Your fave girlie

Finishing your hair in the foot long mirror above your bathroom sink, you tapped on the song with your pinky and tucked one more pin into the bun on your head. Whimsey filled the quiet where the only sound to be heard was the lullaby of the city outside of the cracked bathroom window. Open barely three inches, as far as it allowed, fresh summer air blew in with the pop of a siren, a car horn, people chattering below on the streets, above on their balcony.

Wiping your fingers under your eyes, settling on light makeup for the work day, your hips rocked to the beat, a poppy type song dipped in something angsty, teenage rebellion. You’ve heard this before, in some movie, you think, the two of you probably watched at some point which is how it came to circle through his music library.

A song for every mood, a song for every occasion, a song no matter the cause- Yunho had one for everything. You could see him now, headphones covering his ears, wrapping over his head, the wire tangling with his leather bag that hung over his shoulder and sat on his lap, a bag too frail and too old, but one he won’t rid of because it’s from the seventies.

Listen, Shug, you don’t get it…

He worked downtown at a record store part time when he wasn’t on the clock and running errands for his big named producer boss, Jag, the coolest, the raddest, most amazing Jag. After sorting records and analyzing set lists for local bands big and small, Yunho answered Jag’s calls, his messages, his damn pages, and disappeared for a few hours, returning with insane lore drops on the latest albums close to release, and who he caught kissing who in the lounge of Republic Records.

Capping the mascara tube, twisting it shut, you blinked at yourself in the mirror just as old as Yunho’s bag and groaned. Pursing your lips, longing to paint on a fun color, one the company you worked for wouldn’t allow, you took a deep breath and blew a raspberry.

Yunho could wear whatever he wanted. Yunho could dress like himself, he could wear the patterned sweaters you thrifted together, the crappy sneakers he’s certain John Lennon owned, ripped denim, silky slacks, he could wear it all and accessorize the crap out of himself. Earrings, layered necklaces, leather or braided bracelets, unique glasses changing each day, a hat or two somewhere in the rotation.

Trudging into your bedroom, not even two feet from the bathroom door, you reached into your shoebox of a closet and pulled out a grey pantsuit, one that hugged you in all the right places but killed the part of you that longed to wrap yourself in color.

Bopping your head to the song that repeated from the edge of the bathroom sink, you hummed along to the lyrics you half knew while you dressed yourself, ignoring the belts hanging around the bed post, or the funky sunglasses you bought several pairs of from a street festival last summer with Yunho and San. 

Grey corduroy slacks, a white button down, and a grey vest concealing your chest. Fastening each button, securing the details in place, not that there were many, you twisted side to side in the full-length mirror you found on the street leaning against a mailbox, one San hung up for you, and loosed a breath.

“You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time,” you sang to yourself, quietly, not wanting your neighbor to bang on his wall again, and picked up your phone. 

Tapping out a message, letting your knees bounce to the music, a smile pricked onto your bare lips.

you: I know this song??? How am I singing this right now???

yun: It was in Valley Girl

Giving yourself a look in the mirror, you rolled your eyes and typed back.

you: That movie sucked, Yunho

He answered quick.

yun: ‘Cause you don’t have taste, Shug

you: I know the song!!!!!!

yun: Doesn’t count, you hate Valley Girl, grow a pair and watch it again, this time we’ll drink, then you’ll love it..

Pocketing your phone, the clock up in the corner taunting you as it ticked down to the minute you had to part with your sanctuary, you slipped into black heels two inches tall and slung your work appropriate purse over your shoulder, one that matched the olive of another suit you could’ve worn, the only color they’ve allowed you to toy with.

“There’s nothing you and I won’t do,” you sang, pulling a lip gloss from the pocket on the side, slicking it on while you bounced a bit more. Capping it, feeling your phone vibrate, you exchanged the lip gloss for your cell.

yun: Did it help.. The song..

Your smile grew.

you: Yes… it did, thank you

yun: :) :) :) :) :) :) the future’s open wide

A giggle escaped you, reading the lyrics he sent just as they came out of your phone. Swiping out of open apps, you silenced your phone and popped it back into your pocket. Sucking in a deep breath, the slightest bit of nerves making themselves known in your stomach, you hummed to yourself, the song he’d sent, the one you just shut off. 

Every morning song he’s sent you, you’ve had to turn it off before leaving the apartment, to not disturb your neighbors, to not be a nuisance on the street though every corner came with at least three. You tucked him into your pocket, with your cell phone, with the song, and you became someone else entirely, someone he didn’t know, someone he didn’t get to see. A girl who wouldn’t listen to the songs he sent, and certainly not a girl who would enjoy them.

You became one he’d look at. One that he’d shoot subtle smirks at when the boss tripped over a word or two. A girl that laughed at every joke he told, even if it fell flat with whoever else stood around you. Hongjoong, he worked in the office beside yours, an assistant to a manager who worked beside a manager you assisted. Too often, since starting, the two of you had been assigned the same task at the same time. A coffee run, a folder to file, an exchange of documents for the others’ boss to look over.

From day one, Hongjoong in black, his slicked back hair, his perfectly pristine suits ironed and hung daily… You liked him. With his shoulders rolled backward, his posture uptight, he oozed charisma, a confidence that would certainly skyrocket him forward in no time. Graduating from NYU, pursuing post-grad degrees, some you didn’t understand, he walked and talked with a gust incomparable to most. A boss. A leader. The type of guy to lower his brows, soften his eyes, give you a reassuring smile and shake of the shoulder, and suddenly you’d feel as though you could take on the world as well. 

Career wise, you knew it’d be best to keep him on your side, however…

With the mess of time and endless hours you spent together, you didn’t account that falling for the guy would ever become a possibility.

Yet here you were, wearing pantsuits you had to take a loan out to afford, and pinning your hair back in ways you’ve only seen older women in movies pull off. Another corporate daisy in the garden that was the office he frolicked about, dancing his fingers over the edges, the petals of each one, appeasing them all with that god damned wicked smile that came out with a wink. 

Accidentally. Sometimes. You think. You hoped.

He drank champagne at corporate parties. A pocket watch hung from his slacks, and he’d sling his jacket over his shoulder to reveal what he’d been wearing was a tailored three piece he copped from Rodeo on vacation with his sister and her car company owning husband. With a pinky in the air he laughed in singular syllables as the department heads cracked their jokes you didn’t understand, most likely a guy thing, and he made sure to compliment every woman that breezed past him.

The kind of girls that had legs miles long, hair blown out and bouncing at their shoulders or below, low cut dresses front and back, diamonds dripping in the plunges front and back. They’d give a tight lipped smile, one you’ve practiced in the mirror before feeling utterly ridiculous, and he’d end up coercing one into the back of a car with a driver provided by the company. A car you arrived in together. A car you’ve never been the girl to go home in after the party was over.

You’d catch a cab, tipsy and groveling, and meet up with Yunho and San at Dante NYC, your favorite bar on MacDougal, the street of all things food and drinks. The owner knew the three of you, you’ve frequented Dante’s since your days at Columbia, escaping back down to the Village once the classes in Harlem were through.

Small, as places in the city were, Dante’s had a vibe none other could replicate. Tiny plates of just enough food to each order on your own and pass around to share, bartenders on shift before they scurried off to audition for a Broadway show that worked and lived for tips, offering heavy pours if you offered up your cash, an old Italian energy, a type of culture that Manhattan yearned to hold onto. It’s where you were off to tonight, Yunho and San in attendance, along with Jongho, another co-worker of yours, if you could convince him. 

One of the last times he ended up at Dante’s with you three he drank his body weight in whiskey and sang a Celine Dion duet with the bartender, stripping down to his undershirt beneath his button down. San has the videos to prove it, and he isn’t afraid to use them if Jongho is acting snippy in the groupchat. 

You’d be there in mere hours, drinking and singing along to the music Yunho would be in charge of, ordering plate after plate of whatever the chef felt like cooking up, hanging off of San’s broad shoulders and groaning about your boss with Jongho. You just had to make it through this mandatory meeting your entire branch was required to attend.

Slipping into a cab headed uptown, city sights whizzing by the window in the blink of an eye, you’re dropped off in front of a skyscraper, one unlabeled, but drilling into the fluffy summer clouds. Swiping your card, bidding your driver a good day, you stepped onto the concrete and smoothed out your shirt. Just as you were headed to grab the golden door handle that stretched across half the glass, a beefy bicep hooked into your elbow and yanked you backward.

“Ladies should never open the door for themselves,” his melodic voice tickled your skin.

Shooting him a tight smile, a slight roll of your eyes, you met his milk chocolate gaze and said, “Jongho, you are much too kind.”

Pulling the door open for you, he leaned down to mutter, “Just showing you how a gentleman should act towards a lady.” Guiding you inside, he ushered you through the lobby, throwing an inconspicuous wave toward the receptionist you’re pretty sure he’s slept with. “Holding doors, never letting them navigate uncharted territory on their own.”

“Pretty sure I’ve worked here for two and a half years,” you giggled, nodding toward a group of employees chatting by the elevators. 

Heels clicking on the tiled floor, the sound echoing up into the tall ceilings carved with marble and painted like the sistine chapel, you took in everyone's appearance, them having done pretty much the same as you, taking themselves a bit more seriously this morning.

“This meeting is uncharted territory,” you mumbled, meeting eyes with a few colleagues plagued with tunnel vision. Jongho sighed, glancing about the room.

“I haven’t seen anyone this paranoid since- Ah! Mr. Song,” he cut himself off as the two of you turned a corner, running into a man in a tuxedo fit for a royal wedding. Bending in half some, a bow of sorts, you panicked and copied him, having no idea how to act in front of the man who traveled across the country to speak with your company.

Mr. Song gave you both a light smile, acknowledging the way Jongho held onto you, the way he escorted you through the building. Giving him a short look, one with a bit of pride, he said, “Good morning. I’ll see you soon.”

Jongho beamed. “Prompt as usual, Mr. Song.”

The older man flickered his gaze toward you, his eyes glazing over your body, ending on your hair. His smile had somewhat faded, and he didn’t give you as much as a sigh before he turned to continue his pursuit over the tile.

Scoffing to yourself, so Jongho could hear you, you shot him a glare as he slipped his arm out of yours. “Did you know he was going to be down here?” He nibbled the insides of his cheeks. “You asshole, you used me.” Situating your purse over your shoulder, you shoved him like a child and bounded ahead of him, straight for the stairs.

“Hey,” he spat, hurrying after you. Long strides brought you far, but he was quicker, catching onto the strap of your purse with the curl of a finger. “Hey, Shug,” he teased, pulling you to a complete stop.

Whirling around, you narrowed your eyes. “You can’t call me that.”

He smiled. “What’s it even mean? I’ve listened to him call you that for a year.”

Shrugging, you jiggled your head around. “Shug, like sugar, I dunno, you know him, it’s vintage,” you drug out in a deep voice to mimic Yunho’s.

Jongho eyed you curiously, how you fidgeted with your bag, how you glanced around like you were sharing a secret. “Okay,” he said softly with the smallest nod, gesturing toward the stairwell, “After you, y/n.”

“And after these are filed, we have to get those into his mailbox, and then Seonghwa has to sign these for you, I’ll get Wooyoung to sign these for me, and then we’re set,” Hongjoong flashed a dazzling smile your way, buckling your knees. He oozed charisma. He smelled of something musky and dark, something you yearned to taste on his smooth skin adorned with silver jewelry hanging off of him.

Taking the folder from his nimble fingers he wore rings on, you smirked. “And then we have to sit through that meeting.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and leaned forward on the counter, dipping his shoulder toward you to nudge you. “Did you get a look at Mr. Song? I don't know whether or not to expect anything good from this.”

Inching closer to him, you narrowed your eyes. “You think we’re all fired? Forever?”

Matching your energy, a wickedness flashed in his eyes. “We’re gonna have to work the corners, he’ll rip everything away from us.”

“In that suit, with that attitude, he will,” you said, and he laughed.

He tapped you with a fist, sliding over more papers across the counter before reaching for two coffee cups. “We’re gonna be fine,” he mumbled, shaking his head as his smile softened, “I have an in.” Wiggling his brows, he flashed you a wink.

Gulping, keeping the heat that longed to rise to your cheeks at bay, you tilted your head. “Of course you do, Joong, I expected nothing less.”

He laughed again, filling up the cups in front of him. “It’s gonna be good, I was just messing with you.” Raising his gaze, intense and disarming, he winked again. “Hope you’ve got a dress that drips off of you like those pants, y/n.”

Jaw popping open, blinking entirely flustered, you took the coffee cup he held out for you as he passed by, and didn’t say much else aside from, “I-I do,” and you watched him strut away wearing that goddamn smirk. I do?

You thought to yourself, tearing through your closet in your brain. Dresses you owned, sure, but nothing compared to what you wore today– bland, grey, itchy fabric. A dress? You were going to need a dress? After today's meeting?

“Shit,” you whispered, collecting yourself, bounding for your boss’s office.

For hours you worked beside Seonghwa, Mr. Park, a tall man with broad yet slender shoulders and clean cut black hair pushed backward off of his forehead. In a sleek black suit, his jacket hanging on the back of his door, he wore the top two buttons of his shirt undone, giving you a peek of the chain that hung beneath the collar. Utterly stunning, but too old for you, you adored watching him subdue clients that sat in the chairs in front of his desk, both women and men falling under his spell, dazed by his beauty.

He treated you fairly, like anyone else in the office. Though you were his assistant, and you answered to his commands, you were his equal in a sense, and you felt nothing but comfortable in his presence. 

Wooyoung on the other hand, Hongjoong's boss, he’s one to watch out for. Handsy after a glass of whiskey, married for what seems like a billion years, his wandering eyes have caught you in quiet hallways on the way back from the restroom more than once.

“Tell me, y/n,” Seonghwa sang from his chair, sitting back against the leather, tapping his hundred dollar pen on his desk, “What keeps you at this company?”

You puttered about his office, straightening books, organizing filing cabinets. Glancing at him over your shoulder, his gaze locked in on yours, curious, you hummed and brushed your hands against your pants. Itchy fabric.

“Pay is good,” you said, and he let out a loose laugh. Stepping toward his desk, you leaned over the back of one of the two chairs facing him. Eyes drawing over the nameplate in front of him, you smiled. “The people are fun.”

Seonghwa lowered his brows. “Are they?”

“Why do you ask?” Twisting your fingers together, you copied his face.

He sucked in a breath and let out a guttural sigh, surprising you. Standing to his feet, you stood up straight as well. “I’ve been thinking some thoughts.”

“As one does,” you joked, watching him pace along the back part of his office, staring out the floor length windows.

Turning to you, he sat down on the edge of a cabinet and flicked the pen between his fingers. “You don’t think some of them are too egotistical?” Pressing your hands to the front of your hips, your lips parted with a thought you weren’t sure you should say. Seonghwa noticed, dropping his chin. “You can tell me. Your secret is safe with me, they always are.”

Wooyoung popped into your head. The nights spent at company parties watching Hongjoong act like Mr. Big Dick popped in right next to him. Passing by Mr. Song on the first floor, the way he looked at you, looked down at you, popped next to him.

Seonghwa’s lips curled into a smile. “I can see it,” he sang, pointing at you with his pen, “You’re thinking it.”

“I am,” you whispered, scrunching your face up. “Am I going to get fired?”

He chuckled and walked around his desk, pushing off of the cabinet with his foot. “I’d never fire you, you’re much too good at what you do, and you don’t act like these… assholes.”

Your gasp made him snicker. “Mr. Park,” you teased.

“Please,” he shot you a look, “What do I say about that.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and lowered your chin. “Mr. Park, what do I say about that?”

Rolling his eyes, he walked by you to the other side of his office. In a silly voice, he mocked, “It’s not professional.”

“It’s not,” you said, tone stern, “Now sit down and think about what you’ve done.”

Seonghwa whirled himself around with a smile and listened to you. Plopping back into his chair after his circle around his space, he pulled himself under his desk and placed his elbows on it.

“After today's meeting,” he said quietly like the walls could talk, “We need to talk.”

Nerves struck through you. “Do you know what it’s about?”

Perking a brow, he shook his head.

“Hongjoong said he knows,” you said, and Seonghwa rolled his eyes more dramatically than before.

Splaying backward in his chair, he exclaimed, “Of course he does– see, this is what I mean!” Jolting forward with a wave of his hand, he groaned. “What did he tell you?”

Glancing at your feet, your cheeks flushed. Setting aside how your heart stuttered at the thought of his words, you mumbled, “That I’ll need a dress, or something.”

Seonghwa paused. Resting his hands over the wood of his desk, he cocked his head aside. “You still have a crush on him?”

“Seonghwa!” Heat blasted through your cheeks, the hot and cold too much to handle.

Your boss smiled. “Just checking. Is that why you won’t agree with me, that they’re assholes?”

Admitting it made it true, and you didn’t want it to be true. 

Under his gaze, Hongjoong’s, you’ve never felt more valuable, like the work you did here mattered, like the punishing of yourself daily while you readied yourself in the morning was worth something. One day you’d be the girl climbing into the back of the car with him. One day he’d place his hand on the small of your back instead, he’d waltz you around hotel lobby’s, through ballrooms, he’d introduce you to men with big names you can’t pronounce…

“Y/n,” Seonghwa cooed.

You blinked. “Sorry, I just…”

He drug his tongue over his teeth, taking a deep breath. “What have I told you before?”

Your fingers curled under the vest you wore. Dropping your eyes to his desk, you muttered, “That good guys don’t work here.”

Seonghwa followed your eyes and dropped his to the desk. Tapping his pen a few times, he clicked his tongue and said, “Why don’t you break until we have to go sit in that room full of testosterone?”

Perking up a bit, you breathed, “Really?”

He huffed a laugh, gesturing to your purse hanging up on the wall. “Please. Go get a drink before we have to subject ourselves to nonsense.”

Taking yourself across his office, you slung your bag over your shoulder and rifled around in it for your cell phone. Giving him a crazy look, you said, “No drinking on the clock, it’s-”

“Unprofessional,” he said at the same time as you, bobbing his head. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

you: And then he said, do i own a dress that drips off of me like the pants i’m wearing

sannie: bro wants you, what the hell

yun: Gross.. objectifying you per usual, i’m not surprised in the slightest

you: not objectifying, thats wooyoung, hongjoong has never put his hands on me

sannie: but you want him toooooooooooooo

you: I do, god, he’s so smiley today too……….

yun: Are we still going to Dante’s or what..

you: Yes and Jongho is coming, he just doesn’t know it yet

sannie: FUCK YES

sannie: tonight we get him to sing whitney houston

you: ANNNND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

sannie: EEEE-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII WILL ALLLLWAYS

you: LOOOOVE YOUUUUUU-WHOOOOOOOO

yun: Classic

“Typing a mile a minute,” his voice struck your skin like he doused you like ice cold water, “What’s so funny?” A flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale and long exhale. Cigarette smoke washed over you where you sat on the concrete bench of the corner park across the street from the company.

