still, nothing. He thanks you politely for dinner, like you're a roommate, not his wife.

Nights are the worst. You lie in bed, waiting, your hand slipping between your thighs sometimes, but you stop because it feels wrong without him. He stays up late in his study, the light from his lamp glowing under the door until the clock ticks past midnight. By the time he slides into bed, you're feigning sleep on your side, heart pounding as the mattress dips. He doesn't reach for you, just sighs and turns away. You wonder if he's getting it elsewhere, some secret affair, but you push the thought down. No, Jeno's not like that. He's just... distant. Assuming you're tired, uninterested. If only he knew how badly you want his babies, his seed deep inside you, claiming you.

Tonight, after dinner, it's too much. You've cleared the plates, your robe tied loosely, and there he is on the couch, book in hand, ignoring the way your nipples harden against the silk. You stand in front of him, hands on hips. "Jeno, do you even want this? Us? You married me, but sometimes it feels like I'm invisible." He looks up, surprise flickering behind his glasses. "What? Y/N, of course I do." But his voice is calm, measured, like he's discussing the weather.

"It doesn't feel like it!" you snap, your sweet demeanor cracking under the need. "Two months, Jeno. Two months without touching me, without even looking at me like you want me. Are you not attracted to me anymore? Because I'm younger? Or do you just not care?" The words tumble out reckless, daring him. His jaw tightens, book snapping shut. "You think I don't want you? I've been giving you space, thinking you're exhausted from everything. You never initiate—"

"Because I'm waiting for you!" you shout, stepping closer. "My husband! But you treat me like a stranger. If you don't want me, just say it!" That's when he stands, towering over you, eyes dark. In a blur, he grabs your arm, spins you, and bends you over the armrest of the couch. Your robe flips up easily, hooking around your waist as he ties it there, exposing your bare ass and dripping pussy. The cool air hits your skin, making you shiver.

"You want to act like a brat?" he growls, voice low and rough, hand coming down in a sharp spank on your round cheek. The sting blooms heat between your legs, turning you on more. "Dressing like a slut around the house, teasing me like you don't know what it does." Another smack, harder, your ass jiggling under his palm. You whimper, pushing back instinctively, but he presses a hand to your lower back. "Naughty little wife, thinking I don't notice. You've been begging for this without words." He reaches for his glasses, sliding them off and setting them on the side table with a clink.

The sound of his belt unbuckling echoes, metal clinking as he yanks it free. Your heart races, pussy clenching on nothing. You arch your back, pushing your ass toward him, ready to be taken, claimed. But he grabs your hip with his free hand, shoving you forward firmly. "Stay put, baby. Don't move until I say." His zipper rasps down, pants shuffling as he frees himself. You feel him then—hot, heavy, his big dick pressing against your ass cheek. He slaps it against your skin, the thick length smacking your flesh, sending jolts through you.

"Look at you, so wet already," he mutters, rubbing the fat head along your pussy lips, coating himself in your slick arousal. He drags it up, teasing your asshole, circling the tight rim before sliding back down. "Pushing back like a desperate slut. This what you want? My cock finally shutting you up?" You nod frantically, moaning as he notches at your entrance. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushes in, stretching your walls around his girth. It's been so long, the burn delicious, until he's buried to the hilt, hips flush against your squishable ass, balls resting heavy against you.

He doesn't give you time to adjust. His hands grip your hips, one sliding up to palm your tit through the robe, kneading the soft flesh roughly, pinching your nipple until you gasp. Then he pulls back and slams in, deep and aggressive, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst. "Fuck, you're tight," he grunts, thrusting hard, the couch creaking under you. "Acting all innocent, but you've been parading this pussy for me, haven't you? Slutty wife, needing her husband's dick to behave."

You cry out, loving the degradation, the way it makes your core tighten around him. "Yes, Jeno—Daddy, please!" The word slips out, and his pace falters for a second before he growls, yanking your hair lightly to arch your back more. "That's right, call me Daddy. Say it again, baby. Tell Daddy how much you want it." 'Daddy!' you whine, squeezing your walls around his pounding cock. He spanks your ass cheek again, the sound wet from your arousal, kneading the reddened flesh with strong fingers as he drives deeper.

"Trying to push back like a brat? No." His hand on your hip digs in, holding you still as you instinctively rock against him. Smack—another spank when you try again, the pain mixing with pleasure. "Stay. Let Daddy fuck you proper. Taming this needy pussy." You clench harder, milking him, your body trembling. His free hand snakes around to squeeze your other tit, rolling the nipple between his fingers, tugging until you're sobbing with need. "These big tits, bouncing for me. Made for my hands, my mouth." He leans over, breath hot on your neck, thrusts never slowing—deep, punishing strokes that make your ass ripple against him.

"God, woman, you're squeezing me so tight. Like you want my cum, don't you? Want Daddy to breed this slutty hole?" His words ignite your breeding kink, visions of his babies swelling your belly flooding your mind. "Yes, Daddy! Breed me—fill me with your kids. Only yours!" He groans, pace brutal now, one finger circling your asshole before pushing in shallowly, the dual sensation overwhelming. He fucks your pussy relentlessly while that finger teases your rim, in and out lightly, making you tighten impossibly around his cock.

The pressure builds, coiling tight in your belly. "Daddy, I'm—fuck!" You shatter, orgasm crashing over you, walls fluttering and clenching as you cum hard, juices soaking his shaft. He doesn't stop, fucking you through it, hips snapping with wet slaps. "That's it, cum on Daddy's cock, baby. Milk me dry." His dirty talk pushes you higher, body shaking. Minutes later, his rhythm stutters, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "Gonna fill you up—breed my wife like she deserves." Hot spurts of cum flood you, his big dick pulsing as he empties inside, creampie thick and deep.

He stays buried, hips grinding to push it further, his hand stroking your hip soothingly now. "Good girl," he murmurs, breath ragged. "All mine." Only after his cock softens slightly does he pull out, a trickle of his seed leaking from your pussy. You collapse against the armrest, sated at last, the ache finally eased—but already craving more of him.

─── ✩ ───

Monday came quicker than you wanted.

The nerves you'd carried all weekend pressed heavier as you walked into the office, tugging at the strap of your bag like the motion might ground you. Each step felt measured, but inside your chest was a low beat you couldn't silence. The building smelled faintly of coffee and paper— something clean, bright. Every sound felt magnified. The click of your shoes, the distant ring of a phone, the buzz of quiet laughter somewhere down the hall.

The space was brighter than you expected— open, busy, alive in a way that instantly eased some of the tension tightening your shoulders. People moved with purpose, but not in that frantic, sharp way you were used to. There was no heaviness in the air, no clipped tones or darting eyes. Just small talk and laughter. It was... refreshing.

Jaemin was waiting near the front, waving like he'd been keeping watch for your arrival. "Hey, you made it."

"Barely." You smiled, your voice light but shaky, heart still hammering.

"Don't worry, everyone's chill. You'll see."

He led you past a few glass rooms until you reached one tucked in the corner, a smaller office where people sat at computers. The faint tap of keyboards and the low hum of music filled the air. A boy with soft features and round glasses glanced up first, a smile tugging at his lips.

"This her?"

"Yep. Y/n, meet Renjun." Jaemin gestured toward him.

Renjun nodded. "Welcome to hell." His smirk was playful, eyes glinting behind his glasses.

Before you could answer, another voice piped up from across the table. "I'm Chenle. Don't let him scare you— we're actually very professional."

That had Renjun rolling his eyes. "Sure we are."

You laughed, the sound escaping before you could catch it. The energy in the room was light— teasing without being mean, without crossing lines.

Your eyes slid to Hana. Headphones on, fingers tapping the desk in rhythm with whatever she was listening to. She looked up, noticing you, and tugged them off with an easy smile. "Hey, Y/n."

"Hey." You smiled, stepping closer.

"How are you liking everything so far?" She asked, voice soft but direct, the kind that made you feel like she actually wanted to know.

"Well, I just got here, so I can't really answer that." You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "Are we the only two girls in this office?"

Her grin widened like she'd been waiting for that exact question. She tilted her head toward the boys. "Yep, just us holding it down."

You groaned, half serious. "Great, another male dominated office. Just my luck."

She laughed and rolled her eyes in solidarity. "Don't worry, you get used to it. And if you ever need a break from male central, come find me. We can sneak out for coffee or something."

That eased something deeper in your chest, enough to let a real smile slip through. "Deal."

"Also, if Chenle gets too loud just throw something at him. That's what I do."

"Hey. I heard that!" Chenle called from across the room without looking up.

You laughed, shaking your head. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Jaemin tapped your shoulder. "Meeting."

Hana got up, motioning for you to follow. " First days are always weird, just sit back and watch."

The meeting was manageable— better than you expected. Hours passed with you mostly observing, chiming in when they asked for your thoughts. Renjun's humor caught you off guard more than once, dry and perfectly timed. Chenle was loud and dramatic, but in a way that filled the room with energy instead of draining it. Even Jaemin— steady and reliable, slipped in jokes that made everyone laugh. Hana was sharp, stepping in whenever the room teetered into chaos. For a while, you almost forgot who else was in the room... almost.

Every time you looked up, he was there. Across the table, posture stiff, eyes flicking toward you and then away. The weight of him pressed on you like static in the air, invisible, but impossible to ignore. You kept your focus on your notes, your breathing, your smile, anything but him. But some part of you was painfully aware of every movement he made. The way his hand brushed his jaw, the way he leaned back, trying to seem calm, the way he never quite succeeded.

By late afternoon, you slipped out to the restroom, needing a moment alone. The hall was quiet, lit in pale gold from the windows. At the sink, you lingered, gripping the counter, your reflection calm even when your stomach wasn't. You let the water run for sound, splashing your hands lightly, pretending it cooled the ache in your chest. When you opened the door he was there, standing just a few feet away. For a second, you froze. He looked like he'd been pacing or maybe just lingering too long. His eyes found yours immediately, hesitant, almost desperate and the hallway suddenly felt too narrow.

"Hey." You forced your voice steady.

"Hey." His came out low, a word dragged through hesitation.

"How's the first day for you?" He asked after a moment, words stilted, like small talk was the only armor he had left.

"It's nice." You crossed your arms automatically, your body moving on instinct, as if it remembered how to protect itself.

"Y/n..." His voice cracked slightly, the sound scraping at something you thought you'd buried.

You swallowed hard. "What."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His fingers flexed at his side, twitching like he wanted to reach out but couldn't. The silence stretched, long and unbearable, the air thick with everything you both refused to say. His throat worked once, twice, like he was forcing words back down. Finally, he muttered, "Forget it." Shaking his head, as he turned away, his steps uneven, retreating down the hall.

You stood there for a long moment, breath caught somewhere between relief and ache. Then you exhaled, steadying yourself before heading back in. At the table, no one seemed to notice you'd been gone. Chenle was mid story, Renjun was laughing. Jaemin grinned at something Hana said, his hand half covering his mouth. The noise washed over you, and soon you were laughing again too— like nothing had cracked open a few minutes ago.

Hours ticked by until someone leaned back with a sigh. "Drinks tonight?" Chenle asked, scrolling through his phone.

"Obviously." Renjun answered immediately. "You in, Jaemin?"

"Always." Jaemin glanced toward Hana, eyebrows raised. "Hana?"

"Absolutely." She smiled, already slipping her laptop closed. "Y/n?"

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yeah, why not."

All eyes turned to Haechan, who was staring off, lost somewhere else. "Haechan?" You asked, your voice soft. His head snapped up, eyes catching yours like he'd been caught thinking about you. "Huh? Yeah, sure." He cleared his throat, straightened in his chair.

Chenle grinned, satisfied. "Perfect. First day initiation complete."

The office lights dimmed as everyone packed up, the weight of the day peeling off bit by bit. Outside the air was cool, the sky fading into a soft blur of gray. The bar wasn't far, one of those spots you'd miss if you weren't looking, tucked between a laundromat and a bakery. Warm light spilled from the windows, laughter drifting out every time the door swung open.

Renjun claimed a booth in the back, sliding in with a grin, Chenle followed. Jaemin waved you and Hana forward, making sure you got the inside spot before sitting at the edge himself. Haechan slid in last, right across from you. You tried not to notice, you really did.

"First drink's on me." Chenle said, flagging down the server, his tone already bright with excitement. "Initiation rules."

"You just want an excuse to drink more." Renjun said.

"Exactly." Chenle grinned, handing you a menu before you could protest. "Pick something strong, no pressure."

Once the drinks started coming, everything loosened up. Renjun told some dry story that had Hana groaning halfway through. Chenle heckled him just to make it worse. Jaemin kept things balanced, laughing, checking in with you every now and then, making sure you were okay. You were, mostly. Except every time you looked up, Haechan was there. Quiet, back against the booth, eyes catching yours before he looked away again. It wasn't obvious, but you felt it— the weight of him, it burned.

At one point, Hana leaned in and nudged your shoulder. "They're always like this. Loud, dumb, dramatic. You'll get used to it."

You smiled, grateful for the distraction. "Kind of refreshing, honestly."

Her smirk softened. "Good, then you'll fit right in."

The night stretched on. Shots appeared, Chenle and Renjun got into a loud debate over music, Hana dragged you up to the bar, both of you laughing as you tried to weave your way back through the crowd. You turned, a drink in each hand, and brushed his arm. Barely a touch, but his hand came up instinctively, steadying your wrist before the glass tipped.

His eyes lifted to yours, and for one second, the noise around you disappeared. "Careful." He said quietly, voice almost swallowed by the music.

"I'm fine." You pulled back a little too fast, setting the glass down like you needed to prove it.

He let go, his fingers curling into his palm before he leaned back again. No words, no expression. Just that lingering heat, like your skin still remembered.

"Y/n!" Chenle's voice snapped you back. "First day done, a few rounds down. Any regrets yet?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not yet."

Renjun raised his glass. "To survival, then."

Everyone clinked glasses. The night wound down slow, drinks emptied, the laughter softened. One by one, people started peeling off— Renjun calling a ride, Hana hugging you tight before leaving with Chenle, who was still talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular. That left you and Jaemin. He shoved his hands into his pockets as you stepped outside. The air hit cool and sharp, your breath fogging faintly as you walked together.

"You good to walk?" He asked, glancing over.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

For a while, it was just footsteps and the hum of distant traffic, then Jaemin cleared his throat.

"So... that was something."

You groaned. "Don't."

He laughed under his breath. "What? I didn't even say anything."

"You didn't have to."

He let it go for a moment, then nudged your shoulder. "Okay, but seriously, that was definitely him, right?"

You sighed, eyes on the sidewalk. "Yeah."

Jaemin whistled lowly. "Damn. When you said high school sweetheart, I thought you meant cute little fling, not him."

You shot him a look. "What does that even mean?"

"Just— he's intense. Even when he's doing nothing, it's like he carries a storm around. And the way he kept looking at you tonight? Come on."

Your stomach twisted, you didn't want to think about that— the way his eyes lingered, or how his hand had felt. "Don't start."

"I'm not." Jaemin held up his hands. "I'm just saying, I don't want you getting hurt again."

You pressed your lips together. "It's been years, I'm over him."

"Maybe." His tone softened. "Just remember why you stopped talking in the first place."

You looked away, the memory pressing heavy in your chest. "I remember."

Street lamps stretched shadows across the pavement, then Jaemin bumped your shoulder, lighter this time. "If it ever gets to be too much— work, him, all of it, you've got me. I'm not going anywhere."

A small smile pulled at your lips. "I know."

He grinned. "Good. Now let's get you home before you collapse in the middle of the street."

You rolled your eyes, laughing. "I'm literally sober."

"Sure you are."

As you walked, he shifted the conversation toward lighter things— random stories, nonsense that made you laugh and eased the tightness in your chest. Still, when you closed your door that night, it wasn't his jokes that replayed in your head. It was Haechan— his voice, his eyes, his hand on your wrist like it had never left.

═════════════════════════

October 1st

It had been about three weeks since you started working there, and by now you were finally settling in. What surprised you most wasn't the workload, it was how quickly everyone had folded you into their group. They treated you like you'd been there for years: looping you into inside jokes, dragging you into lunch debates, inviting you out after work. It felt less like a job and more like you'd stumbled into a circle of friends who just happened to get paid to hang out. When you walked in that morning, you stopped short. The office was covered in Halloween decorations, fake cobwebs draped over monitors, tiny plastic skeletons hanging from the ceiling, paper bats taped to the walls.

"Oh, so you guys take this seriously." You said, dropping your bag at your desk and looking around.

"Duh." Renjun replied without glancing up from his screen.

"Speaking of Halloween, are we still doing the routine?" Hana asked, spinning in her chair.

"Of course." Chenle grinned like the answer was obvious.

You frowned at their shared smirks. "What routine?"

Jaemin swiveled toward you, lips quirking. "We all dress up, go to the work Halloween party for a bit—"

"The pregame." Chenle cut in smoothly.

"Basically." Jaemin continued, smiling. "Then we ditch and head to someone's place and get completely blacked out."

You squinted. "That doesn't sound very professional."

"Exactly." Renjun said flatly, still typing.

"You in?" Chenle asked, leaning back in his chair.

You smirked. "Duh."

"Perfect. We needed a new place to host anyway." Chenle stretched his arms behind his head.

"I'm out." You said flatly, trying to sound resolute.

"Damn." Jaemin chuckled, shaking his head.

Chenle's mouth dropped open, then he shrugged. "Haechan's place again, I guess."

Haechan groaned, shaking his head. "Wow, always me."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Fine, I'll host. But bring your own bottle, and one for me, just for disturbing the peace in my humble abode."

Everyone cracked up until Haechan's voice cut through the noise. "I don't mind, seriously. I can host like I do every year."

Renjun leaned back with a grin. "Yeah, and we only have to bring food because he already has all the alcohol."

"Of course he does, he's an alcoholic." Chenle said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Still...?" The word slipped out before you could stop it.

The room went silent, every pair of eyes flicking toward you.

"Oop." Hana muttered under her breath.

Haechan just stared, caught off guard before rubbing the back of his neck, voice careful. "I mean, the bottles aren't open. That's why I have so many— to share. Makes me the opposite of an alcoholic, technically." His tone didn't help at all.

Chenle shook his head. "Yeah, sure bro."

The air hung heavy until you cleared your throat. "Sooo... my place or his?"

"Mine." Haechan's voice was firm as his eyes met yours. "My place."

"Awesome." Jaemin said quickly. "Haechan's place."

"With all his unopened bottles." Renjun echoed, laughing as he turned back to his computer.

When you glanced at Jaemin, he was already watching you, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You're funny." He mouthed.

Your eyes widened. "I didn't mean to." You mouthed back, shrugging.

He chuckled, shaking his head before refocusing on his screen.

Later at lunch time, most of the team had already trickled out, but Jaemin was still glued to his desk. Your stomach growled, breaking your concentration. "I'm grabbing lunch." You said, stretching. "You want to come?"

He didn't look up. "I lowkey have to lock in, I'm behind on this milestone. Where are you going, though?"

"Rosso Vino."

"Ooo, could you grab me—"

"Meatballs." You finished for him. He finally looked up, grinning.

"Ah, I love you so much. I'll send the money."

You shook your head. "You don't have to. You literally bought me a Nintendo Switch for no reason. You think I'm taking twenty bucks for meatballs?"

"That was because I threw you in a pool while drunk." He reminded you, smirking.

You tilted your head. "Jogging my memory... yeah, you're right. In that case, send sixty— for interest."

He laughed, shaking his head. "On it."

Your phone buzzed. Jaemin had sent you a hundred dollars. "Perfect." You said, grinning as you tucked your phone away.

"You're welcome. Love you. Just get back in one piece, please." He teased, eyes back on his monitor.

You smiled as you slipped into the hallway and pulled the door open, only to have someone tug from the other side at the same time. You stepped back. "Sorry—" The words died when you saw Haechan.

"Oh, it's cool." He said quietly, shifting awkwardly as he started to walk past.

You hesitated, chewing your lip. "Hey, sorry about earlier— calling you out like that."

He paused, glancing back. "It's fine. I'm sure you didn't mean it." His voice was softer than usual, even if his shoulders were stiff.

Your eyes dropped to the takeout bag in his hand. "Rosso Vino, love that place."

A smile flickered across his face, quick and hesitant. "Really? Me too."

"What'd you get?" You asked, curiosity slipping through.

"Alfredo." He said, grin breaking through.

"My favorite. I was just about to get that."

"Mine too." He lifted the bag slightly. "Here, take it."

You blinked. "What? No, it's yours. I'm literally about to grab food."

"I'm not that hungry anyways. You can have it."

You shook your head. "No, seriously. Plus, I still have to pick up Jaemin's meatballs."

He peeked into the bag, then back at you. "There's four meatballs in here. Compromise."

You sighed, a reluctant smile pulling at your lips. "You really don't give up, huh?"

He laughed. "Just doing my civil duty."

"Fine, I'll take it."

He stepped closer, handing you the bag. His fingers brushed yours, just briefly, but enough. "Thanks." He said softly.

You nodded. "Mhm." With a small smile, you turned and headed out.

Back at the office, you set a drink and a box of meatballs on Jaemin's desk, his whole face lighting up. "You got me a drink too? I fucking love you." He popped open the box, only for his smile to drop. "I gave you a hundred dollars and you bring me four meatballs?" He dug into the bag and pulled out the container of pasta. "And then you get yourself a whole Alfredo. Wow."

"I didn't—" You lowered your voice. "Haechan gave it to me."

Haechan's head twitched slightly at his name, though he didn't turn around.

Jaemin stared at you, ready to say something, then just sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "I'll deal with you after work. Get out of my face, I'm hangry."

You smirked, heading back to your desk.

When the day finally ended, Jaemin fell into step beside you. "So, what are you about to do?" He asked casually.

You stiffened, eyes flicking down. "Nothing." You said quickly.

He stopped, frowning. "You good?"

"I said one word."

"Exactly. What's wrong?"

You exhaled, meeting his eyes. "You said we'd talk after work. And just for the record, nothing happened. He offered me food, that's all."

Jaemin blinked, then tilted his head as realization hit. "Oh right. I forgot about that." He shrugged. "Anyways, I'm starving. Gonna cook when I get home. You wanna come?"

Relief eased your shoulders. "Yeah, sure. I'll grab groceries."

"I bet you will, with my hundred dollars." He said, faking annoyance.

You laughed. "Text me what you want, I'll be over after."

"Alright, deal."

As you two headed toward the elevator, a voice called from behind. "Where are you guys going?" Chenle jogged up, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"About to cook dinner." Jaemin answered, pressing the button.

Chenle's brows shot up. "Dinner? I'm starving, drop me off a plate."

Jaemin smirked. "Why don't you just come?"

"Bet." Chenle said immediately. Mid step, he pulled out his phone. "Actually, I'll just tell the group chat."

"Wait—" You started, but too late. His thumbs were already flying.

By the time you reached the parking lot, everyone had said yes. "Perfect." Chenle grinned. "See you at Jaemin's."

Jaemin shot him a look. "You're too much."

By the time everyone piled into Jaemin's apartment, the place was chaos. Hana perched on the counter stealing chopped veggies. Renjun messed with the speaker to queue music. Haechan lingered near the wall, quieter than usual. Dinner took forever, but when the food was finally ready, the smell of garlic and butter filled the air.

"I'm starving." Haechan groaned as Jaemin set dishes down.

"Then eat." Jaemin laughed, sliding a plate his way.

Chatter filled the room as everyone dug in. Halfway through, Renjun leaned back, utensil aimed at you. "You two are cute." He said, nodding between you and Jaemin.

Jaemin smiled instantly. "Thanks. Love my best friend."

You nodded with your mouth full. "Same."

Chenle grinned. "Not just as a best friend, though."

Your face twisted. "Hell no."

Jaemin laughed. "Nah."

You jabbed your fork at him. "He's ugly."

Jaemin leaned back, offended. "Says the one eating my food, in my house, that I cooked, by the way."

You shrugged. "You don't have to be cute for me to enjoy your money. That's the point."

He rolled his eyes, pushing his plate away dramatically.

"They love each other." Hana said.

"As friends." You shot back. "Platonic friends."

"Exactly." Jaemin agreed. "We've known each other, what, five years? If we wanted each other, it would've happened by now."

Chenle smirked. "Or maybe you're both just in denial."

Jaemin groaned. "Ignore them, they're messy on purpose."

Laughter followed, the conversation drifting to work gossip. Haechan stayed quiet, poking at his food, eyes flicking toward you and Jaemin every so often. Eventually the night wounded down. Dishes cleared. Everyone sprawled out and full. One by one, they packed up, offering lazy goodbyes until the door finally shut behind the last guest. You helped Jaemin clean up, him washing, you drying, bickering about who made the bigger mess. When the last dish was stacked, you flopped onto the couch. "Okay, I'm done."

Jaemin dropped beside you, hair damp. "Thanks for helping."

"Don't get used to it."

"Too late."

After a while, you pushed yourself up. "I should head home."

"Yeah." He followed you to the door. "Text me when you get back, okay?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Fine, Dad."

He laughed, opening the door. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Later at home, you tossed your bag onto a chair and collapsed onto the bed. Half-asleep, your phone buzzed.

Haechan: hey, you still up?

You rubbed your eyes, staring at the screen.

You: Yeah, though I was just about to sleep. What's up?

Haechan: pretty sure i left my charger at jaemin's. saw it plugged in by the window could you grab it for me tomorrow

You: I did notice it. I'll let him know. Curious though, why not text Jaemin?

There was a longer gap.

Haechan: i did. he didn't answer. figured you might still be there or with him, so i tried you

You: Got it. I'll make sure it gets back to you.

Haechan: thanks. also... sorry if i came off weird tonight

You: No need to apologize. Long day for everyone. See you tomorrow.

The typing dots appeared, lingered, then vanished. You set your phone down and stared at the ceiling.

═════════════════════════

October 31st.

The party was already packed when you showed up. The bass hit your chest the moment you pushed through the doors, vibrating through the soles of your shoes. Neon lights flashed over cobwebs strung across the ceiling, fake spiders dangling in every corner. Costumes crowded the room— pirates, vampires, superheroes, and half assed outfits thrown together at the last minute. And you... a bumblebee. Bright yellow stripes, wings that kept catching in doorways, a headband with antennae refusing to sit straight. Hana had hyped you up when you sent a pic, promising it was "cute in a funny way" and you hoped she was right.

"Y/n!" Jaemin's voice cut through the noise. He was dressed as a vampire, plastic fangs poking out as he waved you over. Hana was by his side, a witch's hat tilted.

You weaved through the crowd, laughing when Renjun popped out of nowhere in a cowboy hat, waving a fake lasso. Chenle followed, lab coat, goggles, the whole mad scientist ensemble. Then your eyes caught on him, Haechan. He stood off to the side, red cup in hand, dressed as... something like a half baked knight. Cardboard shield strapped to his arm, held together with duct tape, a helmet clearly borrowed from another costume. Stupid and ridiculous. And yet, he looked unfairly good. Your eyes lingered just a second too long, and he noticed. His head tilted almost imperceptibly, catching your gaze mid stare. He didn't look annoyed, not exactly, but his eyes stayed on you a second longer than they should have, sharp and assessing, and your chest betrayed you. You tore your gaze away and let laughter and chaos pull you along. Drinks passed, games started, costumes judged and roasted. You and Haechan barely spoke, just the occasional glance across the crowd, quick and gone.

By the time you arrived at his house, the smell hit you first— history, old wood, faint smoke from candles. Music thumped low from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. You drifted with Hana and Jaemin at first, sipping from your cup, letting their energy carry you. Eventually though, you ended up on the living room couch, another drink in hand, laughter spilling out of you as Renjun finished telling a story about his pumpkin carving attempt. And then Haechan sat next to you. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that you noticed. Before he sat, he lingered just a little too near, eyes flicking over you with that familiar intensity. You caught him staring and quickly looking away, pretending to focus on the group. You tried to act normal, eyes on the group, but when Chenle and Hana wandered off to refill drinks, and Renjun got pulled into a debate about music, it was just you and him.

He leaned a little toward you, voice low. "Your wings are crooked."

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

He smirked, lazily pointing with his cup. "The left one's been flopping down all night."

You swatted at the plastic. "They've been crooked since I put them on, nothing I can do."

"They're cute, though." His voice was light, almost careless, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

You laughed, glancing back toward the room. "Says the guy with a shield held together by duct tape."

He gasped dramatically. "Excuse you. This costume is iconic, legendary. People will tell stories about me."

You laughed, shaking your head. "They'll tell stories about how tragic it is."

His laugh spilled out, full and bright, tugging something deep in your chest, something you hadn't felt in years.

He leaned back against the couch, grinning at you. "Remember when we tried to go to that haunted house sophomore year? And you screamed before we even made it past the first room?"

Your mouth dropped open. "I did not!"

"You did. The guy with the chainsaw came out and you almost fell on your ass."

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "Why do you always remember the embarrassing stuff?"

"Because it's the best stuff." His smile softened, voice dipping.

You stared at him for a second, then took a long sip of your drink to cover the way your stomach flipped.

The night stretched like that, little stories, drinks flowing until your face was warm, words loosening. Somewhere between laughing at Renjun's cowboy hat and debating whether candy corn was gross, you realized your knee had inched close enough to brush his. Neither of you moved it away. Later, the group thinned. Chenle disappeared, Hana and Jaemin were in the kitchen, Renjun asleep on the rug, quiet enough that your voices didn't have to compete with anything else.

Haechan tilted his head, studying you. "You seem... different."

"Different how?" You asked, wary.

He shrugged, swirling the last of his cup. "Not in a bad way. Just... different."

You let out a small laugh. "That's called growing up."

He nodded slowly, eyes dropping to his lap. "Yeah, guess so."

Silence stretched, you broke it first. "Your costume really is tragic, though."

He grinned, bumping your shoulder. "Shut up, you love it."

You smiled back despite yourself and for the rest of the night, you stayed there— talking, laughing, forgetting for a few stolen hours that anything had ever been broken between you. You were still on the couch, knees tucked up, another drink in hand. Haechan hadn't moved either.

"You always drank this slow?" He teased, nodding at your cup.

You raised an eyebrow. "You always talked this much?"

His grin widened, lazy and warm. "Fair, but I'm just trying to pace myself. Don't wanna embarrass myself in front of the bee."

You rolled your eyes. "You do that all on your own."

He let out a laugh that made your chest ache in the best way. He leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Crazy, huh? Sitting here like this again." Quiet, almost lost in the hum of the house.

Your stomach tightened. You looked at him, but he didn't meet your eyes. "Yeah." You said softly.

He glanced over then, eyes darker, something raw slipping through. "I missed this, missed you."

The words landed like a punch. You froze, breath catching. His face shifted, realization dawning.

"Sorry." He muttered, scratching the side of his cup. "That's the alcohol talking."

You forced a small laugh. "Guess it's honest, though."

His lips twitched into a half smile, eyes locked on you. "Guess it is."

The weight lingered, until you nudged him with your foot. "You still owe me an apology for that haunted house, by the way."

He blinked. "What?"

"You abandoned me in the clown room."

"I did not!" He sat up straighter, pointing a finger at you. "You pushed me into them and ran!"

You burst out laughing, tension cracking like glass. He laughed too, full and unguarded. 

When you finally realized how late it was, the sky outside the window was already lightening with dawn and neither of you had moved. The living room was heavy with sleep after too many drinks and laughter. Cups sat abandoned, the Bluetooth speaker humming low. Renjun snored softly on the rug, Hana curled in a blanket on the recliner, Chenle facedown on the carpet. You blinked awake on the couch, head foggy, mouth dry. You shifted, and felt weight on you.

Haechan... head against your shoulder, arm loosely draped along the back of the couch. Hair brushing your jaw. For a second, you froze. He was asleep, breathing slow, features soft in a way you weren't used to seeing anymore. Across the room, Jaemin was already awake, sitting up with a water bottle.

You whispered harshly. "Jaemin."

He looked over— saw you, saw Haechan, tilting his head, disbelief written across his face. Then he mouthed "what the fuck"

You shrugged helplessly, mouthing back, "I don't know" before carefully shifting out from under Haechan. His head lifted, blinking blearily. 

He sat back quickly. "Sorry."

"It's cool." You stood, already grabbing your bag. "I should go, though."

"Yeah, of course." He nodded, looking away.

Outside, air cold enough to sting, Jaemin shoved hands in pockets, giving you a long look. "So... interesting how you two were cuddled up like that."

You groaned. "I don't even know what happened. One minute we were talking, the next— I guess we fell asleep."

"Mhm." His hum laced with suspicion.

"Stop." You snapped, lips twitching. "You know it wasn't like that."

He raised brows. "I never said it was. Why'd you feel the need to tell me it wasn't?"

Your eyes narrowed. "You're trying to manipulate me."

"What? Manipulate you into admitting you still have feelings for your ex?"

You scoffed, crossing arms. "I do not, you know I don't. We work together, so we have to talk. I just don't want it to be awkward."

"It doesn't have to be awkward." Jaemin said easily. "It could still be strictly professional."

You gave him a look. "How, if no one else is? We're all friends."

"Oh." He tilted his head, smirking. "So you want to be his friend?"

"No." You hesitated. "A little. I just don't want anything to be awkward, okay? He's my ex, fine, but what now? It changes nothing that has to do with now."

"So you're letting it go?"

You grabbed his arm, shaking him dramatically. "No! That's not what I'm saying... just— ugh, never mind."

"Uh-uh." He grinned. "You can't just end the conversation you started."

"I didn't start it!"

"You did when you asked me to come out here."

You groaned again, shoving his shoulder. "Whatever, shut up, I hate you."

He laughed. "Are you coming back in?"

"Nah, I should probably head home and shower. I feel disgusting."

"You should, Misses Spin Back."

"Stop." You swatted at him, trying not to smile.

He squinted suddenly, leaning toward your shoulder. "Oh— hold on. You have his hair on you." He reached like he was going to pluck it.

You smacked his hand away, both of you laughing.

"I should get back in there." Jaemin said finally, still grinning. "Make sure Hana's good... and, you know, that we get out before Chenle decides to arise from hibernation."

You shook your head, laughing. "That doesn't sound too professional."

He gave you a sly smirk, backing toward the door. "Never claimed I was." And with that, he slipped back inside, leaving you in the cool October air, heart still racing for reasons you didn't want to name.

Your apartment was quiet. You showered, scrubbed off the stickiness, pulled on your comfiest sweats and an old shirt, then collapsed on your bed. Habit made you reach for your phone charger... but it was gone.

"Shit." You muttered, realizing exactly where it was.

You: still at haechan's?

Jaemin: nah, everyone dipped not long after you left

You: fuck

Biting your lip, you scrolled to Haechan's name.

You: hey, I think I left my charger at your place

Haechan: yeah, it's here. you need it rn?

You: yes please

Haechan: I was about to head out anyways, want me to drop it off?

You: that's fine. here's my address.

Less than ten minutes later, a knock. You opened it to Haechan, hoodie on, charger in hand. "Your lifeline." He held it out lightly.

"Thanks, was already panicking a little."

He lingered, hands in hoodie pockets. "Crazy, my place is only like five minutes from here."

"Yeah." You half laughed. "Small world."

Silence stretched before he cleared his throat. "Hey, sorry for... earlier. Falling asleep on you like that, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's fine." You shook your head. "Don't worry about it."

He nodded, eyes on you. Then he broke the silence again, quiet but casual. "I was just about to grab lunch. Want to come?"

Your stomach dropped, Jaemin's words from outside flashed: manipulating you to admit you still have feelings for your ex?

You scratched at your scalp, forcing a laugh. "Ah I would, but... I'm actually meeting Jaemin, for lunch. Like... right now."

His brow lifted, gaze flicking over you slowly— messy hair, oversized sweats, a paint and bleach stained shirt. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You nodded too fast.

"Mind if I come?" He asked carefully.

You blinked. "Uh— well, it's kind of supposed to be... intimate. Just us, talking about some personal stuff."

His eyes narrowed slightly, reading you before he finally nodded. "Got it."

You exhaled, gripping the charger tighter. "Well, anyways— thanks for bringing this. Seriously."

"No problem." His mouth curved, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "See you Monday."

And just like that, he was gone, the door shutting softly behind him. You stood, charger in hand like proof. Only then did you let out the breath you'd been holding. Dropping the charger on your nightstand, you collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. Mind spinning, his expression when you lied about Jaemin, the pause before see you Monday. You groaned, pillow over your face. "Get it together." Then your phone buzzed.

Jaemin: you make it home?

You: yeah

Jaemin: good

You: thanks for checking

Jaemin: always. btw... why'd u ask if I was still at haechans place?

You: left my charger, but he dropped it off

Jaemin: hmm. interesting

You: nothing happened. literally just the charger

Jaemin: didn't ask if something happened 🤔

You: jaemin

Jaemin: 🤷🏻 relax. seriously... chill though. PROFESSIONAL!!!

You: I know I know, damn

Even lying back in bed, charger plugged in, you weren't sure you believed yourself.

═════════════════════════

Monday morning hit harder than it should have. The office buzzed with post weekend chatter, keyboards clicking, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. You leaned against Jaemin's desk, low voicing commentary about the deadline rush when a familiar voice broke in.

"Hey."

You and Jaemin looked up. Haechan was standing there, casual as ever, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Hi." You said, carefully.

He tilted his head. "So... how was lunch?"

Your brows furrowed instantly, glancing at Jaemin who looked equally lost. Then it hit you like a punch to the chest... the lie. "Oh. Ohhh— lunch." You forced a smile, words tumbling out fast. "Yeah, with Jaemin. It was good, very... productive. Talked about personal, intimate stuff."

You shot Jaemin a look that screamed please catch on. He blinked, then grinned slow, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, yeah. That lunch. She rejected me at that lunch, actually. Guess she doesn't like me like that."

Haechan's eyes flicked between the two of you, unreadable. Finally, he just nodded. "Okay." And with that, he walked off.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you leaned down toward Jaemin. "That's the best you could come up with?"

Jaemin raised his hands. "Hey, I was just trying to be a good wingman. He clearly thinks we've got something going on."

You swatted his chest. "It doesn't matter if he thinks that, because I don't want him."

Jaemin arched a brow. "Whatever you say. Why'd you need me as cover?"

You crossed your arms. "Because he asked me out to lunch and I needed an excuse to not go."

His eyes widened, impressed. "Wow, didn't think you had it in you."

"You keep acting like I like him—"

Your voice carried louder than you intended, cutting across the office. Haechan, at his desk, looked over immediately, his eyes caught yours. You froze. Jaemin, of course, smirked, covering his mouth with his hand. "That's why." He muttered.

"Cut it out." You said.

Before Jaemin could push further, Chenle burst into the aisle, clapping his hands together. "Guys, emergency. We need a song about cheating, like, right now. There's literally a meeting in three hours." 

You blinked, still rattled. Across the room, Haechan's gaze flicked your way again before you tore yours off him. Chenle's eyes darted between you all. "Okay, who's taking lead? We need someone who can write some devastating, gut wrenching, heartbreak shit about getting cheated on in two hours."

The room went still. Slowly, every head turned toward you. You froze, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Chenle frowned, looking around. "Uh... am I missing something?"

Renjun leaned toward him, whispering not nearly quiet enough. "I'll tell you later, but I think Y/n should take this one." And everyone heard.

Chenle straightened, blinking at you. "Alright then. Y/n? You wanna take lead?"

Every eye stayed on you as you swallowed hard. "...Sure."

"Perfect, I'll email you the file." Chenle said, already pulling out his phone.

As the group dispersed, your screen buzzed with the incoming assignment, but your thoughts weren't on the file. They were still tangled in the look Haechan had given you and the way Jaemin wouldn't stop grinning at your side. Two hours later, the team gathered around the long conference table. Laptops open, notepads scattered, half empty coffee cups. "All right." Renjun clapped once. "Y/n, you've got lead. Let's hear what you've got— first verse and chorus."

You cleared your throat, heart thudding, and pulled up the draft you'd written.

I held your words like gospel, every vow, every touch. You painted me a future, but it was all never enough. The nights I stayed believing, you were out getting drunk. And now I see the wreckage, even though you were the one I trust.

I trace the lines of memory, the good times and the bad. I searched for truth in shadows, but you were falling back. I begged the nights to save me, but the silence pulled me down. The love I thought was endless, is buried in the ground.

You promised me forever, but you gave it all away. I'm standing in the silence, with nothing left to say. I gave you all my pieces, but you let them fall and fade. You promised me forever... but forever couldn't stay.

The silence was thick over the room. Then, the scrape of a chair. Haechan pushed back from the table, jaw tight, storming out, the door slamming.

Hana blinked, glancing at the door. "...I should probably go check on him." She murmured, already rising.

Renjun's eyes cut to Jaemin, giving a small, firm nod.

Jaemin tapped your back gently. "Come on, let's get some fresh air."

You hesitated, staring at the door Haechan had just stormed through.

"C'mon." Jaemin pressed, voice low but steady.

As you stood to follow him, Chenle leaned toward Renjun with an exasperated sigh. "This is exactly why I don't support work romance. Makes everything messy."

That snapped something in you. You spun on your heel, voice sharp. "We aren't together, so it isn't a work romance. Your friend is just stuck in the past to the point he can't even be professional— when it was his fault. Talk to him, not Renjun."

The room went still again. Jaemin's hand closed gently, but firmly around your shoulder, steering you toward the door before you could say more.

"This is why you need to learn to keep your damn mouth shut." Renjun muttered to Chenle. 

Outside, the air hit cooler. You paced a few steps before the words burst out. "Why does he get to act this way? When it was his fault? That shit hurt me too, but you don't see me causing chaos, you didn't see me crying at my desk, being dramatic. If anyone should be acting that way, it's me! Why does he get to feel entitled?"

Jaemin leaned back against the wall, hands in pockets, listening quietly. He sighed after a second. "Yeah, I get why you're upset. He probably didn't mean it like that though."

You stopped, eyes flashing. "Are you seriously taking his side right now? After all the shit he did to me? Jaem, you saw me. You saw the state he left me in."

"Yes I know, Y/n." His voice stayed calm. "And I'm not taking his side, you know that. I'm just saying— it was hard for both of you. You've gotta let him process his emotions his way."

You let out a shaky laugh, tears pricking hot in your eyes. "What the— what the fuck? Last time I let him 'process his emotions' he cheated on me." The words cracked, your voice breaking with them. Jaemin's jaw tightened as he stepped forward, arms opening.

You shook your head, trying to back away. "Don't. Don't—"

"Shut the fuck up and hug me." He said firmly, pulling you in before you could fight it.

Finally, you did. You buried your face in his shoulder, shoulders shaking as he held you. His hand smoothed over your back, steadily. "You told me it doesn't change anything now." He murmured. "And you're so strong for that, so mature, but he's different. You've been seeing each other every day after not seeing each other for years, after leaving off on a terrible note. You're still adjusting, it's gonna take time."

You sniffled, nodding against him. "...Yeah. You're right, it's not even that big of a deal."

"Exactly." Jaemin pulled back just enough to look at you. "You're right, don't let it get you shaken up."

You let out a watery laugh, swiping your cheeks. "Yeah, it's not even that serious."

"Not at all." He smiled softly. "I love you."

A smile tugged at your lips. "I love you too."

He reached up, wiping your tears with his thumb. When he pulled his hand back, his fingers were streaked with makeup. You both laughed, lighter than you should have. "Just like college." He teased.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled.

"You ready to head back in?" He asked gently.

You exhaled. "...A few more minutes."

He nodded. "Okay."

When you and Jaemin slipped back into the office, the room had shifted. Everyone was loitering in the hallway, voices low, tension still hanging in the air. Across the space, Haechan and Hana stood in the corner, talking quietly, heads tilted in toward each other. Renjun looked up from his laptop, and caught sight of you. "You good?" He called out. 

You smiled, lifted your hands, and made a sloppy heart with your fingers. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head before turning back to his screen. Before you could settle in, Chenle appeared at your side and grabbed your hand, spinning you dramatically like you were on a dance floor. "Stop." You groaned, rolling your eyes, pulling your hand back.

Chenle's grin faded into something softer. "I'm sorry for making that comment earlier. I always joke in serious situations, but I shouldn't have. I feel bad, please don't quit."

You blinked at him, then let out a small laugh. "I'm not quitting and I accept your apology."

His shoulders sagged in relief, and he scurried back toward his desk. You made your way toward yours, finally about to sit, when Haechan walked up.

"Can we talk?" His voice was quieter than usual, careful.

You hesitated, eyes flicking instinctively toward Jaemin. He caught your look, mouthing: hear him out.

So you nodded. "Yeah."

The two of you stepped out into the hallway.

Haechan scratched the back of his neck, gaze on the floor before finding yours. "I'm so sorry for making a scene like that. I didn't realize it just... put the attention on you more."

You shrugged lightly. "It's fine."

"It's not fine." He said quickly, shaking his head. "You don't know how bad I feel about this whole thing. Us—"

Your eyes flicked past him, catching movement. Over his shoulder, Chenle, Renjun, and Hana were half stacked against the doorway, trying— and failing, to be discreet as they peeked out. Haechan stopped mid sentence, brow furrowing. "...They're watching us right now, aren't they?"

You pressed your lips together, then smiled giving a small nod.

He turned slightly, raising his voice. "You guys know we can see you, right?"

The three of them scrambled in a panic, tripping over each other to disappear. You and Haechan both burst into laughter.

"Yeah." He shook his head. "They always do stupid shit like that, don't mind them."

You grinned, tilting your head. "I should kiss you right now just to keep up the theatrics."

He froze, staring at you like he wasn't sure if you were serious.

You smirked. "Kidding... but I accept your apology, we should get back."

He nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

Together, you walked back into the room. The screen at the front lit up, the clock ticking closer to the top of the hour.

"Alright." Renjun gathered everyone's attention. "Meeting time."

═════════════════════════

November 20th

It was Friendsgiving. The living room was warm with laughter, food, and too many bottles of wine scattered across the table. Plates were licked clean, drinks poured heavy. Renjun had the bright idea of a "special" truth or dare game. The rules were simple enough: spin the bottle, pick truth or dare, answer or do it, or you're out for the round. Whoever survived the most rounds won a hundred bucks from the group fund.

It sounded easy, drunk logic made it sound like genius.

The first few rounds were harmless. Hana spun and it landed on Renjun. He picked dare.

"Eat one of those cold mashed potatoes with your hands only." Hana grinned.

Everyone screamed with laughter when Renjun clawed at the bowl like a raccoon, shoving potatoes into his mouth with ridiculous enthusiasm.

Next, Chenle got picked. Truth.

"Who in this room would you never trust with your secrets." Jaemin asked, eyes gleaming.

Chenle answered without hesitation. "Chenle. I'd snitch instantly."

It kept going— silly, sloppy, chaotic, with dares escalating to ridiculous levels.

Until the bottle landed on you. "Truth." You sipped your drink with false confidence.

Chenle leaned forward, smile too mischievous. "Okay. How many bodies you got, name each one."

Groans filled the room. Hana yelled, "We're not in high school, Chenle."

But everyone leaned in anyway, the energy electric. You sighed, setting your glass down. "Fine. I'm sure it's not a secret anymore, Haechan." You glanced at him quickly, his eyes unreadable. "My old situationship, Jisung." Another pause, your throat tightened as your hand rubbed your forehead. Your eyes slid toward Jaemin. He was already staring at you. Calm, but with a faint glimmer of mischief.

Renjun caught it immediately. "No."

You exhaled, then said it anyway. "...Jaemin."

The room erupted.

"Whaaaat." Hana shouted, eyes wide, hands flying to her face.

Chenle jumped up, clapping like he'd just witnessed a magic trick.

Jaemin raised his hands defensively. "It happened a long time ago and it will never happen again."

"Wait, kiss right now. I'm tryna see something." Chenle demanded, grin wicked.

Everyone laughed, egging it on, leaning into it.

Jaemin shot you a look, then smirked. "Yeah. She can fuck really well, just in case you were curious."

You flexed your arm like you were posing, the room going hysterical again. Then Haechan's voice cut through lowly.

"...Yeah. I agree."

Everyone's laughter fell, the air shifting slightly. You froze, eyes darting to him. It was Chenle who broke the silence. Laugh bursting loud and obnoxious, infectious. The room cracked, laughter returning like a wave.

The bottle spun again and it landed on Haechan. You perked up. "Truth or dare."

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, expression guarded. "Truth."

You squinted, challenging him. "Alright then. How many bodies do you have?"

Hana groaned. "Boring."

"Um... four." His voice casual, defensive underneath.

Chenle squinted, drunker than everyone else. "Stop lying, you know it's only one. You said it's one, which is really weird. How is it one if you cheated? Wait, did you and Y/n not fu—"

SMACK. Renjun's hand hit the back of Chenle's head. "You fucking idiot. He probably doesn't count the one he cheated on her with."

Hana cackled, clapping. "Like on some sentimental lover boy shit, I guess."

Everyone was rolling with laughter except you, Jaemin, and Haechan. Jaemin clapped his hands loudly. "The game."

The bottle spun again, dares escalating further. The rounds blurred, each spin faster, each dare more chaotic.

Hana spun and it landed on you. "Dare."

She grinned wickedly. "Kiss Haechan."

The laughter turned to hollers, everyone leaning in.

Your chest tightened. "Naw, I'm not tryna kiss anyone. I'm out."

Boos filled the room, but the bottle moved on. 

Later, Renjun spun and it landed on you again. "Dare."

"I dare you to kiss Chenle."

Jaemin laughed first. "She just said she didn't wanna kiss anyone."

You snorted, cheeks warm. "Naw, it's cool."

Chenle straightened up. "Yep. She said it's cool, it's cool."

"He just wants to kiss her." Someone yelled.

Still— you leaned in. Playful at first, then the alcohol, the closeness, and the noise tipped it over. Chenle's hand slid to your neck, your lips moved against his with heat that made your head spin.

"Alright, that's enough." Jaemin pulled you apart, face stern.

Chenle, grinning, wiped his mouth. "Lowkey, we gotta go to the room now."

The laughter rolled again, loud and messy.

The bottle landed on Haechan next. Before you could react, he shook his head firmly. "I don't want to play anymore, I'm tired. Calling it a night."

You could see the tension in his jaw, the slight dip in his shoulders. He was angry, not at anyone else— at himself, at you, or maybe at the whole ridiculous situation.

"Aww. Boo." Hana whined.

Chenle stood up, wobbling. "After party at my house."

"No." Jaemin said quickly, voice firm. "We should all call it a night before we end up with more awkward interactions at work Monday, other than Chenle and Y/n when they realize what they did drunk."

You laughed, cheeks hot. "I'll come." Your voice flirty, careless.

Jaemin slid an arm around your shoulders immediately. "Nope, you're coming with me. You're going home."

You wriggled against him. "Jaemin, why are you always cockblocking?"

Chenle lifted his hand, mimicking your whine. "Yeah, why are you always cockblocking?"

You and Chenle doubled over, cracking up together. Jaemin froze, face twisting with disgust. He shook his head, firmly. "Yeah, you're coming with me. I have to babysit you tonight."

Before you could protest, he led you toward the door, his grip tight. You stumbled into Jaemin's place, shoes kicked off somewhere in the hallway. He disappeared into his room, rifling through drawers. He tossed a bundle of clothes at you. "Put these on."

You glanced down. An old hoodie you'd left at his place ages ago and basketball shorts. You smirked. "Didn't know you kept my stuff in your drawer."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just get changed before you pass out in those gross beer stained jeans."

Instead of hiding away, you peeled your shirt off right in front of him, slipping into the hoodie slowly. 

His eyes flicked once, then he snapped his head to the side. "Nope." He said loudly, shaking his head. "Nope, nope, nope. We are not doing this again."

You laughed, tugging the shorts up and giving him a flirty look. "Relax, I wasn't even—"

"Yeah, you were." His voice firm, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Always do this when you're drunk. Just like you did tonight with Chenle." He paused, studying you. "But not Haechan... interesting."

Your laughter spilled out awkward, waving it off. "Chenle's a friend."

Jaemin stilled, smile slipping off his face. "...Is Haechan not?"

The air shifted as his eyes locked on yours. "Is there something you wanna tell me?"

You hesitated, words caught in your throat before you tilted your head, smirk returning like a shield. "Yeah, that you're chopped."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. A reluctant smile appearing on his face. "You're an idiot, lay down."

You grinned, slipping under the covers. The warmth of the hoodie swallowing you, he pulled the blanket over you, muttering about babysitting. Your eyes fluttered shut, his presence steady beside you. Within minutes, you were asleep.

═════════════════════════

December 1st.

It was a late afternoon that Chenle spun around in his chair, grinning like he'd just cracked some secret code. "Alright, listen up. Work trip, December 29th through January 2nd, paid for, all of us. Don't even try to say no."

Hana perked up immediately, pulling her headphones off. "Wait, where?"

"Resort upstate. Like cabins, snow, all that." Chenle rattled off, practically bouncing in his seat. "We get paid to chill. Tell me that is not the best news you've heard all week?"

Renjun leaned back, unimpressed. "Paid to freeze my ass off, amazing."

Jaemin grinned, throwing a pen at him. "You'll survive. Think of it as a team building thing."

You raised your brows, chewing on your lip. "So, we all have to go."

"Not have to." Hana said, already pulling up the trip details on her phone. "But you would be crazy not to."

"I do not know." You admitted, tugging on your sweater sleeves. "That is right after the holidays, I might just stay home."

"Booooo." Chenle drew the word out dramatically. "No way, you cannot ditch us."

Renjun smirked. "She's scared."

"I am not scared." You shot back quickly.

"Then come." Hana challenged, eyes glittering like she knew exactly how to trap you.

You groaned, leaning back in your chair. "Why are you guys like this?"

"Because it's fun." Jaemin said, grinning. "Come on. We'll all be there, you don't even have to think. Just pack warm clothes and vibe."

Across the table, Haechan spoke for the first time, his voice low. "It's really not that deep. You should just come."

The way he said it— calm, almost certain, made you pause. His eyes flicked to yours for a split second before dropping back to his notebook, like he hadn't said anything at all.

You sighed, grabbing the pen Jaemin had thrown earlier and twirling it in your hand. "Fine, whatever. I'll go."

Chenle threw his hands up in victory. "YES! That's what I'm talking about."

Hana leaned over to nudge you, grinning. "You won't regret it."

Renjun laughed. "She will, but at least we'll all regret it together."

The group dissolved into laughter, the trip already becoming the only thing anyone wanted to talk about. Dates, outfits, playlists— it was all fair game.

And though you rolled your eyes at their energy, a small part of you couldn't help but feel it too.

By the time the clock hit six, Hana was already packing up.

"Drinks!" She announced, sliding her bag over her shoulder. "All of us, no excuses."

Chenle was instantly in. "Finally, someone said it. Let's go."

Even Renjun, who normally dragged his feet about everything didn't argue. Within the hour, you were crammed around a high table at a dimly lit bar a few blocks away. Jackets were tossed on the backs of chairs.

The group energy loosened quickly, Chenle got louder and Jaemin kept making side comments that cracked Hana up.

At one point, Jaemin leaned over and pointed a finger at you. "Truth, when was the last time you went on a date?"

You scoffed. "Not this again."

"It's been months, has it not?" Hana teased, eyes narrowed.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink to dodge answering. That's when Haechan cut in, smirking from where he sat across the table. "Bet it's more recent than Jaemin's."

Everyone turned on Jaemin instantly, who choked on his beer. "Hey, what?"

"Exactly." Haechan said, leaning back smug. "Too busy flirting with the waitress to actually get anywhere."

The table laughed, and you caught yourself laughing too, head tilted back. When your eyes flicked up, Haechan was already looking at you, checking if you thought it was funny.

Later, when Chenle insisted on telling an outrageous story about his neighbor's cat, you and Haechan ended up side eyeing each other every time Chenle got more dramatic. By the third exaggerated detail, you were both holding back laughter. Haechan muttered just loud enough for you to hear. "This man is insane."

You grinned, whispering back. "You're just realizing that now?"

It was small, but it felt different. Like the sharp edges between you two were starting to smooth out.

The night stretched on, drinks emptied, and eventually Hana and Renjun started arguing over who was more responsible to call the rides. You stood up to help herd everyone together. Without thinking too hard, you nudged Haechan's shoulder as he passed you. "Team effort." You joked.

He gave you a look that almost counted as a smile. "Guess so."

By the time you got everyone out the door, the air was cold. Breaths were visible as you all split off toward cars. Chenle was still talking, Jaemin still teasing, Hana rolling her eyes.

And you realized you hadn't thought once tonight about things being weird with Haechan.

═════════════════════════

December 19th

The week before Christmas carried a weird kind of energy— half of the office already checked out, the other half buzzing with that end of year excitement. You sat at your desk, pretending to focus on emails when really you were eavesdropping on Chenle and Renjun arguing about who was packing the worst outfits for the trip.

"It's a ski resort, not a fashion show." Renjun said.

"You're lying if you think I'm showing up without a look." Chenle shot back, spinning lazily in his chair. "Snow boots can be sexy."

Hana laughed from her desk. "You're going to slip on ice in those boots, and we'll have to carry you back to the cabin."

"Worth it." Chenle grinned, leaning back with his hands behind his head.

The chatter had been nonstop since they got confirmation about the trip. Three nights away, all expenses paid, cabins in the mountains. It sounded like a dream, even though part of you still wasn't sure if you were ready to spend that much uninterrupted time with everyone— including him.

"Y/n, you packed yet?" Jaemin leaned over your desk with a smile that was too bright, clearly scheming. His eyes flicked to Haechan across the room briefly before returning to you.

You shook your head. "Didn't even officially decide if I'm going."

The whole room groaned in unison, like you'd just personally ruined Christmas.

"Don't do that." Hana said, pointing at you. "You're going, you already said yes."

"I said maybe." You corrected, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Chenle jumped in, throwing his hands up like a conductor orchestrating. "No, no, no, there is no maybe, you're coming. Who else is going to balance out Renjun's depressing jokes when we're stuck in the snow?"

"Excuse me." Renjun said, unfazed.

"Please." Hana added, leaning closer, eyes bright. "It'll be fun. No work, no deadlines, just drinking hot chocolate and watching Chenle make a fool of himself on skis."

"Fine, I'll go." You said, rolling your eyes.

A cheer erupted across the office. Chenle threw his arms up triumphantly, Renjun smirked like he'd secretly won a small victory, and Hana clapped with the intensity of a Broadway audience. You rolled your eyes but laughed anyway.

Then Jaemin clapped his hands together like a coach calling a huddle. "Alright, if we're all locked in, I have another idea. Secret Santa."

"Last minute?" Hana raised a brow, tilting her head. "You know half of us are leaving town this weekend."

"That's the fun of it." Jaemin said, leaning against his desk with that grin that always made it impossible to say no. "We'll buy gifts, small ones, nothing crazy, and then exchange them on the trip. Easy."

"Sounds cute." Chenle admitted, though you caught the way he looked suspicious, already scheming behind that grin.

Renjun rolled his eyes. "I already know Chenle's gift will be stupid."

"Creative." Chenle corrected, fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You'll see, pure genius."

Jaemin dug around in a drawer and came up with a crumpled beanie. "Okay, names in a hat, let's go."

Hana scribbled everyone down, ripped the papers, and tossed them in. One by one, you all drew names, careful not to show anyone.

You peeked at yours and almost laughed out loud. Chenle... of course. His smirk only widened when your eyes met his for a brief second, like he already had a plan brewing. You quickly folded yours back up before anyone could read your expression, heart thumping with a mix of amusement and mild dread.

The conversations picked up again, plans about Christmas, guesses about the trip, Hana insisting she was bringing board games while Renjun pretended to groan. Through it all, Haechan sat across the room, quiet but relaxed, his chair tilted back, arms crossed loosely, a smile ghosting his lips as he listened. Every so often, his gaze flicked toward you subtly, like he was keeping tabs without intruding. When your eyes met his, just for a second, he looked away like it didn't matter.

But it did.

Even from across the room, the small shift in his demeanor caught you. Not quite playful, not quite serious, just something in between that made your chest tighten. You ducked your gaze, pretending to check your phone, but the awareness lingered.

The rest of the office talked, but you couldn't shake the feeling of his quiet attention. Even the rowdy energy around you seemed to fade just a little when Haechan was watching.

═════════════════════════

December 29th

The station was filled with travelers when you finally showed up, bag dragging behind you. Everyone else was already gathered by the bus, bundled in coats, half awake but had  the kind of energy only a trip could bring.

"There she is." Chenle clapped like you'd just won something. "Last but not least."

"Barely made it." Jaemin said, though he was already holding up his camera, snapping a photo of you mid eye roll.

You groaned. "Delete that."

"Not a chance." He grinned.

The driver waved you all inside, and the scramble for seats started. Hana and Jaemin slid into the very back together, Renjun staked out a spot by the window, and Chenle was already sprawled across an aisle seat, patting the empty spot next to him.

Which, unfortunately, left the seat between him and Haechan.

Great.

You squeezed in, setting your bag on your lap. Chenle immediately leaned in. "This is prime real estate, best seat on the bus."

"Only because you took it first." You shot back.

Haechan smirked faintly, eyes on the window. "Don't let him trick you, he just didn't want anyone else sitting next to him."

Chenle gasped. "You wound me."

That kicked off a back and forth between them, most of which blurred into background noise as the bus rumbled on. Jaemin was across the aisle leaning into Hana, snapping pics of everyone. Renjun groaned every time the flash went off, which only encouraged him more.

You sank into your seat, letting yourself smile, nerves loosening as the miles stretched ahead.

Eventually, Chenle's attention drifted toward Renjun, leaving you and Haechan in your own corner.

"You look tired." He said, voice low enough you almost missed it.

You glanced over. "Thanks?"

"No, not like that." He ran a hand through his hair, laughing softly. "Just... long week?"

You nodded. "Yeah, but this'll be good."

"Yeah." He said it like he meant it. His eyes flicked to yours, then back to the window, the conversation falling.

The ride blurred past with stories, bad jokes, and Chenle's loud commentary about roadside diners. By the time the bus slowed and the mountains rose up around you, the whole group was smiling again, voices overlapping as you all piled out with your bags.

The cabin sat tucked into the trees, smoke curling from the chimney, lights glowing warm against the snow. It was almost like a storybook, until you got inside.

The main space was open and cozy, wood beams overhead, couches and a fireplace anchoring the room. It smelled faintly of pine and something sweet, maybe cinnamon.

Until Jaemin came back from exploring. "So... there's only two bedrooms, and a pull out couch."

The chaos started immediately.

"Two rooms?!" Chenle practically shouted. "We're six people."

Renjun groaned, already rubbing his temples. "I'm taking the couch."

"Not if I call it first." Chenle bumped his shoulder.

You scanned the room, stomach dropping. Jaemin was laughing with Hana, already half locked into a room if you were being a good friend. Chenle was bickering with Haechan, both loud, both stubborn. You shook your head immediately, no way you were rooming with that, but you also didn't want to sleep on the couch.

Your eyes landed on Renjun. "Wanna share?"

He froze, then shrugged helplessly. "I kind of... want the couch."

Which left... You turned slowly to where Haechan and Chenle were mid argument.

"—you snore, dude."

"I don't snore, shut up."

You cleared your throat. "Haechan, want to share a room?"

The whole cabin went silent.

Haechan blinked, stunned, then nodded quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds cool."

Chenle's face split into a grin as he slung an arm around Renjun. "Guess it's us on the couch, buddy."

Renjun's eyes went wide. "Nope. No, Y/n, I'll take the room with you."

Before you could answer, Haechan let out a laugh. "Nope. Can't switch now, too late."

"Unbelievable." Renjun muttered, already resigned.

Hana stepped in, looking at you with concern. "We can just share, if you want. Seriously."

You shook your head, forcing a smile. "It's fine, really." Then you glanced at Jaemin, as he mouthed, "you're the best".

Bags thudded onto the floor, everyone splitting up to settle in. And just like that, you and Haechan were sharing four walls.

The room was smaller than you expected— one bed pressed against the wall, a nightstand on each side, one small window looking out at the slope of snow covered trees. Cozy, but not exactly spacious.

You dropped your bag on the bed and sat down, testing the springs. It creaked under your weight, which made you laugh. "Not bad."

Haechan hovered by the door for a second, like he wasn't sure if he should really come in before shrugging, shutting it behind him as he set his bag on the ground.

For a moment it was quiet... too quiet. The sound of muffled voices carried from the main room, Chenle already being way too loud, Renjun groaning about it.

You leaned back on your hands. "Guess we're roommates now."

Haechan glanced up, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. "Yeah, didn't see that coming."

"Me neither." You laughed softly. "Could've been worse though."

He raised an eyebrow, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Worse how?"

"You know exactly how." You said, giving him a look.

He laughed, like it slipped past before he could stop it. He leaned back on his palms, mirroring your posture. "Alright, fair."

"You still snore?" You asked suddenly.

He looked offended. "No, do you?"

"You know I don't, unless I'm cold."

"Well, it should be fine."

You smiled, feeling the strange ease creeping in. A few months ago you couldn't even look at him without your chest tightening. Now, sitting on the same bed as him, it felt different.

A shout from the living room broke through the quiet— Chenle daring Jaemin to shotgun a soda. You both groaned at the same time, then glanced at each other, laughing.

"Should probably go stop them before they blow something up." You said, standing.

Haechan nodded, grabbing his hoodie. "Yeah."

The living room smelled faintly of snow every time someone opened the front door. The six of you had settled in around the big, battered coffee table after a minor war about what to do first.

"Secret Santa tonight!" Chenle had insisted, grinning like he'd been planning the big reveal for weeks.

"Nope, we should save it. Suspense builds character, you'll thank me later." Jaemin said, with a smile.

Chenle tossed a pillow at him, which Jaemin dodged with a cackle. "You just didn't buy your gift yet." He accused.

"Details, details." Jaemin said, flopping onto the couch with his phone.

Everyone laughed, and soon the decision was made— pizza, cheap drinks from the corner store, and no responsibilities until tomorrow.

The food arrived, Hana had claimed the aux, playing a mix of throwbacks that had Jaemin singing obnoxiously loud and Chenle hyping him up like they were on stage. Renjun, meanwhile, was three beers in and telling a story about his childhood, making you laugh so hard you had to set your drink down.

Eventually, the empty boxes and cans scattered the table, and tipsiness settled in your limbs. One by one, people started dragging themselves toward bed, still laughing and teasing even as they stumbled down the short hall.

Your room was darker than the living room, shadows stretching long across the floor from the single lamp. You slipped into bed, tugging the blankets up, when Haechan's voice broke the quiet.

"Sharing a bed." He murmured, his tone halfway between teasing and something softer. "Never thought this would happen again."

You turned your head on the pillow, glaring across the space between you. "Don't start."

He smirked faintly, but didn't push it. He turned onto his side, backs facing each other, leaving only the sound of the house settling and the faint wind outside.

And then— crunch.

You frowned, ears straining. Another crunch.

Rolling over, you squinted into the dark. "Are you eating chips in bed?"

"No." His voice was low, guilty, and oddly amused.

The sound came again, unmistakable. You sat up halfway. "Wait—" You gasped, a laugh breaking free. "Oh my god, you still watch that shit?"

Haechan's shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh too loudly. "Of course. Some people meditate, I prefer asmr."

You buried your face in your pillow, laughing harder than you meant to. "You're unbelievable."

"Relax, it's art." He said, grinning, his voice carrying through the dark.

The laughter faded eventually, leaving only the quiet again, drifting towards sleep with the sound of faint crunching still playing through his phone.

═════════════════════════

December 30th

The smell of coffee was the first thing that dragged you awake. That, and the faint rumble of voices from the kitchen. You blinked against the light spilling in through the window, stretching until your joints popped.

Beside you, Haechan was still out, arm slung over his face, breathing steady. The memory of last night— the crunching, the stupid asmr joke, pulled a small smile onto your lips before you slipped out of bed quietly.

The cabin's main room was already alive. Hana stood at the counter whisking something in a bowl while Jaemin crouched by the coffee maker. Chenle sat at the table scrolling through his phone with bedhead sticking in every direction, and Renjun was trying to toast bread without burning it.

"Morning." You said.

"Morning!" Hana responded, too bright for the hour.

Jaemin looked up from his mug, a smirk tugging at his lips. "How was your night, Haechans roomie?"

You shot him a look as you grabbed a mug. "Don't start."

Chenle glanced up, catching on instantly. "Ohhh, right. You and Haechan. Same bed?" His grin was wicked, eyes gleaming with mischief.

You groaned, pouring yourself coffee. "It wasn't like that."

"Sure." Renjun said dryly, not even looking up from his toast.

"Hey, what are we talking about?" Haechan's voice came from the hall, as he padded in, hair a mess.

"Nothing." You said quickly, sipping your coffee.

Hana smirked but let it go, turning back to her bowl. "We've got eggs, toast, and cereal. Take your pick."

Breakfast was fun— Chenle stealing bites off everyone's plates, Jaemin snapping photos of people mid bite, Renjun making sarcastic commentary that only made it harder not to laugh. By the end, your stomach hurt more from laughing than the food.

Afterward, everyone scattered to get ready. The cabin turned into noise of zippers and clunky boots, ski jackets being tugged on, scarves thrown over shoulders. Jaemin was filming again, catching Chenle complaining dramatically about his boots being "designed for dying" while Hana tried to braid her hair by the door.

"Have you skied since... you know?" Haechan asked, appearing at your side as you laced up your boots.

"No." you admitted, tugging at the knot. "I'll probably eat shit."

He smirked. "I'll make sure you don't."

You gave him a skeptical look. "You? Help me?"

"I'm basically a pro." He said straight faced, which only made you laugh.

"Yeah, okay. I remember you falling just as much."

When everyone finally tumbled outside, the cold hit, snow crunching under your boots as you made your way toward the lifts. The mountains rose high in the distance, white and glittering under the morning sun.

"Alright." Jaemin said, swinging his camera around his neck. "Who's ready to watch Y/n fall on her ass?"

Chenle whooped, already running toward the lift line like a kid. "Race you losers to the top."

The ski lift clanked as it carried you all upward, the cold air biting at your cheeks. Jaemin leaned forward in his seat, camera poised even now, snapping shots of Chenle pretending to fall off the side for "the drama."

"Sit your ass down." Screamed from his lift, tugging him back by his jacket.

"Relax." Chenle laughed. "If I fall, it'll be a legendary shot."

"Legendary funeral, maybe." Renjun said.

You sat stiffly beside Haechan, gripping the safety bar a little too tightly as the ground dropped farther away. Haechan glanced at your hands, then at your face, a slow grin spreading across his lips.

"You nervous?" He asked, voice just loud enough for you to hear.

"No." You lied, staring straight ahead.

"Mmm, sure." His tone was smug, and when you turned to glare, he was already looking back at the mountain like he hadn't said anything at all.

The top was worse— steep, endless white stretching down into the trees. Hana clicked into her skis with ease, while Chenle just took off without hesitation, yelling something about meeting at the bottom.

"Does he even know how to stop?" You asked, squinting after him.

"Nope." Jaemin said cheerfully, raising his camera. "But it makes for great footage."

One by one, they all started down. You stayed frozen at the top, knees locked, staring at the slope like it was about to swallow you.

"You planning to stand here all day?" Haechan asked from beside you, already balanced easily on his skis.

"I'm just... psyching myself up." You muttered.

He laughed under his breath. "Alright, come on."

Before you could protest, he nudged his ski lightly against yours, moving you forward. The slope tilted, gravity caught you, and suddenly you were moving, panic flaring in your chest.

"Lean, not stiff!" He called, gliding effortlessly beside you.

"I am leaning!" You shouted back, but then your balance wobbled and your skis crossed. You went down hard, snow exploding around you as you tumbled.

When you finally stopped, you were sprawled flat on your back, staring up at the sky. The sound of laughter reached you, and you didn't even have to look to know it was Haechan.

"Oh my god." You groaned, flopping an arm over your face.

"You lasted, what, ten seconds?" He said, crouching next to you. His cheeks were red from the cold, eyes bright with amusement.

"Typically me, huh?" You said, your gaze not averting from the bright sky. 

He paused, eyes squinting slightly as the joke processed in his head. "I'm gonna act like you didn't just say that."

"Shut up. I didn't say anything."

"Need help?" He asked, voice softer now.

You peeked at him from under your arm, suspicious. "You're not gonna let me fall again, are you?"

He smirked. "No promises."

Still, you took his hand. His glove was rough against yours as he pulled you upright with a strength that startled you. For a second, you were closer than you meant to be— faces inches apart, his breath misting white in the cold air. The world felt quieter, like the mountain had pressed pause.

Then Jaemin's voice rang out, camera flashing. "OHHH, this is gold!"

You jumped back, nearly slipping again.

The rest of the run was a blur— Hana weaving gracefully down the slope, Chenle wiping out spectacularly into a snowbank, Renjun skiing like he'd been born doing it, and Jaemin documenting every second like a menace.

By the time you all reached the bottom, your legs burned, your face hurt from smiling, and your jacket was half covered in snow.

"That." Chenle panted, throwing himself into the snow like it was a bed. "Was amazing! Again."

"Again?" You groaned. "I barely survived once."

Haechan smirked at you as he slid past. "Don't worry, I'll babysit."

You scooped up a handful of snow and threw it at his back.

He didn't even flinch, just turned his head, grinning at you like he'd been waiting for it.

Dinner was chaotic, as always. Six half drunk voices overlapping, pizza boxes spread across the table, Jaemin's camera on the counter catching blurry snapshots every time someone waved it around. Chenle was already on his third beer, insisting the pepperoni slice he dropped on the floor was still "perfectly good."

Renjun had suggested that you all go outside to the fire pit and by the time you all stumbled outside, the mountain air was cold against your skin and there it was— a hot tub, steaming, glowing faintly under the porch lights.

"Oops." Jaemin said, tugging at the hem of his shirt as he kicked off his shoes. "Forgot to mention I did see this earlier."

"Forgot." Renjun repeated flatly, already climbing in with a sigh that sounded too satisfied for someone who'd just spent hours skiing.

"Strategic forgetting." Hana muttered, pulling her knees up to her chest once she was in.

None of you had bathing suits, so it was just shirts and shorts sticking awkwardly to your skin, fabric heavy and warm once you sank into the bubbling water.

The noise carried on for a while— Chenle egging Hana into chugging her drink, Jaemin teasing Renjun until Renjun splashed him, everyone laughing loud enough that it probably echoed into the trees, but eventually, the drinks and the day caught up with everyone.

Hana slipped out first, muttering something about not wanting to turn into a prune. Chenle followed soon after, half dragged by Renjun who swore he was going to fall asleep face first in the water.

And then it was just the three of you. The water bubbled and popped, mist rising into the cold night. You leaned back against the side, head tilted up at the stars. Jaemin rubbed at his eyes, yawning as he pushed himself up.

"Alright, I'm calling it. Gonna crash before I drown."

"Good night." You said, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

Jaemin squinted at you. "Oh, you're not coming?"

You shook your head. "I'm good here."

He raised a brow, then glanced at Haechan before smirking like he knew something. "Suit yourself."

And then he was gone, leaving just the sound of water and the faint hum of the night.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it was just there.

"So." Haechan finally said, voice low over the bubbles. "You're still obsessed with hot tubs?"

You laughed, tipping your head toward him. "Of course."

He smirked, leaning an arm on the edge. "You used to drag me to them all the time."

You rolled your eyes. "You know that's not true, Hae. Don't lie, you wanted to go just as bad as me."

He froze like you'd caught him off guard, eyes widening a little. "Hae?"

You blinked at him. "What?"

His grin tugged slow and genuine. "Haven't heard that in years."

"Don't start with that blast from the past shit." You warned, already laughing.

"No, I'm serious." He said, his voice warming. "You used to say it while pinching my cheeks. Like—" He reached toward you, fingers hovering like he might actually do it. "I could pinch your cheeks right now."

You laughed louder, swatting his hand. "No, I'll pinch yours." You reached for him, fingers brushing his jaw as he jerked back, still grinning.

Then it hit both of you at the same time— the pause, the silence after the laughter, the realization of how close you'd leaned in. The water bubbled between you, filling the space you'd left when you sat back.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Can't believe we only have a day left. Company's so stingy, could've given us at least a week."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Or two."

His grin widened. "Exactly, you get me."

You shook your head again, softer this time, smiling. "You're funny."

His eyebrows shot up. "I am?"

"Yeah, you are."

His tone dropped just a little. "You've never told me that. Like... ever."

You squinted at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. "You know it's the alcohol talking, right?"

"Figured." He said with a shrug.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." He replied.

After a moment, he pushed himself upright. "We should head to bed."

You nodded, sinking deeper once more before finally standing. "Yeah, you're right."

The air hit you coldly, your shirt clinging to your skin as you stepped out. You didn't look at him when he grabbed his towel, and he didn't look at you either, but somehow the space between you still felt louder than it should've.

═════════════════════════

December 31st (New years eve)

Chenle was leaning too far back on the edge of his chair, beer in hand, cheeks already flushed.

"Secret Santa." He announced suddenly, nearly spilling on himself. "Right now."

Everyone groaned, but he was already scrambling to grab his. "C'mon, c'mon, it's perfect. New Year's Eve gifts before the New Year."

No one had the energy to argue. Half laughing as you all piled in the living room, digging around for the bags and boxes you'd hidden earlier. The presents were ridiculous— Renjun got a pack of fuzzy socks with cartoon faces, Hana got a keychain shaped like a rubber chicken, Jaemin got a kid's snow globe.

You were still laughing when Haechan nudged a small box toward you. "Yours."

You blinked. "You had me?"

He nodded, casual on the outside, but his eyes gave him away... nervous, watching you too closely.

You tore the wrapping open and froze. Inside were little things you hadn't thought about in years— your favorite lip balm brand from high school, a silly pen you used to doodle with, a small notebook with sunflowers on the cover. Things he shouldn't have remembered, but somehow did.

"Wait." You said softly, smiling before you even realized it. "Oh my god. Aw, thanks, Haechan."

He just shrugged, pretending like it was nothing, but the tips of his ears were red.

Everyone was too busy clowning on Chenle's gift to Renjun— the socks two sizes too big.

Midnight crept closer, drinks still in hand, and when someone shouted, "Five minutes!" everyone scrambled to their feet.

You counted down together, laughter spilling over the numbers, Jaemin's camera flashing one last time before the room erupted at zero.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Chenle screamed it like a war cry. Renjun and Hana clinked glasses. Jaemin leaned in toward Hana, hesitating for half a second before kissing her.

Everyone yelled, cheering like it was a sports win. Even you shouted, raising your drink in the air, but your smile felt a little thinner around the edges.

Later, the cabin was quieter, voices dulled with exhaustion. You padded toward the laundry room to grab your shorts, tugging open the dryer door, only to find them damp and cold in your hands.

"Chenle!" You called. "Did you not start the dryer?"

He peeked around the corner. "I swear I did, my bad."

You sighed, holding up the useless fabric.

"My stuff was in there too." Haechan said from behind you. He shrugged, like it was whatever. "Wanna wait it out?"

You shook your head. "Honestly, I just want to lay down."

He nodded once. "Cool. I've got an extra shirt if you need it." 

That's how you ended up back in your room, climbing under the blanket in nothing but your underwear and his shirt. It hung loose on you, smelling faintly of him, the cotton soft against your skin.

He settled in beside you, pulling the covers up. For a while, it was just the sound of the heater clicking in the corner.

"That was crazy." He said finally.

You turned your head toward him. "What?"

"Hana and Jaemin."

You shrugged. "Not really."

His eyes flicked toward you. "You didn't seem too thrilled to see your best friend kissing someone else."

You sat up halfway, turning to face him. "Huh?"

He smirked faintly. "You make the same face when you're jealous."

"I am not jealous of them." You said, shoving at his shoulder.

He laughed quietly, then stopped. "Well, you know I'm jealous." The air shifted when he said it, softly.

You blinked at him. "Why are you jealous?"

His gaze lingered on the ceiling for a second before flicking back to you. "I can't tell you because it's not gonna change anything."

You tilted your head, voice low. "How do you know that?"

He let out a short laugh. "Because I know."

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He paused. "I wanted to kiss someone I loved tonight, like him." 

The words cracked something in you. You exhaled, steadying yourself before answering. "Yeah, me too."

His brows furrowed, eyes searching yours. "Who do you love?"

You held his gaze, heart thudding. "Who do you love?"

The air snapped between you and then he leaned in, lips meeting yours. The kiss was slow at first, unsure, until it wasn't. Until everything you'd been avoiding poured out in the press of his lips and the slide of his hand at your jaw. Until it felt like nothing else mattered except this— him, here, finally.

The second kiss was nothing like the first. It wasn't cautious, wasn't testing. It was hungry, rushed, like you'd both been holding your breath for years. His hand immediately slid up the back of your neck, pulling you deeper, closer, while your fingers twisted in his shirt.

Before you realized what you were doing, you shifted, swinging one leg over his lap until you were straddling him. His back pressed harder against the headboard, his hands gripping your hips tight like he wasn't sure you'd let him keep you there.

Your chest brushed against his with every inhale, every half gasp you made between kisses. His lips trailed down to your jaw, then lower, dragging across your throat. The first graze of his teeth made you tilt your head back, a low sound slipping out before you could stop it.

"God." He whispered against your skin, voice filled with heat. "I missed this... missed you."

You shivered at the admission, but instead of answering, you pushed his head down closer to your neck, urging him. He didn't need more convincing— he went in desperately, kissing, sucking, biting lightly, leaving you raw. Your nails raked his shoulders, digging in every time his tongue traced your pulse.

It was too much, not enough. You tugged at his hair and pulled him back up to your lips, devouring him until you were both gasping. You dragged your mouth down his jaw, to his throat.

The sound he made when you latched onto his neck nearly undid you— low, guttural, the kind of noise that made your stomach flip. His grip on your hips tightened until you were grinding against him without even thinking. He let out a breathless laugh, cut off by another groan as you nipped at his collarbone.