Dropping your phone face down in your lap, you folded your arms over yourself and shot him a look. “None-ya.”

Hongjoong grinned, sitting on the edge of the bench beside you. “Oh really,” he teased with a wiggle of his brow. “Texting your little boyfriend?”

Now ice cold water did wash over you. Sitting up a little straighter, you shook your head in a convincing way that hid the fact that you were desperate for him to know that you were very much single. “Not my boyfriend,” you moaned, “My friends.” Putting emphasis on the S, you reached for his cigarette.

Giving it up, he eyed your lips as they wrapped around the tip. “Insane.”

Blowing out the smoke, handing it back over to him, you crunched your brows in question.

He rolled the cigarette between his fingers and gave you half of a shrug. “That you’re single, that’s all.”

You wanted to squirm with how his eyes fell over you. You wanted to wriggle around, get a little friction between your legs by the seam of your pants, and then straddle him and get a public indecency charge. It sucked he could read it all over your body.

With a smirk, he took a drag of his smoke and met your eyes. “You got a dress or what?”

“I do,” you said.

You don’t, but you will.

“Good,” he crooned, sucking down another hit of his cigarette. “You ever been to a company gala before?”

Company gala. A Gala. Excitement bubbled within you. Asking you if you had a dress, asking you if you’ve ever attended a company gala…

“We started around the same time, Joong, do you think I ever have?” Teasing him, you snatched the cigarette from him and finished it, jabbing it into the concrete of the bench before flicking it into a nearby garbage can. “You’ve been to plenty, Mr. Mayor, okay?”

He laughed. Apparently you were funny today.

Crossing his legs, bouncing his foot, he shook his head as his smile grew. “I just know how to work them, sweetheart,” he crooned, and your insides did a cartwheel, “You could too if you’d just give it up.”

Your phone vibrated on your lap. Picking it up, you opened the message and smiled at it. “Give it up?” you asked, half paying attention. Typing back to Yunho, you giggled to yourself and pressed send.

Hongjoong, quicker than you, reached for your phone and pulled it from your hands before you had the chance to lock it.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, scooting toward him, scrambling for it, “Give that back.” Fighting you off with his elbow in your gut, he skimmed the message and laughed. This time instead of him laughing with you, you could feel it in your gut, he laughed at you.

“What the hell is a Shoog,” he curled his lip up, reading the text aloud. “Shoog, I don’t know about you but that song is stuck in my head, we can get Jongho to sing that one later instead, that’d be really funny.”

“It’s Shug,” you huffed, pushing at him, trying to reach for the cell he gripped, “It means sugar.”

Leaning into you, almost onto your chest entirely, his smile rested in a way you’ve never seen. Devious, but a little enticing. “Sounds like a boyfriend to me.”

“He’s not,” you almost shouted, catching your phone as he tossed it into your lap. Hongjoong used his body weight to rock onto his feet, brushing off his thighs from the concrete. “You have a problem if he is?”

Pursing his lips, cinching his brow, he scoffed. “The fuck you take me for, sweetheart? I don’t care who’s in your pants and who’s not.” Pointing at your phone, he jerked his head. “Loverboy has a nicer suit than me?”

Exclaiming aloud, shock evident on your face, you pressed your fingers between your brows. “What is going on?” Dropping your hands, you shot him a glare, one he returned with a sultry smirk. “Joong, what are you getting at here?”

He straightened his suit jacket, cocking his chin. “Nothing,” he said simply, nodding toward the building across the street. “I’ll see you inside. Meetings in ten.”

Without a response from you he left, strutting across the street and over the steps into the lobby. Sighing roughly, letting the sound regulate your nervous system from whatever that was, you picked up your phone.

yun: Shug I don’t know about you but that song is STUCK in my head.. We can get Jongho to sing that one later instead.. That’d be really funny..

A smile graced your lips.

you: I'd love that, I have been singing it all day… About to go into the meeting… wish me luck

yun: The store is dead.. You should skip it and come hang out with me..

yun: Kidding, good luck corporate candy, don’t let them eat you..

Men flooded the room. Whenever the company filed into the conference like this, bodies upon bodies, the realization that with more than one company across the country that there were more men just like this to crowd rooms…

The women were far and few between, in tight black dresses and high heels, with their hair on their heads like crowns. Make up done to the nines, their jewelry glittering underneath the harsh overhead lighting, they clung to their supervisors, the men they assisted, some of them arm in arm, waltzing through the conference room doors with their sharp jaws and pointed noses turned up.

You waddled beside Seonghwa, like a little duck, following the man that stood six foot tall around the room, smiling politely as he shook hands and introduced you to men who spared you a glance for no more than three seconds. After each round Seonghwa leaned down to murmur in your ear, “Assholes.”

He says your name properly, he doesn’t introduce you as his assistant, he introduces you as his colleague, his second, his right hand, a partner in crime of sorts, though most of the men didn’t find that one too funny. But, it made you laugh. And, to Seonghwa, that’s what he cared about.

He prefaced this meeting letting you know that he knows how it feels to be a little fish in a corporate ocean, let alone be a woman in a predominantly male field, to which he told you he doesn’t know, but he takes the time to understand. He had your back, he always has and he always will, which is why he favored your opinion on where to sit.

There were open seats beside higher ups visiting for the day, the ones that weren’t onstage. Some were beside the charismatic mouths that most tried to steal the attention of, beside Wooyoung and Hongjoong who laughed louder than all the mouths you could try to count. 

Jongho sat toward the back, his chin tipped down, focused on his phone. On his own, his keeper elsewhere, he pressed his phone to his ear and babbled a mile a minute, letting his eyes scan the crowd. Meeting yours, he lit up, and his hand shot in the air. Giving him a meek wave, keeping your cool in front of your office's CEO that Seonghwa discussed matters with, you waited for him to finish, and then just as Mister Boss turned his back, you pointed at Jongho.

“Seats,” you offered.

Seonghwa gave you his soft smile, lifting his eyes to Jongho flinging his arm about. A gentle laugh pushed through his lips. “Sure.”

He would’ve sprawled across the chairs next to him if you didn’t hightail it over there. Weaving through men in suits, some side eyeing you but shaking Seonghwa’s hand, your smile grew as you got closer to Jongho.

“No, I gotta go,” he said into his phone, standing up to throw an arm around your back like the two of you didn’t bump into one another that morning, “I gotta go! San, she’s here, let me go.”

Gasping, you tore his phone out of his hand and pressed it to your ear. “Saaannie,” you sang, heart warming at the giggle that answered you, “Why are you not wooorking?”

Seonghwa shook Jongho's hand and slipped behind you into the seats, leaving one open in the middle for you. He greeted the man on the other side of him and fell into conversation.

San’s warm voice melted through the phone, “I’m on my way to go see Yuuunho.”

“Lucky, we just got into our meeting,” you huffed, plopping down next to Jongho who slung an arm around the back of your chair. “It’s full of men. Old men.” Seonghwa whipped his head of black hair around to give you a look. “Sorry,” you smiled, and laughed as his lip curled.

“Seonghwa’s there?” San sighed, “He’s so hot- Love your jacket! …No, you! …No, you!”

Crossing your legs, you sat backward against the seat cushion and Jongho’s arm. Sharing a glance with him, you muttered, “He’s making friends again.”

Jongho rolled his eyes, flicking his bangs from his forehead. “When is he not?”

You moved the phone between your ears, Jongho leaning in to have a listen. “It’s a store on Broadway… Broadway and 12th… By Ribalta… The Italian place! You’ve never been? …You have to go!”

“San,” Jongho said.

The men took their place onstage, squabbling with one another about who gets to sit where and who will speak first. Mr. Song, Mingi, the man who looked down on you this morning, with his chin held high he waltzed about the stage, like a celebrity, waving to those who were worthy.

“It’s really good, I swear… Ugh, I know, it’s like sometimes they try too hard to be authentic, trust me, babe, this one is worth it…”

“San,” you said.

Seonghwa and the man beside him focused forward as the room began to fall quiet.

“...It’s right next to it… The store… Yeah, but they’re limited to what they carry, so they might not have it in season right now–”

You and Jongho both sneered, “San!” 

“What!” 

“We have to go,” you breathed, wanting to laugh, but the pressure of the men above you literally and physically ate you alive. Putting the phone back in Jongho’s possession, you sucked in a breath and settled in your seat. 

Jongho whispered into his phone, “Yes, yes, I’ll see you later… Dante’s? No, she didn’t tell me, but I’ll be there… Okay, okay… I will not sleepover… I don’t care what happened last time, I’m not– Goodbye!”

Mingi tapped on the mic connected to the podium, stepping up with a grin and thunderous applause. Your hands stayed folded on your lap. As did Jongho’s. As did Seonghwa’s.

You glanced at Jongho with a perked brow. “Last time?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Let it go.”

“You owe me for this morning,” you narrowed your eyes, and he copied you. “No, no, tell me, Mr. Misogyny.”

“Not Mr. Misogyny, fine,” he groaned, shifting in his seat to face you a bit more. The applause died down as he leaned into you, whispering, “The last time we went to Dante’s and I got shit faced, San was supposed to take me home.”

Furrowing your brow, not listening to Mingi’s opening greeting, you whispered, “Did he not take you home?”

Jongho’s eyes widened. “Oh, he took me home. And he stayed.”

Gasping internally, your smile spreading over your cheeks, you gripped his knee, digging your nails into his slacks. “Gay.”

He shot you a glare. “Bi.”

Rolling your eyes, you whispered, “San is gay, you are a typical bisexual New Yorker, you’re not special, we’re all bi here.”

He took a hand to his chest, clutching nonexistent pearls. “Ouch?”

Glancing to his hand that screamed gay, you popped your brows. “Mr. Misogyny.”

He threw his other hand toward you, whacking your arm. “Shut up!”

“Shut up, you shut-”

“Children,” Seonghwa scolded with a smile, breathing through a laugh at how you and Jongho froze to look at him, arms tangled, faces scrunched up.

Pulling yourselves into your own seats like toddlers, you set your focus forward and pursed your lips. Mr. Song went on and on about the success of his company, how proud he is of how his success has spread nationwide, that he’s grateful to have such strong men like himself working beneath him, for him. You could hear how Seonghwa’s eyes rolled. You couldn’t wait to tell Yunho all of this.

Scanning the room, the lot of bald men and those with receding hairlines eating up every word though it all came out extremely backhanded, your eyes land on Hongjoong, snickering with Wooyoung, the two acting as though Mingi spoke directly to them.

Hongjoong sat at the end of the row, on the section opposite of yours. His legs were crossed, his slacks rising above his ankle to flash his designer socks. He wore no suit jacket, just his button down, a statement to the men around him, that he didn’t need to act or present himself like they did, that he was better than them. He sat here with ease, a relaxed posture, both him and Wooyoung simply waiting for the words to be said, and once they were, he sat forward with a gust of excitement, celebrating with the rest of them. But, then he turned over his shoulder, and his eyes landed on you like he’d kept tabs on where you were sitting.

Mingi announced, “That’s why we’ll be throwing a Harmony Foundation Gala, for all of our branches, right here in Manhattan. You’re all invited. Open bars, the finest catering, exquisite music, hours upon hours of not working,” he added coyly, and the room lost their minds, “And you will all receive a plus one.”

Seonghwa muttered to the man beside him, not surprised in the slightest that something of the sort would occur. Neither of them seemed to be excited, unlike the rest of the men who started a riot, shouting across the room to one another, elbowing each other in the guts with grins on their faces.

Jongho sighed heavily. “Well, this should be fun.”

“It should,” you mumbled, staring back at Hongjoong who shot you a wink. “This is why I need a dress.”

“Huh?” he asked, resting an elbow on your shoulder, following your eyeline to Hongjoong who turned away once he’d been caught. Jongho groaned, “Oh no.”

“He told me I need a dress,” you almost whispered. “I think he’s gonna ask me to the gala.”

Jongho sucked in a breath, one he didn’t seem to release. Glancing between you and the back of Hongjong's head, he stuttered, “Uh, really? How do you know? We just found out.”

“He knew about it,” you shook your head, “He fucking knew about it.”

Seonghwa tapped you with the back of his hand. “You were right.”

“I was,” you whispered. “He was.” Your belly bubbled with excitement, your heart beating three times faster than normal. You needed a dress, a good one, a gorgeous one. You had to schedule a hair appointment, a nail appointment, a facial, or something, whatever else it is that these other girls did before these kinds of parties, a wax, a bikini wax, Brazilian wax! And your eyebrows, you needed those done too, and maybe your face, just in case, you haven’t checked out those details in a while–

“New shoes,” you uttered out loud, and Jongho laughed.

Snapping your neck to look at him, he nearly leapt backward. “Christ,” he gasped, his hand reaching up for those non-gay pearls once again, “What just happened?”

You stood up abruptly, grasping the bottom of your vest. “I have so much to do.”

Seonghwa hooked a finger in the back of your vest by the collar of your shirt and pulled you back down. “He’s not done, you can buy your dress later.”

“And then he turned around,” you shouted over the music, hands splaying across the wooden table littered with empty drinks. San leaned forward, his broad chest bumping the table, rattling the glasses. Jongho sat beside him sucking on a straw making an awful sound. Yunho sat back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest, his face upturned. “And he looked at me.”

San threw himself backward with a gasp, his biceps rippling under the short sleeves of the tight black t-shirt. “No he did not,” he squawked, slapping a hand to Jongho’s shoulder, making the straw pop out of his mouth and his eyebrows skyrocket.

“He did,” he teased, rolling his eyes, setting the cup down on the table with a clang. Putting his elbows on the wood, he put his chin in his hands and eyed Yunho. “What do you make of all this?”

Kicking his foot around, the one crossed over his knee, he shrugged. “I think he’s a dick.” He held a finger up toward you just as a whine almost slipped out of you. Giving you a look from behind grey thin rimmed glasses, he said, “You deserve better, I don’t know why you’re chasing him.”

San, rubbing the back of his neck, slinging an arm around Jongho’s chair, muttered, “Mr. Big Dick…”

Yunho groaned, “Oh, great.” Jongho scoffed, nudging San as Yunho sat forward for his empty cup and knocked back the little bit at the bottom, and a few ice chips. Pushing them around with his tongue, he shook his head and leaned into you. “You can do better, Shug.”

Jongho kicked your leg under the table.

“Ugh,” groaning aloud, you shot a hand toward San, “You get it, don’t you?”

He picked the cherry out of his glass and popped it between his teeth. “I do, trust me, he’s packin’, but…” His voice trailed off, his gaze dragging over to Yunho.

Looking at him, then looking back at San, you swatted two hands at Yunho and groaned again. “But, what!”

“Nothing,” he shouted, twisting his lips into a smile. “We need another round, Jongho’s not drunk enough.” Yunho threw a hand in the air to call over the waitress who has served you more than once. 

Jongho tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. “Why me? Why me.”

San slung himself around the boy in a hoodie much too heavy for the summer heat. “Because, pretty boy, we like to hear you sing.”

“I can’t sing.” About half the bar stopped to glare at him, even the waitress who took Yunho’s order.

Grabbing his cheeks, San squished them and brought his lips dangerously close. “So humble, so cute.”

“Enough,” Jongho shrugged him off, poking a finger into his bicep to push him away with a hysterical glare. 

San’s eyes dropped to the hoodie. “That’s coming off in an hour.”

Sliding your hand across the table, you raised a pinky for him to hook with his. “I’ll take that bet.”

Exchanging wicked grins, San shook your hand around. “Loser has to let the winner take him home.” Jongho sighed, then smiled up at the waitress who clicked her pen.

“Bet,” you whispered with a scrunch of your nose.

“Thanks so much,” Yunho smized, the girl waltzing away with a pep in her step. Facing the table, he pushed his hair back off of his forehead and released a breath. “You guys are nuts.” Pouting, you propped an elbow on his bare shoulder exposed by the cut off tee he wore. He set his jaw in place, narrowed his eyes, and took his time looking at you, before he flickered his eyes over to San, then Jongho. “I give it a half hour.”

San, cracking a laugh, grabbed onto Jongho once again and shook him around, the two getting into a minor fistfight as San tried to take the hoodie off of him now.

Giggling, letting your bodyweight tip more onto Yunho, you caught his eye and gave him a small smile. Nodding toward where the waitress plugged in your order, you mumbled, “She was cute.”

He didn’t have to look at who you were talking about to know. Locked in on you, he smirked. “She’s taken.”

“How do you know that? You asked her already, didn’t you?”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. Breaking his gaze from yours, he nodded toward the corner of the bar where a scrawny boy with blonde hair to his shoulders sat, one too pretty to even be a boy, so maybe he wasn’t. Dressed in a large white t-shirt and jeans way too big for his hips, he stared out the window with wide brown eyes as he guzzled his drink. Oblivious, almost, until the waitress popped in front of him and his cheeks broke out with the widest smile and most perfect teeth.

“Cute,” you whispered, and Yunho looked at you. You watched as the boy took the girl's hands and pulled her closer, his eyes full of galaxies as he listened to her speak. He asked her a question and she blushed, glancing over her shoulder with a laugh as if to see if anyone else had heard him. “Really cute. They look young.”

Yunho considered it, tilting his head. “Not much younger than us.”

You met his eyes. “You aren’t even looking at them.”

“I don’t have to,” he said quietly. Not even the way Jongho laughed at San could break his gaze. “Do you really like Hongjoong?” He wore a singular necklace today, it hung over the old band shirt he wore, shaped like a star, or some sort of sun. Reaching for it, you pulled your lips to the side and messed with the points hanging on the chain.

“I think I do,” you said.

“You think you do?”

Looking at him, you said, “I do.”

He flashed you a lazy smile. “You sure?” Tossing his necklace at his chest, ignoring how it bounced off, you shoved away from him with a huff. He twisted in his chair, following you, leaning into you instead. “No, no, I’m just asking. Are you sure?” One of his elbows rested on the back of his chair, the other on the edge of the table. He caged you in, his size incredible.

Folding your arms around yourself, now wearing a cropped tank and ripped jeans, you blinked up at him and shrugged. “I think so.”

“Well,” he breathed through a laugh, “As long as you think so.”

“Stop,” you whined, nudging him.

“No, I get it,” he nodded, tipping his chin up, “Mr. Big Dick, I’d like him too, he’s a hot shot.”

“You’re dumb,” you mumbled, facing the table, turning a shoulder toward him. He took that as an invitation to lean in and prop his elbow on it. “Get off’a me-”

“Shug,” he said just above a whisper, stopping you from pushing him away. He had your arm in his grip, gentle, but strong. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, you’ve told us so much about him, Jongho doesn’t like him, he doesn’t seem like a good guy, that’s all.”

“What do you know?” Shrugging again, he let you go, but then grabbed your ankle with his feet and trapped it. Glaring at him, he smiled back.