His hand slid under your shirt to feel the warm skin of your back. "Do you know what you're doing to me?"

You smirked against his skin, pressing a softer kiss to the spot you'd just bitten. "Maybe."

But then he tilted your face up again, crashing his mouth onto yours like he couldn't stand another second without it. The kiss was everything— messy, deep, too much tongue, your bodies pressed together so tightly it hurt, but neither of you cared.

Every kiss, every gasp, every bruise blooming under your mouths was years of anger, hurt, and longing unraveling in the only way it could.

The way you were moving against him, there was no pretending anymore. Every grind of your hips drew another groan from him, another sharp gasp from you. The bed creaked under the weight of both of you pressed so close, neither willing to let go.

Haechan's hands slipped fully under your shirt like he'd been dying for the chance, palms hot and trembling as they roamed up, then down again, like he was memorizing you all over again. You shivered when his fingertips grazed the bare skin at your waist.

"Can I—?" He whispered against your lips, already tugging at the hem.

You didn't answer. You just lifted your arms, and he pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before kissing you so hard. His hands found your bare sides, sliding up your ribs, thumbs brushing just under your chest, lingering.

You pulled at his hoodie, clumsy and desperate, and he broke the kiss just long enough to yank it off. His skin was warm, his chest rising and falling as he stared at you—wide eyed and hungry.

"Fuck." He breathed, running his hand over your shoulder, down your arm, then gripping your thigh.

You leaned down, dragging your mouth across his neck again, licking into the dip of his collarbone. He cursed under his breath, head tipping back, exposing more of his throat. The sound of him made you ache.

Your hips shifted, and suddenly you could feel him, hard beneath the thin barrier of your underwear. The friction sent a jolt through both of you, and you gasped into his mouth when his hands clutched your ass, grinding you down harder.

The kiss turned sloppy, as you pulled at the waistband of his sweats without thinking, his own hand already sliding under your underwear, fingertips brushing over the thin fabric, teasing until you were trembling in his lap.

"Hae—" You moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss with a shudder.

He pushed your underwear down in a rough motion, dragging them off your legs. You returned the favor, tugging his sweats low enough to free him, both of you moving too fast, too desperate to stop.

When you sank down onto him, the both of you froze, foreheads pressed together, gasps filling the dark. His hands gripped your hips tight, like he was holding on for his life.

"God... you feel unreal." He choked out, voice breaking.

You couldn't answer, not when the stretch made your breath stutter, your body clench around him. Slowly, you rolled your hips, and he let out a noise so raw it sent shivers racing down your spine.

Skin on skin, every movement dragged fire through you— his chest against yours, his hands sliding up to grab at your bare back, your fingers digging into his shoulders, nails raking every time he thrust up into you.

Your mouths kept finding each other, breaking apart only for breathless moans, only to kiss again, messy and wet. Then lower, his mouth on your neck, your teeth on his shoulder, marking, claiming, every sound louder than you meant it to be.

"Don't stop." You whispered, voice shaky, your forehead pressed to his. "Please don't stop."

He laughed, breathless, almost broken. "Never again. I'm never letting you go again."

He pulled you down harder, deeper, until the world narrowed to just him, his skin, his lips, his hands, his voice, and you.

Every thrust built faster, harder, until neither of you could think, just breathe and hold on. His hands clutched at your hips, then your waist, then your back— gripping anywhere he could.

You buried your face in his neck, gasping against his damp skin, feeling every twitch in his body as he pushed up into you. His groans filled your ear, raw and helpless, and each one made you clench tighter around him.

"Baby— fuck—" The word slipped out, half choked, half broken. He bit into your shoulder, desperate, his body shaking under yours.

Your hips rolled faster, your nails dragging down his back. "Hae— oh my god—"

You couldn't stop, couldn't breathe, couldn't hold back the moans spilling out as heat coiled tight in your stomach. His forehead pressed to yours again, both of you panting, kissing between every gasp, sloppy and trembling.

Your body shook, clenching around him until you cried out against his lips. He groaned so loud it was almost a shout, thrusting up one last time before spilling into you, his whole body shaking beneath yours.

The room was filled with your sounds— panting, gasps, the creak of the bed, and then nothing but the aftershocks. You slumped against his chest, both of you damp with sweat, hearts pounding too hard to slow.

His arms wrapped tight around you, holding you against him like he'd fall apart if he let go. You could feel his lips moving against your hair, murmuring something between curses and prayers, too quiet and too shaky to catch.

After a long stretch of silence, you finally lifted your head. His face was flushed, hair damp, lips swollen. His eyes found yours, softer now, but still hungry. Still aching.

"See, not ten seconds." He whispered with a smile, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

You both laughed, breathless, but it broke halfway through. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this. How long I've wanted you."

You stared at him, chest still rising and falling too fast. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"Why not?" His hand slid up your spine, fingers over your bare back. "It's the truth, and after tonight I'm not gonna pretend otherwise."

Your throat tightened. You almost pushed away, almost said no again, but then he leaned up and kissed you slowly, and you let yourself melt into it.

The New Year had begun and here you were, tangled with him in the sheets, his arms still holding you close like he'd never let go again.

═════════════════════════

January 1st

The air outside was biting, cold enough that your breath puffed in soft clouds. The porch creaked under your weight as you leaned against the railing, arms crossed, trying to quiet the storm in your head.

You'd barely been out there a minute when you heard the door open. The hinges squealed, and then the soft thud of footsteps.

You didn't turn around.

"Couldn't sleep?" Haechan's voice was rough, still heavy from sleep.

Silence, you kept your eyes on the dark line of trees.

He came closer, not too close, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. "Y/n?"

"Don't." You said, finally.

"Don't what?"

"Don't make this harder than it already is."

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Harder? Last night wasn't hard. It was—" He broke off, struggling. "It was real, the first real thing in years."

You turned then. "Last night was a mistake."

His face crumpled, and he laughed again, bitter this time. "A mistake, that's what you're calling it?"

"Yes." You folded your arms tighter, like the motion could hold you up. "You made yours a long time ago, last night was mine. So now we're even."

His head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Even? That's what you think this is? Some kind of scoreboard? You think you were just— what? Settling a debt?"

Your jaw clenched. "What else would it be?"

He stepped closer, voice rising. "It would be me still loving you. Every damn day since the last time I saw you. It would be me not being able to forget you no matter how hard I tried."

You flinched, but your voice stayed flat. "Don't say that."

"I have to." He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back. "Do you know how insane it feels, seeing you every day again? Sitting across from you like nothing happened? Pretending like I don't still feel it? Because I do, I never stopped."

"Stop."

"I can't." His voice cracked, but he kept going, spilling like he'd been holding it in too long. "I can't stop, Y/n. I see you laugh at Jaemin's dumb jokes, I see you arguing with Chenle, I see you humming when you're focused and— I swear to god it kills me because it's the same. You're the same, and you're right there, but you're not mine anymore."

You shook your head, swallowing hard. "I'm not yours, not anymore. That's the point."

"But you were." His voice dropped, almost pleading. "You were mine. And I ruined it, I know, I ruined everything. But last night— last night felt like I had a piece of it back, just for a second."

Your chest ached, but you forced steel into your words. "It didn't mean anything."

"Yes, it did." He stepped closer again, eyes locked on you like he could pull the truth out. "I felt it, you can't tell me you didn't feel it too."

"I didn't."

"Liar." His voice was hoarse, but underneath it was raw pain. "You looked at me the same way you used to. You kissed me back like nothing had changed."

Your throat closed. "It was the alcohol."

"No." His hands curled into fists at his sides. "No, don't do that, don't hide behind that. That was you."

You turned away, blinking hard. "It was nothing, let it go."

"I can't." His voice broke, soft and desperate now. "I can't let you go. I tried, for years, I tried, and you're still the only thing that matters."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the ragged sound of his breathing.

"You don't get to say that, not after what you did." You whispered. 

He froze, the guilt flashing across his face. "I know, I know I don't deserve to, but I'm saying it anyway because it's true. And if begging would change anything, I'd beg. I'd get on my knees right now if it meant you'd give me another chance."

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Last night was a mistake."

He stepped close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. "No, it was the first thing that felt right in years."

You turned back, finally meeting his gaze, and it nearly broke you. His eyes were glassy, pleading, like he was holding on by threads.

"Let it go." You whispered.

The door creaked behind you, and Chenle's voice cut through, oblivious. "There you guys are. We're about to make breakfast, come help."

You tore your gaze away, heart hammering. "Let it go." You said again, then brushed past him, leaving him on the porch with nothing but the frost and the silence.

═════════════════════════

Part 2 coming, November 25th. READ HERE

a/n: a collated masterlist for all parts of take it! i hope you enjoy, loves <3 (the first masterlist was flagged hhhh)

[in chronological order, mostly]

take it (original fivesome)

take it again (jay)

take it off (sunghoon)

take it higher (jake)

take it better (jakehoon + mild heeseung)

take it easy (heeseung + fluffy ot5)

bonus!

took you long enough (bonus chapter, jakehoon, mxm)

take it to the other side (all of hyung line)

take it together (all of hyung line, final)

Baekhyun’s never considered himself to be a particularly perverted person.

Sure, he’s had filthy thoughts, who hasn’t? He’s accidentally let his eyes linger too long on someone’s body before, silently appreciating the curves of a stranger. With women he’s dated in the past, he’s let them know just how attractive he finds them: slipping his hand in the back pocket of their jeans, “absentmindedly” letting his hands wander across their bodies. And yes, of course, he masturbates. A healthy amount. A normal amount.

That all changed when he met you.

The new coworker of Chanyeol’s that didn’t know anybody in the city, who tagged along one night to the group outing to a local bar. Baekhyun didn’t talk to you much that first time, but he kept his eye on you. He skirted around you all night trying to muster up the courage to say something of substance, but for some reason his feet failed him and his mouth failed him even more. He didn’t know why. He never had any trouble talking to anyone, and not even in a flirty way. It’s just that every time he thought about approaching you he just folded. Crumbled. 

Maybe it was the way that you smiled at him. Maybe it was the way that when you laughed, you really laughed, tilting your head back as it coursed through you. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was everything. In any case, he goes home with only a handful of words spoken to you.

The second time you meet is even worse. It’s a hot day, so Chanyeol naturally invites everyone over as the only person with a pool. And when you walk in, taking off your oversized t-shirt to reveal a bikini that leaves almost nothing to the imagination… Baekhyun nearly has to excuse himself and fake feeling ill.

“Chanyeol, will you put sunscreen on my back?” you ask.

Chanyeol only spares a glance over from where he’s balancing various food items in his arms, trying to get from the patio table to the back door without dropping anything. “Uhhh, busy! Ask Baek!” 

And when you turn towards him with the sweetest smile, who is he to say no?

The first touch of your soft skin nearly kills him, but he grits his teeth and pushes on. Barely there, feather-light touches onto your shoulders with just enough pressure to rub the sunscreen in. God, he feels like a fucking freak, like a virginal teenager who’s never touched a woman before, but there’s just something about you that makes all of his self-control fly out the fucking window.

“Can you get my lower back too?” you ask.

He curses silently as his hands dip lower, your back arching slightly underneath his touch. He doesn’t do a thorough job, sun protection be damned, and finishes rubbing whatever is left on his hands into your skin.

“Thank you, Baekhyun,” you say with that damn smile. The syllables of his name sound so beautiful falling from your lips. Baekhyun thinks he might die.

It’s almost instant the way that you have him under your spell, and you don’t have even the slightest idea that it’s happening. Every time he closes his eyes from that day, he sees you. He pictures your curves, the way that droplets of pool water clung to your skin, the way you looked with your head tilted back, face towards the sun as you soak in the rays. The first time he jerks off thinking of you, he imagines pulling the string of that joke of a swimsuit as you ride him, your tits bouncing each time you slam down onto his cock.

The guilt settles immediately after he’s finished, his cum not even dry on his stomach yet. He just cleans himself up and washes his hands, thinking to himself that that’s the last time.

The third time you meet is devastating.

It’s a dinner party at Kyungsoo’s, which means bringing over a bottle of wine and cooing over the host’s cooking skills, no matter how many times he insists the compliments embarrass him. It also means seeing you for the first time since he’s jerked off to you. 

He’s determined to keep you at an arm’s length. Sure you’re becoming increasingly more integrated into the friend group, but that doesn’t mean that he has to be friends with you. Just be polite, be civil, and don’t get close.

Of course this is the one and only time Kyungsoo decides to integrate place cards. 

He can smell your perfume so clearly just by sitting next to you, something sweet like baked goods. It latches on to him, circling his nose and mouth, drowning him deeper and deeper into this hole that he’s dug for himself. He nods at you politely, asks you all the right questions so as to not be rude, but mostly keeps to himself. He ignores Chanyeol’s foot jostling his from across the table, shooting him concerned glances. It’s all going perfectly well until you go to pass him the bowl of salad.

“Oh,” you say suddenly, frowning. You pull the bowl back from Baekhyun’s outstretched hands. “There’s cucumber in this, do you still want it?”

Baekhyun gapes at you. “How did you know that I don’t eat cucumbers?”

You shrug, the ghost of a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lip. “I saw you picking them out of your sandwich at the pool party.”

This act, this simple act of attention, breaks him. Because now, after the past few times of watching you from a distance, noticing things about you, he can delude himself into thinking that you’ve been noticing him too.

He can’t stop himself from talking to you now. He offers to walk you back to your apartment, since he learns that he would be passing by your building anyways. The two of you talk, really talk for the first time. You’re just as sweet as he imagined you’d be, but you’re also funny, incredibly smart and perceptive. He falls for you by the second, each step he takes by your side a step towards what can only end in complete and utter disaster for him. 

He’s telling a story about a Hinge date he went on recently that went horribly wrong (he doesn’t tell you that it went wrong because she was nothing compared to you), when you pin the final nail in his coffin.

“God, it’s stories like these that make me glad that I’ve never dated anyone.”

He almost stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your ears flush red and you look away. “Yeah, I know. How embarrassing, right?”

He backtracks immediately. “No, not at all! I’m just… surprised, y’know?”

“Why are you surprised?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Because you’re so…” He stammers. “You’re so wonderful. Any guy would be stupid to not want to take you out.”

Your entire face flushes, but you’re smiling now. “Thanks, Baekhyun. But nope. Never gone on a date, never been kissed, never had sex—” If you hear the way he nearly chokes on his own spit, you don’t mention it, “I did hold hands once in grade school but yeah. That’s about it.”

He bids you goodnight at your building and basically runs all the way home. He spends the entire night with his hand around his dick and the neck of his shirt over his nose, trying to inhale what remnants of your perfume still cling to him. 

Everything is terrible now. Now all he can fucking think about is taking you apart for the first time, making you shake and tremble underneath him. Every time his hand wraps around his cock he pictures your face, eyes wide and teary, as he sinks into your wet heat for the first time. And call him sick, call him perverted, toxic, all of the above, but he thinks about being the first person to make you feel good like that, fucking you so good that you won’t ever want anyone else, only him. 

In his mind, he has you in every conceivable position, but the one he goes back to constantly is the simplest: missionary. He thinks about swallowing your pretty moans and whimpers as your walls suck him in. He imagines the way that you would hold back at first, biting down on your lip, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The ragged gasp you would make when he finally finds that sweet spot, how your hands would tremble as they fist the sheets.

He would be nice to you, at first. He would never dream of making your first time anything less than comfortable and pleasurable for you. He would give you the world, love you with as much sweetness that a perfect person like you deserved.

But once you get comfortable?

He’s not holding back.

He’s not holding back until you’re crying out his name, shaking from sensitivity, overwhelmed by just how good he feels. He would make you cum again, and again, and again until you can’t even remember your own fucking name. He wants to see you covered in marks, his marks: scattered like glitter across your collarbones, your tits, your inner thighs. But most of all? He wants to cum inside of you, wants to fuck it back inside until you’re full and aching.

He wants to see you with tears running down your face, wants to have you incoherent and needy, grinding your hips back desperately like an animal in heat. He wants to be the only thing on your mind the way that you’re the only thing on his. And yes, the darkest, sickest parts of him wants to make you so drunk on him that you would never dare to look at someone else ever again. He wants, he wants, he wants. 

But the wanting has made it hard for him to be your friend.

So, he pulls away. Because you don’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve your friendship when all he’s done is be a sick fucking freak behind your back. So the next time, at Jongin’s house, he only gives you a polite nod. At lunch the next weekend, just a small, Hello. On Sehun's birthday, he ignores you entirely. 

When it’s your turn to host, he almost pretends that he’s sick. But the guilt of disappointing you outweighs all of the other guilt that’s already compounded inside of him, so he packs up his dignity along with a fresh bouquet of flowers, and heads to your apartment.

Everything is going smoothly. He follows his usual routine of mostly ignoring you, and you’re too busy hosting to seem like you care. He’s about to head out with everyone else when you call his name. Softly. Beautifully.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

He swallows. The apartment is empty besides the two of you now, and the silence hangs heavy and thick in the air. 

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “No.” His voice is cold, and his heart pangs when you visibly bristle at it.

“Oh. Okay. Um…” Your hands fidget at your side, playing with the fabric of your skirt absentmindedly. “I just—”

With a start, Baekhyun realizes that there are tears brimming in your eyes. He crosses the distance between you and pulls you into an embrace without thinking. You sob softly, muffled into the fabric of his sweater. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “Please don’t cry.”

“I thought I must’ve offended you,” you say . “And after I thought that we were starting to become friends.”

Baekhyun realizes that in trying to protect you, he’s only hurt you that much more. His heart aches. He made you cry. How can he ever forgive himself?

You look at him, tear tracks staining your cheeks. “I thought you really didn’t like me this whole time. But after Kyungsoo’s dinner party I thought that we were getting somewhere.”

“That’s not true,” he says, panicking slightly. “I… I like you. A lot. And I thought that maybe pulling away would be better for you but clearly I was wrong. I was stupid. Please forgive me.”

It takes the words a second to register, but the second that it does, realization spreads across your face. “You… like me?”

“I do,” he confesses. “But I didn’t want to mess anything up because you’re so nice and pretty and—”

Your lips crash into his. It’s messy, uncoordinated, but fuck is it perfect. He cups your face with one hand, the other holding your waist, pressing you close to him. It takes a second for the rhythm to settle, but you follow his lead, melting underneath his touch.

His tongue brushes against your bottom lip and you shiver, whimpering against him, and fuck. He has to pull away before he cums in his pants like a hormonal teenage boy. 

You’re panting slightly, your cheeks dusted with pink, and you’re the most beautiful person Baekhyun’s ever seen in his life. 

“That was my first kiss,” you murmur, slightly dazed.

“Did you like it?”

You nod, pressing yourself against him, eyelids closing halfway. “Wanna do it again.”

You kiss until Baekhyun’s head spins, need nearly clawing through him from the inside out. He doesn’t want to push, but each time you moan softly and tug on his hair it makes it harder and harder to keep a grip on his sanity. 

“Go out with me,” he murmurs against your lips. “Next Saturday.”

“Yes,” you breathe before kissing him again. “Yes, please.”

Before he leaves, you have him close his eyes. “Promise me you won’t look until you get home. Don’t even touch it.” That’s all the warning he gets before you shove something in the pockets of his pants. You kiss him one more time before he leaves, a sweet and gentle peck, a stark contrast to the makeout session of before.

His curiosity is piqued, but he keeps his word, trying not to think about the contents of his pocket. Once he gets through the door, he kicks his shoes off and shoves his hand inside. Stops. Freezes.

Because there’s no fucking way.

There’s no fucking way that he’s pulling out a pair of white cotton panties, your white cotton panties, out of his pocket.

Your soaked white cotton panties.

He moans out loud, completely uninhibited, nearly tripping over his feet to run to the bedroom. That night, he jerks off without any guilt, without any shame, nose buried into your soaked white cotton panties as he cums for the nth time that night.

Because now he knows.

Now he knows that you’re just as sick as he is.

the kisses baekhyun presses on your lips are slow, meaningful. it’s almost as if he’s trying to make sure you feel every groove and wrinkle on the skin. every once in a while, he’ll squeeze at your hip and give the slightest swipe of his tongue over your mouth, so subtle that you can’t even tell if it happened.

there’s something so beautifully unhurried about the way you lay together. you’re both on your sides, your hand in his hair and his on your waist, lazily making out under the ambient lighting of your bedroom. besides the little gasps and sighs, there’s barely any talking going on between the two of you. just those hot, but still soft and sweet kisses being exchanged. 

there’s a gentle throb that you feel in your core, soft but constant enough for you to know it’s there. part of you wants to acknowledge it, but all baekhyun allows for is the slightest press of your hips on his. your hand attempts to slide down his stomach to the waistband of his pants, but all he does is place his hand on top to slow you down. you look up at him, pout on display and eyes hazy, but the slow down, baby.. we got all night is hypnotic in the way that you can’t help but smile and nod your head.

it’s so perfect, completely slow and unhurried as if the world isn’t moving. why would it? the two of you fit so well together, legs and hands and lips intertwined, and it’s only common courtesy for the world to cater to you both. disturbing you both is like disturbing the birds perched on a tree branch.

suddenly, so drunk on the man under you that you don’t even realize you’ve flipped positions until you feel him on you, ever so slowly speeding things up with his lips trailing down, down, until they reach the crook of your neck and suck. you gasp, choking on a whimper when teeth and tongue touch the skin. sucking and biting until pretty purple marks bloom.

just like that, you’re so locked in on the sweet, sweet sound of baekhyun panting in your ear and the softness of his hair in your grip when a shrill ring hits your ears. you whine again, this time in distress at such an interruption. the man above you pets your hairline, kissing your lips in consolation before checking your phone. 

“kyungsoo,” he says, a little breathless, and your cheeks would redden more if they could. he turns the screen to you, and you groan at the sight of a facetime call instead of the audio you were hoping for.

before you can do anything, baekhyun smiles and shakes his head when you sit up to reach for the phone. declining the call, he goes to your messages with the man and you hear him mumble we’re.. busy. as his fingers tap the screen. just like that, your phone is tossed to the side, and all the attention is back on you. 

“come here.” he speaks so softly, and it makes you feel so warm when he reaches for you by your waist. his hands are calm, steady as they pull you into his frame for a hug uncharacteristic to how the moment just was before. as your body sinks into his, you can’t help but melt at how everything feels for you right now.

perfect. perfect how your body fits against his, arms sliding right in atop your curves, your chin propped perfectly on his shoulder. perfect how you still feel that little buzz of arousal, and feel his, but so perfectly comfortable with it staying just that. perfect how baekhyun kisses the arms that cover your torso when he pulls your shirt off, mumbling that don’t hide from me that always makes you feel fuzzy. perfect how things finally move forward, at the perfect timing where it feels like nothing ever stopped and the feeling of ecstasy you’ve had since hours earlier is still there. 

you sigh, buzzing at the feeling of baekhyun’s lips trailing down your skin, darkening kisses and love bits leaving a trail for him to find his way back home, home to the plush pair of your own. “you’re not worried? that he’s talking about something important?”

he lifts his head up from your clavicle, completely confused. “who?” it then hits him, and he remembers what had happened less than five minutes ago, “ohh.. nope. don’t care. all i’m worried about right now is you.” he smiles, a little cheeky but also so much more seductive, pressing a brief peck to your lips before getting right back to work. 

—huang renjun

renjun’s biggest problem? he thinks rationality fixes everything. so when the argument begins, he goes straight into explanation mode, arms crossed, voice even, expression unreadable. “i’m not attacking you. i’m just explaining why it doesn’t make sense,” he says, which somehow makes it worse. you’re emotional. he’s logical. it’s oil and water. the more upset you get, the more confusion flickers across his face, like he genuinely can’t grasp why you’re reacting that way. but then he sees it: the way you look away, shoulders tightening, eyes glossy. and something in him stops cold. his expression softens instantly. he uncrosses his arms, takes a step closer, voice dropping to something fragile. “hey… don’t cry. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. he pulls you into a quiet hug, one arm around your waist, the other stroking your hair. “i wasn’t trying to belittle you. i just… talk stupid when i care too much.” and he holds you until your breathing steadies.

—lee jeno

jeno is a logical-first, feelings-second kind of guy. and when you argue, you feel it more than ever. you’ll raise your concern and he’ll immediately respond with something like, “okay, but objectively—” and you want to scream. he doesn’t mean to be cold. he thinks offering solutions is being caring. but sometimes his explanations sound like he’s dismissing your feelings, even when he isn’t. when you snap, “can you stop being a robot for one second?” jeno shuts down. not angrily, just internalizing. his jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment like he’s recalibrating. when he finally speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost careful: “i’m not trying to invalidate you. i just don’t know how to handle it when you’re upset. i’m trying.” he sits next to you, hands clasped because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. “tell me what you need from me,” he says honestly. and once you explain it, he really listens and his whole demeanor shifts. “okay,” he says softly. “i can do that. i want to do that.” his effort is clumsy but genuine… and it melts you every time.

—lee haechan

haechan jokes when he’s nervous. which is the worst combination during an argument. you’re upset, and he keeps trying to lighten the mood, tossing out comments like, “okay grumpy, relax,” not realizing he’s pouring gasoline on fire. when you finally snap, his face falls — like he genuinely didn’t expect it. around the boys he stays composed, pretending it’s fine, but the second you’re alone, he’s unusually quiet. he keeps glancing at you, eyes softening with every second. “what did i do?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. and when you tell him he hurt your feelings, his entire expression shifts — guilt taking over everything. he moves closer, tucking himself into your space, arms wrapping around your waist from the side. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs into your shoulder. “i should’ve read the room.” he kisses your cheek, nose, temple — tiny apologies scattered across your skin. “don’t shut me out, okay? i hate when you’re upset and i can’t fix it.” and he doesn’t let go until you melt into him.

—na jaemin

jaemin gets quiet. painfully quiet. he isn’t cold, he isn’t annoyed — he’s hurt. he sits still, eyes lowered, thinking too much all at once. when you snap at him, he absorbs it silently, nodding once like he deserves it. “i didn’t know i made you feel like that,” he says softly, which somehow breaks you more. he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t defend himself. he just retreats inward, processing. you move away and he follows a few steps, not suffocating, but close enough to show he cares. “i don’t want us to fight,” he murmurs. “tell me how to fix this.” and when you do, he listens like you’re giving him sacred instructions. he reaches for your hand slowly, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “come here,” he whispers, pulling you into a slow, grounding hug. his chin rests on your head, and he holds you like he’s trying to calm both your hearts. “i’m not going anywhere,” he adds quietly. “even when we’re like this.”

—zhong chenle

chenle reacts fast. talks fast. argues fast. he’ll notice something tiny, as trivial as your mismatched socks, or your forgotten umbrella. he'll comment immediately without thinking. on a good day, you laugh it off. on a bad one, like today, it grates. when you tell him to stop nagging, he scoffs, “i’m not nagging, i’m helping,” without realizing how sharp it sounds. but the moment he notices you shivering in the cold, or your eyes watering, or your silence stretching too long — he stops mid-sentence. “wait. are you actually upset?” his voice softens in a way it rarely does. he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around you, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “i’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes darting away shyly. “i didn’t mean to be annoying.” he holds your hand as you walk, thumb rubbing circles apologetically. “i just worry about you. too much, probably.” and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart wobble.

—park jisung

jisung panics during arguments. he hates raised voices, even slightly sharp tones. the second he feels tension, he starts stumbling over his words, eyes widening in confusion and concern. “wait—what did i do? i swear i didn’t mean—” he keeps reaching toward you and pulling back, unsure if touching you will make it worse. when you look away, his whole face crumples. “don’t… don’t be mad at me,” he says quietly, almost pleading. he sits in front of you, knees drawn in, trying so hard to understand. “just tell me,” he begs softly. “i’ll fix it, i promise.” and as soon as you explain, he exhales shakily and scoots closer, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “i’m really sorry,” he clings to you while he whispers. “i don’t want to lose you.”

the door to the dream’s waiting room is half open. inside, the boys are scattered — collapsed on couches, riding that euphoric post-concert high. mark is the first to notice you.

“bro, no way,” he grins, already pushing himself up, “you actually came!” there’s something a little too pleased in his grin as he pulls you into a hug.

“of course i came,” you say, “you practically guilt tripped me.” mark just hums, innocent in a way that absolutely is not. voices overlap — greetings, teasing, someone offering you a water bottle. and then—

“noona.”

it’s quiet. not shouted. not playful. just…said.

you turn and there he is — jisung. standing near the back, towel draped low around his neck, chest still rising from exertion. his stage outfit clings in a way that feels unfair, like its asking a question you don’t have a safe answer for. his hair is pushed back, exposing his forehead, his eyes darker than you remember.

you blink, disoriented. when did that happen?

he smiles when he sees you, soft, familiar, but there’s something else underneath it. something sharper. more aware. his gaze drags, unhurried, like he’s memorizing you.

“did you—” he stops, breath hitching for just a second, “did you like the show?”

“you were incredible,” you say, forcing a smile on your face, hoping the boys couldn’t hear your racing heartbeat.

“don’t you know,” haechan’s voice pops up, smug, “our little jisungie here is all grown up,” he teases, patting the maknae on the back. his words hang in the air, earning a few chuckles from the others.

jisung shoots him a glare, a flush creeping up his neck that he tries to hide by rubbing the towel over his damp hair.

“yeahhh,” jaemin chimes in, lounging against the arm of the couch with a mischievous glint in his eye, “he’s far from the boy who admitted he had a crush on you during that one interview,” he continues, eyes sparkling, looking around the room, “do you guys remember that? jisungie was soooo cute then,” he teases in his baby voice.

the boys all glance at each other, all recalling that time a couple of years ago when they were all asked about their “ideal types.” somehow, they tricked their youngest into giving a proper answer meanwhile they were naming people like stephen curry and justin bieber.

chenle smirks from his spot on the chair, “oh! i remember, ‘y/n sunbaenim is really really pretty,’” he mimics in a high-pitched voice, drawing out the words with exaggerated innocence that has renjun snickering beside him.

renjun nods enthusiastically, scrolling through his phone but glancing up with a grin, “and don’t forget how quiet he got every time we ran into each other in music shows. mark hyung had to snap him out of it more times than i can count,” he shoots mark a playful look, who’s trying, and failing, to keep a straight face.

mark laughs lightly but knowing, “hey, cut the kid some slack. crushes hit hard at that age,” he gives jisung a firm pat on the shoulder, the gesture supportive but his eyes flick to you with a subtle wink that speaks volumes.

jisung groans, burying his face in the towel for a second before peeking out, his cheeks still warm, “hyungs, seriously? can we not do this right now?” his voice is half-protest, half laughter, but when his gaze meets yours, there’s a spark there — defiant, almost challenging, like he’s daring you to add on to the teasing.

to figure out what happens if you do.

jeno saves him then, already heading toward the door, “alright, i think they’re calling us…for that…thing…we should go,” he says. talk about mr. captain obvious.

the group starts to move, gathering jackets and water bottles amidst murmurs of agreement. jaemin stands, stretching with a lazy grin, “great seeing you again. don’t be a stranger,” he nods at you before clapping jisung on the way out.

renjun and chenle follow, the older of the two tossing a soft, “take care” over his shoulder.

mark lingers for a moment, squeezing your arm gently, “thanks for coming, it means a lot.” then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind the last of them.

the room falls into a sudden, electric quiet, the distant hum of the backstage chaos muffled outside. you quip a brow, a smile growing on your face as you look at the boy who is now a couple feet taller than you.

“shouldn’t you go with them?”

“i’m sure they can manage a couple tiktoks without me,” he chuckles and you can’t help but notice how deep his voice actually is now.

“sorry about them,” he murmurs, a small smile tugging at his lips, “they never let anything go.”

you chuckle, stepping closer, proving to him yourself that you were not affected by his drastic glow up.

“sooo…you didn’t have a crush on me?,” you say, clearly teasing him as your eyes sparkled with mischief.

and god, he doesn’t know what annoys him more — that damn interview or the fact that you still look at him like he was a boy.

“noona,” he warns, a quiet heat in his voice.

you continue stepping towards him, refusing to back down, “i remember that interview,” you say, standing closer now, as you grabbed the towel hung around his neck, “and the boys were right…you were just the cutest thing in the world!”

you bring the towel up to his hair, ignoring the fact that you were on your tippy toes to reach him.

jisung’s breath hitches, his body going still under your touch as you ruffled the towel through his damp strands. his eyes never leave yours — dark, intense, pinning you in place, shifting the air.

he easily towers over you, the heat radiating from his skin mixing with the faint scent of his sweat and cologne, something woodsy and sharp that makes your pulse quicken despite yourself.

then he reached up, his hand wrapping around your wrist, holding you there, firm enough to feel the strength in his fingers.

“cute?” he echoes, his voice dropping lower, rougher. the word comes out laced with challenge, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist in a slow, deliberate stroke that sends a jolt straight to you, “is that what you still think i am?”

you swallow, the playful tease in your chest twisting into something hotter, more urgent, as his grip tightens just a fraction. your fingers loosen on the towel, but you don’t step back, the proximity making your breasts brush against his chest with every shallow breath.

you want to reply, but it feels like the cat’s got your tongue, his stare pinning you in place, in a trance — all that’s left is the dark pools of his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the warmth of his touch on your wrist. words dissolve before they can escape, lost in the heat.

then he steps closer, impossibly close now, bringing his head down to your level, “noona,” his eyes flick down to your lips. once. twice. “you okay?”

he’s teasing you. his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you, laced with quiet heat. his breath fans across your skin, warm and minty, sending shivers down your spine.

you can’t help but let your eyes dart down to his lips – full, slightly parted, glistening pink. they curve into a knowing smirk, his face inching closer and closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing, lips brushing the barest whisper against his, hearts pounding in unison, the pull magnetic and inevitable.

and then—

the door bursts open and his manager strides in, phone in hand, oblivious at first, “jisung-ah, we need to—oh.” the words trail off as he takes in the scenes, eyes widening.

you two spring apart quickly, the sudden separation like ripping velcro, your cheeks burning as you smooth down your shirt and step back toward the makeup table.

jisung clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears flushing red, “hyung, yeah—i’ll be right there,” he mutters, voice steadier than he looks, shooting you a quick, loaded glance, promise and frustration tangled in his gaze.

his manager heads out the door without another word, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway.

jisung turns his attention back you.

and in three quick steps…

one.

two.

three.

he’s in front of you again, closing the distance with a quiet determination that makes your breath catch. his hand rises gently to your jaw, fingers warm and steady against your skin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. those dark eyes hold yours for a beat, soft yet unwavering and before you could process what’s happening, he leans in and kisses you — sweetly, tenderly, hotly?

his lips brush yours with careful pressure that blooms into something deeper, mouth moving against yours in a slow, lingering exploration that tasted of cherry chapstick and a hint of mint.

you kiss back for only a fraction of a second, your body igniting under the sudden touch, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. but he pulls away just as abrupt, his hand lingering on your jaw for a moment longer before sliding away, leaving your lips tingling and swollen.

a small, genuine smile curve in the corners of his lips — adoration, satisfaction, confidence — like he’s finally won a round in this game.

but you can tell he’s shy from the way his ears flush bright pink, betraying the flutter beneath his composed exterior.

“thanks for coming to the show, noona,” he murmurs, voice low and sincere, his eyes still locked on yours with that quiet promise. then he’s gone, striding out the door without looking back, the click of it shutting echoing in the empty room.

you’re left there, bewildered, leaning against the makeup table for support as your heart races wildly in your chest, pounding like a drum. the ghost of his kiss lingers on your lips, hot and sweet, your pulse quickening with the certainty that this is far from over.

🎬

“—and he just kissed me,” you say, recalling the events of yesterday, your voice a mix of disbelief and lingering thrill.

you’re in the dance studio with xian, one of your group members, the mirrors reflecting your exhausted but energized forms as you ran through the brand new choreography for your upcoming group comeback. sweat beads on your forehead and your muscles ache from the intense practice, but your mind is elsewhere – replaying that backstage moment on a loop.

“WHAT?!” xian’s eyes widen like saucers, her ponytail swinging as she turned to face you, water bottle nearly slipping from her grip, “what do you mean he kissed you?!”

“i mean he put his lips on my lips and he kissed me,” you shrug, the words tumbling out.

“what the hell?! park jisung?? little jisungie who couldn’t even look you in the eyes last year?” she leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, the rest of the group too busy chatting and stretching to pay attention.

“he’s not so little anymore…” you point out, still trying to comprehend it all — the memory of his large hand on your jaw, the way he tilted your head, fingertips on your pulse point — the kiss.

“he–he’s different now…he’s so….,” you trail off, biting your lip as you think of the right word to describe it.

“so….?” xian prompts, her eyebrows shooting up.

“hot?” you say finally, the voiced out admission slipping out with a flush creeping up your cheeks.

it’s true — jisung’s grown into a man. all lean muscle and quiet intensity. admitting it out loud makes your stomach flip, like butterflies turning into something hotter, more insistent

xian catches the shift in your expression and smirks, “isn’t their comeback next week too? we’ll probably be bumping into them all week,” she points out.

“and?” you shoot back, trying to sound casual even as your pulse quickens at the idea of seeing him again.

she arches a brow, her grin turning wicked, “and… what’re you gonna do about it? nothing? or are you gonna corner him in a hallway and show him who’s boss?”

the suggestion hits like a spark, igniting thoughts you hadn’t dared entertain. pretend it never happened? keep playing nonchalance? ghost him entirely and let the awkwardness fester? orrrr walk up to him, grab his collar, and steal back that kiss?

no. that’s insane. too risky. too real.

“no! of course not – are you out of your mind?” you blurt, heat rising to your face as you wave her off, “i’m just gonna let it slide. it’s probably nothing but that silly crush he’s had for ages…he needed to get it out of his system, that’s all.”

“sureee,” xian drawls, her tone dripping with skepticism as she bumps your shoulder playfully. you roll your eyes, but inside, doubt swirls like the beat of the next track starting up. the rest of the group calls you back to formation and you try to push all thoughts of jisung aside.

🎬

“fuck—,” you moan into his mouth, the word slipping out hot and desperate, earning a literal whine as his response, tongue moving in rhythm with yours, tasting you with a hunger that makes your head spin.

you were a huge. fat. liar.

doing “nothing” about it was completely thrown out the window the second you spotted him across the backstage halls. that tight black shirt molding to his lean torso like it was painted on, the subtle ripple of abs underneath pulling your gaze, the veins running down his arms. and god, those biceps — he had you hooked.

a double take became a triple until he caught you staring. his dark eyes met yours, sharp and heated, a faint flush creeping up his neck that only made him look more irresistible.

and now you were here — squeezed into this dim closet, tucked away from the bustle of the venue, shelves of old scripts and tangled cables pressing in. the door clicked shut and you were on him in an instant, your back hitting the wall as he crowds close, body pinning yours.

your fingers tangle in the nape of his neck, careful not to mess up his hair too much, tugging him down as you took back what he stole — kissing him hard, all teeth and tongue, swallowing his soft whimpers like they’re yours to claim.

“noona,” he breathes against your lips, voice cracking with need as his hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer, close enough so you could feel the outline in his pants.

“i—i’ve dreamt about this for so long. years. every time i saw you, i’d imagine…fuck, kissing you like this, touching you…please, please let me touch you,” his confession spills out in a rush, almost pathetic, his cheeks burning red even in the low light, ears flushed pink like the shy maknae he used to be.

the desperation, the begging, the wide eyes and flushed lips — it all just lights a fire in you. knowing he’s wanted you this badly, dreamed of you while you barely noticed, it fuels you.

you kiss him harder, savoring the way he melts into it, his mouth pliant and eager under yours.

“how about turning that dream into reality?” you murmur, nipping his bottom lip, your hand cupping his jaw to tilt his head just right, a smirk curling on your lips as you pull away for a second.

now — jisung was never religious. but in this moment, he looks like he’s just been handed the keys to his own personal heaven.

his eyes widen, breath hitching as he nods frantically, that boyish awe softening the edges of his hunger, “yes—please, please…i want to make you feel good,” he whispers, voice thick with reverence, like touching you is a privilege he’s been training his whole life for.

you guide his hand down, sliding it under the hem of your skirt, your thighs parting just enough to invite him in. his fingers brush your skin, tracing upward to the waistband of your tight safety shorts beneath.

he hesitates for a beat, eyes flicking up to yours in silent question. you nod, urging him on with a soft press of your hand over his. jisung slides his hand in until he reaches your panties, slipping beneath that lace too. his fingertips graze your slick folds, a soft gasp escaping you at the first contact. your tight shorts keeping his fingers closer, adding to the pressure.

you pull him back into the kiss, lips sealing over his to muffle the sound. he responds hungrily, tongue delving deep as his finger presses along your slit, the heat of his mouth mirroring the building warmth below. you rock against his hand instinctively, needing more, while the kiss turned sloppy and urgent, breaths mingling in hot pants between licks and sucks.

“like this?” he murmurs into your mouth, voice barely above a whisper as he pushes one finger inside your pussy with a careful thrust. the intrusion is slick and welcoming, your walls clenching around him as you nod against his lips.

“just like that, jisungie,” you breathe, the pet name slipping out soft and affectionate. his free hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek while his mouth claims yours again, the kiss deepening with every slide of his finger.

he groans quietly at the feel of you griping him, so wet and tight, “you feel so good, noona.” then he’s back, kissing you fercely, his finger fucking you deeper, curling to hit that spot that mkes your hips buck.

your body starts to respond more intensely, soft moans bubbling up from your throat, you feel yourself unraveling, turning pliant under his hand, knees weakening as the pleasure continued to build.

jisung notices it immediately — the way your breaths hitch sharper, your lips no longer catching up with his, your body melting against the wall, those quiet sounds escaping despite your efforts. it sparks something in him, confidence blooming in his eyes. his thrusts grow surer, fingers pressing deeper with purpose and he pulls back just enough to watch your face, drinking in every flicker of you losing control.

“oh god,” you gasp, the word barely out before another moan slips free, soft and needy. you have to bite down hard on your lower lip to stifle the next one, your head tipping back against the wall as your pussy clenches around his fingers.

god, the sight of you like this — putty in his hands, fighting to stay quiet — it was a dream come true.

but he’s greedy. and he wants to hear more, to coax every stifled sound from you in this cramped space where footsteps echo past the door every few seconds, voice murmuring in the hall.

he adds a second finger without asking, stretching you fuller, making your hips jerk as he pumps quicker, thumb circling your clit in firm, quick strokes. his mouth finds your neck instead, lips brushing against your skin, trailing kisses down the column of your throat, his ear attuned to the way your moans try to break free — muffled whimpers that vibrate against his tongue as he sucks lightly at your pulse point, nipping just enough to draw another gasp.

“jisung—ah,” you whisper-moan, the sound ragged and desperate, your hand fisting in his shirt, desperately trying to stay grounded as you bite your lip again, teeth sinking into trap the louder cry building in your chest.

people are right outside, the risk sharpening every sensation, but he doesn’t stop, encouraged by how you’re falling apart for him, your body trembling, walls fluttering tighter around his fingers.

“i love hearing you, noona,” he hums against your neck, voice low and round with his own arousal, fingers continuing to curl just right, driving you relentlessly toward the edge. another moan escapes, softer this time but no less intoxicating to him.

the coil snaps hard and fast — your pussy spasming around his fingers as you come undone, a choked cry muffled by your bitten lip, head thrown back, eyes shut in bliss, while waves of pleasure crash through you.

jisung holds you through it, his free hand gripping your hip to steady you as your legs threaten to give, his fingers still moving to draw out every pulse, his ears catching each stifled aftershock moan like a secret just for him, his eyes taking a mental screenshot.

“fuck, noona—that’s…that’s the hottest thing i’ve ever seen,” he swears, voice hoarse and reverent, meeting your dazed eyes. he keeps his fingers buried deep a moment longer before easing them out slowly, your pussy clenching one last time around the retreating digits, slick trailing in glistening strings.

without another word, jisung brings his hand up, eyes locked on yours with a mix of mischief and raw hunger — he slides his fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling deliberately to lick every drop of your cum clean, sucking them with soft, needy hum that vibrates through the air.

your eyes widen in surprise, heat flooding your cheeks at the bold move — filthy and uncharacteristically daring from the boy who’s still got that flush on his ears.

”what?” he murmurs around his fingers, popping them free, a shy grin tugging at his lips as he sees your reaction, “i had to clean them somehow.”

a laugh bubbles out of you, light and breathless, cutting through the tension. it’s infectious, easing the urgency into something warmer and you reach for the front of his shirt, fisiting the fabric to yank him close. your lips crash into his once again, tasting yourself faintly on his tongue as you kiss him deep and slow.

“when did you get so hot, huh, park jisung?” you whisper against his mouth, the words deliberate — no pet name, no jisungie, just his full name like he’s a man now, not the kid you’ve always teased.

and it pulls him completely under your spell. his breath stutters, eyes going wide and glassy, that confident facade cracking as he unravels right there, “i-i could…do more…if you want,” he stammers, hands clutching at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“yeah?” you tease softly, arching a brow as you smooth his shirt back down your thumb brushing his collarbone.

he nods quickly, frantically, the motion so eager it’s almost comical, his cheeks burning brighter. it’s cute. that boyish enthusiasm peeking through the heat, making your chest tighten with affection.

“i do…want that,” you affirm, voice dropping low and sure. the air between you crackles with promise.

“my place,” he blurts faster than you expect, the words tumbling out in a rush, ”come to mine tonight?”

you quirk a brow, smirking at the slip — half-invitation, half-demand.

“are you asking or are you telling me?”

he swallows hard, forcing that confidence back into place, jaw setting as he meets your gaze head-on, “i’m telling you, noona. come to mine tonight.”

a smile curve your lips, genuine and approving, “the right choice. text me your address,” you instruct, leaning in for one final kiss, soft, lingering, a seal on the deal.

then you slip away, cracking the door just enough to peek out before darting into the hallway, heart pounding like you’ve just run a marathon, the ache between your thighs a lingering thrill.

xian’s lounging against the wall nearby, scrolling on her phone, but her head snaps up the second you emerge. her eyes narrow playfully, scanning your flushed face and slightly mussed hair, before she flashes a knowing thumbs-up, lips twitching in a suppressed grin.

you mouth a quick “shut up,” playing it cool, smoothing your expression into casual nonchalance. she just chuckles silently, falling into step beside you as you both weave through the backstage chaos toward the stage entrance for the ending segment.

the mc’s voice booms over the speakers, calling out the nominated artists for the week. you stand shoulder to shoulder with your group members, lights blinding as the cameras pan slowly, capturing every polished smile and wave, the sea of lightsticks waving in synchronized frenzy below.

jisung is a few people away, flanked by his members, his posture straight and idol-perfect, that practiced smile plastered on as he waves to fans with the same hand that was inside you just minutes ago.

you catch it — the subtle flick of his eyes toward you, that idol smile turning into a smirk only you know the meaning of. a secret heat simmering beneath the professional facade.

the applause thunders on, spotlights dancing and to everyone who was watching — you two were nothing but perfect idols.

🎬

your heart races with a mix of nerves and mischief, the baggy floral pants swishing around your legs, paired with a crisp white long-sleeve and topped by a sensible vest that screams ahjumma. you’d gone all out. even adding a curly wig and a sturdy handbag dangling from your shoulder like you’re off to the market.

as idols, relationships are “off-limits.” you just have to be good enough to hide it. and this get-up ensures just that. no prying eyes from fans, no suspicious glances, no whispered rumors.

you ring the doorbell. footsteps hurry closer and it creaks open. jisung’s there in gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a black shirt that clings to his lean chest, fresh from a shower with damp hair.

his eyes widen, gaze sweeping over you, from the vest to the ridiculous colorful pants, and he bursts out laughing, bending at the waist as if you just told him the funniest joke ever.

“noona,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach, “i’m into older women…but not this old,” his face is flushed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he straightens up just enough to let you inside.

you enter his place, kicking off your flats with a grin, the cool apartment air hitting your skin.

“what? is this not doing it for you?” you tease, adjusting the wig with exaggerated flair and striking a pose, hands on hips like a scolding elder, “not activating your ahjumma kink?”

that sets him off again, his laughter booming as he leans against his shut door, “oh my god, noona stop— it’s too much.”

you match his laugh, reaching up to yank the wig free in one swift motion, tossing it at him like a playful challenge. it lands in his hands, the curly mess dangling from his fingers as your real hair tumbles down, framing your face perfectly.

his chuckles die out instantly, the sound fading into a sharp intake of breath. the air thickens charged with something heavier and he pushes off the door, closing the distance between you in two strides. his free hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw as he stares, eyes dark and intense.

“i can’t believe you’re actually here,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, the words laced with awe and hunger.

your hand slides up his arm and you tilt your head to meet his gaze, “hmm and now that you got me here, what do you suppose we do?” the teasing edge lingers in your tone, soft, inviting, as you lean in to brush your lips against his.

he smirks against your lips, before pulling away slightly, “we could watch a movie?”

“that’s it?”

“and we could make out a little,” he says, his hand dropping from your jaw to your waist.

“just a little?”

“or a lot,” he says, pulling you closer, fingers flexing like he’s already forgotten his own suggestion about movies.

for a second, you think he’s going to abandon the idea entirely, his lips hovering just above yours, breath ghosting over your skin.

and then.

he pulls back. clearing his throat like he needs to reset his brain, “c’mon, let’s watch that movie.”

there’s no way.

there’s actually no way you’ve gone through all of this to watch a movie.

but before you can protest, he takes your hand and leads you deeper into his apartment. you toss your handbag on the floor, following him into his living room. the t.v. is already on as he unpauses it. bright snow. dramatic orchestral music. you stare at the screen.

“is this–”

“don’t judge me,” he says quickly, dropping onto the couch, “it’s a classic.”

anna and elsa appear mid-argument, voices echoing through the speakers.

there’s no way he was going to fuck you while frozen plays in the background…right?

you turn slowly to look at him. he’s already settled in, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, looking absurdly domestic. comfortable. like this was the plan all along. you slowly sit beside him, hyperaware of everything — the heat radiating from him, the faint scent of his shampoo, the way his fingers absentmindedly tap against the couch cushion near your shoulder.

on screen, anna is dramatically belting something about love. your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason. you sneak a glance at him. he’s watching intently. actually watching. eyes focused. brows slightly knit. fully invested in the animation.

you narrow your eyes.

what kind of sick foreplay is this?

you are so insanely turned on right now. the memory of his fingers curling inside you replaying in your mind. and he’s just sitting there. calm. composed. watching.

is he serious?!?

you shift slightly, letting your knee brush his thigh. nothing. he doesn’t even look at you.

“wow,” he mutters, softly at the screen, “that song is so good.”

you stare at him.

you lean back, pretending to get comfortable, but really you’re eyeing him from the corner of your eye. the curve of his jaw. the way his lips part when he concentrates. the faint rise and fall of his chest. he senses it. without turning his head, he smirks.

“you’re staring.”

“i’m not.”

“you are,” he says calmly, still looking at the tv, “you’ve been starting at me for the past 45 seconds.”

your face heats. he was counting?

his arm slides down from the back of the couch to rest behind you, fingers grazing your shoulder lightly. barely there. it’s subtle. too subtle. your pulse jumps anyway.

“you’re evil,” you whisper.

“for watching a movie?”

“for pretending you’re not aware of what you’re doing.”

on screen, anna dramatically falls into han’s arms.

jisung leans closer to you, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “i’m very aware.” your breath catches.

“but,” he continues, “i also really like this part.”

you gape at him. he laughs softly, the sound low and teasing, before finally giving in just a little. his hand slides from your shoulder to your waist, thumb drawing lazy circles through the fabric of your shirt.

“i’ve waited years for this noona…i don’t want it to be over just yet,” he says quietly.

your eyes narrow, “are you implying that this is a one-time thing?”

he turns to look at you then.

finally.

“is it not? just noona granting her poor little dongsaeng’s pathetic wishes?”

the words hang between you, laced with that familiar mix of playfulness and something deeper, more vulnerable.

his eyes search yours, the t.v.’s glow casting flickering shadows across his face, making the moment feel even more intimate in the dim room.

you shift closer, “pathetic wishes?” you echo, voice low, eyebrows furrowed, “do you really think i would’ve gone through all that effort to be here if i didn’t want you?”

his hand at your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his side, “yeah?” he murmurs, his free hand capturing yours, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss against your knuckles. it’s sweet, almost boyish, but the heat in his gaze tells you he's anything but innocent.

“then tell me, noona. what do you want this to be?” the air thickens, charged with the unspoken promise of more.

you lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “not a one-time thing. not if you keep looking at me like that.”

his ears flush pink, that telltale sign of his shyness peeking through the confidence he's built, and it only makes you bolder. you nip at his earlobe, feeling him shiver, his arm wrapping fully around you now, hand splaying across your lower back.

the movie drones on — kristoff and anna's banter filling the speakers — but jisung can no longer pretend to care.

he turns his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss, slower, deep, his tongue sliding against yours with deliberate strokes. you melt into it, your body arching toward him. his hand ventures lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the skin of your stomach.

“fuck this movie,” you breathe against his lips when you break for air, the words spilling out rough and demanding.

no more teasing, no more waiting.

you swing a leg over his lap in one fluid motion, straddling him fully, your knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his hips. his hands instinctively grip your thighs, but you grab his chin, tilting his face up to meet your eyes.

“eyes on me, jisung. only me.”

he swallows hard, pupils blown wide, but he nods, gaze locked on yours as you crash your mouth back to his. the kiss is messy this time, urgent — teeth clashing, tongues tangling, your fingers threading through his hair to pull him closer.

he groans into it, the vibration rumbling through your chest, his hips bucking up slightly to press his hardness against your core through the layers of fabric. you rock against him once, twice, savoring the friction, but you want more. control surges through you, hot and heady, as you dominate the rhythm of the kiss, nipping his lower lip until he whimpers softly.

his hands roam up your sides, fumbling with the buttons of your vest in haste. he shrugs it off your shoulders, letting it slide to the floor with a soft thud. you break the kiss just long enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, leaving you in the white lacy bra you'd chosen specifically for this — for him. the delicate fabric clings to your curves, sheer enough to tease the outline of your nipples, already pebbled from his earlier touches.

jisung's breath stutters, his eyes raking over you like he's memorizing every inch.

“god, you're beautiful,” he rasps, voice thick with awe, before his mouth descends.

he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point, making you gasp, then trails lower to your collarbone, licking and nipping the sensitive skin there.

his hand slide up fingers hooking into the bra's cups, tugging them down without unhooking the straps. the lace bunches under your breasts, exposing them fully to the cool air of the room — and to him.

he doesn't hesitate, leaning in to capture one nipple between his lips, sucking hard while his tongue flicks over the peak. you arch into it, a sharp moan escaping as pleasure shoots straight to your pussy, making you clench around nothing.

he switches sides, lavishing the other tit with the same attention — suck, swirl, graze with his teeth — drawing out your whines. your hands clutch his shoulders, nails digging in as you grind down against his clothed cock, feeling it throb insistently through his sweatpants, the heat of him searing against your damp panties.

the friction isn't enough, you need to feel him, all of him. your fingers dip into the waistband of his sweats, shoving them down just enough to free his length. you wrap your hand around his cock, squeezing the thick base, and your eyes widen at the size — bigger than you'd imagined, hot and heavy in your palm, veins pulsing under your grip.

he bucks into your touch with a choked groan, his mouth popping off your breast to bury his face in your neck, panting hot breaths against your skin.

“fuck,” he whimpers, hips jerking as you stroke him slowly, thumb swiping over the slick tip.

he thrusts up into your hand, desperate now, his control fraying under your command, “please,” he murmurs against your mouth, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, “—want you so bad. been dreaming of this.”

you quicken your strokes, twisting your wrist at the head, watching his face contort in ecstasy — eyes squeezed shut, lips parted on a silent moan.

but you tap his cheek lightly, reminding him, “eyes on me, remember?”

he forces them open, locking onto yours, the vulnerability there making your heart — and your pussy — clench.

“good boy,” you whisper, leaning in to suck a mark into his jaw.

the tension builds, his cock leaking pre-cum over your fingers, your body aching to take him inside, but you draw it out just a little longer, savoring the power, the way he trembles beneath you.

the outside world, the movie — none of it matters. just this, just him, unraveling under your touch.

jisung’s chest heaves as you continue to pump him up and down, his cock slick with pre-cum, fingers digging into your hips as he fights control. but the strain shows in the way his jaw clenches.

you lean down, capturing his mouth in another bruising kiss, swallowing his moans while you start grinding your soaked core against his thigh. his hands immediately slide to the waistband of your floral pants, tugging it down.

“off,” he mutters, voice rough and commanding, the shyness giving way to raw hunger. you lift your hips just enough for him to yank them down, the fabric pooling at your knees befre he shoves them aside completely.

his gaze drops to your panties — matching white lace, sheer and clinging to your folds, the material darkened with how wet you are. a low growl rumbles from his throat as he stares — you really did plan all this out, coming to him in a matching set.

he still couldn’t believe it.

“fuck, noona…you’re soaking for me,” his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider over his lap, thumbs brushing the edge of the lace. the sight undoes him — his cock twitching in your hand and he surges up, mouth latching onto your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, “so hot. can’t believe you’re here like this, all for me.”

his fingers hook into the sides of your panties and with a frustrated snarl, he rips them – the threads snapping as he tears the fabric apart.

cool air hits your exposed pussy, your slick folds bare and dripping onto his sweatpants. you gasp at the suddennes, the possessivness of it sending a fresh wave of heat through you, your clit pulisng with want.

“jisung–c-condom,” you say through breathy moans. his eyes flick to the side table drawer without pulling away from you, leaning over awkwardly with one arm still banded around your waist to keep you close, yanking the drawer open and snatching a foil. you watch, breath hitching as he tears it with his teeth, the latex unrolling down his thick shaft in quick, efficient strokes.

“and here i thought we really were just gonna watch frozen,” you tease, an amused smile on your lips.

jisung chuckles darkly, tossing the wrapper aside, “yeah, fuck that. i should’ve fucked you the moment you walked in the door,” he positions himself, dragging his head through your dripping slit, bumping your swollen clit, earning a light moan from you.

“bad jisung, making noona wait,” you retort, reaching down to line him at your entrance.

you don’t hesitate, sinking down slowly onto him. the stretch is immediate, intense — his cock splitting you open, walls stretching to accommodate every inch as you take him deeper.

“fuck, jisung–you’re so big,” you moan, the words spilling out as you bottomed out, your ass flush against his thighs, the fullness making your vision blur.

he groans, head falling back against the couch, hands clamping onto your waist like anchors. you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind at first, savoring the way he fills you completely, the drag of him against your walls sending sparks up your spine.

the movie is white noise now, drowned out by the wet sounds of your bodies connecting, your slick coating the latex as you ride him.

jisung’s eyes stay glued to where you’re joined, watching his length disappear into you over and over, his breaths coming in ragged pants. he thrusts up to meet you, the force jolting through you, but you set the pace, hands braced on his chest, nails digging into the firm muscle there.

sweat beads on his skin, his shirt clinging and you lean forward, capturing his lips in a messy kiss as you bounce harder. your clit grinds against his pelvis with each slide, pleasure coiling tight in your core, but the angle tires your thighs after a few minutes, your movements slowing just a fraction. he notices it immediately.

“i got you, noona,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice husky and laced with lust, “gonna make you feel good.”

he surges up, wrapping an arm around your back and flipping your positions in one fluid, powerful move. now you’re beneath him, legs splayed wide, his body caging yours as he settles between your thighs. the shift presses him even deeper, the new angle hitting that spot inside that makes you cry out, arching up to meet him.

he starts thrusting immediately, deep, measured strokes that have you seeing white, building that steady pressure in your core, his body pinning you down.

your fingers hook into the hem of his shirt, finally tugging it upward. he pauses mid-thrust, lifting his arms to help you yank it off over his head, revealing his bare chest.

your eyes drop immediately to his abs — defined ridges of muscle flexing with each breath. they’re sculpted, earned from endless hours of training and performance, and the sight hits you like a spark, making your pussy tighten around him involuntarily.

“when did you get these?” you murmur, voice breathy as you trail your nails down the planes of his stomach, feeling them contract under your touch. he fucks into you again, deep and slow, the motion making his abs tense further.

jisung smirks down at you, eyes hooded with lust, but there’s a playful glint there too, “always had them, you just weren’t looking,” he teases, his voice low and rough, punctuating the words with another measured thrust that has you gasping.

you roll your eyes at his cockiness, hooking a hand around his neck to pull him down, whispering “faster,” before crashing your lips onto his for another heated kiss.

he doesn’t hesitate, adjusting his grip on your hips and picking up the pace, his thrusts turning sharper, harder, slamming into you with a rhythm that rocks the couch beneath you, the friction intense, hitting deeper with every forceful drive.

jisung pulls back from the kiss after a moment, his focus shifting entirely to the motion of his hips, breaths coming in hot pants against your ear. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as soft whines escape him — high and needy, mixing with deeper grunts each time he bottoms out.

“fuck, noona….so good,” he whimpers, voice cracking with the effort to hold back, his body trembling slightly above you. sweat drips from his brow onto your collarbone and you can feel the strain in him, the way his muscles lock as he fights his release, determined to push you over the edge first.

every thrust targets your pleasure, his hips angling just right to drag over your g-spot, the head of his cock nudging it relentlessly. your legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back to urge him on, and the coil in your core winds impossibly tighter, heat building to a fever pitch.

jisung's whines grow more desperate by your ear, a mix of “please...cum for me” and breathless grunts.

his determination is clear — he wants to prove it, show you he's no longer the shy kid, but a man who can take care of you, make you shatter around him before he lets go.

your walls clench around him tighter, the slick heat building to an unbearable peak as his pace quickens even more, balls slapping against your ass with every forceful entry.

he leans in close, his mouth hot against your ear, breaths ragged and uneven, “c’mon noona... let go,” he murmurs between grunts, his voice strained with effort.

one hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm circles over the swollen nub, the added pressure pushing you right to the brink. your back arches off the couch, nails digging into his shoulders as the orgasm crashes over you, pussy fluttering wildly around his length, waves of ecstasy pulsing from your core outward. your juices flood his cock, soaking the condom and dripping down to the cushions below, thighs quivering from the intensity.

jisung groans deeply at the feel of you coming undone, his thrusts faltering for a split second as your tightness nearly undoes him. but he holds on, slowing just enough to ride out your climax, his fingers still teasing your clit lightly to draw it out longer.

“fuck, yes... so fucking hot,” he pants, watching your face contort in bliss, pride flashing in his eyes — he did it, made you shatter first.

as your tremors subside, leaving you boneless and gasping beneath him, jisung's restraint snaps. he picks up speed again, fucking into your oversensitive pussy with short, desperate strokes, chasing his own release, guttural moans escaping his lips, body tensing as he buries himself deep one last time. his cock throbs inside you, pulsing as he cums hard, filling the condom with hot spurts. he collapses forward slightly, forehead pressed to yours, hips jerking erratically until he's spent, a satisfied shudder running through him.

for a moment, you both stay like that, breaths mingling in the quiet room, the movie still playing in the background.

jisung lifts his head, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek, but it's clear he's beaming inside — his eyes crinkling at the corners, that boyish glow he can't quite hide, even as he tries to play it cool.

you're his dream girl, after all.

and the way his chest rises and falls a little too quickly gives him away.

“that was better than anything i could imagine,” he says softly, voice hoarse, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“well, now you don’t have to imagine,” you say, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back as you hold his gaze, the warmth in your chest making your words come out steady and sincere, “i was serious, you know? i don’t want this to be a one-time thing… unless that’s what you want.”

jisung's eyes search yours, that familiar flicker of surprise and something deeper — maybe hope — lighting up his features. he shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow while his other hand rests lightly on your hip, thumb stroking the skin there in slow, soothing motions.

he's trying so hard to act cooler, but the beaming smile tugs at his lips, his cheeks flushing just a bit as he fights to keep his excitement reined in.

“no,” he murmurs quickly, shaking his head as if the idea alone is ridiculous, “god, no. that's the last thing i want. i've been imagining this — us — for months. years. but hearing you say that...it makes it real.”

you smile, reaching up to tuck a damp strand of his hair behind his ear, your touch lingering as you pull him down for another kiss, this one deeper but still tender, tongues brushing lazily.

when you break apart, you whisper against his lips, “good. because i like you — like, really like you. so start believing it, okay?”

“i believe you,” he says, voice muffled but excited, almost shy, the beaming energy seeping through despite his efforts to tone it down.

he exhales a shaky laugh, burying his face in the curve of your neck for a second, his warm breath tickling your skin as he presses a series of soft kisses along your collarbone.

you tilt your head, a playful glint in your eye as your fingers trail up his arm, tracing the lean muscle there.

“now,” you murmur, voice low and teasing, laced with that warmth from before, “you want to show me what else you've imagined us doing?”

his reaction is instant — a smirk curls his mouth, slow and knowing, chasing away any remnants of shyness. those dark eyes heat up, locking onto yours with confidence.

without a word, he shifts, sliding his arms under you in one fluid motion, scooping you up bridal style like you weigh nothing. your legs dangle over his arm, and you can't help the surprised laugh that bubbles out as he stands, cradling you against his chest.

“bedroom,” he says simply, his voice a rough whisper against your ear, that smirk still playing on his lips

🎬

three days slips by in a blur of schedules and stolen texts — late-night messages that make you smile at your phone.

but today, the music show buzzes with energy, your group weaving through the backstage chaos, outfits sparkling under the lights. nct dream's here too, their laughter echoing from down the hall as you prepare for your silly mini segment with stray kids' bang chan.

it’s all lighthearted fun, the concept scripted — you batting your lashes, calling him “oppa” in that exaggerated, cute tone that has the crew chuckling.

chan plays along perfectly, his dimpled smile wide as he hands you a single red rose, the stem wrapped in ribbon.

“for a pretty girl,” he teases, voice warm and brotherly. you take it with a giggle, then link arms for the heart pose — your hands forming the shape together, faces close enough for the cameras to catch the playful spark.

back in nct dream’s dressing room, the t.v. flickers with the live feed, the boys sprawled on couches and chairs, half-watching between touch-ups and snacks.

jisung’s there, legs kicked out, but his posture stiffens the moment your face fills the screen. he watches you lean into chan, that soft oppa slipping from your lips like honey, and something sharp twists in his chest.

his jaw clenches, teeth grinding just enough to make the muscle jump, eyes narrowing into slits as chan passes the rose. the heart pose seals it — your smiles synced, bodies angled close — and jisung's fingers dig into the armrest, knuckles whitening.

chenle, scrolling on his phone beside him, catches the shift immediately. he snickers, nudging jisung's shoulder with his elbow, “make it more obvious, won't you?”

jisung doesn't even glance away from the screen, his gaze locked on you as the segment ends, “i don't know how you do this,” he mutters, voice low and edged with frustration, finally turning to chenle.

chenle’s eyebrows raised in mock innocence, “do what?”

“date an actress,” jisung shoots back, running a hand through his hair, “i’m literally gonna crash out and it’s just a segment.”

chenle bursts out laughing, shoulders shaking as he claps jisung on the back. he shrugs, nonchalant and grinning wide, “i'm just cooler and more mature than you, jisungie.”

🎬

the show pulses on, a relentless rhythm of spotlights and applause, the corridors buzz with hurried footsteps and muffled chatter, but you navigate them with purpose, heart racing from the high and the unresolved pull toward jisung.

he’s been a ghost all day, avoiding your gaze like it's a spotlight he can't afford.

from the corner, your fingers brush his wrist, light but insistent, pulling him quickly into the familiar dim closet without a word.

the door snicks shut, sealing out the world.

jisung's back meets the wall, his eyes snapping to yours, wide, caught off guard, “noona?” he says, voice a hushed rasp, surprise threading through the warmth.

“you haven't looked at me once this whole show,” you murmur, closing the gap until your bodies nearly touch. your voice dips lower, probing, “what's wrong?”

he shifts, gaze dropping to the scuffed floor, jaw clenching in that telltale way. the jealousy from the segment with chan simmers beneath his skin, a sharp twist in his gut from watching you laugh and pose, but he shoves it down deep.

that's kid stuff. and he’s a man. a mature man.

“nothing... just being careful,” he murmurs, forcing a casual shrug.

you see the sulk anyway — the downturned lips, the furrowed brow, the way his shoulders hunch just a fraction. it’s endearing, pulling a soft smile from you as you step in closer, your palm flattening against his chest to feel the rapid thump of his heart.

“you’re cute when you lie.”

his eyes lift then, dark and conflicted, holding yours for a beat too long before he sighs, “i—i’m not lying—the cameras, the fans... everyone’s watching. don't want to cause trouble for us. that's all.”

it’s a half-truth, delivered with a shrug that doesn't quite land, his body betraying him as it leans into your touch.

“try again,” you tease gently, fingers sliding up to cup his jaw, tilting his face so he can't hide, “is it the segment? chan oppa?”

his breath catches, a flicker of admission in the way his eyes narrow, but he nods slowly, the mature mask slipping.

“kinda,” he confesses, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, his hand settling at your waist, thumb on your bare skin, “stupid, i know. it’s a segment. but seeing you call him that, smile like... like that…”

he pulls you flush against him, the confession hanging heavy but freeing, “i don't want to be the jealous kid. but fuck, i hate sharing even a second of your attention.”

the closet feels smaller now, the world outside fading as you lean in, lips brushing his ear, “you’re not,” you murmur, feeling him shiver, “you're the one i pulled in here. the one I can't stop thinking about.”

the admission hangs between you, raw and real, and you close the distance, lips grazing his in a feather-light touch that ignites everything. he responds instantly, hands framing your face, deepening the kiss.

the urgency builds but so do the voices echoing down the hall — staff calling for the next lineup, footsteps approaching — and he breaks away with a frustrated groan, forehead resting against yours, breathing ragged and uneven.

his eyes, dark with want but sparkling with that boyish hope, search yours.

“come to mine again tonight?” he whispers quietly, voice laced with plea, his thumb stroking your cheek in soft, adoring circles.

you shake your head, a playful glint in your eye as you bite your lip, “no.”

“no?” he pulls back slightly, confusion flickering across his flushed face, brows knitting together in the most adorable pout, his lower lip jutting out.

“you come to mine,” you say with a smile, voice teasing and inviting, your hand sliding down his chest to rest over his racing heart.

“i'll wait for you….in your best ahjussi outfit,” you wink, eyes dripping with that knowing mischief.

he laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest, a shy grin breaking through the sulk as he leans in closer, his ears turning an even brighter shade of pink.

“i’ll borrow a gray wig from the costume department,” he says, his voice light and playful, eyes crinkling, at the corners with pure delight, gummy smile and all.

you giggle, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, soft and lingering, both of you smiling into it before the outside world swallows you both back into reality.

“I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Hogwarts had always held a certain allure, with its ancient stone walls and magic that seemed to permeate every nook and cranny. For six and a half years, you'd wandered those hallowed halls, immersing yourself in a world so far removed from the mundane that at times it hardly seemed real.

Yet, for all its wonder and mystique, Hogwarts was not without its dangers. 

There were cursed objects that lurked in shadowy corridors, waiting for an unsuspecting student to stumble upon them. Staircases that shifted without warning, leaving the unwary stranded or, worse, deposited in some unknown part of the castle. The Whomping Willow that stood sentinel on the grounds, its gnarled branches poised to strike at any who ventured too close. Even Peeves the Poltergeist roamed the halls, cackling with malicious glee as he wreaked havoc and sowed chaos in his wake.

In the face of such peril, you had thus far emerged unscathed, a feat that was nothing short of remarkable given the castle's rather alarming mortality rate. You attributed your survival to a simple yet effective strategy: be invisible, be boring, and for the love of Merlin, stay away from anyone interesting.

Interesting people, you had learned, were magnets for trouble. They ended up in the hospital wing with alarming regularity, usually victims of rogue hexes or potions experiments gone awry. They attracted drama the way honey attracted flies, their lives a constant whirlwind of rumor and intrigue. Interesting people had complicated social lives, with networks of friends and enemies and romantic entanglements that required constant upkeep.

You, on the other hand, were perfectly content with your quiet, unassuming existence. You had one close friend, one beloved cat, and a comfortable routine that rarely demanded more of you than attending classes and avoiding human interaction as much as possible. It wasn't a particularly exciting life, but it was safe and predictable and suited you just fine.

At least, it had until this particular moment, when your sole friend had apparently taken complete leave of her senses.

"Are you having some sort of episode?" You peered at Jo over the top of your book, brow furrowed in concern. "Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey? Is this what happens when you inhale too many potion fumes?"

Jo rolled her eyes with an exaggerated huff. "Please!" she wheedled, her voice climbing to that particular pitch that never boded well. "Please please please, I swear on Merlin's saggy ba—"

You held up a finger, cutting her off before she could complete that thought. "I'm going to stop you right there..."

"I'll never ask you for anything ever again!" She pleaded, clasping her hands together. "I'll do your Potions essays for a month! I'll clean Whiskers' litter box! I'll—"

"I don't think you heard me the first time," you interrupted, fixing her with a pointed stare. "Are. You. Mental?"

The Gryffindor common room was mercifully empty save for the portrait of a tongue-less lady, who watched your exchange with rapt attention. Having gotten her tongue cut out in 1642 for "seditious gossip", the painted woman had developed a keen appreciation for drama in all its forms. Judging by the way she clutched at her pearls, this was the most excitement she'd witnessed in decades. Whiskers was curled up in your lap, observing your best friend with as much judgement as you probably were.

"Come ooon," Jo cajoled, undeterred by your apparent lack of enthusiasm. "When do I ever do things like this? You're always telling me to try new things!"

"I meant take up knitting! Join the Gobstones Club! I did not mean sneak out of the castle in the middle of the night to meet some potentially lycanthropic stranger you've been corresponding with!"

"He's not a stranger, I've been writing to him for months—"

"Which is exactly what every person who's ever been murdered by a pen pal has said—"

"And he's not a werewolf, he's perfectly lovely! I saw him in Hogsmeade last month, I just couldn't say hello because McGonagall was watching me like a hawk."

"Seeing someone from a distance hardly counts as a proper introduction," you argued, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself as if to punctuate your point.

This was the problem with having just one close friend. You knew Jo too well, could read her every expression and intonation better than anyone else. That gleam in her eye, the set of her chin, the way she twisted her fingers in her lap - you recognized the signs of a course already plotted, a decision already made. She would go through with this mad scheme with or without your help, and if you refused, she'd likely end up dead in a ditch somewhere and you'd be left to drown in guilt for the rest of your days.

Guilt, you thought grimly, was a most effective motivator.

With a weary sigh, you closed your book and met Jo's hopeful gaze. "Fine. Fine. What exactly do you need me to do?"

Jo's answering grin could have lit up the entirety of the Great Hall. "Just swap patrol shifts with Sophie Crockett tomorrow night? She's an absolute nightmare, and if she catches me out after curfew she'll go straight to McGonagall."

You could feel a headache blooming behind your eyes. "And when Sophie asks why I'm suddenly so eager to take on the worst patrol slot in existence?"

"Just make something up! She's not going to turn down a chance to skive off for an evening, is she?"

Rubbing your temples, you silently cursed the fickle twists of fate that had led you to this moment. "And the other prefects? I'll still have to deal with them, you know."

Jo waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you're all right. The only other one scheduled is Na Jaemin, and everyone knows he never actually patrols. Just goes and snogs girls in the library all night, doesn't he?"

You raised an incredulous eyebrow. "How would you know that?"

"Everyone knows," Jo said with a shrug. "It's common knowledge."

"Well, I didn't know."

"That's because you never pay attention to gossip," Jo pointed out, flopping down beside you on the couch. "Honestly, you're missing out on prime entertainment. Anyway, I'm sure Jaemin's got better things to do than patrol corridors. You'll probably have the place to yourself.”

You made a noncommittal sound, trying not to think too hard about Na Jaemin and his extracurricular activities.

It was funny, really. Or rather more like cosmically ironic. First and second year, Jaemin had been an absolute pest. Always lurking around corners, waiting to charm your bag so your books would spill everywhere, or jinx your quill during tests so it would only write rude limericks. He’d found you endlessly amusing, apparently, a never-ending source of entertainment. You’d gone to bed countless nights fuming, plotting revenge you’d never actually carry out, wishing he’d just leave you alone.

And then, somewhere around third year, he just stopped. He stopped seeking you out, or looking at you entirely. As if you’d ceased to exist the moment you stopped being fun to torment.

By fourth year, he’d transformed into a whole different person entirely. Suddenly he was all smoldering glances and that insufferable “playboy” swagger, a different girl on his arm every week. Too cool for pranks and too sophisticated for something as juvenile as tormenting students. He’d become exactly the sort of person you’d made it your mission to avoid: interesting, magnetic, drowning in attention and drama.

You supposed you should have been relieved. You’d wanted him to leave you alone, after all. But there was something particularly galling about being so thoroughly dismissed, about going from his favorite target to utterly beneath his notice. At least when he’d been pulling pranks, you’d existed to him.

Now you were just… nobody. Which was exactly what you’d wanted, you reminded yourself firmly. Exactly what you’d worked so hard to achieve.

“You’re probably right,” you said to Jo, pushing thoughts of Jaemin firmly out of your mind. “I’ll probably have the whole patrol to myself.”

Privately, you rather doubted that. In your experience, the universe had a way of placing you in the path of people and situations you'd much rather avoid. Still, Jo was clearly determined to see her plan through, and short of physically restraining her (a tempting prospect, but ultimately impractical), you saw no way to dissuade her.

"Fine," you said again. "I'll take Sophie's patrol. But if this goes sideways, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' in the loudest, most obnoxious voice I can muster."

"You're the best." Jo pulled you into a rib-cracking hug, her hair tickling your nose. "Seriously, I owe you one."

"You owe me several," you grumbled, but you returned the hug all the same.

Later that night, as you lay in bed listening to the soft snores of your dormmates, you tried to ignore the sense of foreboding curling in your gut. Rationally, you knew the odds of anything truly catastrophic happening were slim. It was just one night, one patrol, one tiny favor for your best friend. Surely the universe wouldn't be so cruel as to upend your careful, boring routine over something so trivial.

But then, you thought wryly, life did seem to have a twisted sense of humor where you were concerned.

With a sigh, you rolled over and buried your face in your pillow, willing sleep to come. Tomorrow would bring what it would. For now, all you could do was hope that, just this once, the cosmic forces that governed your life would decide to give you a break.

Poorly planned rule-breaking never worked out the way you expected it to.

There was the first year incident, for instance, involving a misplaced curiosity about the Restricted Section and a borrowed invisibility cloak that was, crucially, not yours. You’d lasted exactly twelve minutes before knocking over a stack of cursed folios and alerting Madam Pince.

Second year had been defined by an ill-advised attempt to brew Pepper-Up Potion in a bathroom sink, resulting in steam, screaming, and a week-long ban from practical spellwork. Jo still insisted it would have worked if you’d stirred clockwise instead of counterclockwise. You maintained that the problem was attempting potion-making in plumbing never designed for magic.

After those things, you'd like to say you saw the impending disaster coming from a mile away, but honestly? You were too preoccupied with figuring out how to convince Sophie Crockett to swap shifts without making her suspicious.

As it turned out, Sophie was pathetically easy to persuade. You caught her after Charms, mentioned something vague about "wanting to study for the Divination exam in the morning" (there was no Divination exam, but Sophie didn't take Divination, so she was none the wiser), and she agreed immediately, no questions asked. Just a breezy "Oh, thank Merlin, I've got an Astronomy essay I haven't even started" and that was that.

In hindsight, that should have been your first warning sign. When things fell into place too smoothly, it usually meant the universe was just winding up for a truly spectacular cosmic sucker punch.

At nine sharp on Saturday you pinned your prefect badge to your robes and made your way down to the Entrance Hall, silently cursing your inability to say no to Jo's puppy dog eyes.

The castle took on a different character at night. Not peaceful, exactly. More... haunting. The portraits whispered conspiratorially as you passed, and the shadows in the corners seemed to stretch and deepen weirdly. You'd walked these corridors countless times before, but they never quite lost their eerie quality after dark.

You were supposed to meet Jaemin at the main staircase to divvy up patrol routes. But in theory, if the rumors about his extracurricular activities were true, you'd never actually know have to interact with him at all.

That was the theory, anyway.

The reality was that when you arrived at the designated meeting spot, Na Jaemin was already there, leaning against the banister and looking distinctly un-snog-ready.

Jaemin was the sort of boy who looked like he was born in moonlight and named by a poet. Even in the sallow torchlight, his hair glowed, silver-gold and a little too long for regulation. There was always something quietly triumphant in the angle of his jaw, the tilt of his smile, as if every corridor was a stage and every passing student a captive audience.

You stopped short, your feet suddenly rooted to the spot.  Some ancient, reflexive part of your brain was screaming at you to turn around, to flee, to avoid him the way you’d been so carefully avoiding him for the past four years. The last time you’d been alone with Na Jaemin you’d been twelve years old and he’d been too entertained by your mortification to let you escape.

Now you were seventeen, and he was looking at you with an expression that was completely different and all too intense. He was supposed to be off in some secluded corner of the library, doing unspeakable things with whatever girl was lucky enough to be on his arm that week. He was absolutely not supposed to be here, looking alert and purposeful and like he was actually planning to do his job.

Even more concerning, he looked annoyed.

"You're the Gryffindor prefect," he said, and it sounded more like an accusation than a question.

"...Yes?" Really, what else could you say?

"Where's Crockett?"

"We swapped shifts."

His eyes, a rather striking shade of dark brown that you'd never had occasion to notice before, narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

"Does it matter?"

He closed his eyes briefly, and you got the distinct impression he was counting to ten in his head. When he opened them again, he fixed you with a look that could have flash-frozen a cup of tea. "I needed Crockett on duty tonight."