“I know you,” he said, “And I know that you’d rather share a cigarette with a stranger and then buy a beer for a bum on the street, clink your glasses together and talk about the ways of the world, rather than become a CEO’s wife.” Averting your gaze to his chest, his necklace, you listened to him. “You think he’d wanna come here and see how long it takes for Jongho to strip?”

“Hey,” Jongho whined, giving you both a mere glance before San took his attention back.

“You think he’d wanna sit here and try every drink on the menu? Will he tip our waitress too much ‘cause he knows what it's like to struggle? Will he think it's funny that you have to jump once on the floorboard by the lightswitch in your kitchen otherwise the light won’t turn on?”

Blinking up at him, you muttered, “Why the lesson?”

He shrugged, glancing around the bar before he said, “I just don’t want you to forget who you are. I’ve known you for six years, Shug. This crush is growing, I don’t want you to lose yourself in the process. If you wanna sleep with him, sleep with him,” you both laughed, “Just don’t get attached ‘cause he doesn’t seem like the guy to hold onto a girl.”

You twisted around to face him again, pulling your leg free from his hold, though now your knees were nestled between his. Closing them in, capturing you, he flashed you a smile.

Perking a brow, you glanced behind him, though you could barely see over his shoulders. “And you should sleep with the waitress.”

Yunho turned around briefly, the sight of the waitress and the blonde boy making eyes at each other making him hum his disapproval. “Think that little guy does just fine,” he said, turning back toward you. 

Comfortably letting life occur around you, you and Yunho shared a smile, one that faded as your eyes danced over the other's face. Six years you’ve shared, one of the first friends you made after your move to Manhattan, the cool guy in the record store you stumbled into looking for new wall decor. 

San was a bonus, his roommate, a packaged deal those two. You guys clicked in an instant, sharing interests, music taste, a love for the city and all that it offered. By your third visit into the store he was inviting you out for drinks that weekend. Surprised when you asked San to join, he stuttered a few times, but agreed, mumbling something about you all getting to know one another better. Six years and a Jongho later, here you were.

Pulling your eyes off of him, you notice that the next round of drinks had been dropped off and that San and Jongho were halfway done theirs, staring at you two. Sucking in a breath, you swiveled around in your chair, and Yunho did the same, ignoring how the boys ping ponged their stare between either of you.

“What?” you snapped, reaching for your drink. Yunho pinched his brow and sipped his beer. San seemed to say something to him telepathically, but everyone refused to acknowledge it.

“Anyways,” Yunho cleared his throat, cocking his chin at Jongho and his hoodie, “Off, Choi.”

With one arm wrapped around your shoulders, Yunho kicked his feet in front of him with each step, laughing while he sang aloud and you kicked your feet with him. Smiles wide, drunken laughter bouncing off of the hot concrete into the night sky, San swaggered a few steps in front of you with Jongho under his arm. 

Tossing a hand in the air, swaying into your side, throwing you off balance, Yunho sang, “I’ll stop the world-”

“And melt with you!” Jongho slurred, trying to escape San’s hold, but if he did he’d stumble over his own feet and almost fall on his face like he did five minutes ago. 

“You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time,” San’s voice was muffled, Jongho grabbed him as soon as his mouth opened and tried to kiss him.

Yunho, throwing his head back with a laugh that echoed down Bleeker Street, he squeezed you into him and sang, “There’s nothing you and I won’t do!” Hitting you with a grin, he groaned. “It’s so good, it’s so good.”

Bumping his hip with yours as the four of you came to a stop at the corner of 6th Avenue, your tipsy smile made him laugh. “This’ll be your song for the entire next week.”

Dipping down, his nose almost touched yours. “Until-”

“Something makes me feel better than this,” you said at the same time as him, widening your eyes.

Leaning into his hold, letting him balance you, you released a ragged sigh. “I needed this,” you yawned, snaking an arm around his waist for stability. Your several drinks had caught up to you, you needed your sweatpants and your bed. “I needed you.”

He smiled, meeting your gaze, his eyes heavy from the liquor, deeper than ever. “You did?”

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his bare side, you smiled something lazy and giggled. Then, you giggled again as Jongho almost tripped up the curb across the street. “I did,” you said with a sure nod, following close behind the boys heading up Bleeker.

Yunho snapped his head up and pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile.

Nudging him, you asked, “What?”

He shook his head, popping out his bottom lip. “Nothing.”

Your laugh projected down the street, “What!?”

“Nothing!” 

Digging a finger up into his armpit he clamped down with a cackle, you dug your finger into his sides, in the cut outs of his shirt, bellowing with cries of success as he wriggled around and bent in half. “Tell me! Tell me!” San and Jongho were several steps ahead now, San raking his fingers through Jongho’s hair where his head sat on his shoulder.

Yunho lifted a knee, his whines and rampant giggles a white flag, and he tried to push you off of him. Clamping yourself to his front, your chests pressed together, both hands in the cut outs of his shirt, you had him. His weakness.

“C’mon,” you teased, grabbing him, messing with him, tickling him, all too funny really. “Tell me, tell me, tell me–”

He snapped straight up and grabbed onto your shoulders, pulling you into him as his face wiped clean. “Christ,” he muttered, spinning to the side. His arms slid around your back, holding you tight. Fear shooting through you, you grabbed onto his biceps and whipped your head around, searching for the source of his worry. Behind you, a door to a restaurant had swung open, one that would’ve hit you if Yunho didn’t have several inches on you and hadn’t seen the people coming.

“Excuse us,” a familiar voice slurred. Jung Wooyoung.

Which meant there was the possibility that–

“Hey, sweetheart.” Hongjoong.

Shit. Shit.

Heart lodging in your throat, you shoved Yunho away and brushed your hands over your front. In a cropped tee and ripped jeans you couldn’t believe you were running into him right now, while you looked like this, after several drinks. Crooked hair on your head, a necklace that had spun around the wrong way, the makeup you had put on after work that was now smeared, your lipstick worn in the middle. Yunho stumbled back a step, you didn’t have much power to move him, but your shove threw him off. Clamping his hands to his stomach, he tangled his brows and glared at you.

“Oh,” Hongjoong crooned, looking at Yunho before he smirked at you, “Sorry, I mean, Shug.” He wore what he had on in the office today, black slacks and his white button down that now had more buttons undone. Wherever his suit jacket had gone, you didn’t want to know. The bare skin of his chest made your mouth water.

A woman stepped out of the restaurant in tall heels and a short dress, complaining about the service, or the hostess, or the bathrooms, you couldn’t make much out over the heat of Hongjoong's stare. She tucked herself into Wooyoung's arm that he held out for her, a cigarette now hanging from his lips, one she reached around in his front pocket for a lighter to light it for him. She was handsy, grabbing something else with a smile before she fished the lighter out. Looking up at them, Wooyoung perked a brow, staring at you, catching you watching them.

“What’d you call her?” Yunho asked Hongjoong, cocking his head aside.

That wicked fucking smile. “Shug,” fell from his lips as smooth as the liquor you’re certain they serve inside this five star joint, “That a problem?”

Yunho narrowed his eyes. “What’s your problem?”

By the time you ripped your eyes off of Wooyoung and his girl you had tuned back into what you stood in the middle of. 

“My problem?” Hongjoong laughed, “I don’t have a problem, Stilts.”

Yunho scoffed, making the face he made before his anger overcame him. It never usually happened this fast. This was weird.

Yunho took a step toward him, toward you. “Walk away, Shrimp.”

Holding up a hand, pressing it to his chest, you screwed your brows up and gave them both a look. “Stilts, Shrimp… Grow up, what fucking year is it?”

Hongjoong, surprised, snickered, “What a mouth, Shug!”

“Shut up,” Yunho lunged, but you held him back. 

“C’mon,” Hongjoong sized, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “You like that old-timey shit don’t you? Play along, Doll, we could have some fun, go to the hop and shake a leg before we have a shag–” Yunho moved you aside in a blink, lunging for Hongjoong, pushing at his chest with both hands, sending him backward a few steps. “Walk away.”

“Watch yourself,” Wooyoung said, voice steady. He had his phone in his hand already dialed to 911. All he had to do was push the button.

Shoving yourself through the middle of the boys, you swatted at his wrist. “Okay, too far.”

He winked at you, puffing on his cigarette. “He taking you home?” he asked, nodding at Yunho.

Giving his girl a look, she didn’t seem to care. Muttering, “Oh my god,” you turned around and grabbed onto Yunho’s arm, tugging him away from Hongjoong. “Let it go, let’s just leave.” Glancing over your shoulder, you rolled your eyes at Hongjoong who still challenged Yunho. “Leave.”

His eyes glazed over to you, up and down your body, his tongue dragging over the flash of his white teeth. “Not your boyfriend,” he nodded, his eyes fluttering closed for all of two seconds, “Right. See you on Monday, y/n.” The three skipped across the street in the opposite direction. Hongjoong didn’t give you another look, but Wooyoung did, his smirk evident.

Shivering in the summer heat, his eyes making your skin crawl, you wrapped your arms around yourself and started down the sidewalk, following Jongho and San who were long gone.

“Hey,” Yunho breathed, hurrying after you, your pace quick. He reached for your shoulder, but you shrugged him off. “Hey,” he said, louder, “You mad at me?”

Bounding over a cross street, flicking your head in both directions, you didn’t bother to look at him. “No,” you spat, then shook your head, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

You sped up, your feet powered by your stomach that turned in cartwheels, and not the good kind. “I don’t know, Yunho.”

He grabbed onto your shoulder again, and this time you reached a hand up to pull him off, spinning on your heels to face him. Distraught, his face screwed up, he shook his head and tossed his hands out at his sides. “What’d I do?”

You let out one laugh. “Are you kidding me?” Barely moving, all he did was shake his head about. “Oh my god,” you groaned, twisting around to continue your race home.

“No,” he huffed, grabbing onto you to spin you back around, “What’d I do?”

For the last time, you swatted him away. “You really had to put your hands on him?” Yunho rolled his eyes and threw his head back. “I get you don’t like him, but we just talked about this, I do.”

“Even after what he said,” Yunho grumbled, eyeing the buildings on the street behind you, “Sure, you still like him.”

“He was kidding,” you said matter-of-factly, holding up a hand.

“Sure he was,” he said, raising both of his brows, “His boss was too, right? Kidding just like he was at the holiday party this past Christmas when he grabbed your ass?”

“He was drunk, he was–”

Yunho threw his hands up, his voice echoing down the street, “You’re making shit excuses for them, Shug!”

“It’s not excuses, it’s–”

“It’s what,” he slouched, tucking his hands behind his back, knitting his brows together over his eyes, “Tell me what it is. These guys taking advantage of you, for what? You tell Mr. Park they do all this? Speak to you like this? Put their hands on you? What would he say? What would he do?” He’d have them all fired. Or, he’d try.

He even asked you earlier today, if you thought they were all assholes, if you had an issue with them, as if he knew everything already and had been waiting for you to admit it. Even if he tried to help you, the higher ups wouldn’t do a thing. Shrinking into yourself, pulling fistfuls of denim into your hands, you stared at the concrete under your boots. 

Gorgeous he was. Hongjoong. Even when filthy words came out of his mouth, you wanted nothing more than for him to follow through. Everything he had given you all day, the closest you’ve come to him giving you the attention you’ve always wanted from him, he seemed to confirm it all in the filthy words he just said to you. Go to the hop and shake a leg before you have a shag. Cringe worthy, entirely. You wanted to laugh and groan and never hear them again, but what if they were true?

The company gala announced at the meeting was a month away. All of his cohort nagging of get a dress, do you have a dress, and his hints of asking you if you’ve ever been to a gala, or if you had a boyfriend. Even the way he looked at you after the announcement…

He was going to ask you. There was no way in hell that he was not asking you. But with how Yunho just acted like he had to protect you from him, it could’ve screwed everything up.

Lifting your chin, meeting his gaze, you gulped and shook your head. “Let it go,” you mumbled, and his posture admitted defeat. Though it hurt your heart, you said, “I like him, and I want to go to this gala with him. I know, I see it, I hear it, but I just… Maybe I need actual rejection to get over him, I don’t know, but I… I like him. Let me do this.”

Yunho clenched his jaw. Averting his eyes, he shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. Starting down the street, Yunho kept in time with your steps. After a minute or two of quiet, you looked up at him and asked, “You staying over?”

He didn’t smile, but he looked as if he wanted to. “Course.”

Rejection came sooner than expected. Standing at the coffee counter with two cups in your hands, at a bright nine thirty seven in the morning, you watched Hongjoong push a blonde against the wall down a hallway. Curling a finger beneath her chin, tipping her up to look down at her, his lips curled, and they spoke slowly, and she ate it up. Her slow blinks, her pouty lips parting, the lusty nods of her head.

He kissed her. Their hands slipped lower, exploring parts of them they’ve already seemed to touch, like their kiss. One practiced, one rehearsed, for a long time. An extended period of time. The way her hands roamed his back, over the curve of his ass, his hips, his thighs, up the front of his belly and down to his– Nah.

Placing both cups down, you straightened the crisp blouse you had pulled on this morning, one that you thought emphasized your curves like the dress on that blonde, and darted back into Seonghwa’s office, pressing your back to the door after slamming it shut. It hurt. It shouldn’t hurt, you’ve watched him do this with several other girls before, yet your heart had been pierced with something sharp.

Seonghwa sat at his desk, twirling his pen between his fingers. With one leg crossed, he sat backward on the leather, eyeing you curiously. “You do not look happy,” he said. Throat tightening, you shook your head. He uncrossed his legs and sat forward. “You feel okay? I can get through today alone if you need to go home.” You shook your head again, and he laughed to himself. “What happened out there that got you glued to our door?” 

“Nothing,” you squeaked. 

Unconvinced, he smiled. “One of these days you’re going to tell me the truth,” he said, “Or, I’m hiring you a body guard.”

“No,” you sighed, pushing off the door, stepping closer to his desk. “That hasn’t happened since–” Cutting yourself off, his brows skyrocketed.

“Continue,” he gasped, “Since?”

Raising a finger, you calculated your words, and sighed once more. “I’ll tell you later.”

Seonghwa studied you, his soft eyes sharp, analyzing you from tone to body language. “I’ll go get our coffee,” he said, knowing you didn’t want to go back out there, “Then we can discuss. Get comfy.”

“Wait,” you almost shouted as he grasped the armrests of his chair to stand up, “I’ll go. I’m sorry.”

Settling back down, he tilted his head. “Apology not needed,” he said gently, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Just… needed a breather.”

Seonghwa asked, “From?”

Four knocks sounded on the door. Sharing a look with your boss, he gave a tentative, “Come in,” and when the door swung open, your heart sank to your knees.

Holding onto two coffee cups, the cups you left behind, Hongjoong, with a grin across his face, stepped inside and held them up. “You left these behind,” he said, breezing past you to pop them on Seonghwa’s desk.

“Thanks,” Seonghwa said through his teeth.

Hongjoong held a hand toward him. “Don’t mention it, please,” he chortled, adjusting the collar of his shirt. There was lipstick on it. Facing you, he cocked his chin up. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You good?”

Thinning your lips, unable to look at him for longer than a second, you hummed, “Mhm.”

“Think she might be coming down with something,” he pouted, glancing at Seonghwa, “She was out partying with her boys all weekend.”

Scoffing aloud, jaw falling open, you shot him a glare, one he returned with a curve of his lips. Seonghwa sighed, reaching for his cup of coffee, not entertaining him.

On his way to the door, Hongjoong leaned into you. “Might want to find a date to that gala soon, Shug,” he sneered. “There’s not many left.”

“There’s not many left.”

San threw himself forward into the table, glasses rattling. “No.”

Copying him, eyes widening, you shouted, “Yes!”

“Asshole,” Jongho stated, hands palms up on the table.

Yunho, pressed to the back of his chair beside you, drug his fingers over his face, rubbing his eyes before he uttered a quiet, “Yeah.”

Knocking back the rest of your drink, slamming it to the wood, you threw a hand over the glasses graveyard before you and your friends and shook your head violently. “He’s… a jerk! That’s it. He sucks!” San, Jongho, and Yunho, they shared a glance before they turned toward you slowly. Squeezing your eyes shut, tightening your hand into a fist, you sighed heavily. “I mean it.”

Jongho asked, “Do you?”

“No,” you breathed, slumping over. Opening your eyes, you drug your hands over your cheeks. “I like him. Damn!” You pounded your fist on the table, glasses rattling again. Yunho rolled his eyes. “But, he sucks.”

“We’ve been trying to–”

“Yunho,” you snapped, pointing your eyes toward him, “I know.”

He screwed up his face and held open his arms in a shrug, his oversized t-shirt dripping off of him like water. “I’m just saying. It’s been all this time, and he’s done this to you so many times.”

Sucking in a breath, one big and dramatic, you leaned back in your chair and smoothed your hands over your thighs to grip your knees. “He has,” you mumbled, recounting the numerous times Hongjoong has flaunted a woman in front of you. “I just… I thought this time… He meant it.”

San downed the rest of his drink and popped his brows. “The bar is low.”

Jongho curled his lip. “The bar is in hell.”

Yunho stared at the table. “Satan is using the bar to hang his laundry.”

Groaning aloud, tipping your chin back, you eased the ache between your lungs with another deep breath. 

He meant it. He had to have meant it. You were different from any of the other women he entertained, you were you. Insanely more fun, and interesting, and far from plastic, far from a giggle at every joke kind of girl just because he has money. He had to have meant it, all these insinuations toward the gala, toward taking you, and making sure you were prepared, and had a dress, and a date. You had him. Until…

Snapping your head forward, you twisted in your chair, toward Yunho, who shot you the world's weirdest look. Jongho furrowed his brows and swatted at San’s hand that tried to swipe his half full beer, San who also stared at the two of you, curious. Yunho stared at you, into your eyes, focused, analyzing. An attempt to read your mind, you think.

And then it clicked.

He erupted, hands flying, voice raising. “Oh no,” he shouted, flinging himself around in his chair to face you, “No, no, no! No! I did not do this! This did not happen ‘cause of what I did, Shug, don’t you dare.”

San and Jongho both shouted, “What did you do?”

Gritting your teeth, you whined, then said, “He touched him.”

San gasped. Jongho, slightly alarmed, slightly disgusted, muttered a quiet, “Whaaa–”

Yunho glared at him. “Not like that.”

“Then how?” San asked, successfully grabbing Jongho’s beer, guzzling it down.

Placing your hands flat on the table, you sat up straight and parted your lips, though Yunho begged you not to. “Friday night, when we all left, you two made it back to your apartment first, you left us behind, and we just so happened to run into Hongjoong.”

“And Wooyoung, and his wife,” Yunho added, his tone flat and unamused.

“Not important,” you brushed off.

Yunho’s eyes shot open wide. “Yes important, he would’ve abducted you if I wasn’t there.”

“Hongjoong or Wooyoung?” Jongho asked.