Well. That was... odd. Extremely odd. Highly, suspiciously odd. Why would Na Jaemin, Slytherin prince and general too-cool-for-this-nonsense type, care which prefect was patrolling with him?

"Well," you said, channeling every ounce of polite defiance you possessed, "we've already swapped, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Unless you've got a Time-Turner hidden somewhere, which would be highly illegal, so I'm going to assume you don't."

Jaemin's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. "This is—" He stopped himself, visibly recalibrating. "Fine. Right. You take floors three through five then. I'll handle the lower levels and the grounds."

And that's when your brain, which had been operating at half capacity due to stress and sleep deprivation, finally caught up with the situation.

The grounds.

Jaemin wanted to patrol the grounds.

The same grounds where, at this very moment, your best friend was likely rendezvousing with her mystery man.

Oh no. 

"Actually," you heard yourself say, the words tumbling out in a slightly manic rush, "I was rather hoping to get some fresh air tonight. Bit stuffy in the castle, you know. Mind if we swap? You take the upper floors, I'll do the grounds."

His expression shuttered faster than a shop window in Knockturn Alley. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"Well, that's not very cooperative of you," you said, mentally calculating how quickly you could sprint to the grounds to warn Jo. "Aren't prefects supposed to work as a team?"

Jaemin raised one perfectly arched brow. "Why so keen on the grounds all of a sudden?"

"No reason." Your voice came out at least an octave higher than usual. "Just thought it would be nice to get some air. Lovely night for a stroll, don't you think?"

"You're an atrocious liar," he informed you, taking a step closer. You were suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that he was quite a bit taller than you, and that the height difference was doing absolutely nothing to bolster your confidence in this situation. "What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on."

"Of course not. And I suppose you just happened to swap shifts with Crockett tonight for no particular reason, and now you're coincidentally desperate to patrol the grounds."

Okay. This was getting out of control. You needed him. away from the grounds, away from Jo, away from this entire situation. And there was only one thing you could think of that might actually work.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

“You know.” You waved a hand vaguely, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s Saturday night. I just thought you might have… plans.”

“Plans,” he repeated flatly.

“Yeah, well… You don’t actually patrol on Saturdays.” The words came out in a rush, ungraceful and desperate. “So if you want to go do whatever it is you usually do, I can handle this. Really. You don’t have to—”

“Whatever it is I usually do,” Jaemin said, his lips twitching. “And what exactly do you think that is?”

Oh god. Why had you started this?

“I don’t know. I don’t keep track of your schedule.”

“Clearly not, or you wouldn’t be standing here trying to… what? Give me permission to skive off?” He was definitely smiling now, the bastard. “How thoughtful of you.”

“I’m just saying, if you have other commitments—”

He laughed, short and sharp. “Is that what we’re calling it? Commitments?”

Your face was absolutely burning now. “Look, what you do with your time is none of my business.” 

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Because I’m trying to be helpful!” You gestured wildly at the empty entrance hall. “The library’s right there. I’m sure whoever you’re supposed to meet would appreciate you actually showing up—”

“Ah.” Jaemin’s grin widened, showing teeth. “You think I’m supposed to meet someone in the library.”

“That’s what people say,” you muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

“People say a lot of things.” He leaned back against the banister, looking thoroughly entertained now. “And you believe all of them?”

“That’s not the point—”

“Tell me, what else does everyone say about me? I’m curious.”

This was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. “Forget I said anything.”

“Oh no, I don’t think so.” He pushed off the banister, taking a step closer. “You started it. Come on, don’t be shy now. What exactly are these Saturday night activities I’m supposedly abandoning patrol for?”

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “You already know what people say.”

“I do. But I want to hear you say it.” His eyes were dancing with so much glee. “Go on. Don’t spare my delicate sensibilities.”

“This is ridiculous—”

“Go on.”

You took a breath, lifted your chin, and forced the words out with as much dignity as you could muster. “Fine. People say you spend your patrol shifts in the library doing…things.”

“Things?” Jaemin repeated, his grin positively wolfish now. “How delightfully vague.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t. You’ll have to be more specific.”

He was enjoying this far too much, the absolute prat. “They say you… meet girls there.”

“Meet girls,” he said thoughtfully. “Like a book club?”

“Not like a book club,” you gritted out.

“Then what?”

You threw your hands up. “They say you snog girls in the library instead of doing your prefect duties! There! Are you happy?”

Jaemin laughed. “Merlin’s beard, is that it?”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“And you believed it?” He shook his head, still grinning. “That’s adorable, really.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped.

“Well, you are when you’re trying to delicately inform me about my own scandalous reputation.” His eyes glittered with delight. “How very considerate, giving me an out like that. ‘Oh Jaemin, don’t let me keep you from your library assignations.’”

He said it in a high pitched tone, clearly trying for a very inaccurate impression of you.

“I was only trying to be nice.” You huffed.

“You’re trying to get rid of me,” he corrected, but he didn’t sound annoyed about it. If anything, he seemed more intrigued. “Which brings us back to the question of why you’re so desperate for me to not patrol the grounds tonight.”

Damn it. You’d played right into his hands. “I’m not—”

“You just tried to use my supposed promiscuity as an excuse to get me to leave.” He tilted his head, studying you. “So either you’re deeply concerned about my social life, or there’s something on the grounds you don’t want me to find.”

Your heart was hammering again. He’d out-maneuvered you completely, turning your own attempt at manipulation back on you.

“Well?” he prompted. “Which is it?”

“The first one,” you lied weakly. “I’m very concerned about your social life.”

“Right.” His smile was sharper now, more predatory. “In that case, you’ll be delighted to know I’m completely free tonight. I have no library dates or clandestine meetings. Just a nice, thorough patrol of the grounds.” He paused. “With you, apparently, since you seem so determined to tag along.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are so irritating.”

“There’s the Gryffindor honesty I remember,” he said cheerfully. “Come on then. Let’s go catch whoever it is you’re trying to protect.”

Wait. What?

“I’m not—there’s no one—”

But he was already turning toward the entrance hall, and panic clawed at your throat. You needed to try something else, anything to keep him from the grounds.

“Look,” you said, a note of genuine desperation creeping into your voice, “patrolling the grounds is easily twice the work of the upper floors. I’m offering to take on the extra effort here. What’s the problem?”

He paused, glancing back at you with an expression of exaggerated surprise. “You? Volunteering for extra work?” He pressed a hand to his chest in shock. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Na Jaemin, and you’re the girl who once hid in a broom cupboard for twenty minutes to avoid helping set up for the Yule Ball.”

“I did not—” You stopped, because you absolutely had done that, and he somehow knew about it. “That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it though?” He was grinning again, clearly enjoying himself. “Come on, admit it. You’ve spent six years perfecting the art of doing the absolute bare minimum. I’ve seen you let third years wander the corridors after curfew as long as they promised to go straight to bed.”

Your face burned. “I was tired that night—”

“You’re always tired.” He tilted his head. “So forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical about this sudden burst of civic responsibility. It’s very out of character for you.”

The sheer audacity. The unmitigated gall. To accuse you of apathy and then dismiss you without so much as a backward glance? An ember of indignation flared to life and burned away the last vestiges of your tattered patience. He had no right. No right to stand there and act like he understood anything about you when he was the reason you’d learned to make yourself invisible in the first place.

And now here he was, cataloging your flaws with that same amused smile, like you were still just entertainment to him.

“Fine,” you bit out. “Don’t take my offer. See if I care.”

“Oh, I won’t.” He turned back toward the entrance hall, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder. “I’m patrolling the grounds. You can join me or check the upper floors. Your choice.”

“Why do you just get to decide that on your own? The grounds aren’t even part of the standard patrol route!”

"They are tonight," he tossed over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

And with that spectacularly unhelpful explanation, he walked out the front doors, leaving you standing slack-jawed and sputtering in his wake.

This was it. The moment of truth. You had approximately five seconds to make a decision that would either save your best friend from expulsion or doom her to a fate worse than death.

Option one: let Jaemin go off on his own. He'd catch Jo, she'd be expelled, and you'd spend the rest of your life weighed down by the guilt of your inaction.

Option two: follow him, try to run interference, and most likely fail spectacularly but hey, at least you could say you tried.

In the end, your choice was clear. The reckless, devil-may-care loyalty that had landed you in Gryffindor in the first place reared its noble head, and before you quite knew what you were doing, you were hurrying out the doors after Jaemin, resignation and foreboding dogging your every step.

"I'm coming!" you called after him.

Jaemin spun around, one eyebrow quirked in a way that suggested he'd interpreted your words in a decidedly less innocent manner.

"To the grounds," you clarified hastily, feeling your face heat up. "To patrol. With you."

“I gathered that much,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Though I appreciate the clarification. Wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.”

You glared at him, but he’d already turned back around, that damned smirk still visible in profile.

Beyond the castle corridors, the night grounds felt twice as ominous. Shadows stretched from the Forbidden Forest, where twisted branches reached toward the sky like gnarled fingers against the dark. Nearby, the Black Lake remained a silent mirror, its surface only occasionally broken by ripples that hinted at the heavy, mysterious life lurking in the depths.

Jaemin had conjured a floating orb of soft white light to guide your path, which was considerate yet irritating, as it seemed to delight in hovering mere inches from your face and nearly blinding you. He walked with an easy grace, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like this was just a casual evening stroll and not a patently absurd situation that could land you both in a world of trouble.

You, on the other hand, were so tense you could practically feel your muscles vibrating. Your mind raced as you tried to remember what Jo had told you about her planned rendezvous. 

They’d be in the grounds, obviously, but beyond that? Hogwarts' grounds spanned nearly a thousand acres and included everything from dense forest to rolling hills to a literal giant-squid-infested lake. If you were going to have any hope of intercepting Jo before Jaemin did, you needed a clearer idea of where exactly to look.

And you needed to keep him distracted.

“So,” Jaemin said, his voice cutting through your rising panic, “care to tell me what’s really going on here?”

“We’re patrolling,” you said, keeping your eyes fixed firmly ahead. “That’s what’s going on.”

“And I suppose you always volunteer for extra patrols on Saturday nights, do you? Just for the exercise?”

“Maybe I do. Fresh air is good for you.”

“Right.” He didn’t sound like he believed you for a second. “And here I thought you preferred to spend your evenings in the Restricted Section, avoiding human interaction as much as possible.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Have you been spying on me?”

“It’s called being observant,” he said lightly. “You should try it sometime. Although I suppose that would require you to take an interest in something beyond your very busy schedule of going through the motions and avoiding anything that might resemble effort.”

There it was again, that annoying assessment of your character, delivered with a smile that made it impossible to tell if he was genuinely criticizing you or just winding you up for his own amusement.

Bristling, you planted your hands on your hips and glared up at him. "I put in effort when it matters."

"And I'm sure swapping shifts with Crockett was a matter of utmost importance, then?" His lips curved into a smirk that made you want to hex it right off his unfairly symmetrical face. "Go on. What’s so crucial about tonight? Did you lose a bet? Secret passion for night-time groundskeeping?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because you’re terrible at being subtle, and watching you try is genuinely entertaining.” He grinned at your affronted expression. “Plus, I’m curious. You’ve spent the better part of six years being aggressively unremarkable, and now here you are, practically begging to patrol the grounds with me. It’s very out of character.”

“Stop acting like you know everything about me.”

“I might not know everything about you,” he said, his voice taking on a knowing tone, “But I know you’re trying to protect someone.”

Your heart skipped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The floating light cast strange shadows across his features, making his expression harder to read. “Here’s what I think is happening. There’s someone out here meeting someone they shouldn’t be meeting. You agreed to swap with Crockett to cover for that person, expecting me to skip patrol like I apparently always do. But I didn’t, so now you’re stuck trying to run interference while pretending this is all perfectly normal.”

You stared at him, your mouth going dry. He’d worked it out. As expected, Na Jaemin might be annoying and smug and entirely too pleased with himself, but he’d never been stupid.

“That’s…” you started, but your voice came out weak. “That’s a very creative theory.”

“You’ve gone red again.” He tilted his head, studying you. “Dead giveaway.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but closed it again, floundering. There was absolutely no way to explain your actions without either incriminating Jo or making yourself look even more suspicious. You were well and truly cornered, and the triumphant gleam in Jaemin's eyes told you he knew it.

But before you could cobble together a halfway coherent response, a sound drifted through the night air that made you stop cold.

Laughter.

More specifically, Jo's laughter, bright and carefree and coming from somewhere worryingly close by.

Jaemin froze too, his eyes narrowing. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" you asked, feigning ignorance even as your heart threatened to beat its way out of your ribcage. "I didn't hear anything. Probably just the wind. It howls around the turrets sometimes..."

"That wasn't the wind." He was already moving again, long legs eating up the ground as he strode purposefully toward the source of the sound. "That was a person, maybe two, from the sounds of it"

"What? No, that's—I really think it was just the wind. Or maybe Peeves playing a prank. You know what a menace he is, always causing trouble, we should probably go back inside and—"

But he wasn't listening. Because he'd caught the scent of rule-breaking, and Merlin forbid he let it go in favor of the much more appealing option of minding his own damn business.

You had no choice. You were either going to have to physically stop him (a laughable notion - he had a good six inches and probably thirty pounds of muscle on you), or you were going to have to get to Jo first.

The words were out of your mouth before you could think better of them. "Wait!"

Miraculously, he actually stopped walking and turned to look at you, one eyebrow arched expectantly.

"I—" Your mind raced, grasping for any excuse, any diversion, anything to keep him from taking another step. "I think I saw something. Over there." You pointed vaguely off to your left, in the opposite direction of Jo's laughter. "We should go check it out."

Jaemin regarded you with exasperation. "You know, for someone who's spent the better part of six years avoiding attention, you're shockingly bad at subterfuge."

"I–I'm just being cautious. It's dark out here, and there could be...things. Dangerous things. Like snargaluffs, or...or a moke on the loose."

"A moke," he repeated flatly. "An invisible lizard the size of a mouse. You think I should be worried about a moke ambushing me.”

 “They can be vicious!”

“They’re ten inches tall.”

“Size isn’t everything,” you shot back, then immediately regretted it as his grin widened into something positively wicked.

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” he said smoothly, and you felt your face flame.

“That’s not—I didn’t mean—oh, for Merlin’s sake.” You covered your face with your hands, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment. “Can we please just check the trees?”

“Why?” He took a step closer, and you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “What are you so afraid I’m going to find if we keep going this way?”

You hesitated, weighing your options. On the one hand, the truth was unthinkable. You couldn't just throw Jo to the wolves like that, not after you'd promised to cover for her. On the other hand, you were rapidly running out of plausible lies, and Jaemin clearly wasn't buying any of them.

“Nothing,” you said, but it came out weak and unconvincing even to your own ears.

“Nothing,” he echoed. “Right. So you won’t mind if I just—”

He made to move past you, toward where Jo’s laughter had come from, and you did the only thing you could think of.

You grabbed his arm.

The moment your fingers closed around his sleeve, you realized what a monumentally stupid mistake you’d made. You could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric and the solid muscle beneath. He stilled instantly, his gaze dropping to where your hand clutched at him, then slowly lifting to meet your eyes.

“Please,” you said quietly, all pretense abandoned. “Don’t go over there. Just—just forget you heard anything, and I’ll explain later. I promise.”

He studied you for a long moment. You were acutely aware of how close you were standing, of the way his eyes seemed to catch every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

"So you are covering for someone," he said at last. "A friend, I'm guessing. The one you're always with? The loud one, with the"—he gestured vaguely—"the hair?"

"Her hair is perfectly normal, thank you very much, and I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It absolutely is my business, seeing as there are students out of bed and I'm a prefect. I'm supposed to report this sort of thing, you know."

"Yes, well, I'm also a prefect, and I'm asking you not to." Desperation bled into your voice, and you hated it, hated that you were practically begging him for something that you had no right to ask for. “Please, Jaemin. Can't you just...look the other way? Just this once?"

He was silent for a long moment, and you braced yourself for the inevitable. For the sneer, the cutting remark, the gleeful reminder that he was a Slytherin and Slytherins didn't do favors without expecting something in return.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft. "You really care about her, don't you? Your friend."

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone. "She's my best friend. I'd do anything for her."

"Even lie to a fellow prefect and risk getting in trouble yourself."

"Yes." You met his gaze squarely, unflinching. "Even that."

Another long silence, and then he sighed. "All right, fine."

You blinked. "Fine?"

"Fine, I won't report her. But"—he held up a hand as you opened your mouth to thank him—"I want something in return."

There it was. You should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Slytherins always had an angle, and Jaemin was Slytherin to the core.

Wariness crept into your voice as you asked, "What sort of something?"

His lips curved into a smile that could only be described as predatory. "A favor. One favor, to be determined by me, at a time of my choosing. Do this, and I'll conveniently forget I heard anything tonight."

Your stomach dropped. A favor. An open-ended, unspecified, could-be-anything favor, owed to Na Jaemin. Well. This was how you died, not in a blaze of glory like a true Gryffindor, but in the thrall of a serpent's forked tongue and devastating jawline.

But what choice did you have? If you refused, Jo would be caught for sure. And then she'd be expelled, and it would be all your fault, and you'd have to live with the guilt for the rest of your life. A life which, frankly, was looking shorter and shorter with each passing minute as Jaemin stared you down, waiting for your answer.

"Fine," you said through gritted teeth. "One favor. But nothing illegal or dangerous or humiliating."

His smile widened, showing far too many teeth for your comfort. "Look at that. You’re negotiating. Will wonders never cease?"

"Those are my terms. Take them or leave them."

"Oh, I'll take them." He held out a hand, long fingers uncurling in an inviting gesture. "Shall we shake on it?"

You glared at his hand like it might bite you (and really, with Jaemin, who knew?) but reluctantly reached out and grasped it. His skin was warm, his grip firm, and you tried very hard not to think about how nice his hand felt in yours.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he murmured, and was it your imagination or did his thumb just stroke across your knuckles?

You snatched your hand back like you'd been burned, face flushing. "Yes, well. You'd better hold up your end of the bargain."

"I'm a man of my word." He sketched a mocking little bow. "Your friend's secret is safe with me for now."

The words 'for now' hung there as a silent threat, and you suppressed a shiver. What had you just agreed to? What price would you have to pay for your loyalty?

As if reading your thoughts, Jaemin's smile turned sly. "Don't look so worried. I promise I won't ask for anything too dreadful. Probably."

"Probably," you repeated faintly.

"Probably," he confirmed, and then he turned on his heel and started back toward the castle, leaving you to trail after him in a daze.

The rest of the patrol passed in a blur. You walked in silence, Jaemin seemingly content to let you stew in your own anxiety, and by the time you returned to the Entrance Hall, you were a nervous wreck. You kept imagining all the horrible things he might ask for—doing his homework for the rest of the term, being his personal servant, confessing to McGonagall that you were the one who'd let those nifflers loose in the staff room last year (even though that had been entirely Jo's doing and you'd just been an unwilling accomplice).

At the foot of the stairs, Jaemin paused and turned to face you. In the dim light of the entrance hall, his eyes were pools of shadow, unreadable and fathomless.

"I'll be in touch," he said, his voice low and full of dark promise. "Sweet dreams."

And then he was gone, melting into the shadows like he'd been born from them, leaving you with a racing heart and the sinking certainty that your life was about to become a lot more complicated.

The next morning, you cornered Jo in the common room before breakfast, pulling her into the corner by the window where no one could overhear.

“Tell me everything went okay last night,” you demanded without preamble. “Please tell me you didn’t do something insane—”

“Whoa, whoa!” Jo held up her hands, her eyes wide. “I’m fine! Everything went perfectly. Well, mostly perfectly. There was a weird moment where I thought I heard someone coming, but then nothing happened, so…” She trailed off, then grabbed your shoulders. “Wait. What happened to you? You look like you haven’t slept.”

“That’s because I haven’t.” You started pacing anxiously. “Jo. I think I might have done something really, really stupid.”

Her expression changed from concern to dread in the span of a second. “What kind of stupid?”

“The kind that involves Na Jaemin and a debt to repay.”

“Oh no.” Jo’s face went pale. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” You tugged at your hair, feeling the full weight of last night’s decision crushing down on you. “He wanted to patrol the grounds, Jo. He would have found you. I couldn’t let that happen, so I… I made a deal with him.”

Jo stared at you like you'd just confessed to murdering the Minister of Magic. "You made a deal with Na Jaemin. The boy who once convinced half the school that Professor Flitwick was secretly a goblin in disguise."

"To be fair, he has a dash of goblin blood..."

"Not the point!" She grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to stop pacing. "What kind of deal are we talking about here? What did you promise him?"

You took a deep breath. "A favor."

"A favor," she repeated slowly. "What kind of favor?"

“The unspecified kind. The ‘to be determined at a later date’ kind. The ‘I now owe Na Jaemin a debt that he can collect on whenever he wants’ kind.”

She looked about two seconds away from fainting. “You didn’t.”

“I panicked!” you wailed, not caring that you were probably drawing attention from the other early risers scattered around the common room. “It was either agree to the favor or let him catch you with Mr. Mysterious! What was I supposed to do?”

“Not sell your soul to a Slytherin, for starters!” She released you and began pacing, chewing on her thumbnail in that way she only did when she was truly stressed. “This is bad. This is really, really bad. Na Jaemin with a favor from you? He could ask for anything. Anything.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You dropped your head into your hands. “I’ve been up all night imagining the horrible things he might ask for. What if he wants me to do something illegal? What if he wants me to sabotage someone? What if he wants me to—” You shuddered. “—publicly humiliate myself somehow?”

Jo stopped pacing, her expression shifting from panic to determination. “Okay. Okay, we’re not going to catastrophize. Yes, this is bad. Yes, owing Jaemin a favor is potentially disastrous. But it’s not the end of the world.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“No.” She sat down beside you, taking your hand. “Listen to me. You did this to protect me. You put yourself on the line because you’re a good friend, the best friend, and I’m not going to let you face this alone. Whatever Jaemin asks for, we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

You wanted to take comfort in her words, in the fierce loyalty shining in her eyes. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just made a deal with the devil, and the bill would come due sooner rather than later.

“Okay,” you said quietly, squeezing her hand. “Together.”

“Together,” she confirmed. Then her expression turned mischievous. “Besides, who knows? Maybe he’ll ask for something simple. Like help with his Potions essay or something.”

You snorted despite yourself. “Jaemin doesn’t need help with Potions. He’s annoyingly good at everything.”

“Well then maybe he’ll ask you to—I don’t know—organize his sock drawer? Polish his prefect badge?”

“Jo.”

“I’m just saying, it might not be as bad as you think!”

But even as you tried to let her optimism buoy you, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life had just changed irrevocably. That in agreeing to owe Jaemin a favor, you'd set into motion a chain of events that you couldn't possibly predict or control.

Whatever he wanted from you, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be something as simple as organizing his socks.

A haze of anxiety and paranoia defined the following week, one that had you reaching a level of vigilance that would have impressed even Mad-Eye Moody.

You jumped at every sudden noise, flinched every time a Slytherin so much as glanced in your direction, and spent an inordinate amount of time scanning the Great Hall for any sign of Jaemin’s blonde head bent in whispered conversation with his housemates, plotting your doom.

To avoid him, you mapped out convoluted routes to class, opting for deserted corridors even when they made you late. Mealtimes were rescheduled to avoid the rush—breakfast at dawn, lunch in the late afternoon, and dinner only when the Hall had emptied to a few stragglers. In Potions, which was the one class you shared with him, you positioned yourself as far from his usual spot as physically possible, practically pressed against the dungeon wall, and refused to so much as breathe in his direction.

Not that it mattered… Because he didn’t approach you at all.

He just watched you.

From across the courtyard, his gaze would find you through a flurry of Slytherin green. Other times, your eyes would drift upward in Potions only to find him already staring, head propped lazily in his palm. He looked for all the world as if you were far more entertaining than any lecture Professor Slughorn could provide.

You started second-guessing everything. The way you sat, the way you spoke, the way you tugged at your sleeve or tucked your hair behind your ear when nervous. You found yourself becoming a caricature of yourself: rigid, overly cautious, desperate to give nothing away.

By the end of the week, you were a nervous wreck. You’d bitten your nails down to the quick. Developed a stress-induced rash on your neck that no amount of Essence of Dittany could soothe. And even started having vivid nightmares about Jaemin cornering you in increasingly absurd locations like the Prefects’ bathroom, or memorably in the middle of a Quidditch match where he’d swooped down on a broom to demand you juggle puffapods while the entire school watched.

“You need to sleep,” Jo said on Friday night, eyeing the bags under your eyes with concern. “This is getting ridiculous. You look like you’ve been hit with a Confundus Charm.”

“I can’t sleep,” you muttered, your third cup of coffee cooling forgotten beside your Transfiguration essay. “Every time I close my eyes, I just see his face. That stupid, smug, infuriatingly perfect face.”

Jo’s eyebrows shot up. “Perfect?”

“Putrid,” you corrected hastily, feeling your face heat. “I meant putrid. The point is, I can’t relax knowing that at any moment, he could just… appear and demand whatever horrific thing he’s been planning.”

“Maybe he’s forgotten about it,” Jo suggested, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe he was just messing with you, and he never actually intended to collect.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did. But you’d seen the satisfied glint in Jaemin’s eyes when you’d shaken hands.

No. He hadn’t forgotten. He was just biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The weekend dragged on with NEWTs studying, failed naps and increasingly creative avoidance techniques. By Sunday morning, you were so on edge that when an owl swooped down at breakfast and dropped a letter directly onto your plate, you actually screamed.

Half the Gryffindor table turned to stare.

“It’s just the post,” Jo said soothingly, though she was eyeing the letter with nearly as much suspicion as you were. “Probably from your mother.”

Your hands shook as you picked up the envelope. The handwriting was your mother’s, thank Merlin, and you sagged with relief as you broke the seal.

“See?” Jo said. “You’re being paranoid.”

“Can you blame me?” you muttered, scanning your mother’s cheerful recounting of your aunt’s latest garden gnome infestation. “It’s been a week, Jo. A whole week of nothing. It’s unnatural.”

“Psychological warfare, that’s what this is. Classic Slytherin mind games. He’s letting you stew, letting the anticipation build, until you’re so wound up that you’ll agree to anything just to put yourself out of your misery.”

“Thank you, Jo,” you said through gritted teeth, stabbing your sausage with enough force to make your fork screech against the plate. “That’s incredibly comforting.”

“I’m just saying, it’s textbook manipulation.” She reached for the marmalade, unbothered by your glare. “My cousin Fergus dated a girl from that house once, and she used to—” 

But you never found out what Jo's cousin's Slytherin ex-girlfriend did, because at that moment, a hush fell over the Great Hall. You looked up, already knowing what you'd see, and felt your stomach drop straight through the floor.

Jaemin was walking toward the Gryffindor table with purpose and intent, his long strides eating up the distance between the Slytherin table and yours. His eyes were fixed on you with such singular focus that you couldn’t have looked away if you tried. 

There was a small satisfied smile playing on his lips.

He was enjoying this, the utter bastard. Enjoying the way every eye in the hall was now fixed on you, the way whispers erupted in his wake like the hissing of a hundred snakes.

He came to a stop directly across from you, and you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes. They were dancing with amusement, and you had the sudden, wild urge to tip your pumpkin juice into his lap.

"Good morning," he said, for all the world as if this were a perfectly normal interaction and not a blatant violation of the unwritten rules that governed breakfast seating arrangements. "Sleep well?"

You gaped at him, too stunned to formulate a response. Beside you, Jo made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort hastily disguised as a cough.

Jaemin’s smile widened, showing a flash of teeth. “I’ll take that as a no.” His gaze swept over you, taking in the bags under your eyes, the coffee stains on your robes, the general air of sleep-deprived panic you’d been cultivating all week. “Have you been avoiding me?”

The question was delivered lightly, almost teasingly, but there was an undercurrent to it. A knowing edge that said he was perfectly aware of every corridor you’d ducked down, every meal you’d skipped, every desperate attempt you’d made to stay out of his path.

“Avoiding you?” you repeated with a nervous laugh. “Of course not. I’ve been—I’ve been busy. Studying and stuff.”

“Mm.” He didn’t sound remotely convinced. “Well, you’re not busy now, are you? I need to talk to you.” He paused, letting his gaze sweep meaningfully across the rapt faces surrounding you. “Privately.”

Oh no. Oh no no no.

"Huh?" you said eloquently.

"Talk. Privately," he repeated, enunciating each syllable as if you were a particularly slow-witted troll.

“I’m eating breakfast,” you said weakly, gesturing at your plate where your eggs had gone cold and congealed.

“You can eat later.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “Come on. This won’t take long.”

Every fiber of your being wanted to plant yourself in your seat and force him to either leave or make a scene. But you could feel the weight of the entire school’s attention pressing down on you. 

You glanced around, taking in the avid stares, the blatant eavesdropping, the gleeful anticipation on every face. Even the staff table looked uncommonly interested, with Professor McGonagall peering at you over her spectacles and Flitwick not even pretending not to listen in.

"Fine," you bit out, shoving back from the table with enough force to make the dishes rattle. "Lead the way."

Jaemin inclined his head, that infuriating smile still playing about his lips, and turned to walk out of the hall. You followed, determinedly ignoring the explosion of chatter that erupted in your wake.

He led you out of the castle, across the dew-damp lawn, all the way to the edge of the lake where a lone beech tree stretched its branches over the water. It was, you noted sourly, an incredibly picturesque spot for a clandestine meeting. Almost as if he'd planned it that way.

"All right," you said, crossing your arms and fixing him with your best glare. "What do you want?"

He leaned against the tree trunk, the picture of nonchalance, and regarded you with a calculating expression. "I think you know."

"The favor," you said flatly.

"The favor," he agreed. "Time to pay up, I'm afraid."

Your heart began to race at this, palms turning clammy as every horrible scenario you'd imagined over the past week came rushing back.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Fine. What is it? What do you want me to do?"

Jaemin pushed off the tree and took a few steps toward you until he was so close you could see the individual flecks of gold in his dark eyes. 

He looked down at you, his expression turning serious, almost solemn. "I need you," he said softly, "to be my girlfriend."

What the fuck. 

You stared at him dumbly. Surely he'd said something else—"be my guard friend" or literally anything that made more sense than what you thought you'd heard. But after several seconds of awkward silence he simply stood there, staring back.

"I'm sorry," you said at last. "I must have misheard you. It sounded like you just said—"

"Be my girlfriend," he repeated, enunciating each word carefully. "That's the favor I'm asking."

You searched his face for any sign that this was a prank, or at the very least a bizarre figment of your overtired and overstressed imagination.

But he looked deadly serious, his eyes never leaving yours, his jaw set in a way that suggested he was bracing himself for your reaction.

"Right," you said slowly. "Okay. So you've clearly been hit with a Bludger recently. Or maybe you inhaled some dodgy spores from the Forest?" You peered at him more closely, genuinely concerned now. "I think you might be having some sort of mental episode—"

"I'm not having a mental episode."

You started backing away slowly, hands raised placatingly. “Just stay there, I'm going to go get help. Maybe Madam Pomfrey has an antidote for whatever's happened to your brain—" 

"My brain is fine," Jaemin said, and he actually had the audacity to look amused. "I'm completely serious."

"That's even more concerning!" You threw your hands up. "Jaemin, you can't just—I mean, we barely even—we're not even friends! You spent two years torturing me and then four years pretending I didn't exist! And now you want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Fake girlfriend," he corrected.

"Oh, well, that changes everything," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fake girlfriend. Of course. How silly of me. That makes perfect sense."

"It does, actually, if you'd let me explain—"

"No. Absolutely not. This is—this is insane. You've lost your mind. Gone completely round the bend." You started pacing frantically. "You could have literally any girl in this school. Any girl! I’m sure there’s probably a waiting list even. And you want me to pretend to date you?"

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"Because you're perfect for this," he said with a shrug.

You let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "I'm what now?"

"Perfect," he repeated, and there wasn't a trace of humor in his voice now. "Think about it. You're a half-blood—"

"Oh don’t start with that blood purity crap—"

"No, I mean that it works perfectly because you're not involved in pureblood politics. You're not part of my usual social circle. You have no reason to want anything from me or my family beyond this one favor." He was ticking points off on his fingers now. "If we start dating, it'll be believable precisely because it's so unexpected."

"You think people will just believe that we're dating. You and me."

"Why not?"

"Because—" You gestured wildly between the two of you. "—because look at us! You're you, and I'm—I'm me! I spend my free time reading in corners and avoiding human interaction! You spend yours being disgustingly popular and having your pick of the female population! We have nothing in common! We don't even like each other!"

"All excellent points for why no one will suspect it's fake," he said smoothly. "If I were trying to stage a relationship, I’d pick someone more obvious. Someone from my house, someone I'm already friendly with. The fact that it's you makes it more authentic."

You stared at him, your brain struggling to process this absolute madness. "Have you been Imperisued or something? Seriously, I'm genuinely worried about you right now."

"I appreciate your concern," he said dryly. "But I assure you, I'm thinking perfectly clearly."

"Then explain it to me," you demanded, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "Because from where I'm standing, this makes about as much sense as trying to teach a troll how to read. Why on earth would you need a fake girlfriend? You're Na Jaemin! Half the school is in love with you! If you wanted a real girlfriend, you could probably just point at someone and they'd swoon into your arms!"

"That's actually part of the problem," he muttered, and was that... was that a hint of frustration in his voice?

You blinked. "What?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "There's a girl. Yuna. Her family and mine... they move in the same circles. Have for generations. Old pureblood families, lots of money, all that tedious rubbish."

"Okay...?"

"And lately, she's gotten it into her head that we're meant to be together. That it's our destiny to unite our families, carry on the pureblood tradition, produce the next generation of perfectly bred wizarding heirs." His voice was slightly tinged with disgust. "She won't take no for an answer."

Despite yourself, despite the absolute insanity of this entire situation, you felt a bit of sympathy. "And you don't want that."

"I'd rather wrestle a Hungarian Horntail," he said flatly. "But she's not listening. Every time I tell her I'm not interested, she just smiles and says I'm playing hard to get. That I'll come around eventually."

"That's..." You searched for the appropriate words. "That's actually kind of disturbing."

"It's extremely disturbing," he agreed. "And I can't just tell her to fuck off, because our families... it's complicated. There's business deals, social connections, generations of intertwined pureblood nonsense. If I publicly reject her, it could cause all sorts of problems."

"So you need a girlfriend," you said slowly, finally starting to understand. "A visible reason why you can't be with her."

"Exactly." He gave you a hopeful look. "Someone who won't get caught up in the drama and then can walk away clean when it's over. Someone like you."

You covered your face with your hands and sighed. "This is still insane."

"Is it though?"

"Yes! Completely, utterly, absolutely insane!" You started pacing again. "Jaemin, in case it's escaped your notice, we can barely stand each other! We've barely had a conversation longer than five minutes that didn't involve you annoying me or me wanting to hex you! How exactly do you propose we convince anyone we're madly in love?"

"We don't have to be madly in love," he said. "Just... dating. You know, just act like a regular couple, sit together at meals, go to Hogsmeade on weekends. People see us together, word gets back to Yuna, she backs off. Simple."

"Simple?” you repeated incredulously. "You think any part of this is simple?"

"More simple than the alternative." His expression turned serious. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. But I'm running out of options here, and you're—" He paused. "You're the only person I can trust with this."

That brought you up short. “You barely know me."

"I know enough," he said quietly. "I know you're loyal. I know you'd do anything for your friends, you proved that when you made our deal. I know you're not interested in status or popularity or any of the things most people want from me. And I know that when this is over, you'll keep your word and walk away."

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. This wasn't the smug, teasing Jaemin from the patrol or the cold, dismissive one from your earlier years. This was someone... genuine. Vulnerable, even.

"I think I need to sit down," you said faintly.

There was a convenient rock nearby and you sank down onto it, your head spinning.

"So just let me make sure I got it right," you said, staring out at the lake. "You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend. To protect you from an obsessive pureblood heiress who won't take no for an answer and so you won’t get trapped into a marriage of convenience.”

"That's the gist of it, yes."

"For how long?"

"A month? Maybe two at most."

"Two months?!" You whipped around to stare at him. "You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend for two months? Are you completely off your rocker?!"

“Come on, two months isn’t even that long—"

"Two months is eight weeks! Sixty days! Over a thousand hours of my life spent pretending to be in love with you!" You were nearly hyperventilating now. You shot to your feet, pacing again. 

“Again, no need to be madly in love—"

"And have you thought about the logistics of this?" You spun to face him. "Every girl in this castle is going to hate me! They already probably think we're shagging or something after your little breakfast stunt, and that was two minutes! Imagine two months of that! I'll need to go into witness protection!"

“I think that’s a bit of an overreaction.”

"Jaemin, people will actually want to murder me. There will be attempts on my life. I'll have to taste-test all my food for poison. Sleep with one eye open. Practice a good shield charm—"

"Nobody's going to try to murder you."

"You don’t know that!"

“And we wouldn't even be together the entire time," he continued as if you hadn't spoken. "Just... in public. Where people can see us. The rest of the time you can go back to pretending I don't exist."

You let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria. "Oh, well, that makes it so much better. Thank you for that generous concession."

"Are you finished panicking?" he asked mildly.

You glared at him. "No. No, I'm not finished. I'm just getting started. Do you have any idea how exhausting this sounds? How mortifying? I've spent six years perfecting the art of being invisible, and now you want me to voluntarily become the center of attention? The subject of gossip and speculation? Do you know what that will do to me?"

“Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

He seemed too casual about all this. It made you wonder if he did this sort of thing often. Not that it would be surprising, purebloods had weird customs that you could never begin to understand.

"Okay," you said slowly after a few seconds of gathering what little patience you had. "Okay. Let's say—and I'm not agreeing to anything—but let's say I did this. Don't you think people would find it a bit suspicious? Us dating out of nowhere? We've barely spoken in years. We're not friends or even friendly. People aren't stupid, Jaemin."

"We'll say we've been keeping it quiet," he said, like he'd already thought this through. "We didn’t want the attention, wanted to make sure it was real before we went public. No one will question it if we sell it right."

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" You fixed him with a glare.

“Easy. We make it look like we can't keep our hands off each other. You know, hold hands, and that sort of thing. Make it look convincing."

“You want me to hold your hand?”

"Among other things."

"What does that even mean…?”

"Well, we'd have to play it convincingly," he said reasonably. "Couples don't just hold hands. They sit close. They touch. They..." He paused, his eyes glinting with amusement. "They kiss occasionally."

"KISS?!" The word came out as a strangled shriek. "You want me to kiss you?!"

"I mean, not right now necessarily—"

“Oh, you’re barking mad if you think I will kiss you!”

"Come on, y/n. It's just a bit of acting. Surely a clever girl like you can manage that?" His voice dropped, turning silky and persuasive.

You bristled slightly at the blatant flattery even as some traitorous part of you warmed at the compliment. "And what's in it for me? Besides the joy of being glared at by every girl in this castle and kissing your dumb face?"

"The fact that I won’t tell McGonagall about your little friend’s nocturnal escapade isn’t enough for you?” he reminded you.

You froze, shoulders tensing. "You're really going to hold me to that? For something this insane?"

"A deal's a deal. I helped you and nowI need your help."

"I don't know," you said slowly. "This is...it's a lot to ask."

"I know." He took another step closer, his eyes intent on yours. "But I'm asking anyway. I need your help, y/n. Please."

You had agreed to this. You had shaken his hand, accepted his help, promised him a favor. And now he was calling it in.

"This is blackmail," you said weakly.

"It's really not."

You stared at him, at his stupidly handsome face and his infuriating certainty, and felt the trap closing around you. You still could refuse,  tell him to shove his favor and walk away. But then he could—would—tell McGonagall about Jo. And Jo would be expelled. And it would be all your fault.

"Fuck," you groaned.

"Is that a yes then? he said. 

You truly hated everything about this.

Still, you heard yourself say, "Two months. That's it. And we need to set ground rules, boundaries. I'm not going to do anything that makes me uncomfortable."

Relief flashed across his face, there and gone so quickly you might have imagined it. "Okay, that’s fair."

"And when it's over, we go back to normal. No hard feelings. We just... end it and move on."

"Agreed." He held out a hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "So. Do we have a deal?"

You hesitated for a long moment, your heart pounding so hard you were certain he must be able to hear it. This was, without question, the most insane thing you had ever considered doing. It was reckless and impulsive and had the potential to blow up in your face in a truly spectacular fashion.

But looking up into Jaemin's eyes, seeing something that might have been hope or desperation or both, you found yourself reaching out and taking his hand anyway.

"Deal," you said, and sealed your fate for the second time in a week.

"Excellent." His smile was pure satisfaction. "I'll pick you up for breakfast tomorrow. Try to look a little pleased to see me and not like you want to murder me."

"I make no promises," you muttered.

As you walked back toward the castle, your mind whirling with the absolute insanity of what you'd just agreed to, one thought kept circling back:

Na Jaemin, Slytherin prince and general menace to your sanity, wanted you to be his fake girlfriend.

Jo was never going to believe this.

A waking nightmare—that was the only way to describe the days following the grand revelation of your supposed relationship.

It felt as though Hogwarts had contracted a plague, a virulent strain of "Y/N-and-Jaemin" fever that consumed everyone from the dungeons to the astronomy tower. No one could quite wrap their heads around the unlikely pairing of a Gryffindor nobody and the Slytherin prince, and that confusion turned into a collective obsession.

Everywhere you went, eyes followed. First-years openly gawked as you passed. Third-years whispered behind their hands, their eyes following your every move with ravenous curiosity. Even the portraits seemed more interested in your comings and goings, their painted heads swiveling to track your progress through the corridors.

Horrible as the attention was, the rumors were worse. Wild, baseless theories seemed to spawn from thin air, multiplying with the rapid, disgusting speed of Horklumps in a garden.

“They've been secretly dating since third year,” one voice hissed in the corridor, “before he was even popular, I heard.”

The theories only grew more ridiculous from there. According to a Ravenclaw, you had saved his life during a Quidditch match—or perhaps from a rogue curse. One Hufflepuff swore on her life she’d seen the two of you kissing in the Astronomy Tower a year ago. Most sinister of all were the whispers of blackmail or pranks, culminating in the one theory that nearly made you choke on your pumpkin juice: “Oh Merlin, do you think she’s pregnant?”

The attention was suffocating, oppressive, like being trapped in a greenhouse in the middle of summer with no windows and too many people pressing their faces against the glass. You couldn't breathe without someone noting it, vouldn't eat without a dozen pairs of eyes watching every bite, and couldn't so much as sneeze without someone speculating about whether Jaemin would find it endearing.

And as if the whole thing wasn’t a nightmare already, there was Jaemin himself. Whatever level of insufferable he had occupied before was nothing compared to this new persona: the devoted boyfriend that was attentive, affectionate, and clearly determined to make the charade as mortifying as humanly possible.

He'd materialize at your elbow between classes, his arrival heralded by the subtle scent of broom polish that never quite left his robes and that you were beginning to recognize with Pavlovian dread. He'd fall into step beside you with that athletic grace of his, his hand finding the small of your back with proprietary confidence.

“There you are,” he’d say, his voice carrying an affected breathlessness as if he’d been searching the entire castle rather than simply memorizing your schedule. “I was looking for you.”

“Were you,” came your flat reply, as you struggled to ignore the sudden weight of a hundred curious stares pinning you to the spot.

“Mm.” Without an ounce of hesitation, his hand would slide around your waist, hauling you firmly against his side. “Missed you in Charms. You disappeared before I could catch you.”

“I was in a rush,” you’d mutter, omitting the fact that the rush was specifically to escape him.

“I know.” His smile would be warm and intimate, a masterpiece of conviction. “Let’s walk together next time. I can’t stand being away from my princess for too long.”

A collective swoon would ripple through the nearby students at the display.

Mealtimes offered no reprieve. He'd bypass his usual spot at the Slytherin table entirely, crossing the Great Hall with long strides to slide onto the bench beside you at Gryffindor. The first time he'd done it, the entire Hall had gone silent, hundreds of heads swiveling to watch as Na Jaemin—too cool for cross-house fraternization—planted himself among the lions.

“Morning, princess,” he’d announce, his voice projecting just far enough for half the table to catch. A casual kiss to your temple followed, delivered with such affection that you nearly lost your balance on the bench.

A sharp kick from Jo connected with your shin under the table. Smile, her wide-eyed expression screamed. You’re supposed to be in love with him, remember?

Obediently, you’d attempt a smile. Though it likely looked more like a pained grimace, Jaemin seemed satisfied enough. His arm draped across your shoulders as he reached for the orange juice, acting as if this were the most natural routine in the world.

Every meal followed the same suffocating pattern. He was always there, a solid line of warmth pressed against your side. Beneath the table, his thigh would brush against yours, making you hyperaware of his every shift. Often, his hand would rest on your knee, his thumb tracing absent patterns that felt far too intimate for public consumtion. Occasionally he’d lean in, murmuring something pointless like “Pass the salt” or “Your hair looks nice today” into your ear—but to the rest of the room, it looked like he was whispering sweet nothings.

The Great Hall devoured every crumb of the spectacle.

But while the general student body watched with wide-eyed fascination, you were forced to contend with a far more dangerous audience: the inner circle.

Jaemin’s friends were not merely students; they were the closest thing Hogwarts had to a royal court. To exist within the castle walls was to know them by reputation—a collection of wealthy, beautiful purebloods who navigated the drafty corridors with the effortless entitlement of aristocrats. Yet, observing them from the safety of the Gryffindor table was entirely different from being the direct target of their scrutiny.

Giselle led the first offensive.

She didn't walk so much as glide, approaching the Gryffindor table like an elegant snake. Everything about her was designed to intimidate, from the lethal sharpness of her cheekbones to the glossy waves of hair that fell perfectly down her back. Even her uniform defied the rules; her tie was knotted into an oversized, rebellious bow that no prefect would ever have the courage to cite as a dress-code violation.

“Jaemin,” she purred, ignoring your existence entirely as she draped herself against the table. “We’ve missed you at breakfast. The Slytherin table is positively bereft without your presence.”

“I’m sure you’re all managing,” Jaemin replied, his tone conversational and mild. He didn't move his arm from its proprietary position across your shoulders.

“Barely.” Only then did her eyes slide toward you in a slow, assessing sweep that made you feel like a piece of furniture being appraised for auction. “And this must be the famous girlfriend. Y/N, was it?”

“Yes,” you managed, forced to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat to keep your voice from cracking.

“Mm.” Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “How… unexpected. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken before, have we? What house are you in again?”

The question was a blatant insult, considering you were currently sitting at the Gryffindor table draped in scarlet and gold.

“Gryffindor,” you ground out through gritted teeth.

“Oh, right. Of course.” She paused to examine her dark green nails. “I always have trouble keeping track of the… quieter students. You must be one of those studious types. The ones who hide in the library all day.”

Boring. Forgettable. Beneath notice. The implication was clear. Beside you, Jo’s hand whitened as her grip tightened around her fork.

“I suppose so,” you said, choosing caution over a confrontation you weren't prepared to win.

“Cute.” Giselle’s smile widened, though it never reached her eyes. “Jaemin’s never been much for books, have you, Jaem? More of a... social creature. Though I’m sure you two have found something in common to keep things interesting.”

Beside you, Jaemin remained a statue of calm, taking a slow sip of his tea as if he were watching a particularly dull play rather than a verbal execution.

The pressure didn't let up as the days went on. A few days later, Changmin intercepted the two of you in the crowded corridor between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Towering and broad-shouldered, he possessed the rugged, athletic build of a seasoned Beater. He didn't need words to dominate the space; his presence alone caused younger students to scatter like leaves. When he looked at you, his smile was so predatory and sharp it made you think of a wolf finally closing in on a scent it had been tracking for miles.

"So this is her," Changmin said, his eyes traveling over you with clinical detachment. "Have to say, mate, when you said you were seeing someone, I pictured… I don't know. Someone different."

Jaemin’s voice remained light, though his eyes turned piercing. "What do you mean?"

"Just… different." A shrug followed, along with a dismissive flick of his gaze. "No offense, of course."

"Of course," you echoed through a tight jaw.

"It’s just surprising, is all." Changmin gestured vaguely with one hand. "You’ve always gone for a certain type, and she’s… well, not that."

Not pretty enough, you knew he meant.

Jaemin’s arm hooked around you, pulling you into his side. "She’s exactly my type," he countered. "Perfect, actually."

His words were meant to be reassuring but they'd just made you feel more like a prop in whatever game he was playing.

A shift in strategy occurred by the following week. The subtle snubs evolved into a coordinated siege as Changmin and Giselle began appearing together, a united front of immaculate hair, expensive robes, and thinly veiled hostility.

They seemed to materialize in every common space you frequented, armed with false smiles and poisonous pleasantries. Every interaction was a minefield; every question was a calculated probe designed to expose the fraying seams in your story.

Their interrogation didn't stop at the legitimacy of your relationship. They began taking aim at the very fabric of your life... Quite literally.

"Those robes," Giselle remarked during a chance encounter in the corridor, her eyes sweeping over your silhouette with a look of practiced pity. "Are they... vintage? They have that distinctive, worn quality. That 'hand-me-down' aesthetic."

The fabric felt suddenly heavy and scratchy against your skin. They had been your mother's, mended with care and kept clean through sheer effort, but they lacked the shimmer of new silk. Heat flooded your face, a hot prickle of shame you hated yourself for feeling.

"They're fine," you muttered, clutching your books tighter to your chest.

"Oh, I'm sure they're perfectly serviceable," she added, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Not everyone has the luxury of replacing their wardrobe every season, after all."

Changmin leaned across the table, his expression open and conversational, though his eyes remained predatory.

"So, what does your father do for work?" he asked, swirling the pumpkin juice in his goblet as if it were a fine vintage. "My father sits on the Wizengamot, of course. And Giselle’s family runs one of the largest potions corporations in Europe. It's always so interesting to hear what other families do."

"He works for the Ministry," you said shortly, keeping your eyes fixed on your plate.

"Oh? How prestigious. Which department? International Magical Cooperation? The Auror Office?"

"Magical Maintenance."

The silence that followed was heavy enough to suffocate. You didn't need to look up to feel the shockwave of silent communication passing between them. You could practically hear the click of the mental locks falling into place: the suppressed smirks, the shared glances, and the smug, knowing silence that broadcast exactly what they thought of your family’s status. You weren't just the 'wrong type' for Jaemin; in their eyes, you were a glitch in the social order.

"Very honest work, I’m sure," Giselle added finally, her voice carrying just enough to be heard at the neighboring tables. "Someone has to keep the toilets functioning."

Jo who'd been next to you the whole time, bolted upright, her face flushed a dangerous shade of scarlet. You moved instinctively, grabbing her arm and hauling her back into her seat before she could cause a scene.

The real ambush, however, didn't come until Friday evening.

You'd been in the library trying to calculate the magical decay of a complex curse for your Arithmancy assignment. Beside you, Jaemin had been hovering for the better part of an hour, his presence a persistent distraction.

"If you carry the nine there," he whispered, his long finger hovering over your string of equations, "doesn't the probability of a backfire increase by 12%?"

"No, Jaemin," you huffed, rubbing your temples where a dull ache was beginning to bloom. "This isn't Divination. You cannot simply guess your way through Arithmancy. Seven is a powerful magical prime, but in an inverted sequence, its weight is halved. I am trying to ensure you don't accidentally liquefy your own bones during the NEWTs."

"Right, right. Half the weight, double the trouble," he murmured. He wasn't even pretending to look at the numbers anymore; his gaze was fixed on the way you were biting your lip in concentration. "Explain the Pythagorean bridge to me again? That was very sexy."

A sharp retort about his lack of focus was halfway up your throat when the shadows fell over the table.

Giselle and Changmin. They were flanked by Sungchan, another Quidditch type you vaguely recognized, and a fourth person whose presence made the air leave your lungs in a rush.

Yuna.

She stood there, ice-blonde and perfectly beautiful. You felt Jaemin’s posture stiffen beside you. You hadn't known. He’d never mentioned she was part of his circle, that she was this close to the people he spent every waking hour with. The "fake" part of your relationship suddenly felt dangerously flimsy.

"Study date?" Giselle asked, sliding into the seat directly across from you. "I’m sorry, is that a textbook, Jaemin? I thought you used those as coasters."

Jaemin didn't look up from your parchment. "We're just working."

"It’s Friday night," Sungchan cut in, leaning heavily against a nearby bookshelf. "The guys are sneaking kegs of firewhisky into the common room as we speak. There’s a party starting in ten minutes, mate. We’ve been looking for you for an hour."

"I'm clearly busy, aren’t I?" Jaemin finally looked up, his voice hardening.

Yuna stepped forward, her dark eyes narrowing as she focused on you for the first time.

"Y/N, right?" she said, her voice a soft, melodic contrast to the tension. "What exactly have you done to him? Jaemin hasn't missed a Friday night since third year. And yet, here he is, looking at... what is that? Arithmancy?"

"It’s important for the exams," you said, your voice sounding steadier than you felt. "And he's actually quite good at it when he tries."

A snort of pure skepticism escaped Yuna. "Since when is calculating the weight of a hex more entertaining than a party?"

"Since I realized I was failing," Jaemin interjected smoothly, reaching out to lace his fingers with yours atop the table. You knew it was a calculated move, a public display for the one person who mattered. "Y/N pointed out that if I don't pass the Arithmancy boards, I won't be able to take the advanced Theo-Magic track next year. She's very persuasive when she wants to be."

"Persuasive, huh?" Giselle repeated, though her eyes flicked toward Yuna to gauge her reaction. “I can only imagine the things she can do, if she’s managed to make you skip every single party since you started dating.”

Giselle’s implication was blatant, dripping with enough tawdry subtext to make your cheeks flame. You looked at Jaemin, waiting for him to shred her with his notorious silver tongue. Instead, he remained maddeningly static. Only the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his irritation.

“Did you know there’s actually a betting pool regarding how long youll two last?” Yuna asked, her tone conversational, as if she were discussing the Quidditch scores than your social execution. “The smart money says two weeks. That is, if the novelty doesn’t wear off by Tuesday.”

The news hit your stomach with a cold, hollow thud. “There’s a what?”

“Don’t look so scandalized.” she waved a hand, her emerald ring catching the light. “It’s nothing personal, darling. People adore a spectacle, and this is a bewildering one. Jaemin has spent years as the prize everyone was chasing, and then he suddenly chooses...”

She trailed off. Her silence was more eloquent than any insult.

"The weird girl who hides in corners," Sungchan supplied helpfully. "No offense."

"Loads taken," you snapped before you could stop yourself.

“So defensive.” Yuna chuckled cruelly.

“That’s enough,” Jaemin said. His voice lost its playful lilt, replaced by a low edge. It was the sound of a predator deciding a conversation had reached its conclusion.

“We’re just teasing, Jaem. Don’t be so sensitive.” Giselle stood, smoothing her robes. “If Y/N is going to be part of our inner circle, she’ll need a thicker skin. We aren't known for our gentleness.”

“I am dating Jaemin,” you said, your voice finally steady. “Not applying to be your friend.”

The temperature at the table dropped approximately ten degrees.

“Well,” Yuna said, her delicate features arranging themselves into an expression of theatrical, wide-eyed surprise. “It seems the little bird has claws after all."

They had successfully poked at the seams of your composure and were now departing before the scene became truly messy.

"A little parting advice, Y/N," Giselle said, pausing as she turned. "The more defensive you become, the more it appears as though you’re hiding something. And in this school, secrets are the only currency that matters."

Then they were gone. The only sound left was the rustle of their expensive robes fading into the library stacks. You sat there, shaking, while Jaemin’s fingers remained locked with yours.

“They’re foul,” you muttered, the sharp thud of your textbook echoing too loudly against the mahogany table. “Your friends are actually vipers, Jaemin.”

“I know.” His reply was flat, lacking any of the heat you were looking for. “Look, I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” You yanked your hand away from his, suddenly angry at him. “Because you just sat there like a statue. You let them say all that, and you didn't even blink.”

“And what did you want me to do? Start a row in the middle of the library?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe defend me!” The words burst out, earning a sharp, hawk-like “Shh!” from Madam Pince.

You leaned in, dropping your voice to a fierce whisper. “Tell them they’re being cruel. Tell them to sod off! But you just sat there looking like you were enjoying the show.”

Jaemin didn't answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as he studied you with those dark, unreadable eyes.

“If I get too defensive, they’ll know something’s up,” he said eventually. “You heard Giselle, she's looking for a reaction. That’s what they’re all doing. They're looking for proof that we’re lying. The more I protest, the more suspicious they get.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit there and take it?” You felt a hot sting behind your eyes and hated yourself for it. “I have to let them slag me off and talk rubbish about my family, all to keep your precious cover story alive?”

“Just for a bit,” he insisted. “Once they’re convinced it’s real, they’ll back off. But right now, they’re testing us. They’re testing you. And if we want this to work, you have to pass.”

“I’m trying to pass the bloody test!” you hissed, your voice rising again.

“Trying, yeah.” He leaned forward, his shadow falling over your parchment. “But you’re not being very convincing, Y/N.”

Your face flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you always look uncomfortable.” He ran a hand through his hair, his composure finally fraying. “You look miserable, Y/N. Constantly. Like being near me is a form of torture.”

“Well, it isn’t exactly a holiday,” you shot back.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” he continued, ignoring the jab. “I know you didn't want this. But we made a deal, and if you keep acting like I’m a Dementor every time I come within a foot of you, no one is going to believe this.”

“So what? You want me to swoon? Hang off your arm like a mindless doll?”

“I want you to look like you can at least tolerate me,” he cut in, his tone sharpening. “I want you to stop flinching when I hold your hand. Lean into me instead of going rigid as a board. Smile, Y/N. A real one, not that grimace you do when people are watching.”

“That’s the best I can do.”

“Well, your best isn’t good enough.” He looked at the library door, then back at you. “Giselle asked me why you’re so tense all the time. I told her you were shy about public affection, but that excuse only works for so long.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a cocktail of fury.

“Maybe you should’ve picked someone who actually wanted to be your girlfriend.”

“I picked you because I thought you were smart enough to pull this off, but if you can't... ” He trailed off, shaking his head. "If you can’t even manage to stay in the same room as me without looking like you’d rather be drowning in the lake, the whole thing falls apart.”

"So will you be satisfied if I start kissing the floor you walk on? " you asked bitterly.

“It’d be a start,” he said simply. “Look, I know they’re awful. But you need to try harder. Stop pulling away. Stop acting like my touch is burning you.”

“It is burning me,” you muttered. You didn't mean to say it out loud, and you immediately wished you could swallow the words back down.

Jaemin’s eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.” You stood up abruptly, gathering your things with fumbling hands. “Forget it. I’ll try harder, alright? I’ll be more convincing. I’ll smile and lean in and act like I’m absolutely mad about you. Is that what you want?”

“Y/N, wait—”

“I’m going back to the common room.” You slung your bag over your shoulder, refusing to look at him. “I’ll see you at breakfast. I’ll be sure to put on a proper show.”

“That’s not what I—”

But you didn’t stay to hear the rest. You turned and walked away, your vision blurring slightly as you navigated between the towering bookshelves, Madam Pince's disapproving glare following you all the way to the exit.

Behind you, you heard Jaemin sigh, but he didn’t call after you.

Just as well. You needed to be anywhere but near him.

Expectations of a smooth public performance next morning were shattered the moment Jaemin actually appeared. You had braced yourself for the usual, the effortless slide onto the bench, the heavy weight of his arm claiming your space, and that charming attitude that suggested your library row had been nothing more than a minor blip.

Instead, the Jaemin who approached the table looked like he’d gone several rounds with a rogue Bludger. His tie was a shambles, hanging loose around his collar, and his hair was a chaotic nest of blonde strands as if he’d spent the early hours of the morning dragging his hands through it in frustration. He didn't sit, but lingered at the edge of the bench with a strange, jittery energy.

"Can we talk?"

The question was a mere breath under the noise of clattering plates and the morning owl post.

You looked back down at your porridge. "About what?"

"Yesterday." He sounded nervous, not the polished Pureblood prince, but a boy who was genuinely out of his depth. "Please?"

Jo delivered a sharp kick to your shin under the table. Why did she keep doing that?! You winced, the sting jolting you out of your stubborn trance. Against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding.

"Fine. Where?"

"Third floor. The corridor by the one-eyed witch statue." He checked his watch, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against the wood of the table. "Ten o'clock?"

"That’s oddly specific," you muttered, finally meeting his eyes.

"Just—trust me on this. Please?"

There was that word again. Please. It was a far cry from the boy who had told you your best wasn't good enough yesterday. And because you were apparently a glutton for punishment, you felt your resolve crumble.

"Ten o'clock," you agreed.

He didn't offer a smirk or a wink for the benefit of the watching Great Hall. He simply gave a tight nod and sat down, keeping a conspicuous gap between your shoulder and his.

Stone walls and guttering torches made the third floor just as drab as the rest of the castle. A few portraits dozed in their frames, and the statue of the one-eyed witch stood sentinel at the far end, her painted eyes seeming to follow your every move with an almost unsettling intensity.

Five minutes of waiting had already passed, which was roughly four minutes and fifty seconds longer than it took to start feeling like a total idiot.

Just as the urge to bolt back to the safety of the common room became overwhelming, the rhythmic scuff of boots echoed against the flagstones. Jaemin rounded the corner, his usual swagger replaced by a stiff gait. You drew a breath, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove this clandestine little meeting, but he hoisted a hand to silence you.

"Before you lay into me," he started, coming to a halt just out of arm’s reach, "I want to apologize. Properly. For yesterday."

The anger you’d been carefully stoking for the last twelve hours flickered and died, leaving you feeling strangely hollow. "Oh."

"I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right." He dragged a hand through his hair, a sign of genuine nerves that made him more like a tired teenager. "You’re right. This situation is mental. My friends are absolute vultures, and I’ve been asking you to stand in the middle of the pack without giving you a single bit of support."

"I mean... yeah." You leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to hide how much that small bit of validation actually mattered. "That has been the arrangement so far, hasn't it?"

"Well, it’s a rubbish arrangement." He stepped into your personal space, his eyes searching yours with an earnestness that felt far too real. "I want to make this bearable for you. But for that to happen, I think we need to... practice."

"Practice?"

"At being comfortable," he explained, as if he were simply suggesting a bit of extra Quidditch drills. "You said my touching burns. Not literally, I hope, but—" He gestured between the two of you. "There’s this tension. This massive wall between us. People can see it, Y/N. It’s written all over you."

"Right. So your grand plan is..."

"Exposure therapy," he said. "We need to get accustomed to one another. And we need to do it without an audience watching your every flinch."

A snort almost escaped you as you processed the sheer absurdity of the suggestion. It felt like a scene ripped straight from one of those tawdry novels Jo kept hidden in her trunk, the ones with titles like The Warlock’s Wicked Whim.

But beneath the embarrassment sat a cold, hard logic you couldn't ignore. Every time his skin brushed yours, your heart panicked. You went rigid, your breath hitched, and your pulse became a frantic drumbeat in your ears. If you could feel that visceral wrongness vibrating through your bones, then vipers like Giselle and Yuna could definitely tell too.

"And you want to do this here?" A wary glance down the drafty corridor followed, half-expecting a gaggle of students to peek around the corner, eager for a glimpse of the castle's most talked-about couple. "What if someone comes by?"

"They won't." Jaemin started walking again, gesturing for you to follow. "That’s the whole point of meeting on this floor."

Confusion was about to mount into another argument when he came to a sudden halt in front of a completely unremarkable stretch of stone wall. Without a word, he began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, his brow furrowed in a look of intense concentration.

For a moment, you just watched him, convinced that he'd finally cracked under the pressure and that this whole fake relationship scheme had driven him round the bend. You were seconds away from suggesting a firm dose of Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey when the masonry began to ripple.

Solid stone blurred and shimmered like the surface of the Black Lake under a midday sun. Then, with a low, tectonic grind, an ornate wooden door bled into existence.

Your mouth fell open. You'd heard of this, of course. Read about it in 'Hogwarts: A History'. But reading about something and seeing it happen right in front of your eyes were two very different things.

"The Room of Requirement," you breathed, awe temporarily overriding your general state of irritation.

"The Room of Requirement," Jaemin confirmed, and there was a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I figured if we're going to do this, we should do it somewhere we won't be interrupted."

"Unless you don't want to?" he asked, and there was a carefulness to the question, an unspoken offer of an out. "I know this is... I know it's a lot to ask. But I really think it'll help. I do."

You stared at the door, your mind whirling. This was insane. Completely, utterly, certifiably insane. Practicing feeling comfortable with Na Jaemin in a magical room that appeared out of thin air? This was your life now? This was what your Hogwarts experience had come to?

But what was the alternative? Continue on as you had been, flinching and grimacing your way through this charade until even the most gullible Hufflepuff could see right through you? Let Jaemin's awful friends pick and prod at you until you broke?

No. No, as much as it pained you to admit it, Jaemin was right. If you were going to make it through this with your dignity remotely intact, you had to stop being the weak link. You needed to become a better liar. 

And if that meant subjecting yourself to Merlin knows what kind of 'practice' in a secret magic room... well. So be it.

“I swear if this is some kind of prank…”

"It's not." He pushed open the door, warm, inviting light spilling out into the corridor. "I promise."

The moment you crossed the threshold, you felt a strange sensation wash over you. Like stepping into a warm bath after a long, cold day. The room was...not at all what you expected. It was smaller, cozier. There was a plush sofa against one wall, a few cushy armchairs arranged around a low coffee table. The lighting was soft, emanating from no discernible source, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla and old books. It felt safe, somehow. Comforting. Which only served to put you more on edge.

"So," you said, crossing your arms over your chest as the door swung shut behind you with a soft, final-sounding click. "You brought me here to practice. Practice what, exactly?"

Jaemin had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Intimacy."

"I'm sorry, what?”

"Not—not like that," he said quickly, and was that a hint of a flush on his cheeks? Surely not. Na Jaemin didn't get flustered. It must be a trick of the light. "I mean... being close.. and comfortable enough to casually touch each other. You know, the things couples do in public that you keep shying away from."

"You make it sound so simple," you muttered, feeling a blush rise to your own cheeks despite your best efforts. 

"It’s not that big of a deal." He gestured to the sofa. "Look, we're going to have to spend the next two months being physically affectionate in front of the entire school. And right now, every time I so much as brush against you, you look like you'd rather be facing a herd of centaurs. So we need to practice. To make it feel normal."

Normal. What a ludicrous concept. There was nothing normal about this. But you bit back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. You’d agreed to this madness, and backing out now would only make you look more pathetic.

"Right. So you want me to get used to you pawing at me."

"I do not paw—" He cut himself off, taking a visible breath to steady himself. "I want you to get used to me touching you in a completely respectful, non-pawing way.

You stared at him and he stared back. You could practically hear the seconds ticking by, feel the weight of the impasse settling over the room.

"Fine," you said at last, the word feeling like it was being dragged out of you with fish hooks. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

His shoulders relaxed, the tension in his jaw easing just a fraction. "Just… come sit with me. We'll start slow."

He settled onto the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. You approached warily, lowering yourself onto the opposite end and putting as much distance between your bodies as physically possible. Jaemin looked at the three-foot chasm of empty space and raised an eyebrow.

"You're going to have to get closer than that."

"This is close."

"You’re barely sitting on the couch."

"Baby steps," you muttered.

"We don't have time for baby steps." But his voice was gentle, coaxing. "Come on. I don't bite."

That remains to be seen, you thought. But despite every instinct screaming at you to run, you scooted closer. Then a bit closer still. You stopped in the middle of the sofa, a foot of space still separating you, but closer than you'd ever voluntarily been to him outside of your mandated public displays.

"Better," Jaemin said, and the soft, approving lilt in his voice sent a traitorous flutter through your stomach. "Now, I'm going to put my arm around you. Like I do at meals. And I want you to try not to tense up. Okay?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice not to shake.

Slowly, broadcasting his movements like he was approaching a skittish animal, he lifted his arm, draping it across the back of the sofa. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the weight of it startling in its warmth, its solidity.

Instantly, you felt your entire body go rigid, your muscles locking up like you'd been hit with a full body bind curse. Every nerve ending was suddenly alight, hyper-aware of the exact dimensions of his palm, the precise pressure of each individual finger.

"You’re doing it again," he murmured. His voice was much closer than you’d expected. "Tensing up."

"I know," you gritted out. "I’m trying."

"Here." His other hand hovered just shy of your arm, hesitant. "Just breathe. Focus on that."

Breathe. Right. You could manage that.

You sucked in a breath, held it for a count of three, and forced it out. You repeated the cycle until the iron bands of your muscles began to slacken, slowly adjusting to the foreign sensation of him.

"Good," Jaemin whispered. "See? Not so terrible."

"It’s weird," you countered. It was unsettling and entirely too much. "You’re weird. This whole thing is mental."

"Noted." There was a definite streak of amusement in his tone now. "But you aren't flinching. That’s progress."

He was right. The initial shock of the contact was fading, replaced by a strange sort of...not comfort, exactly. Awareness, maybe. You were intensely conscious of the weight of his arm, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed next to you.

The feeling wasn't the searing, blistering heat you'd stupidly mentioned yesterday in a moment of unthinking frustration. But it was a lot. Intimate in a way you weren't at all prepared for, in a way that made your heart thud traitorously against your rib cage.

"Okay," Jaemin said after the silence had stretched out just long enough to teeter on the edge of uncomfortable. "Next step. I'm going to pull you a bit closer. Like I do when we're walking to class."

"Do you really need to narrate every little thing?" You couldn't help the note of exasperation that crept into your voice.

"I'm trying not to spook you."

"I'm not a skittish woodland creature."

"Could've fooled me," he muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

Before you could formulate a properly scathing response, he drew you firmly into his side. Your instinct was to lock up again, but you fought it. This close, the scent of him was overwhelming—clean linen, and a subtle hint of broomstick polish.

It was disorienting. Overwhelming. But...not entirely unpleasant, if you were being honest with yourself. Which you absolutely were not going to be, because that way lay madness.

"Are you okay?" Jaemin asked, and his voice lacked his usual arrogance, sounding instead like he was actually concerned about your boundaries.

For a dizzying second, you wondered if there was more to him than the unflappable, silver-tongued Slytherin. Was this just as strange and unsettling for him? You pushed the thought away immediately. Thinking of Jaemin as a real person with real nerves was a one-way trip to jagged rocks and shark-infested waters. He was a means to an end. A necessary evil.

"It's fine," you said, and if your voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less steady, well. That was nobody's business but your own. “Not terrible, I suppose."

"High praise, coming from you," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, could practically feel the curve of his lips where they brushed against your hair. 

You chose to ignore that, focusing instead on keeping your breathing steady and your heartbeat under control.

Time passed, seconds or minutes or hours, you couldn't quite tell. The room had narrowed down to the weight of Jaemin's arm around you, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the soft sounds of your breathing intermingling in the quiet room.

The whole thing was almost peaceful, provided you let yourself forget exactly who he was and why you were here.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” you asked eventually, when the silence and the sensation started to feel like too much.

Jaemin shrugged, the movement jostling you slightly. “Until it feels normal, I guess. Or at least not horribly awkward.”

You let out a long sigh. “We’re going to be here a while, then.”

He laughed, the sound warm and resonant in the small room. “Probably. But look on the bright side—at least the couch is comfortable, right?”

You made a noncommittal noise, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an agreement.

“Just think,” he continued, a teasing lilt returning to his voice, “a few more of these sessions and we’ll be the most convincing couple Hogwarts has ever seen. We’ll put the real ones to shame.”

“Be still my beating heart,” you deadpanned. “What a glittering future.”

“We’ll practice the basics for now. Then we’ll work our way up.”

“Work our way up to what, exactly?” You regretted the question the moment it left your lips. His arm tightened slightly, and his voice took on a silkier quality.

“Well,” he said, “eventually, we’re going to have to practice kissing.”

You practically launched yourself off the cushions at that. You scrambled to the very edge of the sofa, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The distance between you was back to a yawning three feet in a matter of seconds.

He’d mentioned kissing when he proposed this mad arrangement in the first place but you genuinely thought he’d been trying to ruffle you. The prospect of actually kissing Na Jaemin was so far outside your comfort zone it felt like another planet.

“Absolutely not!” you gasped, your eyes wide with genuine alarm. “Not happening. Not in this lifetime.”

Jaemin stared at you, his arm still draped over the empty space where your shoulder had been a moment ago. He looked startled by your sudden flight, but it only took a second for that lazy amusement to crawl back onto his face.

“It’s going to come up, Y/N,” he said, dropping his arm and leaning back comfortably, as if he hadn't just suggested something world-ending. “Couples kiss. Especially 'new' couples who are supposedly mad about each other. If the first time I kiss you is in front of the entire Great Hall and you look like you’re about to be sick, the game is up.”

“I get it,” you snapped, your face feeling like it was being held over a Bunsen burner. “I get it. But we’re not—I mean, we don’t need to do that. It’s way too much.”

“We don’t have to do it today,” he agreed, his voice surprisingly gentle as he watched you vibrate with nerves at the end of the sofa. “We’ll work up to it slowly. Baby steps, remember?”

“I hate this,” you mumbled, slowly sinking back into the upholstery, though you stayed firmly out of arm's reach.

“I know,” he said, his eyes tracking you with a look that was far too observant for your liking. “But you’re getting much better at pretending you don't.”

The witching hour, that eerie stretch of night when all respectable souls should be tucked safely in their beds, found you instead padding down the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, your dressing gown pulled tight around you and your wand tip illuminating the way. 

It was a terrible idea, really, wandering the castle at this hour. You were a prefect, for Merlin's sake. You knew the rules better than most. Out of bed after curfew, risking detention or worse, all for what? A craving for something sweet that couldn't wait until the civilized hours of morning?

But sleep had proven elusive, your mind refusing to quiet, insisting instead on replaying the events of the past week in excruciatingly vivid detail. The practice sessions with Jaemin in the Room of Requirement featured most prominently, of course. The steadily shrinking distance between your bodies, the way his touch was beginning to feel almost... familiar.

You were making progress. Which was precisely the problem.

So now, at an absolutely unreasonable hour, you found yourself seeking solace in the kitchens. If you were going to be awake anyway, you might as well have a biscuit to keep you company.

You reached the portrait of the fruit bowl, tucked away in a corridor no one ever noticed, and tickled the pear. It squirmed and giggled, as it always did, before transforming into a door handle.

The kitchens were a welcome oasis of warmth, the vaulted ceilings echoing with the industrious sounds of house-elves going about their nightly duties—kneading dough for the morning's bread, organizing the pantry, scrubbing the massive cauldrons until they shone. They looked up as you entered, surprise evident on their wrinkled little faces.

"Miss!" squeaked a particularly diminutive elf, hurrying over to you, her tea towel toga flapping about her knees. "Miss should be in bed! Is Miss hungry? Was something not to Miss's liking at dinner?"

"No, no," you assured her quickly, crouching down to her level with a smile. "Dinner was wonderful, as always. I just couldn't sleep and thought a little something sweet might help."

The elf's large eyes widened further, a delighted smile stretching her mouth. "Oh yes, yes! Dipsy can help! We has treacle tart left over from dinner, and chocolate biscuits, and Dipsy can bring fresh cream for Miss's tea—"

"Just a biscuit or two would be lovely," you said. "And maybe a bit of that apple tart, if there's any left? I don't want to make extra work for you."

"Is no work at all!" Dipsy insisted, already scurrying off toward the enormous cooling racks that lined one wall. "Is Dipsy's pleasure to serve! Miss sit, sit! Dipsy will bring tea!"

And so you found yourself perched on a stool at one of the long preparation tables, watching with a mix of amusement and awe as Dipsy and two other elves fluttered about, assembling a plate of biscuits and tart and a pot of fragrant, steaming tea.

"Thank you," you said sincerely as they presented you with your midnight feast. "This is exactly what I needed."

Dipsy beamed, her bat-like ears quivering with pleasure. "Miss is always so kind, so polite! Not like some students, so rude and demanding they is. But Miss is a good student, yes she is!"

You felt a pang at that, remembering all the times you'd seen your classmates treating the house-elves like mere servants. "You work so hard," you told her. "The least I can do is be polite."

The ancient elf in the tea towel toga shuffled up then, setting a small pot of jam next to your plate. "Special raspberry preserves," he croaked. "Made 'em myself. Good for what ails you, they is."

"That's very kind, thank you," you said, touched by the gesture.

You passed the next quarter hour in the warm bustle of the kitchens, savoring your illicit snack while the elves worked around you, peppering you with questions—did you need anything else, what did you think of the new recipe they'd tried at lunch, would you like to take some extra tarts back to your dormitory? It was soothing, the cheerful chatter and clatter, so different from the brooding silence of your room.

By the time you'd drained your teacup and consumed a frankly inadvisable number of biscuits, you were feeling considerably more yourself.

"Thank you," you said again as you rose to leave. "I feel much better."

"Miss is welcome anytime!" Dipsy assured you earnestly. "Dipsy is always here if Miss needs a little pick-me-up!"

You left with a smile and a promise to visit again, slipping back out into the dark and drafty corridor.

It was deserted, as you'd expected. Or so you thought, until a voice emerged from the shadows some twenty feet ahead, stopping you in your tracks.

"Out for a midnight stroll?"

You nearly leapt out of your skin, your wand raised defensively before you'd even fully registered the words. But then a familiar figure stepped into a pool of torchlight, and your racing heart stuttered for an entirely different reason.

Jaemin. Even in the middle of the bloody night, he managed to look put together, his school robes immaculate and his prefect badge gleaming. His hands were tucked casually in his pockets, and there was a glint in his eye that might have been amusement.

"Merlin's beard, Jaemin," you hissed, lowering your wand. "Are you trying to get hexed? You can't just lurk in the dark like some sort of—villain!"

"I'm not lurking, I'm patrolling," he countered. "It's my job to accost students out of bed after hours. Which, need I remind you, you currently are."

"I’m a prefect too," you shot back, though you were painfully aware that your current attire—dressing gown, fluffy slippers, and basically a bird's next on your head—didn’t exactly command authority.

"A prefect who's very much off duty," Jaemin pointed out, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made you acutely conscious of your bare legs and messy hair. "And wandering the castle at two in the morning, no less."

You crossed your arms, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. "I couldn't sleep. Not that it's any of your business, but if you must know, I was hungry. I went to the kitchens."

"The kitchens," he repeated slowly.

"Yes, the kitchens. You're familiar with the concept, I assume? Big room, lots of elves, food comes from there?"

Jaemin, looking awfully like he was trying not to smile, said again, "You went to the kitchens. At two a.m. In your dressing gown."

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt a little. "Yes, that's what I just said. Is there an echo here I'm not aware of?"

"Y/n y/l/n, prefect and notorious rule-follower, snuck out of bed and all the way down to the kitchens in the dead of night...for a biscuit?"

"What, like you've never had a late-night snack craving?"

"No, I can't say I have." He was definitely fighting a smile now. "I'm just surprised. I didn't take you for the type."

"Yes, well, there's a lot you don't know about me," you muttered, brushing past him to continue your trek back to Gryffindor tower. To your great chagrin, Jaemin fell into step beside you, long legs eating up the distance effortlessly.

"And here I was thinking I had you all figured out... Now I come to find you have a dark side. Late-night wanderings, clandestine trips to the kitchen...so scandalous. Merlin only knows what other secrets you're hiding behind that prim prefect exterior."

"Oh, yes," you agreed dryly. "I'm a woman of endless mysteries. Careful, Na, or I'll file you away in my mental 'too curious for his own good' cabinet with all my other deep, dark secrets."

It was possibly the most ridiculous thing you'd ever said, made all the more absurd by the fact that you were padding through the halls in slippers, being relentlessly followed by the boy you were supposed to be pretending to date. Who was going to write your biography one day? They'd have a field day with this.

"So why are you lurking about in the dark, anyway?" you asked, feeling the need to shift focus away from your own nocturnal misadventures. "Isn't this usually when you abscond to the grounds to catch hapless rule-breakers?"

"Wasn't in the mood," Jaemin said with a shrug. "Thought I'd switch it up tonight. Catch hapless biscuit thieves instead."

You shot him a withering look. "I'm not a thief. The elves gave me those biscuits fair and square. And anyway, you're one to talk about avoiding the grounds. What, did our last excursion awaken a sudden fear of the dark?"

"Hardly." A pause. "Just wasn't the same without my favorite patrol partner, I suppose."

Your steps faltered a bit at that, and you hoped desperately that the darkness was enough to hide the flush you could feel creeping up your neck. Favorite patrol partner. He had to be mocking you. Nevermind that he'd said it almost...softly. Sincerely, even. A trick of the acoustics in this drafty old castle, no doubt.

“I’m flattered,” you managed, arranging your face into an expression of arch disdain. "Though I think we both know I'm likely the only patrol partner you’ve terrorized on the grounds. Bit of a low bar, as far as favoritism goes."

“I'm grading on a curve," Jaemin said with a smirk. "Bumping you to the head of a class of one."

"How magnanimous of you."

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

A slow shake of the head was the only response you could muster. Between the amusement and the sheer exasperation, it was hard to keep track of your own feelings. This boy. This ridiculous, irritating, unfairly handsome boy. How had your life come to revolve around verbally sparring with him in darkened hallways in the middle of the night?

You'd reached the stairs leading up toward Gryffindor Tower, and you paused at the base, turning to face Jaemin. He was looking at you intently, as if he wanted to say something.

"You've been better this week," he said abruptly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the change in topic. "What?"

"At pretending," he clarified. "You don't flinch anymore when I touch you. That thing you did yesterday, with your hand on my chest when you were laughing at Jo's joke - that was good. Natural."

Heat crept up your neck at the memory. You'd surprised yourself with that gesture, the easy intimacy of it. It had just...happened. No thought, no awkwardness. For a moment, it had felt real.

"Oh," you said eloquently. "Um. Thanks?"