Yunho said, “Wooyoung.”

San elbowed Jongho. “She wants Hongjoong to abduct her.”

“I do not want him to abduct me,” you spat. “Yunho pushed him.”

The boys gasped, both turning to Yunho at once. San smiled, Jongho tilted his head, disappointed.

Yunho held up both hands, feigning innocence. Fluttering his eyes shut, his long lashes splaying over his cheekbones, he said calmly, “He said some fucked up shit, okay? He got in my face, I was drunk, I couldn’t not do it. Mr. Big Dick, I don’t care who you are, you’re in my face, you’re talking shit to my girl, I’m gonna do something.”

Jongho’s jaw popped open. San pulled his lips together before hiding behind his beer, sipping it as his eyes drew over to you.

Cocking your head to the side, you narrowed your eyes. Yunho dropped his hands and looked at you, the face of normal, of patience. Glancing at the table, at the empty glasses in front of him, counting one, two, three, four… Okay.

“You’re drunk,” you said, facing the table and San and Jongho’s disappointment. “He was making jokes, Hongjoong, and he just so happened to get in our way, and between us, and–”

“And I wasn’t having it,” Yunho swung a hand about, “He acted like he had some major claim over you or something, I wasn’t gonna take that.”

Squinting at him, you asked, “And, what? You have ownership over me?”

He snipped, “What?” Facing you, he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Sounds like it,” you huffed, giving a look to San. “You heard my whole thing about him that night, how it was possible he wanted to go to the gala with me, and I told you, I like him, and when we run into him, you ruin it.”

“He ruined it himself,” Yunho argued, his hands flying, “If he didn’t get jealous and try to piss on you to claim his territory, I would’ve never snapped. You’re not an object to be won, that’s how they look at women, that’s not you.”

Opening your mouth to fight back, Jongho sat forward and slung a hand between you. “Hang on,” he said quickly, taking his time to look at each of you. 

Silence fell, though the bar moved around you, tables getting their orders, the blonde boy and the waitress whispering on barstools, faint music pumping in the background. Jongho exchanged something with San, a look that spoke to only them, and in seconds San broke out into a toothy grin.

Jongho said to you, “Hongjoong said something fucked up to you.” The three of them waited, anticipation on their tongues. 

Shrugging, you muttered, “I mean, yeah, I guess it was fucked up.”

San continued before Yunho could air his grievances, “And when Yunho stood up for you, it pissed Hongjoong off?”

Giving your best friend the tiniest of glances, you shrugged again. “Yeah?”

San and Jongho both snickered and faced one another, slapping their hands together. “It’ll work,” they muttered to one another, “It’s going to work. It’s perfect, isn’t it? How did we not see this before? He’s so stupid, he won’t see it coming, he’ll be so pissed, he’ll–”

Yunho waved a hand in front of them. “Hello!?” The boys whirled around, taking in your shared confusion.

“What’s going on?” you asked as the waitress appeared at the end of your table, ready for the four of you to order another round.

San smized, mischief in his eyes, his gaze flickering from Yunho, to you. “You’re gonna win this. We’re gonna play his game.”

Four knocks sounded at your door. Timid knocks. Knocks he’s never made before. Usually they’re loud, and obnoxious, and a little excited, like the introduction to a Led Zeppelin song. This time they were any John Denver song ever to exist. Stomping through your apartment in wedged strappy sandals, you grumbled to yourself and yanked the door open, unable to believe he wasn’t going to pretend to be happy about this predicament when he’s the one who got himself here in the first place.

“We won’t have to do this,” is the first thing to leave his mouth before you get a word in. Dressed in denim torn to shreds showcasing his knobby knees and the length of his legs, the cropped black t-shirt he had pulled over his head hung just at the belt, if he had worn one. Tiny chains wrapped around the base of his neck, various golds and silvers wound together in mismatched plaits. His hair hung over his eyes, a bit shaggy today, wavy and natural. 

“I don’t, but you do,” you said with disdain.

Following you into your apartment, pushing the door shut, Yunho heaved a dramatic sigh. “But, if you’re not comfortable…”

Uncapping a lipstick, you wandered into the bathroom to glide it over your lips, a shade of pink to go with the stripes on your mini skirt. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?”

He appeared in the doorway, just as tall as it, leaning against the frame. Stretching one arm over his head, he made a sound while he thought, and opted to say, “I dunno, cause it’s me?”

Smacking your lips together, dropping the lipstick into the makeup bag on the shelf over the toilet, you shot him a look through the mirror. “It’s you because of what you did.” He rolled his eyes. Turning to face him, you pressed a finger to his chest, his hard, broad, sturdy chest. “This could easily be San, or even Jongho, that’d be the easiest, but this is how you’re going to make that night up to me.”

He dropped his chin, a smirk pulling at his lips. “My penance is being your fake boyfriend, even though Hongjoong thinking I am your boyfriend is what got you into this mess.”

“Us,” you corrected, standing to your tip toes in your sandals, missing his nose with yours by an inch. Pushing by him, he followed you, two steps into the kitchen.

“I was defending you, Shug, you can’t be mad at me for this,” his volume raised, and you held up a finger. “Sorry,” he huffed, slapping his hands on his thighs, dropping his tone, “Yeosang still giving you problems?”

Putting together a purse, a little leather one, you wiggled your brows, fishing your keys off the counter. “Not as of late, but I got something on him now, so if he ever does have some more shit to say, I’ll just tell him all about how I heard him going at it with his boss’s wife.”

Yunho gasped, a smile finally painting onto his face and yours. “You’re kidding me.”

Slinging the purse over your bare shoulder, your strapless top clinging tight to your middle, you pursed your lips and shook your head with pride. “Not at all,” you said, moving for the door. Yunho clung to your tail. “He’s a freak, who woulda thought?”

Stepping out into the hall, giving you space to lock up, Yunho glanced at the neighbors door and started putting puzzle pieces together. “Like… how?”

“Well,” you started, slipping your keys away, “This was last weekend, and yanno, it kinda made me realize these walls are paper thin, so I don’t think I can be too mad at him getting mad at us?” You started down the hallway, Yunho in tow. “Anyway,” you laughed, throwing your hands up, glancing up at him walking beside you, “I heard them come home and fumble with the keys in the door, they were giggling and shit, and he was hushing her. I was paralyzed at the kitchen table doomscrolling through clips of Maneskin’s last tour–”

Yunho squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his chin back. “Will we ever get them again?”

“One can dream,” you muttered with a groan. “I heard them over La Fine, okay? Vic was killing it, her tits were out, it was great, and I heard them.” Yunho held the door to the stairwell open for you. “He was telling her what a bad girl she was,” you amped up the act, walking backward down the stairs, to put on a show for him, “You shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Yunho grinned, a laugh caught between his teeth.

“What will he think? What will they say?” You held up a hand to signal the character switch. “She says, “Fuck what they say!”

“No!” Yunho shouted, reaching out to grab you as you tripped over your feet and laughed. “Turn around.”

“Yes,” you confirmed, listening to him, facing forward, grabbing onto the railing. “I don’t even think they made it out of the kitchen. I’ve seen his apartment, that wall is shared with the one in my bedroom, they fucked in the kitchen.”

“Damn,” Yunho sighed, pushing open the door to your building, ushering you out onto the summer street of New York City. “Quiet boy has game, who woulda thought.”

Catching him off guard, you spun around and grabbed onto his biceps. Pushing him back against the brick wall of your building, you flipped your brows over all sappy and sweet, and whined, “Take me, Yeo, take me!” Shaking your hair around, you giggled. “Do what he can’t, love me like he can’t!”

Yunho’s shoulders rose, eating his ears as you shook him. Wide eyed, he smiled at your words, at the exasperated way you shouted them, mimicking Yeosang's boss’s wife, but then you gazed up at him, lips pursed, eyes soft, cheeks pouty, and he swore he stopped breathing.

Squeezing his arms in your hands tighter, you fluttered your lashes as you blinked, putting on an act, making fun of the way the woman many years older than Yeosang spoke to him. Fingers pressing into the meat of his biceps, realizing you surprised him, and that he wasn’t prepared to hear you do this in front of him, no matter the context… You gulped and wiped your face clean of emotion. 

The summer air grew thicker, your cheeks flushed, your stomach sunk a little– And you weren’t sure why. It’s not the first time jokes like this had been made, your friends always moaned a bit, they were boys for fucks sake, the occasional flirt sneaked out, this wasn’t new. As you gazed up into his sappy brown eyes that weren’t ready to experience this, how it seemed like a part of him was listening, paying attention, you audibly expressed your apologies with a groan and pulled away from him, hands dropping to your side.

“Yeah, it was…” you sighed, dragging a hand through your hair, “It was wild, anyways, should we go? I dunno what time they close, and San said that if we don’t make it there before six then the woman will–”

Yunho pushed off the building and hooked his arm in yours, a smile growing on his pink lips as he pulled you down the street. “Let’s go,” he said, entirely normal, keeping things normal, as normal as normal can be. Looking down at you, he said, “Gonna need you to recreate that for San and Jongho though, that was hysterical.”

Wedging your bottom lip between your teeth, you nodded. “Can’t believe I never told you guys.”

“That Yeosang gets chicks? And that he fucks?” He huffed a laugh, “Can’t believe you never told us either. I thought–”

Jumping in your sandals at the street corner cutting him off, you unhooked your arms and gasped. “Wait, if we’re gonna practice this, shouldn’t we hold hands instead?”

Yunho tugged at the hem of his cropped tee. “Waffle or pancake?”

Oh, how you yearned to lose your shit, fall to the concrete, and laugh at him. Instead, you deadpanned, and said, “You did not just ask me that.”

Holding up your hand for him to take, he scrunched up his face and gave you a look. “Shut up. C’mere, Shug.” 

Reaching around your back, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, yanking you into his side, the warmth of his hold engulfing you entirely. Wiggling his fingers to ask for your hand, guiding you with subtle nods of his head and small smiles, he laced his fingers with yours, the hand hanging from your shoulder, then gestured to your other hand wedged between your bodies.

“Sixteen Candles, c’mon,” he mumbled, meeting your eyes with a humor in his.

Furrowing your brows, you scoffed. “Yeah, sure Jan.”

He rolled his eyes. The people waiting at the corner moved on, leaving the two of you alone until a few stragglers flew by with papers in their hands or headphones on their ears. Everyone dressed for summer, tanks, shorts, dresses, crop tops, their variations of outfits mixed and matched yet impressively cohesive– Your neighborhood the neighborhood of color, of originality, thrifted clothes and bright colored hair. Artists, musicians, bohemian spirits. 

“I am not Sixteen Candles-ing you,” you giggled, and he clicked his tongue.

“You have to,” he joked with a solemn shake of his head. “I’m sure as hell not doing it to you, I’d rather you do it to me. It’ll be cute, do it.”

“But, there’s no one even around to–”

Yunho used his free hand to grab onto yours, pulling it behind his back as far as he could, allowing you to do the rest. Sliding it into his back pocket.

By the grace of the gods, the heavens, the angels, whoever you believed in, his denim hung off of him loose enough that you weren’t necessarily holding on to anything specific. Until you started walking. His proud smile guided you across the street and across a few more blocks like this, and your palm brushed over him repeatedly.

It felt weird, to feel like this wasn’t right, or that this was crossing a line, even though you’ve smacked him on his ass plenty of times before, mainly after a few drinks. This was intimate. A scene in an old movie you watched together, a scene in a newer movie you watched together… Where the girl needs the boy to do these things, and the boy agrees to make his old girl jealous…

Looking up at him, his brain at work putting pieces of the city together, admiring the streets that didn’t mirror the financial district in the slightest, you supposed this was fine. This was the purpose. Technically, it’s his duty, to help you make Hongjoong jealous, or, more jealous than he already appeared to be. And plus, it was Yunho.

Like you said, this was his way of making that night up to you. Though, at the end of the day, you’d rather be doing this with him than anyone else. Too intimate or not… It felt right.

“What do you mean you don’t have a dress yet?” The woman in jorts and a frilly blouse with big chunky boots on her feet stared at you in disbelief. Standing in front of a mirror in silver high heels, you stared back in shock. Yunho sat behind you on a stool with his hands on his knees, and confusion on his face. Her deep brown hair was tied up in a tight bun, with bangs hanging on her forehead. “How are you buying shoes without owning a dress?”

Shrugging, you parted your lips to answer her, but no sound came out. 

“Insane,” she spat, her lips curling, “Every girl knows, you buy the dress first, then you buy the shoes. How do you expect the dress to fit right, or lay right, or fall right at your feet if you’re buying the shoes first? You get a dress, then shoes, how do you know you can even wear the heels? Do you even like these ones? You’ve tried on several pairs, no wonder it’s taking you forever, you don’t have a damn dress.”

Biting your tongue, you sucked down a breath to steady your heart rate and your skin that burned. “This is the one store I can afford, my friends and I are thrift lovers, I’ve never done this before, so I–”

“Great,” she berated, “So I get to deal with the inexperience, wonderful, where did you say you worked?”

“Harmony Foundation–”

Her lined eyes widened. “And this is all you can afford?”

Pressing your hands to your belly, you shook your head fervently, feeling your throat tighten like how it would just before tears slipped down your cheeks. “I-I guess I don’t know, I mean, I’ve never done this, I don’t like to dress like this–”

“Great!” She shouted, and the few other customers in the store turned to seek out the noise. “You don’t even like it, why am I wasting my time, you might as well–”

“We’re done here.” Yunho leapt to his feet, snatching your wrist in his hand, pulling you behind him. The woman screwed her face up as she tipped her chin back to glare at him. “Don’t start. This was a waste of our time. My girlfriend works hard, she deserves this night. Fuck you for making her feel less than. Our best friend sent us here, he’s obsessed with you guys actually. I can’t wait to tell him how disgusting this whole visit has been.” Glancing at her name tag, he scoffed, “Have a nice day, Mina.”

Keeping his grip on you tight, he moved you away from the mirror, away from the lady who started out sweet as pie, and sat you down on another stool across the store. Crouching in front of you, he propped one foot up on his knee and started working his fingers at the buckle, the rough tips of his fingers brushing over your smooth skin.

He clenched his jaw tight, eyes pointed at your foot and shoe he slipped off of you. Moving with persistence, you could see the figurative smoke bellowing out of his ears, the gears that grinded behind his eyes. Switching feet, he slipped the shoe off gently, his actions rough, but the way he touched you– Soft. He put you back into your sandals, his whole hand wrapping around your ankles to move you around, his touch entirely distracting you from the menace Mina had been. Strapped into your shoes, he blinked up at you and sighed heavily.

“My girlfriend,” you teased under your breath, and he sighed again.

“Don’t start, I’m pissed off, Shug. Let’s go.”

He held your hand this time, really tight. Fingers intertwined, the grip he had on you almost made you want to peel his hand off ‘cause it was so tight. 

“Yunho, it’s fine,” you breathed, trailing behind him as he bounded down the street, dodging bodies that crowded now that it was past six o’clock. “I’ll find something later, we don’t have to go anywhere else, I’m over this today.”

The shake of his head told you plenty. “Me too.”

Dropping your hand, setting you free, he crossed his arms over his chest and stopped behind a group of people waiting for the cars to finish whizzing by to trudge across the street. His jaw tightened, and he wouldn’t look at you.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged you off. “Yunho?” The cars stopped. The bodies moved. You scurried along beside him, keeping up with the long strides of his legs. “Yunho,” you groaned playfully, elbowing him a couple times. It wasn’t until you were at the next block that he opened his mouth.

“That’s how it feels when Hongjoong speaks to you the way he does,” he said, turning toward you. “And I’ve only experienced it in person maybe twice? But, even when I have to hear about it, or whenever you talk about him, that’s how it feels.”

Glancing away from him, to the traffic, the unique people around you, you go numb for a moment hearing his name. Tilting your head, you asked, “Being degraded in the middle of a store by a woman who hasn’t gotten laid in years?”

He shot you a look. “What do you think Hongjoong does?”

“But, he gets laid all the time.”

Yunho drug his hands through his hair, arching his back in a stretch with an obnoxious whine. “Oh my god, Shug, nevermind, you’ll never get it.”

Pedestrian traffic moved, pushing you both along the current. Store doors swung open with chimes, music played underneath the awnings of eateries and restaurants with outdoor seating, delicious smells wafted through the cultured air.

“Hang on,” you groaned, reaching for the sleeve of his shirt, “I want to get it. I don’t see what you see, I’m sorry, okay?”

He, again, shrugged you off of him. “It’s really going to take you getting together with him, getting cheated on, heartbroken, and disposed of, to realize it.”

You grabbed onto him again, your hands pulling at his shoulders. He paid attention for you, his eyes on alert, scanning the crowds, the streets, it’s what he always did. Never once did you have to worry while you were out with him, he became your brain, your thoughts, your safety. Even now, while in the middle of some sort of argument, he pulled you out of the way of deranged tourists who think they have the right of way.

“I’m trying, okay?” Begging him to slow down, to look at you, to take a break, to understand you, you said, “I want to see what you see.”

His glare hardened. The crowd dissolved some. Turning into you, he smoothed his hands over your shoulders and pushed you up against the corner wall of a vacant store front. Leaning into you, his forehead millimeters from yours, he softened his eyes, his words not matching the tone he spoke in.

“If you wanted to see what I see, you’d try a little harder,” he nearly whispered. Flickering his eyes between both of yours, letting them flicker over your face, he smirked. “If you really cared that bad, to understand, to listen to me, to us, then we wouldn’t be doing this little experiment, would we?” His gaze glazed over your lips. His smirk deepened. You were holding your breath.

“Fake dating,” he mumbled with a Broadway worthy roll of his eyes. Chills ran down your spine as one of his hands slid up your neck, his palm cupping your chin, his fingertips brushing your hair. “To get his attention, to make him jealous, to play his game. Since when do you care about fitting in with people, Shug? Becoming one of them?”

You barely shook your head, whispering, “I don’t.”

Yunho narrowed his eyes. “Then, why are we doing this?”

“Because…”

“Because,” he repeated, mimicking the slight whine in your tone. “Use your words, you’re a big girl.” His thumb danced over your cheekbone, his words made your knees buckle. “I love to listen to you talk, it might be my favorite thing in the world. Tell me, why are we going to do this? Act like a couple, like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, like we’re in love, like we share the deepest, most intimate parts of ourselves with one another at three in the morning entangled in a mess of sweaty sheets.”

You weren’t holding your breath, you couldn’t breathe. The depth of his eyes made it impossible to look away, impossible to pretend like his words dripping with sweet melted sugar weren't affecting you. He was close, so close, his body heat hotter than the sun that procrastinated setting.

“You look pretty today,” he whispered. “You always do. When I got to your apartment, and I watched you put this lipstick on, I just,” he shook his head, “Couldn’t not think about… it.”

Gulping, your voice shook as you whispered, “About what?”