Jaemin nodded. "I can tell the practice is helping. People are buying it. Even Giselle's backed off a bit."

"Only a bit," you muttered. Jaemin's prickly best friend had been keeping a hawkish eye on you. She'd cornered you just yesterday, demanding to know Jaemin's favorite Quidditch team. You'd guessed the Falmouth Falcons, only to be informed with a triumphant sneer that he was actually a die-hard Montrose Magpies supporter, had been since childhood, and really, what kind of girlfriend doesn't know that?

"She's protective," Jaemin said, as if reading your thoughts. "But she's coming around. Slowly."

"Hooray for small mercies," you said dryly.

Jaemin's lips twitched. "Anyway, I didn't just track you down to compliment your acting skills."

"So why did you track me down, then?" You folded your arms, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up at his words. "Other than to save me from death by biscuit overindulgence, of course."

"Next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend," he said.

You nodded slowly. "I'm aware."

"It's also Valentine's Day."

"Oh." You blinked. "Right." Somehow, in the midst of all the fake dating drama and NEWTs prep, you'd completely forgotten about the most romantic day of the year. "That's...a thing."

"A thing we should probably do together," Jaemin said. "I mean, it would look weird if we didn't, wouldn't it? The whole school will be there, all the couples will be out in force..."

Suddenly your hands felt clammy. He was right, of course. If you were really dating, you'd be all over each other on Valentine's Day. Holding hands, sharing butterbeer, probably snogging in some corner of Madam Puddifoot's like every other disgustingly happy couple.

But you weren't really dating. And the thought of upping the ante on this charade you were already barely keeping up with...it made you feel a bit sick.

Jaemin must have seen some of this on your face, because he quickly added, "We don't have to make a big deal of it. Just walk around together, maybe get lunch at the Three Broomsticks. I could buy you some chocolate from Honeydukes, let people see me being a good boyfriend. That's all."

"Right," you said faintly. "Sounds...great."

He studied you for a moment. "I mean, if you had other plans, or if you think it's too much—"

"No," you said, more firmly than you felt. "No, you're right. We should go together. For appearances' sake, if nothing else."

His eyes flickered at your words, a brief shadow passing over them before he straightened up. "Great," he said briskly. "It's a date then."

You took a step back, suddenly desperate for the safety of your dormitory. "I should go. It’s late."

Jaemin nodded. "Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll see you in Potions."

"Can't wait." You started up the stairs, but paused at the landing to look back. "Goodnight, Jaemin."

"Goodnight." He waited a beat, his voice dropping to a low, melodic murmur. "Sweet dreams, baby."

You huffed a laugh to hide your skyrocketing pulse and hurried up the stairs, feeling his gaze on your back until you turned the corner.

Valentine’s Day with Jaemin. It was just another scene in the play. You could handle it.

Right?

But as you climbed the stairs to your bed, you had the sinking feeling that 'sweet' dreams were the last thing you were going to get.

The Hogsmeade trip came around quicker than expected. It had barely stopped raining for weeks, but on Saturday the sun was a weak golden disk behind a scrim of clouds, and every student with even a shred of romantic aspiration was queued up to be let out the gates, Gryffindor and Slytherin and the rest all jostling close, careful to keep up appearances for whatever audience they believed themselves to have. 

You, on the other hand, spent the first half of the walk pretending that the clumps of snow along the path were of great zoological interest, then the next half pretending you couldn’t feel Jaemin’s hand cradling your elbow, like you were some frail Victorian damsel and the uneven ground posed a mortal peril.

 “This is a bit much, isn’t it?” you muttered, as you reached the crest of the hill and saw the town below. 

Every shop window had been transformed into a shrine for Valentine’s Day: Sugar quaffles in the shape of anatomically correct hearts, boxes of chocolates spelled to whisper eternal devotion when opened, bargain bouquets of roses that swatted at you if you tried to walk by without paying them a compliment. Even the cobblestone streets seemed to have been scrubbed up for the occasion, each puddle reflecting a film of pink and red banners strung overhead.

Jaemin grinned at your side, unbothered by the spectacle. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you insisted, though you eyed the brightly colored display tray warily. “I just don’t want to accidentally eat one of those chocolates that makes you recite poetry. Last time Jo had one, she spoke in haikus for three hours. It was a nightmare.”

“That sounds amazing, actually,” Jaemin said, a devilish glint in his eye. He veered off the main path, his long coat swishing around his ankles as he approached the sugar-dusted worker hawking the tray. “Let’s see if we get Lord Byron or... Byron-but-make-it-sexy.”

“Those are the same thing, Jaemin.”

He snagged two samples before you could protest, pressing a heart-shaped truffle into your gloved palm. The chocolate was dark, dusted with shimmering pink edible glitter. “Go on. What’s the worst that could happen? A little rhyming couplet never killed anyone.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smell of rich cocoa was overpowering your common sense. You took a tentative bite.

The chocolate was velvety, melting instantly over your tongue with notes of dark cherry and espresso. For a second, you thought you were safe. Then, a strange warmth bloomed in your diaphragm. It wasn't the heat of the candy, but more like a physical compulsion, like a marionette string tugging at your vocal cords.

Your lips parted against your will. You tried to say ‘It’s good,’ but your voice, suddenly projecting with a nasal, theatrical vibrato that echoed off the cobblestones, intoned:

“Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove!”

Jaemin doubled over, nearly dropping his own sweet, his laughter bright and loud in the crisp air. “Oh, brilliant! Shakespeare it is! Give it some more feeling, come on!”

“Shut up!” you tried to hiss, but the magic ignored your intent completely. Instead, you threw a dramatic hand over your heart, your eyes fluttering shut as you bellowed, “O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, mortified, as a group of Ravenclaws walked by, giggling. The spell finally sputtered out, leaving you breathless and flushed.

“I hate you,” you mumbled into your palm, though the lingering taste of cherry was admittedly delicious. You looked up at him, realizing something didn’t add up. “Wait. How do you even know that was Shakespeare? Or who Lord Byron is?”

Jaemin finally straightened up, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. He popped his own truffle into his mouth, looking entirely unbothered.

“We have a library at the Manor that rivals the one at Hogwarts,” he said casually, chewing with a thoughtful expression. “My parents… well, they’re traditionalists, obviously. But my mother has always insisted that a true wizarding education is incomplete without understanding the ‘arts of the common man.’”

He swallowed, and for a second, his eyes went wide. You braced yourself for a poem, but he just cleared his throat and smirked. A dud candy. Typical luck.

“She thinks Muggles are tragically fascinating,” he continued, offering you his arm. “She insisted I read the classics. ‘If you are to rule the world, son, or simply live in it, you must understand how the other half feels.’ Or something like that.”

You stared at him in slight awe. You had never really considered that wizards from old, sacred twenty-eight families cared much about the Muggle world, other than to look down on it. As a half-blood who spent most of your childhood navigating the regular world and reading paperbacks, you assumed Jaemin’s world was entirely insulated.

“I’m just glad they’re using good material this year,” he finished, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Sonnet 116? ‘It is the star to every wandering bark’? Very romantic choice, Y/N. Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

You tried to glare at him, to maintain your annoyance at being made a public spectacle, but his smile was so wide, so full of genuine delight, that your irritation evaporated like breath on glass.

“I’m telling you that you’re paying for these sweets,” you said, linking your arm through his.

“Fair enough,” he hummed. “Where to next?

Before you could answer, a shrill voice cut through the chatter of the crowd. "Jaemin! Yoo-hoo, over here!"

You turned to see Yuna Bae waving at you from the doorway of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. She was resplendent in robes of pale pink, her dark hair arranged in perfect curls. Beside her, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, was a Ravenclaw you recognized from your Charms class. Taehyun, you thought his name was.

Jaemin's grip on your arm tightened imperceptibly. "Yuna," he said, his smile never wavering. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Oh, you know me," Yuna trilled, her eyes raking over you dismissively. "I never miss a Hogsmeade weekend. Taehyun was just treating me to tea. Why don't you join us? I'm sure we could squeeze you in."

The way she said that made it clear she was referring solely to Jaemin. You might as well have been a Flobberworm for all the attention she gave you.

“Y/N and I were just heading to Tomes and Scrolls. She’s been telling me about the new research into the Goblin Wars that just arrived and you know I can never resist a good history tome.”

Well, that was a blatant lie. You’d mentioned the book in passing a week ago, but Jaemin would rather drink Bubotuber pus than read a dry history text. Still, you appreciated the save. Yuna’s smile dimmed a fraction, her eyes flicking to the modest storefront of the bookstore as if it were a contagious ward at St. Mungo’s.

“Is this what you’re prioritizing now, Jaemin? This… little excursion into the mundane?”

Her eyes raked over your clothes down to your scuffed shoes. “I’m simply fascinated, Jawm. Your family has spent generations cultivating a certain standard, and you're playing the role of the benevolent saint. Taking pity on the less fortunate is a fine hobby, but surely you’re bored of the charity work by now?”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You started to speak, but Jaemin’s voice cut through first.

“Yuna.” The word was a warning, low and dangerous. “Watch yourself.”

“I’m being perfectly transparent,” she snapped, her feline eyes flashing. “It’s embarrassing, Jaemin. People are laughing. They’re wondering how long this little ‘experiment’ has to last before you regain your senses and return to your own kind. You’re a Na. Act like it.”

“I am a Na,” Jaemin said flatly, his arm sliding from your elbow to wrap firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. “And Y/N is my girlfriend. She isn't an experiment, and she isn't someone you get to talk down to. If you can’t show her the respect she’s earned, then you and I have nothing left to discuss.”

Yuna’s jaw tightened, her composure finally cracking into a mask of pure venom. “Earned? She’s a nameless Gryffindor with nothing to her name but a few decent marks and a tragic wardrobe. Don’t think for a second this won't reach your father, Jaemin. He won't be as ‘charmed’ by your rebellion as you are.”

“Send the owl tonight if you like,” Jaemin countered, his voice steady. “Tell him I’m busy.”

Yuna’s eyes flicked to you one last time. “Enjoy your biscuits while you can, darling. The higher you climb, the harder the fall.”

You simply smiled, though your chest was tight with fury.

"Oh, I’ll keep that in mind. Do enjoy your tea, Yuna. I hear the service is wonderfully… swift today.”

As she turned on her heel to sweep into the tea shop, you kept your hands tucked inside your coat pockets, your fingers curling around the smooth wood of your wand. With a sharp, silent flick of your wrist and a jagged thought of Ventus, you sent a precise jinx whistling through the air.

The effect was instantaneous.

Just as Yuna reached for the heavy brass handle of the shop door, an invisible, violent gust of wind caught the hem of her pristine pink robes. They billowed up like a startled peacock’s tail, tangling around her head and blinding her just as she stepped forward.

Thwack.

She walked straight into the doorframe with a dull thud. Her scream of outrage was muffled by her own silk skirts, and as she scrambled to untangle herself, her designer boots skidded on a patch of black ice you’d surreptitiously greased with a bit of Glacius. She performed a frantic, uncoordinated flailing dance that sent her expensive handbag flying into a nearby slush pile.

Taehyun made a strangled noise that was either a cough or a repressed sob of laughter.

Jaemin stood perfectly still beside you, watching as a disheveled Yuna finally managed to shove her way inside the shop, her perfect curls now looking like a bird's nest and her dignity in tatters. He slowly turned his head to look at you, his eyes wide delight.

"Did you just…?"

"The wind in the Highlands is so unpredictable this time of year," you said, keeping your gaze fixed on the shop window as Yuna frantically tried to wipe slush off her bag. "It’s a real hazard for those who aren't used to the climate."

"You're terrifying," Jaemin whispered, a grin breaking across his face. Absolutely terrifying. I love it."

"I told you," you said, finally meeting his gaze with a defiant spark in your eyes. "I'm a woman of endless mysteries. And I really, really hate being called a charity case."

"Fair point," he laughed, steering you away before she could recover enough to look back. "Come on, Shakespeare. Let's check out the books."

Tomes and Scrolls was blessedly quiet, the heavy wooden door acting as a silencer against the bustle of the High Street. You inhaled deeply, loving the smell of aged parchment, beeswax, and the faint, ozone-like spark of old magic trapped in ink. This was your happy place.

You moved instinctively toward the back, trailing your fingers along the spines. Some books hummed under your touch; others, like the Compendium of Common Curses, seemed to shy away.

“There,” you whispered, spotting a thick, midnight-blue spine with silver embossing The Iron Quill: Unfiltered Testimonies of the 1612 Rebellions.

You pulled it from the shelf, cradling it like it was made of glass. “I’ve been waiting for this for months, Jaemin. It’s based on the personal journals of Ug the Unreliable that were found in a sealed vault in Gringotts last summer.”

You opened it to a random page, your eyes lighting up. “Look at the diagrams! Everyone thinks the rebellion started because of the wand-ban, but these letters suggest a secret trade embargo on silver-threaded lace. It could completely rewrite the seventh-year curriculum. If the economic tension preceded the legislative one, it changes the entire motive of the Goblin liaisons!”

You turned a page, your voice gaining speed and volume as the academic thrill took over. “And look at the footnotes! There’s a cross-reference to The Tales of Beedle the Bard that suggests the ‘Warlock’s Hairy Heart’ was actually a coded political allegory for the Minister of Magic at the time. It’s brilliant. It’s... it's...”

You broke off, suddenly aware of the silence. Jaemin wasn't looking at the book. He was leaning against the mahogany shelf, watching you with with interest.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the heat rushing to your cheeks. You started to close the book. “I’m boring you to death, aren't I? You probably want to go look at the Quidditch supplies or–”

“No,” Jaemin said softly. He stepped closer and reached out, not to take the book, but to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Not at all. I like seeing you like this. Passionate. A little bit nerdy. It’s... it's really cute, Y/N.”

You froze, the heavy tome suddenly feeling very light compared to the way your heart was thudding against your ribs. You looked down, pretending to be intensely interested in a footnote about goblin-wrought armor, trying to ignore the way his thumb lingered near your temple.

“It’s just history,” you whispered, though your pulse was racing fast enough to win a broom race.

“But you love it,” he countered, his voice dropping an octave. “And that’s why I like listening.”

You didn’t quite know what to say to that so you busied yourself with the book, pretending to be engrossed in the table of contents, trying to ignore the way your pulse was racing.

It was just an act, you reminded yourself. A show for the onlookers. Jaemin was a good actor, that was all. There was no real feeling behind his words or his looks.

You lingered by the history section for a moment longer before a small, unassuming sign caught your eye toward the very back of the shop, nestled under a low, sloping ceiling: "Non-Magical Curiosities & Literature."

“Wait,” you said walking towards it. “I didn’t know they kept a Muggle section here.”

Jaemin followed as you navigated the narrowing aisles. This corner of the shop was more cramped, the books bound in plain cloth or faded dust jackets rather than dragon-hide or shimmering silk.

You scanned the titles until your eyes snagged on a familiar, battered spine. You pulled out a well-loved copy of Wuthering Heights.

“Since you’re so well-versed in Byron and Shakespeare,” you said, holding the book out so he could see the cover, “did your mother ever make you read the Brontës?”

Jaemin took the book, his long fingers tracing the silhouette of the moors on the cover. “I don’t think this one made the library list. Is it another tragedy?”

“The best kind of tragedy,” you sighed as you leaned back against the shelf. “It’s about a love so intense it’s practically a curse. Heathcliff and Cathy... they’re terrible for each other, really. They’re vengeful and cruel, but they’re also part of the same soul. There’s this one line—” you paused, closing your eyes for a second to recall the words that had lived in your head since you were twelve. “‘I am Heathcliff. He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.’”

When you opened your eyes, Jaemin was staring at you with an intensity that made the air in the cramped corner feel suddenly very thin. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by something much more sincere.

“That’s a bit more intense than a Honeydukes poem,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the edge of the pages.

“Muggles don’t have magic to fix their problems,” you explained, feeling a rush of that deep-seated passion again. “They don’t have Amortentia to force a feeling or Cheering Charms to dull a heartbreak. They just have words. They have to build these massive, sweeping worlds of emotion just to explain how it feels to be alive. I think… I think sometimes that’s more powerful than any spell we’re taught.”

Jaemin looked from the book back to you, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You talk about them like they’re the ones with the real power.”

“In a way, they are,” you whispered.

He handed the book back to you, but as your fingers met on the cover, he didn't pull away. “Well, if it’s that good, I suppose I should read it. But only if you promise to highlight the best parts for me. I want to see the world the way you see it.”

His words caught you off guard. You looked down at your joined hands, the scent of old paper and Jaemin’s expensive, woody cologne swirling around you.

“I can do that,” you promised softly.

The afternoon bled away as you drifted from one storefront to the next. It was…nice. More than nice, actually. Despite yourself, you found yourself relaxing and enjoying the banter.

Despite the frantic warnings screaming in the back of your mind, you found the armor around your heart beginning to flake away. You were relaxing, leaning into the sharp cadence of his banter and the way his shoulder occasionally brushed yours

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold, Jaemin suggested one last stop.

“Three Broomsticks?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit cliché?”

Jaemin shrugged, a smile playing about his lips. “It’s tradition, isn’t it? Can’t come to Hogsmeade and not have a Butterbeer.”

He had a point. The warmth of the pub sounded inviting after the chill of the February air. “Lead on, then.”

The place was packed to the brim with students crowding every table, their cheeks flushed from the cold and the Butterbeer. You wove your way through the throng, Jaemin’s hand at the small of your back.

“Y/N! Jaemin! Over here!”

You turned to see Jo waving at you from a table in the back. Beside her, was a handsome boy you vaguely recognized as a seventh year Hufflepuff. Won-something? 

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Jo said as you approached, her eyes bright. “Y/N, this is Wonbin. Wonbin, this is my best friend, Y/N. And her boyfriend, Jaemin.”

Wonbin smiled at you. “Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. Jo’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” you said, sliding into the seat across from them. Jaemin settled beside you, his thigh pressing against yours under the table.

“Oh, definitely,” Wonbin said, grinning. “Though she did mention something about an incident with a Niffler and a bottle of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion…”

You groaned, shooting Jo a look. “That was one time! And it wasn’t my fault the Niffler got loose, I maintain that to this day.”

Jo laughed, leaning into Wonbin’s side. They looked so comfortable together, so at ease.

Not for the first time since you arrived at Hogsmeade and finding yourself surrounded by dozens of loving couples, you felt a pang of something that might have been envy. What must it be like, to have that? To not have to question every look, every touch, every flutter of your heart?

You glanced at Jaemin, only to find him already looking at you. His eyes were the color of dark mahogany in the firelight.

If this were a real date, he would lean in. If you were a real girlfriend, you would let him.

The thought of his lips on yours, not as a tactical maneuver to thwart Yuna, but as an answer to the restless, poetic ache that had started in the bookstore, sent a shiver through you that was violent in its intensity. You wondered if his mouth would taste like the dark chocolate he’d eaten earlier, or the butterbear he was having now.

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a drumbeat of "what if" that threatened to drown out your common sense. You looked away quickly, grabbing your Butterbeer and taking a long swig to hide the sudden heat in your cheeks.

The conversation kept flowing around you, but you found it hard to concentrate. Everywhere you looked, couples were leaning into each other, hands entwined, heads bent close. All you could hear around you was the sound of laughter and the soft smack of lips meeting in chaste kisses.

Suddenly, your skin itched with a restless sort of energy. You were hyperaware of Jaemin beside you, the solid warmth of him, his hand on yours on the table.

This was supposed to be a date. A fake date, yes, but a date nonetheless. And what did couples do on dates?

They kissed.

The thought was terrifying and… exciting. Kissing Jaemin, how would that feel? Putting your mouth on his mouth in front of all these people.

“Y/N?” Jaemin’s voice was barely audible over the din, but it vibrated through your very bones. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, his scent of cedar and winter air enveloping you. “You’ve gone very quiet. Where did you go?”

You took another gulp of Butterbeer, trying to drown the sudden dryness in your throat. There was no need to get so worked up about it, really. It was all part of the act. Just one more scene to play, one more line to deliver.

You could do this.

Setting your tankard down with a thunk, you turned to Jaemin, determination surging through you. His eyes widened slightly as you leaned in, your hand coming up to rest on his chest.

“Y/N,” he said carefully. “What are you doing?”

“Improvising,” you murmured, and kissed him.

For a moment, he was utterly still beneath your lips. Then, just as you were about to pull away feeling completely humiliated, he came to life, his hand cupping your cheek, his mouth slanting over yours.

It was…Merlin. It was everything. His lips were soft and warm but still demanding, the scrape of his calluses against your skin sending goosebumps down your arms. You melted into him, your fingers curling into the soft wool of his sweater, anchoring yourself lest you float away entirely.

Someone wolf-whistled, probably Jo, and you jerked back to reality, breaking the kiss with a gasp. Jaemin looked as dazed as you felt, his eyes dark, his lips kissed-red.

“Well,” he said, his voice rough. “That was…something.”

“Um… yeah,” you said weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Gotta be convincing, right?”

Jaemin’s pupils were more dilated than before. “Right,” he said. “Of course.”

He turned back to his drink, and you did the same, trying to ignore the way your lips were tingling, the way your heart was doing a complicated tap-dance against your ribs.

That wasn't real, you reminded yourself as you gulped down the rest of your Butterbeer, the alcohol doing little to steady your nerves. None of it was real.

Jo was grinning at you across the table, her eyes knowing. You glared at her, silently daring her to say something. Wisely, she didn’t, but her smile spoke volumes.

As the evening wore on and the empty tankards accumulated, you found your tongue loosening, your inhibitions lowering. The pub seemed overly warm, the laughter too loud, the press of bodies too close. You needed air, needed space. You needed…

“I need to pee,” you announced loudly, lurching to your feet. The room swayed around you, and you grabbed the edge of the table to steady yourself. “I’ll be…I’ll be back.”

You wove your way through the crowd, ignoring Jo’s concerned call of your name and the way Jaemin slightly rose from his seat, his hand outstretched as if to stop you.

You didn’t need his help or anyone’s help. You were fine. You were absolutely, totally fine.

Outside, the night air was a blessed slap of cold. You took in great lungfuls of it. Merlin’s beard, how much had you had to drink? The empty tankards swam before your eyes in a hazy blur. Three? Four? More? It was hard to keep track when the Butterbeer had been so sweet and the pub so warm and Jaemin’s lips so soft against yours…

Oh no. Oh no no no. You’d actually kissed him, right there in front of everyone. What were you thinking?

Well, it didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting away, finding a quiet place where you could think. Somewhere without Jaemin’s eyes on you.

You picked a direction at random and started walking with unsteady steps. The high street was nearly deserted now, the lovebirds gone home to their castles and their common rooms and their cozy little romances.

Leaving you alone with your thoughts and your too-fast heartbeat and the sinking realization that you were, perhaps, a bit drunker than you’d initially thought.

“Y/N!”

You closed your eyes briefly, both thrilled and terrified by the sound of his voice.

“I’m fiiiiine,” you slurred without turning around. “I just need a minute.”

Jaemin caught up to you in two long strides, his face tight with concern as he reached out to steady your swaying frame. "You're completely blasted. Please, just stand still for a second before you fall into a ditch."

"I am not blasted," you informed him with great dignity, though you tripped over your own feet and ended up slumped against his chest. You looked up at him, your eyes unfocused but swimming with a sudden honesty. "You're the one who’s blasted— Blasted with... with your perfect hair and your Byron talk."

“Let’s just get you back first, okay?”

“I can get there by myself, thank you very much.” You slurred, starting to walk in the opposite direction of the castle.

“I’m sure you can. But I'd rather help you get there in one piece.” He said, sliding his arm around your waist and gently veering you in the right direction.

You tried to pull away, a whine building in your throat. “Don’t wanna. M’having fun.”

“I think you’ve had quite enough fun for one night,” he replied, his voice dripping with that dry, aristocratic patience that made you want to kick his shins.

“Are you mad at me…” You said softly after a second. “Because of the kiss? I—I didn’t mean—”

Your eyes smarted. Tears, sudden and hot, pooled and fell freely. You felt mortified and ridiculous and very impervious at once. The laugh you tried to force came out more like a sob.

“M’sorry,” you hiccuped. “What was I thinking? I’m awful.”

He stopped walking and turned to face you. For a moment, he was quietly furious and perhaps even a little bewildered, which made him look achingly human.

“Don’t say that,” he breathed. He did not sound like someone who believed in platitudes. “You’re not awful. You’re just tired and you’ve had too much to drink.”

“M’drunk, not dumb. I know I shouldn’t have kissed you. Jus’ got…got lost in the moment.”

“Let’s just go back to the castle first” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober.”

You sniffled weakly, wiped at your face with the back of your hand, and let him shepherd you back toward the castle.

By the time you reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, you were barely keeping your eyes open, your body growing heavier with each step.

“Password?” the Fat Lady trilled, eyeing Jaemin suspiciously.

You tried to form the word ‘Flibbertigibbet,’ but your tongue felt like a thick piece of wet paper and it came out as something closer to "Flub-a-dub". The Fat Lady, mercifully, just sighed and allowed you access anyway.

“I’ll help you,” Jaemin murmured, his arm tightening around your waist to keep you upright as the portrait swung open.

But as he made to step over the threshold, you planted a hand firmly on his chest.

“You can’t come in,” you said, shaking your head slow and wide.

He raised an elegant eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Cause you’re a snake,” you told him seriously. “And the Fat Lady… She doesn’t like snakes. Nope! No snakes ‘llowed in the lion house. S’the rules.”

You dissolved into giggles, finding this logic unbearably funny. The look on Jaemin’s face only made you laugh harder, a snorting, hiccupping thing that had you clutching at the portrait frame for support.

“Right. God forbid I upset the natural order,” he said, a reluctant, lopsided smile finally tugging at his lips.

He reached out, gently tucking a messy strand of hair behind your ear. “I think that’s quite enough out of you. Go on, get to bed.”

You sketched a salute, barely avoiding smacking yourself in the face. “Aye aye, cap’n,”

And with that, you let the portrait swing shut, cutting off the sound of Jaemin’s laughter. You made your way up to your dormitory on unsteady legs, collapsing into bed fully clothed.

As sleep claimed you, dragging you down into dreamless oblivion, one last thought chased itself around your fuzzy brain.

No snakes in the lion’s den. Not even pretty ones with soft lips and warm hands.

It was a good rule, you decided muzzily. A very good rule indeed.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: happy belated valentine's gift

For an awfully chilly winter day, a cozy warmth radiates off you. Those around you have always known that cold environments are wicked against your presumably ill form. It takes one slight breeze — let alone the prickle you now feel in your skin — for you to shrivel and hunch over in pain. Wailing over frozen toes and the ache in your joints. Exaggerating that if you move a bone, it will snap in half from how horrible this cold treats you.

Jaemin had once told you the spirit of Satan that incubates in your soul was reacting and thus punishing you — as is his nature. He’d say that hell was freezing over and that Shaytan couldn’t handle the pain he inflicts. He couldn’t reap what he sowed like most people.

To Jaemin, it didn’t matter because he’d reassure you he would always be there to aid. Even through jests and laughter, because no matter the wickedness, he loved you and would strip down to the bone if it meant you were warm and safe.

You’d laugh and tell him neither of you would survive the Garden of Eden if he succumbed that easily. That within seconds you’d both be influenced by the wretchedness of that conniving snake and devour all the sacred fruit that the rest are too scared to eat. Even the snake itself because your hunger was insatiable.

Now he can be sure of how true your statement had been all those years ago, as you show no signs of frostbite and look like you do on summer eves. And the reason you both find yourselves in this predicament.

Your giggles are melody to his ears but a stake to his heart. They boom within his eardrums, louder than the galling crunch of shattered crystal glasses under both your soles and the vivacious psychedelic music that oozes through the cracks of this newly built mid-century home.

Jaemin smiles at you with adoration, hand itching to take yours but retrieves the instance both pair of feet come in contact with the transported east coast pebbles. Those that make both of you waltz and wobble until reaching the first step to avoid falling on the treacherous shards. Much like one trapped in malicious waves and surrounded by sadistic boulders.

That’s without mentioning the starved and slabbering bodies watching this young couple approach the property like trusting fawn searching for comfort and solace in the arms of it’s eventual predator. It will all lead to the consumption of one’s most vital organ at the end of the day.

There’s many things going through yours and Jaemin’s head but neither speak. He knows words and sentiments will be different but if there’s one thing he’s sure of, is that he’s just as happy as you with only the smile on your face.

Your head turns to the windows above, the slew of bodies dancing and the lack of clothes let another giggle out. Jaemin shrugs, a dry chuckle while he pulls out the nearly empty cigarette case. He thinks their movements are silly and anything but provocative but you’re amused. As amused as a pup discovering new things.

Thinking of it, Jaemin concludes that this is new for you. Before him, your only sexual encounters were self-gratification. You had gone in detail over dinner at an upscale restaurant as he ate raw oysters, it had been your fourth date.

He studied the way your eyes tentatively watched his mouth, your own twitching every time he consumed the meat and the lemon juice glossed his lips. He knew a salacious grin is what wanted to display on your face. Yet you over and over again covered it with self-effacement.

Jaemin hadn’t let you off the hook that night, rather he grinned like you had wanted to while sliding to your side of the circled booth and placed his cold hand on your exposed thigh. He asked if you had ever tried oysters to which you denied and he would only let you taste if you’d tell him a secret.

You had never wanted to try them and the deal was stupid. The look of an oyster disgusted you but Jaemin loved them and his hand against your warm thigh sliding up the mini dress reminded you of your own hands in between your legs.

With details and only for his listening, you explained the way your fingers felt on the bundle of nerves and how your fingers — plunged within you — had only brought satisfaction to you once. Explained to him how often you touched yourself trying to reach a high that you always brought yourself to but have grown restless and they weren’t doing it anymore.

He touched you for the first time that night, his hand underneath your satin girdle and panties pushed to the side while he taught you step by step how to eat the disgusting bivalve. He had opened your eyes and thighs that night to the pleasures of the flesh, discovering how insatiable you are.

If only Jaemin knew how dangerous oysters are if not careful.

The music had grown louder the instance you both reached the front door, opening without either of you knocking as Jaemin lit his cigarette. He unconsciously sighed the second he released the smoke, turning to the older woman with a huge beehive covered in a silk scarf that patted your cheek animatedly while you showed her the invitation. She laughed sardonically while looking at him, or so he thinks. Nowadays, everything is treacherous.

“Keys, pretty boy.” She purrs, pushing the crystal punchbowl closer to him. Jaemin gives it one look, one look to her, and back to the bowl before fetching his car keys. In a sea of single keys or neutral toned keychains, he frowns at the colorful keychains on his.

The instance they clink among the others, she fetches his face for a pat like she did to yours. Jaemin avoids it, turning to blow the smoke. Only the light scrape of her finger nails are felt over his hair.

The scene doesn’t seem foreign to him. While he has never tried swinging, he has been young and single with philandering friends and coworkers that strung him into their quests. Nearly naked women in their ripped girdles and their drunken laughter while playing among themselves is the least of his interests.

“Modern, aren’t they?” You ask, voice undulating exultantly. His head turns to look at you, handing you a drink from the open bar that he notices you hold back to finish in one go. “We can simply watch for now, we don’t have to join them.” You add at his lack of response, your excited shakiness warmed down with the drink; finally some signs of the cold corroding you.

It causes a smile to form on his lips, his own frozen chest warming up with your words and the smoke he inhaled, chasing it with the warm whiskey. Jaemin stops refraining himself and opts to let his arm slither around you waist, a slight squeeze as he exhales the smoke. He hasn’t spoken throughout the night but you figure his expertise has made him grow desensitized to these type of things.

Although, this sweet moment is cut short when the lights dim and the music turns erotic. Lulling all guests towards the conversation pit covered in red velvet. The transition from erotica to burlesque works to rowdy the guests. Whistles and hooting as their glasses clink with any hard surface. Hands cusped around their mouth as they scream for the same woman that greeted you both to take off the robe.

A silent giggle as the feathers of her skirt fly when she takes the red silk robe off. It matches with her wrinkled lips and the gemstones on her corset. It’s tightly cinched that her waist appears nearly non-existent. Concerning, even, but no one seems to care when her breasts are flying loosely with the tassels covering her nipples.

Her once tight curls, covered by the scarf are now loose and stable with pomade, only swinging when she gyrates her her hips and jumps slightly to make her bum bounce along the sound of trumpets and drums.

You had never gone to a night club, not even with Jaemin but he has. He’s explained what goes on in them and this seems similar to what he has detailed to you. While he remains unphased, you giggle, praising her as she moves on to the feather skirt and removes it, tossing it for anyone to catch it first.

With every shimmy of her shoulder, yours twitch feeling the same rhythm that courses through her body. She’s expressive and fun; beatitude noises leave her every time she meets the eyes of a guest, resembling a moan — sex without touching.

Nearing the end of her show, she lets her hands roam her corset cladded waist. Squeezing hard enough to make the top of it leave marks below her breast. She laughs and smiles comically the second she swings her upper body, not taking long before her tits encircle with the heart-shape pasties and tassels following suit. She lets one hand stop the assault of her own person to bring it up to her lips and blow kisses at guests. The song mellows out, followed by a fairly recognizable voice.

The whine of it makes your eyes close, lulling you into a state of delirium as you hear his words and that memorable chuckle. The pitch is as high as you remember, but also sultry and easily makes your thighs press together. Your brain makes you recall the one call that sold you to this idea. How dirty and adroit he had been, laughing at your timorous behavior.

You remember it being very erotic, nearly touching yourself inside of a phone booth. Had it not been clear, you probably would have and also had kept the call longer. But guilt had been eating you away. Jaemin’s face had popped up the second you let your hands graced your chest and rapidly hung-up on this stranger. The guilt and love you felt for Jaemin is what led you to ignoring the happenings for a month, yet this stranger’s cajole won and here you found yourself with your loving fiance who did everything to please you.

“You want that?” Jaemin had asked calmly, stopping his annotations on a colleagues research paper. “I want whatever you want.” You replied, an expectant smile that told him yes. He simply mirrored it, kissing your forehead, “I want whatever you want.” He concluded.

As cheering and clapping die down, the host smiles, bowing as if he had been the one to give this show. He scans the room, going down the steps into the conversation pit. He gives every single one of them a smile, nodding when reaching your and Jaemin.

“I’m glad you all enjoyed the beautiful tricks my wife offers. Perhaps one of you will be lucky enough to gain a private show tonight.” He winks, the other guests laugh but Jaemin doesn’t so neither do you. “It’s a special night for all of us lovers. It’s Valentine’s day! A day for love and friendship… Which is why we are all celebrating it together.”

Jaemin swirls his glass, from his peripheral vision he looks at how starved these guests are. They’re all fairly older than both of you, two other couples, and this man speaking. To an extent he wants to frown and feel pity for him. How can someone so young be entangled and in charge of something so lewd? But he’s the host overall, it’s obvious he’s nothing but a deviant himself and Jaemin is in no position to judge as he finds himself under the same roof. The reasons may differ but he’s here nonetheless and prior, he philandered himself, as well.

“We find ourselves some fresh faces,” The man scans the conversation pit for the millionth time this night, his hands move to the front. All the while his gaze lingers on you and your husband. Jaemin remains indifferent to the circumstances, finishing the drink he had been nursing this entire time. On the contrary, you don’t let your gaze linger for too long. His own is heavy and driven enough for the both of you that even his grin creates a force within you that you try so hard to restrain. At least with Jaemin beside you.

“That being so, I will go over the rules again.” He goes over the basics of this meeting. Comically as is his nature, the while his wife in the background acted out his every word. They treated it all like a joke but his voice was stern enough to let everyone in the room know that safe sex and boundaries were not to be ignored within these walls or ever. No matter how taboo contraception is.

“Boundaries are not to be crossed, these walls are thin and we will intervene. Protection must not be removed no matter what, only to dispose and replace if the fun continues.” The host nods, clasping his hands as his wife approaches him with the punchbowl filled to the brim with new and, or barely surviving car keys.

He frowns at the neutral array, quietly beaming when his eyes catch the colorful hues that belong to you and Jaemin. Melodic and animated noises similar to his wife’s leave his lips. Some expression you find goofy but ignore the while he swirls the keys around as if it was a delicacy he was to eat and not metal dirtying his hands.

“We should start with new couples. Right, dear?” His head tilts, his wife still exposed to the world within these walls. She hums with that same whine he has; her eyes wander, landing on the couple on the opposite side of the pit.

She shakes the punchbowl slightly, making sure keys flip around with every move. “Close your eyes, hun.” She coaxes, elongating her words with a cheeky smile as the woman digs her fingers through the pool of metal. Her partner had covered her eyes, egging her to keep digging and wincing when her fingers curled around multiple keys. His free hand itches to dig for her.

In that instance you figure he was more aroused at the idea of watching her have sex with another man hence his hesitance on her choosing just any keys. It’s most likely he already has someone in mind for her but the frown on his face as she pulls out a beat up scuffed Chevrolet key says enough.

In that instance an older man, gray haired and hanging belly stands up. You mimic the partner’s frown, merely upset yourself. The man’s forehead was lighter than the rest of his face, hands rough and calloused. It’s likely he’s a countryman that made a great effort to come this far for this night alone. He seemed kind… the kindness reserved for grandfathers and old men at diners. Not a man willing to wife swap with another.

The woman on the other hand didn’t seem to mind much. She laughs pleasantly as she takes the man’s hand, going up the first step out of the conversation pit. They don’t leave and she seems impatient but the veteran in this duo seems to halt waiting for orders from the hosts like dogs waiting to be given permission to feast among their favorite treat.

“Great… Louie is a tender lover. Wouldn’t you say, love?” The host turns to his wife, she doesn’t speak but creates and okay sign and kisses those same fingers with a loud smack. You think she would be a great sales model at the local department store. Or a more luxurious department store, taking into consideration this lavish lifestyle…

“Alright now, our next lovely lady.” Her husband’s body sways your way, nerves finally settling within your gut.

You’re sure if you get a man like the first one you’ll probably bail out and beg on your knees for Jaemin to fuck the disgust out of you. He would, you’re sure of it but he would also taunt you for wanting to try something as crude as this without thinking of the type of couples that could be involved. He wouldn’t do it out of anger or jealousy. He would do it to scorn.

But Jaemin’s gaze is anything but teasing or patronizing. His expression is neutral as if this was just another nuisance for him. His eyebrows lift and signals with his gaze for you to stand up. His lips purse, slicked by the syrup of whatever that drink had in it. He looked so pretty, you should probably leave with him now and continue the lifestyle you both carry…

“Don’t be shy, I won't bite. Unless you want me to…” The host grins, his gaze hasn’t dropped from you. His eyes shimmer with every move you make to stand up and when you reach him, he chuckles to himself like he achieved something by having you near.

Like Jaemin, he orders you to dig through the pile of keys without a word, only expressions. The sharp edges of keys and keychains make you wince, pondering on how the past woman was digging through like nothing. You could feel the scrapes from metal key chains, worried for it’s sanitation if they even made any damage. But ultimately you stop your search of Jaemin’s keys. Keys that you had dropped every time you grasped.

Steadily, you pull the lightest ones that bring the familiar sound of hooting and hollering. Your eyebrows furrow seeing their excited faces. Women among men laugh and the first woman’s partner looks at you with a pensive frown. Jaemin on the other hand seems to mimic the man’s emotions and not your confused ones.

The host takes a look at the keys in your hand, letting his eyes rake your face before taking them within his grasp. This being the first point of contact between both of you. His hands were awfully cold, a cold only you have been able to produce. His glossed lips part, demonstrating those pretty teeth.

“First night and we’re starting strong,” he nods, stretching his hand for you to take. Hesitantly you do so, allowing for a wolfish grin to spread across his pretty face. “Perhaps it’s faith?” He rhetorically questions, handing the punchbowl back to his wife.

Jaemin’s presence felt very dear to you, enough so that your facial muscles spasmed to not smile at the arousal you felt with the touch and words of this foreign man. His voice was huskier speaking to you than to the group that watched the interactions from behind you. His fingers caress your skin without making it seem like you’re to start your activities in front of everyone here. Your only suppressant was the painstaking force of your teeth on your bottom lip that allow him to know it would be a fun night.

Whether he felt pity for you or he was doing his job as a host, his gaze tears from you. Giving you enough time to breathe and turn to Jaemin who only smiles at you encouragingly. It was simple, nothing wide like all his smiles but he also didn’t seem hurt and especially not jealous. Jaemin was… himself. Calm, indifferent, and poised. Smoking his second cigarette of the night, this one matching the man’s that took your spot beside him. Salems, menthols at that.

You’re unsure of whatever was brewing in your chest watching the image, Jaemin didn’t give you much to go from and your facial expressions were beginning to shift. Had it not been for the cold touch against your jaw that drew your attention back to the man you’re to share a bed tonight — well, you’re not too sure what you were going to do anyways.

His thumb is soft against your skin, such a delicate touch that you hadn’t felt how he swept you off your feet and slid across the velvet up the steps of the conversation pit. Jaemin and guests all forgotten when the digit swipes your bottom lip. He inhales deeply, quivering when he exhales. “Smooth.” He claims, smudging the lip stain that clung to his thumb against his own lip. You reckon this is your first shared kiss.