He broke out into another smirk, his perfect teeth peeking through his heart shaped lips. “No,” he mumbled, a quiet laugh coming out of him, one that rumbled in his chest so deeply you could feel the bass, “I don’t wanna sound like him.”

“Say it,” you whispered, fast, and he bit his lip.

“Yeah?” Questioning you with a raise of a brow, he stood up straighter, chin cocking back.

You gazed up at him through your lashes, and you swore this newfound persona of his faltered. “Please.”

His other hand slid up the other side of your neck. He tipped your chin back, both of his thumbs on your cheeks, his fingers in your hair. Shared air filtered between you, he was that close. Eyes on your lips, on the shade of lipstick he watched you layer on, he whispered. “It’s filthy.”

“What did you think about, Yunho?” Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, and he sucked in a breath.

Taking one thumb to your bottom lip, he tugged at it gently before pressing the pad to both of your lips, smirking as your lips seemed to instinctively kiss it. “Thought about how pretty they’d look wrapped around the tip of my…”

Your jaw fell open, your lips parting with a stifled sigh. Pressing your thighs together, his eyes widened some. It took him three seconds to move, out of your space, many steps from the wall.

Letting a laugh loose, he swiped the thumb covered in your lipstick over his lips and winked at you. “Bet San or Jongho wouldn’t do that, huh?”

Catching your breath, utterly blindsided, you situated your clothes that felt like he had ripped them off of you and thrown them back on even though he hadn’t touched them, and you pushed off of the wall. Trying to laugh, feeling as though you’d been doused with a bucket of ice water, you took a deep breath and shook your head. “No, they wouldn’t,” you forced your laughter, “Good one. That’s believable, how’d I do?”

Yunho rubbed a hand over his bare middle, his shirt lifting to show off his toned stomach. Bobbing his head, his eyes unreadable, he shrugged. “Don’t think you’re winning an Oscar any time soon. Your impression of Yeosang’s sugar mommy was way better.”

Smacking your lips, you laughed for real and rolled your eyes. “Not fair,” you muttered.

“You’re gonna have to try a little harder if you want us to be taken seriously,” he teased with a sarcastic huff, holding out his elbow for you to hook yours in. 

Swallowing, hard, your heart finally beating steadily, you rubbed your lips together, your lipstick that he looked at, again, and said, “Guess we’ll have to practice some more.”

The clock ticked on the wall, the halls silent enough the only sound to be heard were the hands counting down to five o’clock. Standing at a counter, waiting for the receptionist on your floor to return with several files Seonghwa needed to finish a sale with one of his loyal clients of many years, you had your elbow propped up on the edge and your chin sitting on your fist. 

It was the morning after your failed shopping date with Yunho, last night ending with stacked jokes on the way to San’s apartment, where you met Jongho there and spent the night shoveling take out into your mouths and playing guess that artist with Yunho until you all grew tired enough and fell asleep on the sofa’s mumbling about what new tattoos you all should get.

Snoozing on Yunho’s shoulder, you’d be lying if you said what he’d done to you didn’t stick with you. Pushing you up against a wall like you had done to him, except instead of mimicking a neighbor's hookup, he spoke real words to you. Words that sounded true. Words that felt true. Words you think… you wanted to be true. You’ve never heard him speak that way, his voice low and gravely, the things he said, dirty and hot.

Thinking back to the flings he’s had here and there, your mind wandered to the possibilities of what he said to them, how he treated them, an entire side of him you never once thought to ever explore. He turned you on, your body reacted to him, you wanted him to keep going, to say more, to maybe even do more than just touch his thumb to your lips like he wished it really was the tip of his…

“Hey, Shug.” A chill ran down your spine, your skin erupting in a blazing fire. Jolting upright, slapping your hand to the counter top, you whirled around and met Hongjoong’s smile, a stack of papers in his hand. He occupied the space beside you, stepping into your field of energy, placing the stack right next to your hand.

“Please don’t call me that,” you said with the release of a breath.

Hongjoong leaned against the desk and crossed one foot over the other. Glancing around the stranded lobby, he smiled before he pointed his eyes at you. “Find a date to the gala yet?”

Okay, straight to the point, damn. Time to lock in. Your stomach sank.

“Yes,” you squeaked, voice high pitched and nervous.

He perked a brow, his eyes drawing your body and the outfit you had thrown together this morning after running home from San’s with a half hour to spare. You were almost late this morning, and your oversized button down and wrinkled slacks let everyone know.

The corners of his lips perked up. “Wild night?”

“No,” you pushed through your lips.

Hongjoong met your eyes and laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. Look at you. That your boyfriend's shirt?” Scoffing, you looked down at yourself, and he laughed again. It was in fact Yunho’s shirt, one he didn’t use anymore, a white button down that would fit his chest snugly. It hung off of you, but this wasn’t the first time you had worn it.

“This is mine,” you stated with a point of your finger to your belly.

Hongjoong furrowed his brows, but his smile remained. “You sure you didn’t pick it up off his floor this morning?”

“No, Joong, it’s mine.”

“Coulda sworn he spent the night putting you through the mattress, at least from what I saw,” he snickered, averting his eyes to behind the desk. “Smooth talker, huh?”

Your blood ran cold. “What?”

Hongjoong laughed. “You let him talk dirty to you? I know you like a filthy mouth.”

Eyes bugging, you laughed with him, nervously, and knitted your hands together. “I-I-I don’t know what you’re… what you’re talking about, what are you…”

“I saw you,” he said, plainly, giving you a look. “On the corner of 7th, he had you pinned to the wall, his hands on you, talking all quiet.” He popped his brows and swung his hand about as he spoke. “I’ve never seen you look the way you did, all doe eyed, like he held your consciousness in his hands, so submissive–”

“Shut up,” you snapped.

He raised a brow, his lazy smile wicked. “Tell me again how the shirt isn’t his, how you weren’t letting him defile you last night, go ahead.”

“I didn’t, it’s not–”

He kept going. “Thought you’d let him take you right there on the street corner, I mean, damn, how long have you been in love with this guy, I would’ve thought you had something for me if I didn’t catch you two like that, does he know what a flirt you can be?” Leaning toward you, he popped his lips as he mumbled, “A brat?”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, pressing your front to the desk, knitting your fingers in your hair, staring at the linoleum. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.” Willing the receptionist back in whispers, Hongjoong heard, and fucking laughed.

“He probably gets off on it, right? Knowing you’ve got a little game going with me, he probably loves to hear all about it so he can fuck it out of you. Claim you.”

“Hongjoong, shut up. Leave me alone.”

He took a step closer to you, dipping his chin down. “No, I want you to be able to run home to have the fuck of your life after you tell him about this. Let him know that when I saw you over here all alone in his shirt, I envisioned what it’d be like to rip it off of you and spread you open on Ms. Kim’s desk, and how I wouldn’t care if she came back and caught us.”

Pressing your hands to your face, shaking your head, you sucked air in through your lips, and for the first time, you wished Yunho were here to stop him.

“Matter of fact, Wooyoung likes to watch,” he smirked, “He’d love a show. Would probably get a raise,” his fingers touched your shoulder, gently, but with purpose, piercing through the fabric of your shirt, “Just gotta make sure he can see your tits, so he can–”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s voice echoed off the ceiling, booming through the empty space. Clenching your jaw, tears welling up in your eyes, you clawed at your scalp. He tore his hand off of you, moving faster than you’ve ever witnessed. “What am I hearing?”

A sigh came out of him as he took a step away from you, his hands folding on the desk. “Please, she likes it.”

Seonghwa scoffed. “I guarantee you, she does not. Y/n?”

Peeling your hands away from your face, you pushed your hair back and turned to look at him. With a face full of sorrow, he waved a hand toward him, coercing you closer. “Go into my office and wait for me there. We’ll file a report together, but I’d like to personally hand his ass to him face to face.”

Only able to give him a nod, you wrapped your arms around yourself and hurried down the hall, straight into Seonghwa’s office, though you longed to linger and listen to what your boss had to say.

you: It worked..... He's pissed off or something..

yun: What happened.

you: I get what you guys mean now.. How he talks..

yun: Call me. Now.

you: I’ll tell you later….. Do you have to see Jag????? You haven’t mentioned him

yun: He hasn’t needed me.. I’m yours tonight.

Outside of a store with gowns on mannequins in the windows, you and Yunho stood elbow to elbow against the glass, appreciating the bustle of the people on this side of a neighborhood you longed to spend more time in. Similar to your own, this one had more structure to its freedom, like the people here knew exactly what they wanted and what they brought to table. It filled you with a sort of peace, clarity, like your dreams were right in front of you, and you could snatch them without remorse.

“Don’t say I told you so,” you muttered, and Yunho hummed.

“Never,” he said flatly, eyes scanning the heads that passed by. “I’m sorry that happened. He’s a dick.”

Looking up at him, you pinched your brows. “That’s all?”

He glanced back in shock. “Well, I can’t exactly go and kick his ass can I? If I do, you’ll lock me up and force me to marry you and have several kids, live a suburban life, I dunno.”

Laughing, throwing your head back, you gasped, “What!?”

Yunho held up his hands, his wide eyed expression growing tenfold. “Are those not your conditions for me putting my hands on him? I pushed him, so we have to date, what do you think you’ll make me do if I beat him up?”

“Sign a prenup,” you giggled, shoving him with your elbow. His obnoxious nod and the unintelligible sound he made answered for him. “I’m sorry,” you sighed, leaning your head against his arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t do the dating thing, maybe you just come with me to the gala as my bodyguard.”

“It makes me sad that you even have to think that way,” he mumbled.

Glancing up at him, your cheek squished on his bare arm, he looked down and smiled. “Seonghwa will be there, you don’t even have to come if you don’t want to, I don’t wanna subject you to hanging around these kinds of guys for hours on end.”

Squinting, he said, “I’d rather be with you to save you from having to hang around those guys for hours on end. I’m coming to the gala whether you like it or not, Shug.”

“Shug,” a woman’s voice parroted, one a little rough, a little grungey. “You really do call her that.” Yunho broke out into a grin, tossing his head back bashfully, trying hard as hell to negate all accusations as you pushed off the window to greet his friend. 

Stunning didn’t cut it. Ki, her name as sharp as she was, but not as simple. Covered in tattoos, doused in silver jewelry and piercings, her hair styled like she’d had it professionally done, you couldn’t help but let your jaw drop. Another girl stood with her, as close to her as you stood to Yunho, looking nothing like Ki. A little more indie, maybe bohemian, whereas Ki bled straight rock ‘n roll. 

Her smile smacked you in the face, perfect and dazzling. Holding out her hand amidst Yunho’s rebuttals, she introduced herself. “You’re exactly like he described,” she shook her head, giving you a onceover, “I’m Ki, this is Riley,” she said giving a nod to her friend who smiled and gave you a wave of her fingers. “Hope it’s okay you deal with both of us, you seem to fit right in between our vibe, I figured we could both give you a hand.” Her eyes flickered up at Yunho. “He’s not gonna know what he’s doing. You need girlfriends.”

Giggling, you looked up at him and he shrugged shamefully.

“You’re lucky he called,” Ki breathed, taking your wrist in her hand and Riley’s in the other. Giving Yunho a glare, she muttered, “You’re lucky Jag has let you have so much time off.”

“Time off?” you asked, bouncing back and forth between them. “You said he hasn’t needed you,” you said to Yunho, whose eyes widened.

Ki pursed her lips, her saccharine smile enough to woo you, you’re not sure how Yunho hasn’t been woo’ed yet. He said something back to her, with his eyes, an implication he didn’t want to speak further, a white flag of sorts. You aren’t sure how much time they spent together at Republic, though her name has come up plenty of times– Comparing the two of you.

“Let’s go, Shug,” Ki joked, tugging you and Riley along, into the store, leaving Yunho to trudge behind. “I’ll take the left side, Ri you take the right, Miss Sugar can take the middle.”

Yunho let the door swing shut behind him. “What about me? Do I get a say?”

Riley gave him a small smile. “If the boyfriend shopping thing is universal, I suggest you sit this one out.” 

Ki seemed to know what she was talking about with the way she laughed and nudged her shoulder, her bright smile and confident laugh bouncing around the racks of dresses. “He’s not her boyfriend, but still, sit this one out,” she said to both of them before the group broke into four.

With a sheepish shrug, Riley pulled her lips together and turned on her heels. Ki tossed her hair off of the shoulder of her lace tank and bolted for a black dress on a mannequin in the window. Yunho, he smiled at you when you turned to him, and waved you away to follow the girls.

“She’s cool,” you whispered, flickering your eyes over to Ki.

Yunho narrowed his eyes and smiled wider, whispering, “I knew you’d say that.” Smiling back at him, for too long, feeling your insides fill with warmth, a sort of comfort knowing he’d do something like this for you, he glanced at both of the girls on either side of the store and shooed you away.

You took to Riley first, who was already looking your way with her hands on a dress. Painting a smile onto your lips, you approached her in her oversized vintage Screen Actors Guild tee and clasped your hands together. Before you had the chance to open your mouth, she cut you off.

“This one’s gorgeous,” she mumbled, holding the emerald dress up in front of you, pressing it to your chest like she’s known you for ages. “I think this really goes with your skintone, but I’m not loving the straps, I think you should– Wait, how are you doing your hair?” Her eyes narrowed, studying you, drawing all over the bare skin you exposed today. “You’re fun, aren’t you? How many tattoo’s do you have?” 

“I got a few when I’d been drinking honestly, my friends know this guy who does them underground, yanno, so I have to have at least–”

“So cool,” she said without letting you finish, “I love tattoo’s, but I have to keep them hidden.”

“How come?” you asked, watching as she hung up the emerald dress and pulled out a few others, giving you glances over her shoulder.

“Broadway,” she said with utter nonchalance. “But, my boyfriend and I, we both have a matching one on our– Oh my god,” she sighed, turning toward you, grabbing your wrists, “I’m so sorry, by the way, for implying that Yunho’s your boyfriend.”

Giggling, you shook your head. “Don’t worry about it, I know how it looks, it’s really–”

“I’m sorry, though,” she said with a pout, “I have chronic foot in mouth disease, it’s severe, just ask Ki, or don’t, I don’t need this getting worse. I’m not good at this. I have a lot of guy friends.”

Shifting your hands around, grabbing onto hers that held onto you, you comforted her with a smile and shook your head. “So do I, I understand.”

“Hey, Glucose!” Ki shouted from across the store, waving her hand in the air, her bracelets jingling. 

Yunho picked his head up from where he rifled through suit jackets, almost shrieking within a laugh, “Glucose!”

Riley let go of you and gave you a gentle push on your back. By the time you made it to Ki she had already sent Yunho back into his silenced role, giving you the tiniest of smiles as you were subdued to more dresses being held up in front of you. Shooting him a wink, one he made a face of disgust at, you giggled, and Ki paused.

“He’s something, huh?” she asked, tearing her eyes from yours when you looked at her. The black dress she held had lace on the bodice, like her tank, and it was tight fitted, all the way to the bottom. “You might not be able to move in this, but I like black for you, what do you think?”

“I love black, sure.”

Pulling at the fabric, her eyes on the dress she held up, she muttered, “I meant Yunho.” Ki met your eyes with a glimmer in hers. “I got the story, y/n. He actually wouldn’t shut up. Whenever I see him at work, I get updates about you, instead of himself. When he asked me to come here he sounded so… worried. I thought, how can this girl have this boy who’s like chronically relaxed in this much of a fucking tizzy?”

“Oh,” you breathed, half following. She hung up the tight dress and pulled out another, one dark blue and Cinderella-esque. You both crunched your noses before she could even bring it in front of you. “How about that one?” Pointing to a black dress with long sleeves, she listened and held it up.

Tilting her head to the side, her striking eyes drinking in your form, she continued quietly, “Hope it’s okay I brought Riley, I didn’t want to be third wheel. Plus, I haven’t spent time with her in a bit. I like this one– Yunho!” He scurried over to her side, accepting the dress she tossed him. “Trying this one on,” she said and waved him off, “Shoo.”

Flashing you a smile, his face telling you he was just happy to be here, he returned to where he came from.

“You spend a lot of time at work, right?” Following her, like a shadow, you eyed her tattooed fingers as they grazed over satins and velvets before snatching one. “Yunho says you’re like… Really important.”

Her lips perked up. Holding up a velvet grey a-line, it didn’t make it two inches in front of you before she swapped it for a strapless black satin floor length thing. “I guess I am. He’s sweet,” she took a breath, “But, yeah, I spend a lot of time at work, I travel a shit ton, and Ri lives here in the city. I do too, but…”

“But?” you questioned, and she shrugged it off.

“A story for another time,” she smiled. 

“Uh, Riley told me she has a boyfriend, are you, uh, seeing anyone?”

She gave you a look over her shoulder. “Why, interested?”

Bushing, you pushed a breath through your lips and stepped in a tiny circle. “You’re gorgeous, but no,” you laughed, “I’m into someone else.” She glanced at Yunho, and you rolled your eyes. “No, he’s… just a friend.”

“Does he know that?” she asked, flicking through the dresses. 

“Yes,” you said definitively, brows going awry.

Ki nodded, slowly, pulling out a black gown she didn’t bother to hold up in front of you. “Yunho!” Like clockwork, he appeared, with several more dresses in tow.

“Who gave you these?” Ki asked.

Yunho blinked. “Riley.”

Taking in the dresses of various colors and lengths, Ki mumbled, “Damn thespian.”

“We need options!” Riley shouted across the store.

“She heard you,” you laughed, and Ki smirked.

“Quiet isn’t my specialty.” She tossed the dress over Yunho’s arms, and as he disappeared she asked, “Who are we into, Miss Sugar? If it’s not that hunk of alt sweetness the girlies eat up at the label.”

The girlies. Turning to find where he disappeared to, you found him at Riley’s side, the girl shorter than you, craning her neck back to look up at him. Her smile, soft, but her giggle, loud. Ki followed your line of sight and scoffed.

“He’s too tall for her, trust me,” she muttered, lower this time, “Plus, she’s like, locked in with her man. Trust me.”

“Is she?” you asked within a whisper.

Ki gave you a look, raising a brow. “Quiet isn’t her specialty. They’re crazy theatre kids, they’re… gross. One time I saw them–”

“And what about you?”

She rolled her eyes, enormously long. The breath she let out was just as long. “Don’t worry about me. You don’t wanna hear what it’s like being caught between two guys, one perfect for you, who knows everything about you, your secrets, your shadows, but then the other is capable of satiating a hunger you didn’t know you had.”

“What happened? After… the… satiating. I assume he wasn’t good for you?”

Ki held up a dress and pursed her lips. Shifting from the dress to your face, she released a breath and shrugged. “I was still hungry.” This dress she held onto herself. “Listen, he didn’t put me up to this, but I know about this other guy you’re into. Take it from me, as someone who’s been involved with a colleague. You have this fucking amazing guy right here,” she said, gesturing behind her toward Yunho who trailed behind Riley like a puppy. You almost spoke, but she cut you off. “I know, you’re friends. But, let him be an example. Of the types of guys you should be looking for.”

“Damn,” you uttered, lowering your chin with a snicker.

Ki furrowed her brows. “What?”

Giving her a look, you shook your head. “He didn’t update you about what happened today, I guess. You don’t have to give me the speech, I’m not Hongjoong’s biggest fan anymore. I know it’s been his obsession to rid me of him, I’m sorry he pulled you into this, but I’m good. Thanks for coming to help me, but I don’t need a pep talk.”

She tried to stop you, but you pushed past her, towards the fitting rooms. Holding a hand in the air to signal Yunho, she pointed at the back of you and shrugged. “I dunno what I did, that’s all you.”

Ignoring the worker who asked you if you needed any help, you stepped into a fitting room empty handed and let the door swing shut, pressing your back against the wall. Tears brimming your eyes, you took a shaky breath and released it all at once.

Everything cycled through your head, memories flashing all at once, from Hongjoong’s almost invitation to the gala, to the night Yunho pushed him, to yesterday when Yunho had you on the corner questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship.

Why were you questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship? You never have before, this wasn’t normal. He was Yunho, your best friend Yunho.

Comfort is all that it is. Familiarity. 

You’ve just perhaps reached a point in your friendship where you care too deeply, because you know so much, because you’ve spent all this time with him, and now that it’s at a point where the lines seem to be starting to blur because you’re going to have to pretend to date him, it’s confusing.

That’s what it is. You couldn’t think that again if you tried. You wouldn’t even be able to say those words out loud. Did it make sense? You shouldn’t be spiraling about this, you should be spiraling about the fact that Hongjoong made some serious threats to you today, if you could even call them threats. You didn’t want to call it what it was, but Seonghwa sure did, and he had no shame in doing so.

Work tomorrow should be a blast, if he’s even there. The gala is right around the corner, would he even be allowed to attend after this? Groaning through a cry, you tipped your chin back and shook your head. Of course he’d still be allowed to attend, these men got away with everything. He’d be able to do what he said he’d do and he wouldn’t–

“Shug?” Three gentle taps to the fitting room door.

“I need a minute,” you steadied your voice as best as you could.

“I have your dresses,” he said softly. “Wanna try them on while you take your minute?”

Reaching for the door handle, you pulled it open and met his eyes, taking the pile from him. “Thanks,” you sniffled.

He frowned. “You okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

“No,” he whispered. “What happened?”

Hardening your glare, you mumbled, “Go talk to Riley.”

He blinked, confused. “What?”

“Or Ki, maybe that’s better,” you huffed, “She seems to know so much already, go tell her some more.”

You threw the door shut, but he caught it. “Hang on, what are you talking about?”

“Leave me alone,” you said, hanging the dresses up. Pushing on the door to push him out, it was silly of you to forget he was much, much stronger than you. Bumping the handle as he fumbled his way in, there was an audible click as the door slammed shut and his back pressed to it. The already small room grew smaller. Two bodies and a stack of at least thirteen dresses in one tiny New York space, one of those bodies over six feet tall. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into him. “I have to try these on, get out of here,” you muttered.

His jaw tensed. Staring at you for all of three seconds, he took a deep breath and spun around, facing the door, away from you. 

“Yunho–”

“Someone’s gotta zipper you.”

Sighing, losing this fight, you said, “Don’t turn around.”

“You already know I wouldn’t do that.”

Even this felt weird, and it shouldn’t. You’ve changed in front of him before, you’ve been half naked and drunk in front of each other, you’ve seen him in his boxers, he’s seen you in a bathing suit, this shouldn’t be so vulnerable, so… intimate. 

Ki implied, several times, that Yunho, quite possibly, maybe, cared about you too much. Maybe in a sense that you haven’t been able to pick up on until now. Pulling your shirt over your head, you tossed it over his shoulder, smiling at the inaudible laugh he heaved. Even though yesterday on the street, where he said some things you never imagined would ever leave his lips, when he pulled away, he acted as though it was for the gala. That you guys were practicing. Come to find out Hongjoong had seen you. Hongjoong had seen you.

Slipping out of your shorts, kicking off your shoes, you tossed the denim over his other shoulder. “Yunho?”

“Yeah?”

You took a blue dress off a hanger and stepped into it. “Yesterday,” you started, shimmying the tight fabric over your hips, slinging the spaghetti straps over your shoulders, “Did you see Hongjoong?”

His head tilted to the side, reluctantly asking, “When?”

“Zip me?”

He turned, and his eyes softened at the sight of you in the mirror. The bodice hugged your chest, blue satin cascading down your form to the floor so that you could so wear those silver heels with this. The fabric was bound over your middle, in three ripples slipping over your right hip and around the back like a waterfall. 

“Wow,” he breathed before snapping out of it, tearing his eyes off of your curves and onto the zipper at the middle of your back. Sliding it up, careful to not let his fingers graze your skin, he stepped back against the door and waited for your consensus.

Gliding your hands over the satin, over the chest, you pouted your lips and shook your head. “I like this,” you said, taking your hands to your hips. Yunho’s eyes followed. “But, I don’t like this,” you said, grabbing fistfuls of your tits. Yunho’s eyes followed.

“I do,” he whispered without thinking. Meeting his glare in the mirror, shock evident on both of your faces, you let out a laugh, and he let out a groan. “Oh my god?” Rolling his eyes at himself, he vigorously shook his head and reached for the zipper, freeing you before he spun around and banged his head against the door. He snatched your clothes off of his shoulders and hung them over the door, huffing to himself.

“It’s okay,” you said, sliding the dress off, opting for a black one Ki had set aside. “Practice, right?”

Yunho hung his head, shaking it like he had. “That wasn’t cool, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you whispered, stepping into the lace. 

“You look pretty today,” he whispered. “You always do. When I got to your apartment, and I watched you put this lipstick on, I just,” he shook his head, “Couldn’t not think about… it.”

Sliding it up your body, this one strapless, you held it tight to your chest and felt along your back that the zipper laid right over the curve of your ass. Glancing behind you in the mirror at his broad shoulders, wider than you, you took a second to admire how much larger than you he actually was. Gentle giant. 

Ki met your eyes with a glimmer in hers. “I got the story, y/n. He actually wouldn’t shut up. Whenever I see him at work, I get updates about you, instead of himself. When he asked me to come here he sounded so… worried. I thought, how can this girl have this boy who’s like chronically relaxed in this much of a fucking tizzy?”

Except when it came to you.

“I do not want him to abduct me,” you spat. “Yunho pushed him.”

The boys gasped, both turning to Yunho at once. San smiled, Jongho tilted his head, disappointed.

Yunho held up both hands, feigning innocence. Fluttering his eyes shut, his long lashes splaying over his cheekbones, he said calmly, “He said some fucked up shit, okay? He got in my face, I was drunk, I couldn’t not do it. Mr. Big Dick, I don’t care who you are, you’re in my face, you’re talking shit to my girl, I’m gonna do something.”

“Yunho,” you whispered, and he turned, his cheeks growing pink. “Zip me?”

Eyeing you in the mirror, how the lace clung to you, contouring your curves where the satin accentuated your form. Laying on top of you like it was a part of you, it hung from your thighs to the floor, the fabric free for you to move about, to dance, to walk comfortably. The chest, corset like, heartshaped and detailed with lace, it held you perfectly, every part of you. He couldn’t help himself. He stared.

You watched him have to manually tell himself to stop, to focus on what you asked him to do, but when he saw where the zipper laid, he lost it again. Eyes blinking a million times, he took a step closer to you, careful to not stand on the puddle the lace left around your feet. He blushed with color, his cheeks to his ears, as pink as can be, his hands acting just the same.

A little nervous, if you had to describe it. His fingers brushed over your skin, the small of your back, and you shuddered, goosebumps erupting over your skin. “Sorry,” he whispered, pulling back abruptly, not looking up at you in the glass.

“S’okay,” you whispered with a gentle nod. “Your fingers are cold.”

He shook his head once, squinting at the dress. “I-I think I have to… pull it up from the inside. I can get Ki–” “No,” you sighed, stopping him from stepping away from you. “You do it,” you said, your gazes eating one another up. You forced through your lips, “Practice, right?”

His miniscule shift in expression made your heart swell. The slight tweak of his brows, the plumping of his lips, the flutter of his lashes, all too tiny to be made out to be something, but you knew him.

Standing closer to you, your back nearly pressed to his front, he took in a breath and held it, taking the zipper between his fingers. Using his other hand to pinch the bottom, he slowly pulled up, his middle knuckle gliding up your spine, the act so gentle, so improbably erotic that you cursed yourself for how your breath hitched in your throat and the bottom of your belly clenched. It didn’t help that he stood close enough that the warm air that slipped through his parted lips grazed over your skin, your bare shoulders, your bare back. Radiating heat, his own breath uneven, once the zipper reached its peak, he paused. 

Neither of you moved. He gazed down at the dress, and you blazed a fire in his eyes through the mirror he refused to look at you through.

“Coulda sworn he spent the night putting you through the mattress, at least from what I saw,” Hongjoong snickered, averting his eyes to behind the desk.

You wondered if he could feel it. The tension disgustingly thick you could cut it with a knife. His large, strong hands, what would they feel like if he slid them down your hips in this lace? His lips, parted and dousing your skin in goosebumps with the hot air he exuded, what would it feel like if he dropped a bit lower and pressed them to your skin, the valley of your neck, the expanse of your exposed chest? Heat swelled in your belly, dropping lower, your thighs aching to squeeze together, but you wouldn’t. Not now. Now you were aware.

“Yunho,” you whispered desperately.

“I did see him,” he uttered quietly, finally meeting your gaze in the mirror. You wanted to melt to the floor at the sight of how lust had overcome him and he actively fought back. “I did what I did so you wouldn’t see him. I’m not proud of it. Especially now with what he did to you.”

“Not proud of it, what do you…”

He sighed, standing up straight, keeping his eyes on yours. “I didn’t want to do what I did,” he shrugged. “You were already getting upset with me, I knew that if you saw him it would push you over the edge, so I had to distract you, and nothing I would normally do would work. So, I made something up.”

Dropping your hands to your side, you gaped and spun around. “Made something up?”

Huffing, he screwed his brows up. “You thought what I said was real?”

Taken aback, you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Uh, of course not, why the hell would you say something like that to me?”

Narrowing his eyes, he bobbed his head and poked his tongue in his cheek. “Right,” he muttered after a few seconds. “Right.” 

Spinning around, almost bumping you with his elbow, he turned the doorknob and yanked. It didn’t budge. Trying again, he yanked. He yanked, again. The walls shook.

“How do I unlock this,” he mumbled, messing with the knob every way he could think of. 

Sighing, you wedged yourself around him and tried to pull his hands off the gold, but he swatted at you. “Let me help,” you grumbled, “I don’t want you in here anymore.”

“I don’t want to be in here anymore,” he countered, tugging at your hands.

“Good, I want you to leave.”

“I want to leave.”

You threw the mindless bickers at one another for what felt like forever, until it got to the point of tears. Yours.

“You’ve been no help, I can’t believe San and Jongho came up with this, this is so stupid!”

“Stupid?” Yunho pressed a hand to his chest. “You said it yourself, I’m the one you want to do this with! Ki!” He banged a fist on the door. “This wasn’t supposed to turn into this, Shug, we were just supposed to go to the stupid gala.”

“Don’t call me that,” you huffed, reaching behind you for the zipper of your dress to free yourself. “You’re done calling me that.”

Groaning, he swatted at your hands. “Let me do it, you’ll rip it.”

“No,” you shouted, swinging your body away from him, tugging at the lace, “I got it. I’ll do it alone, like I’ll do the gala alone!”

“You’re not doing the gala alone,” he said, in a fistfight with your fingers. Let… go!”

“Hands off of me, Yunho.”

“You’re going to tear it, you like this one, this is it, don’t tear it!”

Fighting back, clawing at the fabric, you finally kicked a foot back against his knees and sent him stumbling backward, but the space was too tiny so he fell into you, and before he could catch himself, you were twisted sideways, and the lace tore down your back in one long, loud rip. Hands trapped behind you where your back pressed to the wall, you gasped and froze. Yunho hung over you, both of his hands pressed to the wall above you, his body hovering on top of you.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“Why the fuck would you kick me?”

Glaring up at him, your noses almost touching, you sneered, “Why the fuck would you keep trying when I told you to leave?”

“I can’t leave, the door’s locked!”

“Fuck this,” you said, reaching up for handfuls of his shirt. Pushing off of the wall, taking him with you, your dress slipped down as you pressed him to the opposite wall. “You are going to climb out of here, either under or over that door, I don’t care, just get–” The door swung open.

“Whoa!” Ki shouted, eyes wide, pulling the door shut in a hurry. 

“No!” You and Yunho both shouted, and her face went crazy.

“I don’t wanna watch!”

Yunho glanced down at what this looked like, the way you gripped him and how your dress fell off your body. You had him pushed up a wall for fucks sake. Not to mention, if you had tried anything else with lace he’d find himself in a very awkward predicament. At least he could hide what it was for now.

“I’m done,” he said, reaching for your hands, making you release him. With one more look, he shook his head, and he left, not before murmuring to Ki, “Stay out here, that door locks from the inside, help her out.”

As soon as the door shut you sunk to the floor and let the tears spill.

Sipping your drink, the bubbles dancing over your tongue, you laid your head back on the cushion of the sofa you sat in front of. Jongho laid over a lounge chair, a beer can in his hand hanging off the edge, his legs over one armrest, his head over the other. Faint music played in the background, something off of his phone. You didn’t dare ask who made the playlist.

“It ripped,” you said with a flick of your hand, “It ripped right down the back, and I paid for it, because I ripped it, even though the woman says she’s not sure if she’ll be able to fix it.”

Jongho turned his head to give you a pout. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever, I guess,” you took a swig of your drink, “I’m not meant to be at this stupid thing anyway. I need to just call Yunho, tell him it’s off, and then let Seonghwa know I won’t be going.”

“Nooo,” he sang, shifting to lay on his side, tucking his knees into his massive chest. You frowned and he copied you. “I don’t want to go without you.”

“You’ll have San,” you muttered with a shrug, “You won’t miss me.”

“Yes, I will,” he whispered. Sharing a look with him, one that said a trillion things about leaving a friend behind at a work event where they’d need you because you get it, he said, “San won’t get my jokes.”

A smile graced your lips. “He’ll learn.”

“You can’t just break it off with Yunho and come without him?”

“There’s nothing to break off,” you said, voice growing stern, “We are friends, that is it. I don’t want to go to the gala, not anymore, not when I know Hongjoong will be there… And Wooyoung. I’m done with men.”

He sighed. “I get it.”

Screwing your face up, you shifted to your knees. “I mean, you should’ve seen his face, acting like I’m the one who messed this up, when he’s the one who said that shit to me. He’s the one who made me believe him, I totally thought that what he said was real. It felt real.”

Jongho marinated in silence, the gentle nods of his head encouraging you to go on.

“What do you take it as? ‘Cause I took that all as real,” you huffed, not giving him time to answer you. “You don’t say stuff like that, not to a friend. Especially not a guy friend to a girl friend, because that’s… that’s just…”

Crinkling his can in his hand, he shifted his lips to the side in thought. Eyes pointing from his beer, to you, he offered, “He made you feel something.”

“Yes,” you hissed without a second thought, “And that’s messed up.”

“Is it?”

Shooting him daggers, you shouted, “Yes!”

Jongho didn’t move. He didn’t even react. He simply asked, “Why?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you whispered, sitting back against the couch, planting a hand to your forehead. You downed the rest of your drink, your third of the night, and sat the empty can on his coffee table.

“Did he make you feel like Hongjoong makes you feel?” Jongho asked.

Rubbing your fingers over your bare eyes, your bare face, you shook your head. “No,” you answered honestly. 

“How’d he make you feel?”

Giving him a look, he laughed.

“Tell me,” he teased, “I won’t judge.”

Taking a long, deep breath, you folded your arms over your front, your cozy hoodie, and released the air with a heavy sigh, one gravely and rough, a groan of sorts. Looking away from him, whether out of embarrassment or bashfulness, you lifted your shoulders and teetered your head side to side. “I wanted him to keep going,” you said, shifting your eyes over to him to see if he reacted. He didn’t. “I wanted… to know what else he would say. I wanted him to finish his sentence, and tell me what he really wanted.”

“That’s not bad at all,” he said quietly, finishing his beer.

The music changed into a softer song, one from the nineties. You recognized it, Yunho’s played it before, a one hit wonder gone rogue, never heard from again. You thought about him and how his brain worked, how passionate he felt about music, the joy it brought him, how it changed his mood in a snap, the way he’s devoted so much of his life to the art. No limits, that’s what he’d say music made him feel, immortal, everlasting, whole.

The songs he would send you in the morning when he knew you had a long day ahead of you, or when he knew the day would be a hard day, they always worked. As if he could feel what you were feeling, the tunes he prescribed cured you, in every which way. He cared. Deeply. San and Jongho didn’t get the songs. You did. And you haven’t gotten one in over a week.

Shifting onto all fours you crawled over to Jongho and wiggled his phone out of his pocket. Swiping open to his music, ignoring the dirty message from San on his home screen, you typed a title into the search bar, and you tapped on it. Turning the volume up, the song crashed through the speakers, bright and excited and invigorating, like Yunho himself burst through the door and lit up the room. The first verse led you into a story, a love song in disguise, one unlike any other, hidden behind a facade of futuristic melodies. And then the chorus hit, and your heart swelled.

‘I’ll stop the world and melt with you… You’ve seen the difference, and it’s getting better all the time… There’s nothing you and I won’t do…’

Haunted by memories, becoming a cage for them to flutter about in, you curled around your knees you tucked into your chest and buried your face in your arms.

All of the nights he’s walked you home from Dante’s, all of the nights he’s stayed, falling asleep either on your couch or in your bed on top of the covers still in your clothes from the bar. The days he’d swing by the office to drop off a new album find he thought you’d like, or bring you a coffee, or offer to take you to lunch, or to grab you something on his way to the label. This entire week, how he’s blown off work, or called out, or told Jag he’s not coming in, so that he can take you around the city and shop for a god damn company gala he agreed to fake date you at just to make your work crush jealous.

The way he looked at you the very first time you stepped into the record store, in a distressed denim jacket over top a short black dress that hugged your thighs, one that matched the boots on your feet– Boots you’ve since retired because they cannot handle the lengths you have to walk through the city. His eyes, they lit up. Half slumped over the counter with his chin in his hands watching the tourists flit about the rows of records just to not buy anything, when he saw you, he knew his luck had changed.

It was when he used to load his lobes with earrings, one of the first things you noticed, how he didn’t care how insane he may look to others. After picking up The Runaways Queens of Noise cassette, you slid it across the counter, shoved your hands in your pockets, and told him, “You’re cool.” 