Titillating, your eyes force themselves shut when he pulls fully away, his taunting grin engraved in your brain as he turns back to the guests.

“Oh, and before I part. A reminder: Those who cannot follow through will go into the cuck tabernacle and watch their partners that did. We respect your reluctance or desire to only watch but that isn’t all that fair to the willing party, is it?”

The finality of his voice leads you into the main hall, leaving the remaining guests while the first duo are lead into a different hallway before the four of you part ways. Within a few steps and with the keys he took from your hands not long ago, he unlocks the door he pushes open for you to enter first. His hand places itself on the small of your back, guiding you through the dim, spacious room. Only illuminated by the city lights entering through the curved glass wall.

Overlooking the hill, your breath hitches seeing how beautiful the city looked from here. You nearly forget you’re not alone as you approach the glass, amused by how small and bright everything looked from here. To an extent you understood why all the other guests had stood by the glass wall when you and Jaemin arrived. It felt great to feel bigger than everyone else.

“Do you like it?” He asks, approaching you with a glass of whiskey. Heart shaped ice cubes barely floating. You don’t let your words free just yet, nodding with a smile as you sip on the drink. Wincing at the harsh taste when it smoothly runs down your throat. He doesn’t comment on it but merely chuckles at your lack of expression regulation.

In the instance that he takes off his clunky belt off, your eyes shift around the bedroom. There’s some pictures of him with his wife on the walls. They’re nothing erotic like one would think, but they’re also nothing demonstrating warmth. On the contrary, the room looked very lived in with multiple items that belonged to either of them. Or perhaps both. With the shaggy hairstyle he has, her lavish up-dos, makeup, and the thick eyeliner on his waterline, you’re sure the products are shared.

You attempt not to dwell on the idea of having sex on another woman’s bed. It’s not like she cares to begin with but you put yourself in her shoes and you know if Jaemin had done something like this, you would have grieved for as long as you could.

Then again, Jaemin didn’t seem to care and had been on board with this idea when you first suggested it. He had also had multiple partners before you, in comparison. Perhaps he missed the exhilaration of sexual encounters with others as much as you enjoyed having sex. With him you have been able to discovered what you liked and have experimented everything under the sun. You love Jaemin, you’re going to marry him soon. But you also can’t quench this carnal thirst no matter how good he fucks you to the point you’ve gone numb before.

You both needed this.

To drown your inquisitive mind, the suave instrumental that greeted you not long ago drags the man in the room closer to you. Humming along the instruments as he seductively approaches you. You don’t have to turn around to feel his movement. You’re also able to see him undoing the loose knot of his muslin poet’s blouse through the glass.

The delighted grin you’ve held off for too long finally shows itself upon feeling his arms around you, pulling your exposed back closer to his now exposed chest. Bare skin to bare skin, the while his mouth ghosts over your neck. Hot breath taunting the awaited contact. His wavy hair tickling the neck he should be kissing by now.

His labored breathing is heard the longer he remains in that position. His hands roam whatever he can touch without giving you much pleasure. “You haven’t spoke once since seeing me. It’s very important for you to tell me what you want in these cases.” His head tilts slightly, nearly teasing you with the graze of his lips against your neck. You’re sure he’s doing it on purpose. You don’t need to look to know he’s grinning ear to ear at your shiver.

“I don’t know…” Is all you can muster. It’s nonsensical but also concrete enough as an answer. He doesn’t push for more right now, seemingly aware of what you mean. He’s rather engrossed in the swaying of your body against his, lead by his hands with the rhythm of the playing record.

“I found the invitation in the powder room at Marty’s a month ago. I thought someone left their brooch and peeked the contact number.” You speak, feeling his hands ease down your hips. Examining and studying every reaction to his touch. “I called only a few days later and— ah…” Your eyes flutter shut, head thrown back to land on his exposed shoulder, the lack of support from the knots making the black fabric slide down the bone.

He grins successfully, malicious even. Satisfied with how easy your body was. He hadn’t even touched any vital points. All he had done was add pressure to your upper thigh for you react so lewdly. So utterly needy…

“I knew I recognized that pretty voice.” He says, finally rewarding you with a tender kiss to your neck. So tender and wet; slow enough to drive you mad. Whimpering petulantly when he refuses to deepen it.

Ten days. It had only been ten days since New Years arrived and a tragedy had already occurred that had shaken Jaemin up enough to talk about it over dinner with his boss.

“It’s a calamity, I tell you! And it’s unconstitutional to deny Bond his seat... Dr. Wayne, you’ve seen the horrors of war. You’ve experienced them. I’m sure some members of the legislature have been veterans themselves. You know how much of an injustice this is.” Jaemin claims, the passion and sincerity in his voice drawing your hand to squeeze his thigh in order to ease the anxiety.

The older man of the two shakes his head upon finishing his old fashioned. “I bear the scars of war, son. So do you. But you will never make this country open its eyes to calamity. Whether we’re witnesses or the ones inflicting it. And it will only worsen…”

The doomed finality in his words threaten the night much to Dr. Wayne’s wife’s displeasure. The woman shakes her head, earrings clanking with her disgust. “You men and your wars… We’re having a nice night. Let’s not dwell on matters that don’t belong to us.” But it did belong to you. All of you. It simply has never occurred to her that there’s a privilege that only she and her husband bare.

“Come, Y/n. Let’s powder our noses before they continue.” She giggles, taking your hand and forcing you up — removing your comforting hand from your fiance that simply turned back to his boss.

You enjoyed the company of Mrs. Wayne. If you didn’t think about how ditsy and out of touch she was, she could easily remind you of your aunt. Fun, witty, and caring after all.

She had told you her entire life story when first meeting. Having grown her entire life as a socialite, her mother was strict and kept her away from men. Marrying Dr. Wayne had awaken her sexuality much like Jaemin had for you. Despite not telling you explicitly, she was good in masking the meaning of her message.

But now they’ve been married for over thirty years and she had once scolded you for trying to bring up your sex life with her — explicitly and not like her. She had told you that good women never performed fellatio and only performed sexual acts when procreating.

She was quite honestly upset that neither you and Jaemin had waited for marriage to fornicate. And far worse that it was a filthy game to both of you that you felt confident enough to bring it up to her as if she would enable your lecherous acts. For someone with seven kids and still trying for more, it had made you think it was a joke. Yet, she was serious and perhaps projecting.

That’s the first time she had shown disappointment in you. Reminding the both that despite your backgrounds only being similar in how adult figures treated sex around you, both of you threaded around it in completely different ways.

On the way to the powder room she had chewed your ear off about men’s nonsense and her own. You had drowned it out when she went into a cubicle and kept rambling. Only responding with hums and one word answers knowing she was looking for enabling, not communication.

You had no business in there; leaning against the pink marble shell shaped sink, you sigh upon noticing your reflection. You know much hasn’t changed but you have aged while your brain hasn’t as much.

Jaemin had once told you about arrested development. He had joined Dr. Wayne on a week long trip for a study and Jaemin had come back ecstatic. It’s not that he found a cure or needed to because truly no one was treating this as something fully serious. Not even your sweet and intelligent boyfriend (at the time). Rather, they had only gone to hear the stories of what led these people to this stagnation for their own amusement and half-bullshitted notes knowing they had already made up their minds on the matter.

Despite so, their stories felt reminiscent and coincidental that it had angered you. Jaemin and Dr. Wayne hadn’t cared for these patients. Blissfully ignorant to the fact that their partners were somewhat mirrors of those they heard and ignored only to use as pawns to scream ‘I told you So's’ to whoever had first discredited their initial thesis.

And truly despite it being years since then, Mrs. Wayne still had the emotional maturity of a fourteen year old with the conservatism of one taught by their equally ignorant privileged mother.

You weren’t too far behind, you had known since the day Jaemin introduced the term to you. You knew you were naive and sheltered as a child is. Your family had gone to far lengths to keep it as such and despite Jaemin’s introduction into your life cracking some of that down, you still felt a shell of that girl they had created.

Therefore, perhaps spotting that brass oyster brooch resting against the sink’s drain had been faith, a step into mental stimulants to rid you of this stagnant immaturity.

And so was your piquant 11:00am call with a stranger that as far as you knew could have been a disgusting pervert.

It doesn’t go to say it didn’t make you feel guilty for a month straight. Hiding from your fiance that you had enjoyed the verbal ravishing of a man you had never met, in cajoling efforts and enjoying it.

Guilt for betraying his trust and love despite never touching the other man. Guilt for thinking about his voice when Jaemin was gone for work and you felt needy. All until you had asked Jaemin if he was willing to follow through with this and like the loving devoted fiance he is… of course he did.

“The world is your oyster.” Haechan recites.

Haechan… You now remember clearly the name he had introduced himself with when he picked up the phone.

“You left me aching to hear more from you after that call.” He claims, lips finding their path down to your shoulder. “I kept thinking of it too…” you confess in a whine, his teeth nipping the marks Jaemin left last night. Arousal reaching you quicker at the thought of Jaemin being part of this despite not being present.

“Thought about it for too long, don’t you think?” he hums against your skin, lifting his head to kiss the shell of your ear. “I didn’t know how to bring it up to—” You hesitate, despite both of you wanting this; guilt gnaws no matter what. “To your husband?” Haechan answers for you.

“He’s not my husband.” “Not yet.”

His grasp around your hand is harsh enough to make your fingers squeeze around the stone of your ring and imprint it’s form on the flesh. It’s not surprising how delicious you find this punishment. If you knew him better, you’d think jealousy had driven him.

“Does he mind?” Haechan questions, no longer holding back in ravishing your exposed skin. His hands knead your back, sighing contently with your shake of head. “He seemed awfully indifferent back there.”

“He’s a psychiatrist. I think he’s grown accustomed to react neutral in any situation.” You attempt to justify. Unsure yourself as to how calm he has been. You were thankful about it, he wasn’t upset and didn’t reproach you. Completely leaving his trust in your hands and compliant to your needs. But the twinge of guilt is what made you want more from him. You think, at least.

“So he’s okay with this?” Haechan asks, his fingers fiddling with a rose on your dress. “Yes,” you assure, “He said he wants whatever I want and I too want whatever he wants.” The finality and semi-confidence in your voice makes him hum in acceptance.

Despite it, Haechan is human and feels bitterness far more than anything else. It didn’t take a genius to understand Jaemin loves you. His body language was lax as his expressions were. He had shown no discomfort upon seeing another man touch you in the slightest because he simply loves and trusts you.

It makes Haechan bitter in a sense that a kid is when he can’t have what he wants. He wants to feel the comfort Jaemin feels with you and the weight of your love. He wants to dig into his mind and see what it feels like to love someone so much that they have no reason to be jealous of even a fly.

Yet, you were of no help either because you had given Jaemin the confidence to not fear for his love. You’ve given everything of you to him to the point that he’s not able to take care of it all and the reason you find yourself in this room. You had asked Jaemin for permission and one that he granted because he knew it meant nothing.

And it will mean nothing. Haechan is fully aware of that and bitter about it. Because he should mean everything to everyone, that’s what he’s grown to know.

It’s not common for him to feel this attached within the first meeting but every body that has passed the threshold of this home lacked love and security. They all used these meetings as a last resort to keep their relationship from falling and using the philandering as a crutch to seem normal to the exterior.

Everyone he’s met throughout this period no longer loved nor trusts. He’s aware you’re here for lust and repressed nymphomaniac tendencies; he decreed so during the phone call a month ago. But despite that, he had studies your expressions when the first woman pulled the keys and the obvious repugnance presented on your face told him that you truly were not cut for this. It had only been his suave talk that drew you here.

For him and only him…

Haechan feels gratification with this conclusion, smiling as he turns you around to face him. His hands have warmed up against your skin, dragging them to your face and cupping it as he leans in. The taste of berry sangria on his tongue that intrudes your mouth. Velvet against yours that tastes similar enough to make him moan.

“Beautiful…” He whispers against your mouth, enamored as he pulls back slightly to look at your face. “I’m glad my volubility did not scare you away.”

“On the contrary… it made me horribly wet. I nearly touched myself in public for you.”

Your confession makes his strained cock twitch freely against the taut leather. He moans louder than before, leaning to kiss you further in attempts to swallow all the words you had not granted him that morning.

His kisses grow frantic and needier. Your lips slot against his, turning from contained to dirty and wet. His fingers don’t attempt to hide the fact that they are caressing your nipples over the fabric of your dress.

His greed increases, recalling the delicious taste of your skin minutes prior, leading his mouth down the slope of your neck to the skin over your sternum. His tongue laps at your collarbones, savoring the smell of your scented powder and the taste of it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of your meek voice… Your heavy breathing as I explained how you would get fucked if you came…” His words and teeth force you to pant, the tingle between your legs forces your knees to buck. He laughs mockingly as he presses his teeth further into your skin. “I could hear your whimpers that day. It drove me mad all day when you hung up suddenly. I couldn’t get myself to finish.”

You take the initiative to kiss him this time. Tugging on his shaggy hair enough to draw out another moan. He grins at the sting, mouth fetching yours and it’s not until you kiss him that he calms down. It returns to being clean and passionate, much more forceful but it’s all in the name of deprived arousal.

The instance his skin begins to burn, he pulls away. Dragging the muslin shirt off his torso, showing off caramel skin. Dewy from his grown arousal that finds no other way than to manifest through perspiration. He smiles upon catching your sight, bringing your hand to his soft peck, squeezing for you.

Your fingers twiddle his dark nipples, biting your lip seeing how they perk.

Jaemin had done this many times to you before, always managing to bring them erect. You now understand the delight of bringing someone to this state. So you’ll reward Haechan the way Jaemin does.

A sweet lascivious smile forms before dipping your head against his chest. Teeth clinging to the perked nipple before allowing your tongue to swirl around it. To finally allow your lips to stick, raking your hands over the other one and scratching enough to hurt but leave wanting more.

Throughout this ministration, Haechan withers and whines. His right hand patting your covered bum while his left teases himself. Touching the strained mound and rubbing for some relief just to stop when it begins to feel good.

You attempt to do the same to the other abused nipple, a delicacy he denies you. His hands tug at your hair like you had done earlier to his. Kissing you to get a taste of himself even if minimal.

He revels in the gasps and whimpers rooting from your throat. Pulling away only to look at your ravished lips. He grins wolfishly, biting his swollen lip, taking this opportunity to look at the pretty dress you wore tonight.

For him…

“This is too pretty of a dress for an occasion like this, don’t you think?” His fingers glide over the silk roses, pale blushed and soft against the pads. “Or am I this important to you?” His taunt holds sincerity.

You quietly laugh, taking his hand into yours. An intimate gesture that hitches his breath before masking it with a hum. “We went to a banquet before this. Jaemin’s team have been awarded for their research on Child psychology… The effects of events during their infancy which bleed into their adult life.” There’s a fondness in your voice that guts him; your belief and doting on your fiance. One he’s not sure has ever belonged to him through anyone he’s encountered.

There was no obligation to justify your attire nor give him context. He would have preferred if you hadn’t told him what you did prior to this and he surely wasn’t interested in your fiance’s line of work. But you still told him because you’re in love with and proud of Jaemin, even in the arms of another man.

He clears his throat, eyes lift to yours. “Jaemin... That’s your fiance’s name.” He utters with ascertain. To put a name to the face you love mars his mood, not gravely to stop but enough to feel the need to be punitive towards you due to his inhibitions.

He sighs calmly, pulling mere millimeters away to look at you and the dress again. The shape held by the petticoat lining of ivory faille and linen. He smiles at the ribbed touch, kissing your cheek when he meets with the roses and silk vines that spread from the straps to the hem of the skirt. Met at the peak of the plunged “V” back that displays two larger roses at the cinched waist. He twirls you like a ballerina in a music box, stopping when you’re facing each other again.

“Is this an invitation to deflower you?” He jests, cradling your face before his fingers dig into the center of a rose. “I don't see that possible. Must I remind you I'm engaged?” You entertain, mirroring his action, thumb caressing the softness of his cheek. He turns to kiss the pad, an airy chuckle when your nail slightly scrapes his upper lip.

Haechan shrugs, slipping the straps down your arm. Holding your hand like a debutante at her inauguration. Your stage in the shape of a circular bed and a heart-shaped velvet headboard.

“But it is your first time without Jaemin.” He justifies with sly sharpness, laying you down once fully stripped down to your girdle and panties.

His hands don’t caress your breast for too long, opting to pet them delicately before trailing off your body onto his. Your lips part, words that haven’t formulated wanting to cascade from your mouth. Your eyes track his movement, yet your focus is on the discarded dress Jaemin had bought for you.

A dress he spent long enough saving for you to wear at this night’s banquet. There was pride in the way guests complimented both of you and one that you would’ve liked for him to express behind closed doors the way Haechan is doing now. Ravishing your body and enjoying the fruits of his hard labor.

But it’s not him that enjoys what he worked hard to obtain. It’s another man that you have only talked to once and who isn’t treating the delicate custom piece the way Jaemin would have.

“Donghyuck,” He interrupts, unzipping his burnt amber leather pants. “You can call me Donghyuck, or Hyuck.”

“Hyuck…” You try out, muted and whisper like as your eyes rake his nakedness. By nature, your teeth take your lower lip, clinging hard enough as your restless hands unclasp the garters from olive stockings, leaving them hanging on your satin girdle.

He smiles with a nod, kneeling before your feet. The action blowing your pupils; his hands were cold again, a delightful coolness to your warm thighs as he parts them, further pushing the girdle over your hips.

“Precisely like that.” He answers giving no time for you to react or respond as he pulls down your matching panties. Slick and warm from your arousal that has been brewing since before you left the banquet. Anticipation from his words during the phone call replaying all night.

Hyuck isn’t soft nor a clean eater. He’s rough and famished like a predator that hasn’t been satisfied in centuries. If he was Dracula, he thinks you would be his Elisabeta.

Frenzied, he tugs harshly at your stockings, ripping the fabric off your legs despite your complaints. Those he overturns into pleasured mewls while his tongue intrudes your hole and scoops further slick that he spreads over your cunt.

If he thinks you’re too quiet, he nips your clit. Sadistically laughing against you when you yelp in pleasure. Simultaneously tugging his hair and pushing his face further into your core. Rewarding him with mewls and chants of his name, “Hyuck… Hyuck, Hyuck, Hyuck!” — As much as he rewards you with more stimulation.

Delighted, Donghyuck looks up at you, eyelids heavy and lower half of his face smothered in nothing but your arousal. He sighs heavily with a smile that you’ve seen only on Jaemin’s face before. “You’re so sweet… You taste so sweet, Y/n.”

Whether it’s from the feeling of his fingers intruding your walls — thick enough to stretch you with the first intrusion — or his salacious use of your name. But what you’re sure of is that you want more of what he’s giving. More so when you know this is only the start.

His plump lips are swollen from this ministration and his natural plush, coming in contact with your scathingly hot cunt. Encircling the mound as his fingers revel in the tautness of your opening. The muscles flexing around his digits to grow accustomed to the plunging. It stings in a way only a masochist could enjoy and a sadist could appreciate.

It helps that his lips and tongue generously alleviate the fever of your cunt. Velvet kitten licks that turn flat on the vulva as a whole. Reaching your clit, he sucks on the nerve like you had his nipples. The action concomitantly makes you writhe in pleasure, displayed through shrieks of joy and laughter at his audaciousness. One that he replicates when you caress his shaggy hair. Locks turning curlier the further he sweat and they stick to his forehead.

You grow restless the further he continues his assault against your cunt. Moaning and wailing his name to let you release. But he does not relent; his hips jut against the bed, fingers curling within you with each thrust. His mouth seeks to consume every drop of arousal produced by you while punitively forbidding you full pleasure.

Like a pained martyr wanting to be in the hands of God, you writhe underneath his mouth. Begging and imploring for him to let you finish and thence give him the same pleasure he’s brought to you.

“Donghyuck, please! I can’t hold back anymore.” You cry, tugging at his curls with every jolt from his tongue flickering your clit. He feels the need to laugh at your misery but it’s also very endearing. Heartfelt enough, he opts to wrap his lips around your clit once more, lightly sucking while his fingers caress your accustomed walls.

He pats your thigh, indicating that it’s fine for you to come. Fortified when rather than sucking, he kisses your cunt and his fingers no longer thrust. With such, you moan loudly, holding his head between your thighs while you writhe from expelling such pleasure.

“Donghyuck!”

You cry, panting heavily. Your legs shake, scathing around his head and even if he’s suffocated he doesn’t let go. Instead, he helps you push them further until both of you are satisfied and you’re left spent on the bed. With a heaving chest and a sore cunt that has not yet received everything he promised you that morning.

Satisfied with his accomplishment, Hyuck smiles up at you. His head on your thigh, heat easily could have merged your skins if it was merciless but it’s fond due to his care. His eyes cannot move elsewhere, stuck on your face as you try to calm yourself down.

He blows cold against your cunt, hoping that helps your new found pleasure. It doesn’t, it makes you twitch under the slight graze of his breath and makes your eyes open to look down at him. To witness how beautifully consumed he looks.

Swollen pink lips, glossed by your come. Teeth showing themselves when your eyes meet his, teeth that tortured and enamored you at the same time with their sadistic caresses on the most vital organ of your cunt.

Your hand shakily reaches for his face in attempts to caress his delicate features. Those full cheeks that you could possibly spend long enough touching for comfort and amusement. Hyuck must have read your mind and did not seem to share your sentiment. He allows his smile to softly falter at the weigh of reality that you much rather ignore, patting your thigh as he stands up. His strained red raw cock springing when no longer restrained by the bed.

Your eyes instantly draw to the phallic, quivering at how it twitches under your gaze and its dire need for release. You feel your mouth salivating, pooling within your closed lips wanting to be felt all over him. He lets you watch, allowing his fingers to softly rake his torso in a manner of restraint. Only the layer of tension makes this even more excruciating and it truly doesn’t help that when your hands can no longer remain to your sides and reach for him, he takes two steps back to leave you hanging from the bed. Just like with your attempt to caress his face.

Hyuck doesn’t smile tauntingly nor does he let out an airy laugh like he does when he mocks you. He leaves you in silence through his course towards a vanity to pull out a rubber. You think this is worse than his playful taunt. Because it’s simply that, playful but this is uncertain and silent, and you’re not sure what it could possibly mean after only being eaten out.

It could be your inexperience? Jaemin was the only man you’ve been with and he’s always been more than worshiping after every single act. Hyuck had been doting during the act and kind enough after but he wasn’t Jaemin and you don’t know what to think after rejecting your fellatio and touch.

“Let me,” You beg in a whisper, crawling on the bed in his direction. Your knees sink onto the mattress, following his every move. From his fingers grasping the carton box of Trojans, to them ripping the rectangular foil open and letting the red piece lay over a jewelry box.

“Please…”

Haechan doesn’t let your pleas distract him from the action. He stares into your eyes as he rolls the prophylactic, letting you know that he won’t grant you the satisfaction of pleasing him. Of touching him…

As if it was the biggest tragedy you’ve ever encountered, a heavy and pained sigh leaves your throat. Your hands don’t hesitate to cover your face. Dizzy from this denial and lack of gratification. Perhaps you are insatiable and greedy, but you are not satisfied with only his mouth. You want to feel him, taste him, touch him.

The action creates a flutter within his being. A warmth bigger than that of your legs around his head, one that makes him feel as feverish and dizzy as you. Seeing you so upset and sickly over not being able to consume him. It was pride, he’s sure of it. Arrogance and pride, something he knows all too well and that he’s reveling upon right now.

Yes, this is how he wants you. Craving him and only him.

It brings back the tease that he is, his laugh increasing in volume while your face is buried in your hands, desperate for him to move onto the following step. To give you something now that your cunt feels empty and needy again. You would like to think that if you weren’t this hot and bothered, his patronizing would upset you. But no matter how you look at it, you’ll always take whatever is given no matter how degrading as long as you get your fix.

“It won’t feel good with a condom,” He justifies despite his harsh grasp on your hair, forcing you to look up at his goading pout. He could be berating you and you’d still want to kiss those lips. “Maybe next time.” He adds before you can beg again, his grasp on your hair aiding his handling to get you to lay back on the bed.

It’s harsh and punitive, the kind that creates adrenaline in you that you wish for more. It leaves your chest heaving, grinning at him as he gets on the bed, crawling between your legs. Hyuck simply responds with that smile and chuckle you’ve grown to like more and more this night. Pushing your shoulder down as he takes your legs, parting them further and around his hips.

Jaemin had always been soft since the beginning. He’s experimental, audacious, an adrenaline junkie when it comes to locations, and open to any desire of yours. But there’s a softness in his touch that leaves you restless and far more insatiable than you think you are. There’s been multiple cases where he breaks the mold and becomes as rough as you want him but it doesn’t take long for him to return to what he truly is and it leaves you hollow, yearning for the thing that comes once in a blue moon.

Perhaps if Jaemin was rougher, you wouldn’t be here. On the brink of coming with the bruising shove of fingers on skin by a stranger.

Haechan is a tease in the manner he grabs his cock and presses the tip against your opening. Giving you hope and taking it away when he doesn’t penetrate you. He plays around, rubbing his latex clad penis over your warm and wet sex. Smiling wider every time he thinks of something snarky to say, yet he keeps it in his head before teasing your entrance once more until you’re clinging onto his arms, begging and begging.

“Please don't,” You whine, nails digging into his scalp when you bring his head closer. Tears pooling on your waterline, eyebrows upturned in despair. “Stop teasing, I need you.” It is then that he lets out his thoughts, using your gesture of proximity to plant his lips on yours. A languid tender kiss in which one hand held your hip and the other his cock, rubbing slowly to not excite himself furthermore. Wanting the pent up need to be used on you and not himself.

His tongue intrudes your mouth, you can slightly taste yourself. His tongue is sweet and silky against yours. The nectar of your arousal interlaced with his already saccharine saliva, flowing in between your mouths as he slowly but surely penetrates you like you had begged.

Though he had prepared you, the girth of the shaft was larger than that of his fingers. It stretches the muscles of your cunt as he goes in. Donghyuck was no cruel man, sadistic and somewhat of an ass, but not cruel to not let you adjust to the stinging stretch. Allowing you periods of grace until you’d nod to let him know to continue this pattern until he was able to bottom out.

With every move, your lips part allowing his tongue to deepen in the cavern of your mouth. It brought a great pleasure in Donghyuck to have you so pliable for him. So ready and accepting of whatever as long as he brought you the promised pleasure.

Something else to envy your fiance for…

“I can tell he doesn't fuck you well if you’re this tight…” his words force your hand to cover his mouth, moaning when he begins to thrust in retaliation. His now free hand attempts to pry yours off his face, some muffled words here and there along the lines of:

“Admit it,” “I bet I’m bigger than him, there’s no other reason for you to be this tight.”

Or, “Hm, maybe he doesn’t fuck you. Maybe he does. Maybe he simply doesn’t know how to do it well so you lie. You lie to keep your perfect boy happy.”

Donghyuck only got meaner and rougher, enough that it made vexation mix with your strangled moans as he thrusts into you. Truly in your head there was no reason for him to bring Jaemin into this. Matter of fact, you’re sure this was meant to make you forget about him for an hour or so while you enjoy the pleasure inflicted upon you.

But he’s all you’ve thought about and you’re not appreciative that Donghyuck is manifesting him in this instance. Not this despective, at least.

You stop struggling with Hyuck, freeing your hand and connecting it with his mouth again. This time a little too harshly, comparable to a slap. Your eyes widen slightly as he halts his thrusts, boring into yours. “I’m sorry…” you begin, apologetic that you had grown rougher without intent.

“I’m sorry, just… don’t bring him into this. He’s more than satisfactory.” The gradual change in tone from repentance to assertion didn’t ease Hyuck’s resentment. It fueled and frustrated him further. He’s well aware he shouldn’t care, you haven’t done anything special for him to feel this way but that same doting sentiment you brought when it came to your fiance egged him further into this bitter pit.

Donghyuck ignores your words, his hands sliding down your arms, thumbs caressing your breast until they reach you hips all the while he fucks into you again. Grunts that turn into moans, reaching down to kiss your neck. This position forces his hips to jut, enough to grant a different feel when he thrusts and force moans out of you.

His kisses are tender, nipping when he thinks back to seconds prior. You wince when it does happen but forget when he hits your sweet spot and your pained expression turns to one of pleasure. It’s when your hands reach his head, holding onto him for dear life knowing you couldn’t hold back longer that he took this opportunity to speak again.

“Does he let you do that?” He asks against your ear, nipping the lobe. Moaning into it when you clench around him. The mention of Jaemin turning you on despite your insistence to not bring him up earlier.

Donghyuck is unsure how to feel now. If he mentions your fiance you get turned on but if he doesn't, then how is he meant to spit out his venom? It’s a double edged sword and he loses each time.

“Do what?” You ask panting, your sweaty hands slide down his equally sweaty back and he grips your upper body. Groaning when he helps you sit over his lap. The new position helps you sink on his shaft, feeling yourself shake slightly when you feel him to the hilt.

“Take your anger out on him.” Donghyuck mentions so calmly like it means nothing. He did it in a manner that felt so normal while he didn’t seize his movements, burying his face in your neck while holding you close to him. As if he wanted to merge your atoms together and make one out of you both.

Your hands clung to his body, hugging him tight against you while your own hips began gyrating against his. You wanted to make him forget what he had brought up but you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not when his fingers dig into your skin practically begging for you to vindicate him.

“I didn't mean to be rough with you.” You explain in between labored breaths.

“I don’t care. You can do it again if it makes you feel good.” Hyuck justifies, kissing your neck in the process. “Soft or rough, I want to make you feel good, Y/n. Come on,” Donghyuck pulls back, letting your arms slide from his body despite his thrusts not seizing.

He takes your hand into his, placing it over his cheek. “Please,” he begs in a whisper, groaning when your hips continue moving against his in hopes bringing him to a climax will make him forget this foolery.

It doesn't. You should've guessed when it comes to someone as adroit.

“Do you want that?” You ask cautiously, holding onto his shoulder with your free hand. Donghyuck looks at you, eyes as glossed as his lips when he begins to speak.

“I want whatever you want.”

Your breath hitches, pupils dilating at his words, and your lips part while your breath comes out shakily. It doesn’t take long for your to let your hand fall against his face like he had begged. Feeling the skin vibrate against yours, stinging your palm deliciously.

While he relishes in the impact and the wonderfully hot sting, you relish in your climax. Moaning shakily as you come around him, your hands searching for his and clinging to them hard enough despite the tickle.

Donghyuck doesn’t come but he does feel gratified with your compliance in making him feel needed and heard.

You pant, smiling to yourself as you rapidly come down from that high. Haechan replicates your expression, your smiles turning to laughs that mute when he kisses you. It’s messy and rushed, lips barely slotting, yet making sure your tongues meet. Playfully, he nips the muscle before sucking on it and swallowing your surprised moans.

Jaemin has never done this… His kisses are tender and if ever feverish, they’re still neat and painless. Never obscene.

Both of you last for minutes in that position, kissing to no end despite your lungs begging for air. Yet, if there’s one thing they should’ve learned tonight, is that neither you or Hyuck are opposed to self-inflicted pain.

He’s still hard and you’re on your second orgasm but this works to heighten that exigent pleasure. Your hips jut slightly, forcing a moan out of him that reminds you that he hasn’t come not even once. His self-restraint far stronger than yours will ever be.

Swiftly as he has been this entire night, Donghyuck helps you off his cock. He shudders at the loss of contact and compression. It twitches under your gaze and it reminds you of how much you want to taste him. While he’s still on the bed and you’re settled before him, you reach forward. Hyuck doesn’t hesitate to catch your wrist, preventing you from even feeling the weight on your palm.

There’s no other way than to whine, lunging forward even if it’s to just settle your face on his thighs. It doesn’t matter, you kiss the skin while imprinting your orisons on it. Lips burning with the touch of his flesh when they fall against it. Every time you attempt to move further up his thighs, he shoves your head.

“Fuck, please… Just a touch.” You whine, salivating at the sight of his heavy red cock mere inches away from your face. You feel delirious, as dizzy as someone stranded in a desert only at arms length from a pool of water, their ultimate salvation. Salvation that he keeps denying while he gets off the bed.

He struggles to steady his breathing, grasping your arm to pull off the bed and drag you willingly towards the window. Donghyuck kisses you hungrily like a starved man that hasn’t ate throughout lent, taking fasting as seriously as Jesus had done.

But Donghyuck was anything but holy and his years of believing were past him. Instead he’s in these four walls as a married man corrupting a closeted nymphomaniac that’s months away from marrying the love of her life. Someone that Donghyuck has grown an agenda towards without knowing him nor you. His only basis stems from having you. Someone so willing and sweet. Someone that should be meant for him, and things like this remind him why his heart harbors no more space for higher beings and their promised universal love.

Donghyuck sighs shakily when you separate, kissing the side of your head before leading you to the glass wall. His lips trail onto your neck and shoulder blades, groaning softly with every grace of his erect cock against your backside. Pushing you against the glass and letting the cold bite onto your skin, receiving the feeling with a squeal but no attempt to push back. To an extent it felt like a cool balm to your excessively scalding body.

“Look how pretty the night is.” He nudges your ankles to part your legs. You hum a response, dumbly nodding as if the words hadn’t processed. Haechan laughs, amused at how easy you falter. How easy it is for you to turn docile and willing. “It seems neighbors are having some fun of their own.” He points out, houses on far lower levels demonstrate a group of people having a lovely get together. Nothing like the one him and his wife are hosting.

He takes advantage of your distraction to push through your aching folds, forcing a guttural moan out of you while your knees buck. Your hands are too sweaty to hold onto the glass, but he makes sure to hold you by the waist, clinging tightly to your still kept girdle.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if they saw you like this? So open and pretty for me…” He sighs contently, throwing his head back at the image. Their appalled (or perhaps pleased) looks seeing how he pistons into you. Rough yet pleasurable that you wail for more and more while you press against the glass, leaving the imprint of your body against it.

“You would want that, right? To have someone look at you being fucked and exposed.” He moans against your ear, kissing the outer shell before gripping your chin, forcing you to look back at him. You’re so far gone and he’s enjoying it like the little shit he is.

Enough so that he grasps your inner thigh, bringing your leg around his torso and letting the muscle burn as long as you both feel good. All to bring down a bucket of ice cold water that you can only respond to by pushing back on him.

“What if it was your fiance down there watching how good I fuck you? Would you want him to see that I make you come fast?”

His thrusts are relentless, he mouths the words to provoke you but all he’s doing is turn you on and anger himself further. Either way, you’re on the receiving end and you don’t care if he’s roughly intentional or not.

Donghyuck is frustrated. With himself and with you. He’s known you for only a night and like in true selfish manner, you’ve enamored him. If someone was to keep such a delicacy and diamond in the rough of a woman, it should be him. Not Jaemin and most definitely none of the other men in attendance.

It’s faith! He’s called it, it’s faith that led you to him and for such his frustration grows more and more. How is he meant to claim his days of believing are gone when he’s convinced faith is what led you here. Maybe you were God sent for him to recover his faith. Yet he knows if that’s to happen, he’ll be blasphemous and find religion within you in the chapel between your legs…

His thrusts don’t seize and his noises become louder than the prior activities. Donghyuck’s grasp on you is harsher, imprinting his fingers on your thighs and upper body. Lips ravishing your neck and shoulders like a death row inmate, savoring their last meal.

Donghyuck can only express these frustration through his words and harsh grasps. “Do you want him to see how you’re begging to have my cock in your mouth knowing you can’t? To see how hungry you are for another man you won’t pledge eternity to?”

It’s the latter that causes you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, moaning loudly like he had dug a dagger into your heart with such cruel words. Cruel but truthful, because you truly did want to taste and feel him in your mouth. And you won’t deny that having Jaemin experience that would make you flood. Not for Haechan’s cruel intentions but because you’d experience this debauchery with your lover.

This time Hyuck can’t hold you up when your knees give up. He slides down with you, grunting as he holds his hips from fucking into you until you’ve reached the carpeted floor. He doesn’t speak again, he’s run out of things to make your emotions thither over the precipice but nothing does it and it’s more probable that he breaks than you.

But the words replay in your head with every thrust, every kiss to your skin. Specifically to those to your temple, like the ones Jaemin gives when he fucks you from behind. It’s all so familiar and warm that for your third orgasm, you’re not able to verbalize your pleasure. Instead your body does the talking, shaking while clenching around him. Your breath fogs up the glass, the most sound you make is that of panting while you come down from your orgasm and the squelch between your thighs as he continues his plunging.

He lets you spasm beneath him while his movement grows languid, exerting little to no force. Simply holding you up knowing you’ll turn into putty if he drops his touch from you. Donghyuck allows his words to be soft and caring now. Uttering pet names that make you smile stupidly against the glass wall and let tiny pleased noises with each one. He’s so sweet… when he wants to be.

When he no longer feels any movement from you, he sighs to himself while pulling out. The action makes you groan, so accustomed to the feel of his penis plunged into you and secreting the cavern in the most wonderful way. What was once warm now feels cool with the breeze passing by and it reminds you that it is yet another winter day. Not the scalding summer that you experience with Donghyuck.

Through the reflection on the glass you watch him. His pained expression when he attempts to touch his cock. It’s swollen and sensitive, having suffered eons in restraint. He pants heavily, removing the not yet soiled condom but one that suffocated him. You muster whatever strength is left in you, crawling his way and catching his attention when your hands grasp his calves.

Donghyuck turns startled, breath hitching in the back of his throat while you look at him. Calming his thumping heart, Donghyuck looks down at you. Right hand cradles your cheek, burrowing into it and kissing his palm while looking at him like your Lord and savior. Having you before him like Mary Magdalene asking for forgiveness for her adultery. But Hyuck knows he’s not the one you should ask if you’re going to. He’s farther from Jesus of Nazareth.

“Please… let me feast upon you.” You whisper against his thigh, kissing it softly. Peppering kisses over the skin, tasting the saltiness on your lips. Reminiscing on those lovely beach days where all you could taste was sea salt even if you didn’t submerge in the murky waters. But this night you did and will continue to do so if he allows you a taste of the phallic that’s brought you pleasure more than once this night.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He swallows, eyes fluttering shut to avoid the lewd image before him. He’s sure if he allows you to, you’ll consume him whole. If you do, he’s unsure how much he can restrain himself from not holding you captive and away from the world.

Donghyuck grunts, shaking his head with the words ‘Jaemin, you lucky bastard.’ repeating over and over in his head as you continue to make out with his thighs.

“Hyuck… Hyuckie, please…” You beg softly, licking a long stripe within his inner thighs. His breath shudders, holding onto your hair as a warning. Yet it’s becoming increasingly harder for him to gulp down his strained arousal. If he doesn’t come soon, it’s likely he’ll never do so again and that sounds more painful than anything he’s ever experienced.

“No. I can take care of myself.”

But he is stubborn and if he wasn’t so pained, he’d laugh at your petulant groan and expression. Seeing in your blazed eyes how you want to tug at his cock and make him ache for keeping himself away from you. So close yet so far. You can feel him but can’t taste him and that only frustrates you further.

“Don’t be so greedy!” There’s so much frustration and entitlement that if it wasn’t for how much the words affected him, he would’ve found you cute.

“Greedy?… Greedy?! I’ve been fucking you all night and you’re still not satisfied!” His voice booms throughout the room, his grasp on your hair turns rough. It stings ever so deliciously that it bothers Donghyuck how cock hungry you truly are.

No matter the situation, you’ll be both satisfied and de-satisfied like the nympho that you truly are.

It doesn’t help that you nod hungrily, lips parting and slowly sticking out the red muscle lathered in saliva that little by little trickle down from it. So hungry, so needy, so insatiable…

“No! No I’m not. I will never be until you let me taste you!”

You. Until you let me taste you.

Perhaps it’s the greed and selfishness. The dire need to be desired and have attention be solely on him that sells him on it. Because in Haechan’s head, you had confessed your dire devotion to him. A devotion eternally strong enough that nothing will rid you of lechery but the taste of his cock and come in your mouth. Very much like communion bread and wine.

He scoffs a laugh, that beautiful grin that you have missed within these minutes. That’s what he receives you with before answering once and for all.

“Fine. If that will soothe your soul."

And like a depraved fiend, you mimic his pleased grin reaching forward while he grips his cock. Pumping once, then twice, then thrice before slapping it over your lips. Instantly painting them with droplets of pre-come that he lathers over them before letting you kiss his tip.

You smile at him like this is the most divine meal. Your tongue pokes out, taking some of those droplets into your mouth to get a taste of his essence. Your eyelids to flutter, gripping his thighs and bringing him closer to your face before slowly easing the phallic into your mouth.

Donghyuck moans and eases into it like the first time he penetrated you. His hands feel antsy, tingling with restraint to not touch you while you sink further down his length. Your tongue swirls around the shaft, savoring the feel of every vein and taste of him. To rile him further, you moan around him, the vibration from your throat forcing him to unconsciously thrust. You gag, curses leaving his lips apologetically while his hand caresses your face.