His slender knobby fingers grabbed the tape. Unable to take his eyes off of you, the style of your makeup, the grown out bright pink color at the tips of your hair, how confident you were in how you smiled at him. He stuttered, a lot, scanning the tape, typing something into the register, mumbling his thanks, and how he thought you looked pretty cool too… You laughed at him, you can remember laughing at him. With him. The sweetest, kindest, cutest New Yorker you’ve run into since your move.

Just before you stepped out onto the street, he called after you, “We’ve got new stuff coming in this weekend,” he gulped as you spun to smile at him, “We’re the only store that gets the good stuff, the real stuff, so… If you’re interested.” Any chance to see that face again.

“I’ll be here,” you’d smiled.

He’d given you a nod, some sort of relief washing over him. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

Leaping off of Jongho’s floor, tossing his phone onto his chest where he laid, you ran your hands through your hair and hurried for your shoes at the door. He sprung off the couch as you bustled about.

“What are you doing?”

Shaking your head, really fast, you slipped into your sandals and waved him away. “I have to go,” you sniffled. “I’ll call you later. Thanks for drinks.” Leaning into him to press a kiss to his cheek, you left him dumbfounded in his doorway.

“I’ll walk you, it’s late,” he shouted down his hallway.

Turning over your shoulder, you tried to smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Springing down three flights of stairs, you wiped your sleeves over your cheeks to dry them, and stepped out onto the street. Past nine o’clock, the New York nightlife bled onto the gravel, the stretches of concrete, balancing on curbs, weaving through cars, a favorite pastime of yours. And Yunho’s. Raw dogging the walk, no music, no phone checking, no one to talk to, you held your focus forward, your pace just as pointed, focused, brisk.

Cancel it all. The thought circled like a vulture in the hot summer sun. The gala, the fake dating, the crush on Hongjoong– Cancel it all. Get rid of it. None of this would happen, everything would go back to normal, and you wouldn’t be overthinking your feelings for Yunho. You already haven’t talked to him in three days, the dressing room incident having happened over seventy two hours ago. His hands touching you like you were the most delicate thing to exist. The way your bodies both reached for one another. How he told you everything he said wasn’t real.

“Not real my ass,” you muttered to yourself, stopping at a corner.

You crossed before the light turned, the tourists around you wide eyed and curious that a Do Not Cross didn’t stop you. They followed you, and you knew what they felt within them, the first time you darted across a street with the possibility of traffic incoming, little to nothing compared to that feeling. Doing everything for the first time in the city, the freedom, the anonymity, no limits, as if you were immortal, everlasting, whole. New York was your music.

‘The future’s open wide…’

Yunho was your music.

Summer air whipped through your hair, breezed over your skin, a type of fresh laced with a grunge you could taste, grit, determination, the opportunity to restart day after day, to become someone new, to step into who you were meant to be. Even alone on the street, strangers passed by, most you didn’t mind, they lived the life you envied, the life you came here to pursue, you had no fear. Somewhere he was here.

Yunho, a summer night on 32nd street, barreling up and down the sidewalks mouthing off, daring one another to go up to the karaoke bars, to flirt with the bartenders for free drinks, to climb the scaffolding and scream from the top of your lungs, just to fall into one another in fits of laughter before plopping down on a curb on the corner of 33rd and 5th Avenue to admire the Empire State Building. Dozing off on his shoulder as the liquor and rumble of the streets sung you to sleep. Having wandered too far from home, faced with an hour's walk back to your apartment… He tucked you under his arm, kept you awake by making you guess the songs he would sing, and he got you both on the subway and home before you realized you had to be up for work in three hours. 

Faced with dirty looks from others as you pushed through a crowded street corner, you eyed the lights, the crosswalk, and the moment the lights changed and the cars stopped, you ran. Even after you hit the curb, you kept running, skipping sideways through groups of girls in tiny party dresses, rounding men with trash cans by the curbs, dodging doors that swung open onto the street. You ran until his building came into view.

Sucking down air like it was your job, you stepped into the vestibule and pressed 323. Pressing a hand over your heart that pounded, you waited. He didn’t answer.

“C’mon,” you gasped, pressing it again. It buzzed. You waited. He didn’t answer.

“Fuck,” you cursed, pulling your phone out. Swiping to his number, you tapped it, pressing your phone to your ear. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon… Pick up.”

“Your call has been forwarded to an automated–”

“Fuck!”

Leaning into the keypad, you pressed 323 eight times, quickly, before giving up with a groan. Kicking the wall, you staggered backward and sunk against the wall, staring at his apartment number like you’d be able to open it with your eyes. You tried his phone again, but he didn’t answer.

He should be home by now, he never stayed at the label this late. Unless he was making up for all the time he lost dealing with you, he never worked past eight, and usually got back by eight thirty. He could be with San, if you weren’t all out together, those two sometimes went out on their own, but it was Sunday.

About to tap his number again, or maybe Jongho, the inside door to the building pushed open, a woman in a knee length dress with curled hair holding it open for you. “Oh, here you go,” she said sweetly, her deep purple colored lips twisting into a smile. “I’ve seen you before.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, taking the door from her hands. Making sure it closed, you glared up the stairs and shook your head. “Six,” you spat. Go.

By floor three you were already winded. By floor five you propelled yourself up with your hands, slapping the concrete of the next step like it was your bitch. By floor six, you had to stop at the top and catch your breath. Several years in the city and the stairs were still your kryptonite. 

He better fucking be here.

Trudging down the hallway of concrete floor and old brown walls, you stopped in front of 323 and held up a fist, freezing before you could pound on it.

What were you going to say? Would you apologize? Would he apologize? Neither of you had anything to apologize for, this was… dumb. Did you think you would show up at his door and tell him… that you don’t know what you’re feeling? That you’re confused, that you think you might like him, that your feelings may be deeper than you thought, that you screwed up six years ago and friendzoned him and he was too sweet to act further? To take it further? Even though the way he pressed his thumb to your lips, the way he had his hands in your hair, your thoughts on the backburner, and his heart in your hands, your knees trembling–

“Shug?”

Your heart sunk to your knees, your stomach leapt up into your throat.

Whirling around, fist still in the air, you released a sigh. “Yunho.”

Wearing sweats, an unlikely outfit for him to be out and about in, accessoryless with a baseball cap on his head, he carried a garment bag folded in half and another bag slung over his shoulder, his leather bag. “What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping in front of you to unlock his door.

Scrambling back to give him some space, you gaped, a fish out of water. “I-I was… I tried calling you, but I…”

“I left my phone here,” he muttered, pushing the door open. Looking at you over his shoulder, his face unreadable, he asked, “You coming in?”

Stepping over the threshold, following him onto the hardwood of his kitchen, you folded your hands over your belly and bit down on your tongue before blabbing, “I’m here to apologize.”

Setting the bags down on the kitchen table he and San share, he creased his forehead and moved to hang up his hat on the handle of a kitchen cabinet. Popping the fridge open, he eyed the shelves. “Apologize for what?”

“For…” You took a breath and spun in a little circle, almost catching your ankles together. “For–”

Facing him, he waited patiently, holding out a water bottle for you to take. Reaching for it tentatively, he shoved it into your palm. “You smell like alcohol.”

“I was at Jongho’s,” you muttered, all emotion leaving your face. He grabbed the back of his hoodie and pulled it over his head, his t-shirt lifting underneath, flashing you his middle. His toned, golden skinned middle. Averting your gaze, you faced away from him and sipped from the water. 

Dressed down, entirely bare aside from the cotton that hung off of him, your apparent new attraction grew tenfold. His shirt was huge, his sweats were huge, but they were tight. They were tight in the–

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Snapping your eyes to his, you widened yours and nodded. “Yes,” you breathed, then screwed your eyes shut, “I mean, no, no, I’m not.”

“How did you get here?” He moved around his kitchen, searching for snacks in the cabinet. He was going to try to feed you. Hurrying to his side, you closed the doors he opened, and he gave you a crazed look. 

“I ran,” you said.

He froze. Hands in the air hovering in front of a handle, he laughed aloud once, then turned to press his backside to the counters. “You ran,” he parroted, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps rippled under the loose sleeves. The veins on his forearms, they ran through his elbow to his fingertips. His fingers, they… “Shug.”

“Yeah,” you sighed breathlessly, fluttering your lashes as you looked up at him.

His brown eyes narrowed. “What is up?” Whether your movements were liquor fueled or entirely not your own, you reached for his arms, smoothing your hands over his skin. Face faltering, his eyes shot open as you stepped in front of him, your knees parting around his where they stuck out. “You’re drunk,” he said.

“I’m really not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Then catch up,” you whispered, pressing your fingertips into his skin.

“What are you here for?”

You glanced at the fridge. “Have a drink first.”

Groaning, getting nowhere with you, he gently moved you out of the way and scoured his fridge for a beer while you rifled through the cabinet over the sink and pulled down a bottle of vodka.

“Oh no,” he snickered, “I don’t think so. Put it back.”

Giving him a small smile, you acquired two shot glasses from their resting place. Placing the bottle and the glasses on the counter with a rattle of the glass, you poured out two and knocked one back. “You tell the truth when you’re drinking,” you cringed, nudging his shot closer to him.

The confusion that lived in his eyes since he came up the stairs somewhat subsided, but was still present. Downing half of his beer at once, typical male, he reached for the shotglass with his other hand and shook his head before taking it. Smacking it to the counter top with a groan and a gasp, he said, “I’m gonna hate you tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe,” you said, small and quiet.

“What is going on?” He finished his beer and crunched the can in one hand, throwing it into the kitchen sink with a clang. Pouring two more shots, you held up the glass for him to clink his with yours, and you took them at the same time. “Fuck,” he sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Coughing once, you managed, “We’re not going to the gala.”

Eyes shooting open, he cocked his head aside and he poured two more shots. “You’re not serious, we’re good, so what, we argued, we’ve done that before, we’ll–”

“Not like that,” you said, and he frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Clinking your glasses, you both took your third shot and exclaimed aloud. Swallowing thickly, you pointed at him, leaning over the counter he stood on the opposite of. “We’ve never argued… like that.”

Yunho shrugged, pointing his eyes at the glasses. “Whatever.”

Slamming a hand to the counter, you laughed. “That’s all you have to say? Whatever? You’re agreeing with me.”

“Am not,” he spat, giving you a crazed look. “You were bugging out over what happened with that fuckass asshole, and you decided to take it all out on me!”

Scoffing, laughing, maybe both at once, you sprung up and held out your hands. “Would you like me to tell you I wasn’t even thinking about him at all?”

Yunho sneered, “Bullshit, you’re always thinking about him. Him and that god awful attitude, cocky son of a bitch–”

“I was thinking about you,” you shouted, pouring two more shots.

Yunho pushed off the counter and gripped his chin, pulling at his lips. Parading around the kitchen with one hand on his hip. “He’s horrible, he’s horrible, and the shit that he says, and the way he says it, like it’s okay. He talks to all women like that, not just you, but it’s worse because it is you, and I–”

“Yunho,” you raised your voice, moving around the counter to grab onto his arms again, shaking him. “Did you hear me?”

Shaking his head, still lost in his thoughts, he tensed his jaw. “I didn’t, I’m so angry, he pisses me the fuck off.”

“Don’t let him,” you said softly, dragging your hands over his biceps, his forearms, his hands. “He’s not worth it.”

His ragged sigh washed over you. “He’s not, but fuck, he really gets under your skin, how did you put up with him for so long, I just…”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, answering him between his rambles, “But, I’m done. I’m over it.” Your fingers tangled with his briefly, his distracted mind subconsciously grabbing onto them, letting you do whatever it is you wanted to do to him in this moment.

“He needs to be fired, he needs to be reported and fired…”

“Seonghwa’s taking care of it, I don’t think he’ll get fired.” Sliding your hands from his arms to his middle, you step closer to him and drug them under his shirt, your fingertips finally grazing his middle, his core, his toned belly. He didn’t even realize, he just let you.

“Even if he doesn’t, there needs to be something done with the CEO’s or something, shit, I don’t even know what they’re even called, I don’t know how this shit works, I just know it’s fucked up, and you’ve been subjected to it for so long…”

Placing your palms over his belly, your breath hitching in your chest as you gazed up at him while you felt him, how his chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, how his abs clenched with every bite of a word, your blood ran red hot. His lips, moving a mile a minute, you don’t remember when you stopped listening, you wanted to listen, but all you could think about was how they felt, what they’d feel like on yours, wrapped around your…

“Shug.” His voice was quiet.

Looking up at him, how close the two of you had gotten, how he had backed up against the kitchen cabinets, how you were pressing yourself to him. Your hands got greedy, you were gripping him with a vengeance, feeling him up from his belly to his chest, your fingers were peeking out of the neck of his shirt. “Yunho,” you whispered, shameless.

Blinking heavily in the dim light of his kitchen, he dropped his chin, your noses millimeters apart. “Did you say… You’re over it?”

Both hands slid over his chest and up to his shoulders, pressing your thumbs into the muscles. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you took a breath in time with him and nodded, slowly, whispering, “I did.”

A curse pushed through his lips, one you couldn’t make out in the slur of the liquor. “What are you thinking about right now?”

You dropped your hands lower, your fingertips grazing his nipples on purpose before you gripped his belly. Proud of how he hissed and flinched, you smiled. “You,” you said, blinking up at him. “What you said to me, and how you said it… How it made me feel.”

Breathless, he sighed, “How did it make you feel?”

“Like,” you gulped, using all liquid courage to make these words work, “Like, I wanted… Wanted you to…”

“Fuck,” he whispered, then seemed to remember what he had done, what he said, what he made you feel, what he so obviously realized that he made you feel. Taking his hands to your chin, thumbs pressing into your cheeks, he tipped your head back and lowered his. Eyes burning into yours, his voice rumbled so low you could feel him in your core. “Words. Big girl, remember?” 

“Take me,” you whispered, and he held back a smirk. “Take me, show me, do it to me, touch me, fuck me.” His lips parted with a sigh, his brows pinching in the center. “Do what he can’t, what he’ll never get the chance to do, love me.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his vodka laced breath grew uneven. “Hang on.. W-Wait…”

“Yunho,” you whined, and his eyes shot open. “I don’t care about what you’re gonna tell me, about how this s’gonna ruin something, it’s not gonna happen. I hate knowing there’s girls looking at you.”

“Girls looking at me,” he said an inside thought out loud.

“Ki told me,” you grumbled, sliding your hands around his back, leaning on his chest, “The girlies at the label love you.”

He squinted. “What girlies?”

“I dunno,” you said, loud, making him jump, “Maybe it’s Ki and Riley, I dunno, Yunho, do you hear me? I’m over this Hongjoong thing, I just told you to fuck me, and you’re standing here talking to me–”

His strong hands tipped you further back, his frame caging you in against his chest. Tilting his head, he curled his lip with a curse before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss burning hot, a mess of teeth, a mess of tongues, nothing perfect, just a total hot, wet mess. Gasping for air whenever your lips parted, you took your hands out of his shirt and threw them around his neck, lifting your knees to climb onto him. Grunting through clenched teeth as he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you higher, he groaned as your fingers knitted through his hair, giving him the gentlest tug.

“You can pull harder than that,” he muttered, and you smiled within the kiss. 

“Jeong Yunho,” you teased, head tilting as his lips trailed down the side of your neck. He took two steps forward and sat you down on the counter beside the vodka. Tugging again, harder, he groaned, a sound trapped within his chest. “This s’gon be fun,” you breathed.

Tongue lobbing out to lick stripes under your jaw, he nipped the skin of your neck and hummed, the noise vibrating through you. “Wha’s that,” he slurred, his hands gripping the curve of your waist, shamelessly sliding over your ass to squeeze.

“Figuring out what you like… What we like… Together.”

Connecting his lips with yours, he hummed here, smushing your noses together as he mumbled, “Let me do it.”

“Hm,” you hummed back, dipping your tongue out to swipe over his lips. Nipping at it with his teeth, his heavy eyes drank in your lips, already swollen and pink. 

“Let me do it,” he whispered, knees buckling as he tried to kiss you. Holding him by his hair, Yunho entirely leaned over you, his eyes drunk on you, his body drunk on the liquor, he licked his lips and shook his head. “You won’t have to do a thing,” his lower register struck through you, you needed your sweats off, now. “You won’t have to move, you won’t have to think.” Your lips parted and your eyes softened, and he smirked. “Let me do it.”

“Shit,” you hushed, grabbing onto his shirt, yanking it over his head. “Please.” He did the same with your hoodie, pulling it off of you, pleased to find nothing beneath it. He didn’t miss a second. Kissing down your neck, his tongue teasing you in all the right places, he slid his hands down your thighs and pressed them open. Afraid that you soaked through the cotton, your suspicions became true when he grinned up at you. Pulling your legs closed, he forced them back open.

“Don’t,” he whispered, kissing up the valley between your tits, wrapping his lip around your nipple, sucking at it harshly. The first moan fell from your lips, and he nearly crumbled. Fingers digging into your thighs, he muttered, “So fucking perfect.”

Tugging at his hair, the strands a complete tangle now that you’ve mussed them up, your head dropped back with another cry as he kissed the other, using his fingers to tease the perky bud he left a slick mess. “Yunho–”

“God, so perfect,” he groaned, grabbing handfuls of your tits as he stood up to press an open mouthed kiss to your lips, tongues in a tangle, whines intertwining. “Wanna play with you forever.”

“Please, please–”

“Please, what?” Against your lips, he snickered, quietly, proud of what he’s done to you already. 

“Touch me,” you whispered, sucking in a gasp as he slid his hands higher on your thighs, up to the curve of your hips, into the dips. 

His smile against your lips made your breath shake. “Can I?”

“Yunho,” you whined, trying to grind onto him, but he stood an inch too far. 

Glancing between you, he huffed a laugh. “Did I really work you up like this?”

Pulling at his hair, tugging him closer, your noses touched as you muttered, “I wanted you to dick me down on 7th Avenue, asshole.”

“Damn,” he pulled his brows together, “Really?” Rolling your eyes, he snickered. “There’s my girl.” You clenched around nothing, your jaw dropping open with a gasp. He dipped his thumbs over your clothed, wet, center. “Oh, that’s what you like, huh?” Writhing as his thumbs pressed into you, your moan made him pout. “Oh, babe,” he cooed, dragging them up and down, slowly, on purpose. “Feel good?”

Your fingers loosened in his hair. Limbs growing gooey, you smiled something ditzy and let your eyes close. “So good,” you whispered.

His lips ghosted your cheek, his nose pressing there instead. Rocking with you, he said, “I’m barely touching you. My girl’s needy, huh? Kept you waiting so long.”

“Why did you?” Breath irregular, you peeked at him and whined as he grazed over your sweet spot. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Touching the tip of his nose to yours, he gave you a gentle kiss, one that lingered, and whispered, “I was scared.”

“Don’t be,” you shook your head, feeling his thumbs still. The look in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before, one he’s kept hidden for too long, and you his mirror. 

He took a hand to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I still am.”

“Let me prove this to you,” you whispered, “That this is real.” Squishing his cheeks in your hands, you kissed him and he laughed. “Let me do what you said you want me to do, let me–”

“No,” he said quickly, standing up straight, still taller than you even with you sitting on the countertop. “You have nothing to prove, nothing you owe, no task to fulfill. I had guy brain, and you don’t deserve guy brain.” Drinking in every word, you bobbed your head. “You really want me?”

Whispering, you smiled, “Since I met you.”

“Since you… Fuck, Shug,” he tried to push away from you, but you pulled him back in, engulfing his lips in a kiss, grabbing onto his shoulders, climbing on top of him. Clinging to his front, the feel of him holding you, carrying you, so secure, you wanted him to fall to the floor and let you defile him as you pleased, but he didn’t stay in the kitchen. Lips locked, he bumped into the skinny walls of the apartment as he stumbled into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. 

The idea that San could come home at any minute didn’t come to either of you, you left your shirts on the kitchen floor.

Splaying you onto his mattress, climbing over you, he gripped the waist of your sweats and pulled them off, doing the same with his own, wasting little to no time. Mouths working overtime, stifled moans swapped with the spit, he cradled the back of your knees and pushed your thighs against your chest. Parting from you, lips smacking, you caught your breath as he sat back and gazed down at you spread open for him. Shaking his head, taking in how your chest heaved, how your hair was thrown so sexily, so messy, how you glistened for him, all for him. 

He did this to you, made you a panting, sweaty, whiney mess. You were in his bed, naked in his bed, he kissed you, he touched you, he was about to… Fuck. Looking between you, at how he sucked down hungry air, how he gazed at your body in disbelief, how your legs were spread, how his heavy, leaking cock would not be able to fit inside of you…

“Yunho,” you whispered, or gasped, it sounded the same.

He gulped and gave you a shake of his head. “Trust me?”

“You’re so big,” you said without a second thought, and he held in his smile. “What the fuck, you… You’ve just been hiding this?”

“Would’ve let you see it if you asked me nicely,” he teased before his eyes narrowed slightly and he focused on your expression. “Trust me?”

Letting your head fall back on the mattress, you whispered, “Always.”

Bending in half, keeping his knees under your legs, he settled on top of you, soothing your racing heart with a soft kiss to your chest before he trailed up your neck to kiss your lips. His fingers smoothed down your belly and slipped between your legs, the first real feel of him touching you, teasing your clit, twisting his fingers in long, gentle circles to work you up, though it felt like he did this for his own enjoyment. 

Smiling as he felt your lips part and your arms wrap around his back, he pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, groaning with you as you moaned for him with little to no regard for the neighbors. Vulnerable, sensitive, intimate, he thinks he could live right here forever and devote the rest of his life to bringing you pleasure. He grew harder, if that were possible, he thinks he’ll finish untouched, until you finally beg.

“Wanna feel you, wan’ you inside,” you pushed out through gusts of breath, “Please, Yunho, need you, need you.”

“Sound so pretty,” he mumbled through kisses to your skin, “Gotta help me, baby, okay?”

Your whine echoed through his room as you cried, “Okay.” Brows twisting, body burning, you arched off his bed as he slid two long, slender, curved fingers inside of you. 

“Damn, Shug,” he said through his teeth, scissoring his fingers as he slid them out of you before he pushed them back in. “Tight little thing, you gonna take all of me?”

“Yes,” you cried, melting into his touch, the slip of his fingers.

“Don’t be an overachiever,” he cooed, nudging your nose with his, the tips of your lips brushing together.

Jaw clenching, you stilled your breath, choked back a moan as he pressed his fingers up, finding that spot with ease, and managed to say, “I could go fuck Hongjoong instead.”

Yunho saw red. You broke out into a grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Pulling his fingers out of you, he grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them over your head. Connecting his hips with yours, his cock slipping through your arousal, over your clit, he laughed as you whined, and he held you tighter, your legs, your body, folded in half.

“You’d think I’d see this coming,” he groveled, pressing his nose to your cheek. Angling his hips so his tip caught your entrance, he bared his teeth and spat, “My girl’s a brat.” The pressure between your hips grew as he pushed himself into you, inch by inch, slowly, lips parting as you sucked him in, both of you. “You want him?” His voice shook, his stomach tensed, his grip on your wrists grew even tighter.

Through a breath, you cried, “Yunho,” back arching into his chest, arms and legs writhing in ecstasy, the shock subsiding leaving you completely and utterly cockdrunk. 

“Moanin’ my name, but telling me y’want him,” he snapped, testing the waters with a slow drag of his hips. Using one hand to hold both your wrists, he took the other between your legs, playing with you. “Who knew my girl was so messy, huh? You feel this?” The tip of his middle finger swirled over your clit, your body trembling. “So wet,” he whispered, grazing his lips over the shell of your ear, “Let me right in, baby, you don’t want him. You’re just a needy little cockslut who’ll say anything to get what she wants, huh?”

Pleasure shot through your middle. “H’my god,” you moaned as he moved again, each gentle thrust of his hips rendering you thoughtless. “Your mouth.”

“My mouth?” He thrust again, harder this time. You nodded and parted your lips to speak, but he slid his finger in, the one he touched you with, spreading your own sweetness over your tongue. “Talk about yours.” Lips wrapping around the digit, you sucked as he pushed it towards the back of your throat, seeing stars as he pushed into you, harder, getting faster as he felt you relax further.

“Saying his name,” he snapped, pulling his finger out with a pop to your dismay. You whined and he shook his head. “Bad girls don’t get what they want, do you hear yourself?” Both of his hands held onto your wrists again. Shifting over you, pressing down on your hands, propping himself up on his knees, lifting your hips in the debauched act, he smirked. “You’re mine.”

Insatiable, starved, entirely feral, he pistoled into you, your foreheads pressed together, your lips bumping with every other moan, every other smack of his hips against yours. 

“You’re mine,” he growled again, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, his breath rough and ragged. Enthralled with how you writhed, how you cried out his name, how no other word seemed to come to mind, he smiled wickedly, and you clenched around him. “Squeezin’ me already, you like to hear that? That you’re mine?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your lungs filling with air that didn’t seem to release, “Say it, say it.”

He let go of your hands and groaned, sliding them beneath your body, holding onto you. Burying his face in your neck, he latched his teeth to your skin as he rutted into you and moaned, “Mine. No one else can fucking touch you,” he pushed himself up to his elbows to kiss you messily, “I do have a claim on you, fuck anyone else who tries. You belong to me.”

Hands clasping around his back, your nails dug into his skin, scrambled pink lines drawing over the expanse of his golden skin. Your body, gleaming with a sheen that matched his, clung to him. So full, so complete, you didn’t want him to let go. You’d spend eternity getting rocked senseless by Jeong Yunho.

The press of his lips to your skin, the clench of your belly as he pushed himself inside you to the hilt, his hands clinging to you like you were the last strain of sanity in the world–

“I love you,” you whispered, feeling your throat tighten. Tears welled in your eyes as he picked up his head in shock, his eyes wide, his hips slowing. 

Mid-breath with parted lips, he brought his hands to your cheeks and held you.

“God, don’t stop,” you whined, half laughing as your tears spilled, “Keep going.”

Yunho, heart thundering in his chest, breath racking through his lungs, he shook his head and drug his thumbs under your eyes to wipe them clean. It took him eight seconds, but he whispered, “I love you too.”

Gazing up at him, trembling in ecstasy and through tears, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss him, hard and soft, all at once. Within it he groaned and grabbed onto you, wrapping himself around you, hitting that pace from before, hard and soft, all at once. 

Minutes passed, several sweaty, disgusting, erotic minutes of skin on skin, becoming a part of one another. His bed had shifted, it banged into the wall, the frames of old records already shaking from the noise alone. You were too wrapped up in one another to notice, to care, to give a shit. From mewls, to moans, to giggles, to filthy words, neither of you wanted this to end, but with an ending came a promise of again.

High pitched and entirely deranged, you cried out for him, your vision searing white hot, your body doused in him, clenching around his cock, shaking in his hold, giving him the most vulnerable part of you, allowing him to drive you here, to hold you through it, to talk you through it. His swift mumbles of, “Good girl, oh fuck… Feels so good, I know, did so good… I’m right here, right here– Fuck, where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you whispered, voice broken, only able to hold onto him, your nose pressed to his cheek. “Inside.”

The creak beneath you was obscene as he sped up, focused on his own high, spiraling you into overstim. Head going dizzy as he took you, and used you for what he wanted, what he needed, you moaned with him as he spilled into you, his teeth pressing into your shoulder as he came.

Everything went still, aside from the rise and fall of your chests. Everything went quiet, aside from the gentle noises slipping through your lips.

Lifting his head, his lids heavy, his lips swollen, he gazed down at your fucked out eyes and flushed cheeks and sighed. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, pushing hair from your face, planting a kiss to your cheek. Blinking up at him, you could only manage a small smile. “Was this your plan? When I found you at my door?” 

Shaking your head, you moved at a snail's pace, taking your hands to his cheeks, your body exhausted and trembling. “No,” you whispered, smoothing your thumbs under his lashes, “Just wanted the truth.”

Yunho pursed his lips, his brows curious under his messy hair. “The truth?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “You do love me.”

“I have since I met you,” he confessed, dragging the backs of his fingers along the edge of your jaw.

“I think I have, too,” you whispered. “I was just…”

Yunho shut his eyes for a second. “Scared.”

“Yeah, scared.”

He started to smile. “Are you still?”

“Not with you,” you whispered, “Never with you. Why do you think I had the balls to say it?”

Laughing, he shifted over you and your bodies parted. Admiring how your lips popped open at the feel, he smiled and pressed a kiss to your bottom lip. “I love you,” he said quietly, like someone would hear him, someone like you.

Cheeks going pink, you smiled. “I love you too.”

“Come shower with me,” he whispered against your dewy skin.

“You might have to carry me, you’re a wild animal.”

His smile pierced through your heart and stirred your belly, swimming in the leftover pleasure he’d brought you to mere minutes ago. “Anything for you, Shug.”

Crawling off of you, he helped you up and wrapped an arm around your back. Pulling open his door a crack, he peered out into the shared space and listened.

Swatting at his chest, you giggled, “You really think he came home?”

Shrugging, he shot you a sarcastic look, “Wouldn’t be able to hear him if he did, you’re really loud.”

“Yunho,” you gasped, bumping him with your hip.

“Look’s like your strength is back,” he teased, “Guess you can walk to the bathroom alone.” His grin grew as he slid his arm off of you, laughing as you grabbed onto him and clung to his side.

“Don’t be a jerk.”

Smoothing a hand over your hair, he hushed you and shook his head, “I’m sorry, I’m kidding, I’d never. C’mon.”

Taking you out toward the kitchen, the bathroom on San’s side of the apartment, you tiptoed over the hardwood, and you both paused.

Your hoodie and his shirt, they were folded neatly and placed on the counter beside the bottle of vodka that had been capped, the shot glasses arranged nicely next to it. 

“Uh, we didn’t do that, did we?” he asked, sharing a just as confused look with you.

Thinning your lips, you felt your cheeks flush of all color as you looked up at him. “Nope.”

“Ah, shit,” he grumbled, “Where’s my phone?”

Glancing around, letting yourself slip away from him, you searched for yours as well. Finding it on the other counter, again placed nicely, surprised he didn’t also plug it into a charger for you, you swiped it open and drafted a text to Seonghwa, one you sent with an apology for the late hour.

Yunho groaned from behind you, swiping his hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back. “Well,” he trailed off, stepping to your side, showing you his screen and his text from San.

UR BROTHER: jongho and i are going to dante’s, glad you idiots worked this shit out IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME… meet us here when you’re done, i want details, jongho doesn’t, please help me torture him… sounds like your doing a good job though!!! 

Your shoulders rose to eat your ears.

Yunho bent his knees and leaned into you, popping a kiss to your cheek. “Loud.”

“Stop!” Whining, you shoved him, and he staggered back with a laugh. 

“It’s hot,” he shrugged, reaching for you to pull you into the bathroom, “I like it that way. We gonna go get a drink?”

Leaning against the doorframe, watching him turn the hot water on, you admired his bare body and smirked. “If we’re sure that San’ll go home with Jongho.”

Whipping himself around, he took one stride toward you and looped his arms around your neck, pulling you into him. “He always goes home with Jongho, and you’re coming back here with me.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you smized. “You serious?”

He curled his lip and dropped his chin down to kiss you rough, whispering, “Deadly. Now get in here and let me see if I can make you cum in five minutes.”

“Yunho,” you laughed, having blushed more in your time with him this evening than ever in your life. He whisked you beneath the hot water and pushed you up against the wall, kissing you. 

Pulling his lips away, he pressed his forehead to yours and took a deep breath. “I don’t wanna go to the gala.” A smile pulled at the corners of your lips, growing until you almost doubled over in laughter. “Whaaat,” he whined, laughing with you, the sound contagious. 

Gripping his cheeks you shook him a bit. “Don’t worry about that, we’re not going. I just told Seonghwa.”

“Oh,” he sighed, relieved, “Okay, good, that’s okay?”

“More than okay,” you rolled your eyes, “I didn’t wanna go either.”

Pulling his lips to the side, he said, “I got your dress fixed.” Taking your wide eyes for an answer, he added, “I went back to the store to get it, San knows someone really good at this kind of stuff.”

“Who is she?”

“He. A drag queen in Greenwich.”

Huffing through a laugh, you shook your head. “You know sometimes they prefer it if you call them she.”

Yunho furrowed his brows. “His name was Brian.”

Tilting your head, you squinted. “Huh… Why are they all named Brian?”

“Don’t know…” His voice trailed off, leaving you both in thought until he dropped down to his knees and spread your thighs apart with his chin. Laughing at how you shrieked, he wiggled his way between them and kissed the inside of your hips.

Your fingers tangled with his hair. Laying your head on the wall, you laughed breathlessly, “Five minutes.”

He smirked and poked out his tongue. “Starting now.”

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

You had been living in this apartment for about five years, a quiet, comfortable little space. Just enough room for you, and maybe if you ever had a friend over. But you were content by yourself. The apartment next to you had remained empty since before you moved in, and you relished it. It almost felt like you had the whole floor to yourself.

You had your normal routine: wake up in the early hours, have a coffee, and listen to a podcast. Get ready for work and be gone for 8 hours, then come back, have a drink, and relax in your bed reading a book or watching a show. Then drift off to sleep. Oh, it was lovely.

Well, recently, sleep hasn’t really been coming so easily. It started with what sounded like shuffling in the apartment next to you. You assumed maybe the landlord was fixing up a paint job or checking appliances to make sure they were still functional. So you barely gave it a second thought.

Then voices. You heard multiple discussions through the walls; you couldn’t really pinpoint what exactly it was they were talking about, but they certainly were there. Then, there was the moving truck. A U-Haul, clear as day, was parked a few spots down from your own vehicle, locked up and ready to be unloaded. It was at this point that you connected the dots and realized you would be getting a new neighbor.

You were a bit annoyed at the idea, but it wasn't like that apartment would stay empty forever; they’d eventually have to rent it out at some point. You were sure you’d get some calm, quiet neighbors who would be sure to respect your quiet life and your privacy.

Wishful thinking, as they call it.

After a few days, the U-Haul eventually disappeared, so you assumed they had finally moved all their stuff in. As you thought, ascending the stairs after another grueling day of work, there lay a black welcome mat in front of the door, signifying that the space was now occupied.

You had yet to come face to face with this mystery neighbor, and frankly, you wouldn’t mind keeping that way. You liked your life the way it was, void of people, simple with a set routine. A new possible relationship might disturb that peace, so you never bothered to introduce yourself. Now you felt like it was coming back to bite you in the ass.

The first night they had moved in, it was rather quiet. Some shuffling, a couple of bangs on the wall from what you could only assume came from adjusting furniture and unboxing their belongings. You brushed it off, only slightly struggling to find sleep that night. Then it progressed.

The loud telltale sign of a buzzing razor, groups of people chatting loudly and yelling over what must have been movies, video games, or something of the sort. Blaring bassy music on subwoofer speakers and your least favorite, the moaning.

Every few nights, the incessant moaning of some girl on the other side of the paper-thin walls drove you mad. The banging headboard against the walls, the broken “oh!'s" and “please!” and “don’t stop!” The few nights that you got peace, you prayed that by some magical means the moon would stay perched in the sky longer than normal, only to be awoken by that loud music in the early mornings before you dragged yourself out of bed for work.

Your sleep schedule had been severely tampered with, your lack of peace had made it hard for you to find the motivation to get things done, and it had gone on for months since they moved in. There was one week when the moaning had finally stopped, and for a while, you finally had peace. Yes, the music was still loud and the crowds of people still droned on, but you could easily fall asleep to that compared to the girls. Whoever was living there must have taken a break from whoever they were seeing, and you almost slipped a thank-you note under their door along with a ball gag.

Of course, that peace was short-lived, and soon enough, there was another girl, a different voice this time, calling out into the late night. You had no idea how these girls could be so loud. To give credit, it didn’t really sound like they were faking it; nonetheless, it was still annoying, and you wanted to cry. Not only did it make sleeping beyond impossible, but you were also further reminded that you had been out of the dating scene for years, and it almost made you wish you had someone to make you feel so good that you would disturb your neighbors.

The thin line your patience was hanging onto was damn near ready to snap when you decided that the best way to go about this, to initiate minimal contact with your rude neighbor, was to be just as loud as they were, to give them a taste of their own medicine.

So, early on a Saturday morning, a day you didn’t have to be at work. You rose with the sun and decided to get some early morning cleaning done. You propped up your speaker right against the wall you shared with the stranger, connected it to your phone, and blasted your playlist so loud it reached every room in the space.

Gathering your cleaning supplies, you tidied up as loudly as you could, mopping your wood floors with vigor, scrubbing the walls with the occasional elbow bump, slamming your cabinet doors every time you put a dish away. It was a bit fun to be annoying.

You moved from the back of your apartment up towards the front, as now you were basically rearranging your living room, sweeping the dust bunnies from under the couch, and decided you didn't like your coffee table by the recliner anymore. Just loud and obnoxious. You had been at it for hours, and you were a bit at odds about how revenge was the only thing that motivated you enough to deep-clean your entire home. Oh well.

Maybe you took it a little too far, because as you were pushing your coffee table across the floor, the legs screeched across the ground like a broken violin. You heard a knock on your door. Loud, irritated, heavy. BANG. BANG. BANG.

You stopped pushing the table, your music continuing to blare around the house as you waited in hopes that whoever was there would walk away. But then the knock came again, louder this time, damn near shaking your door on its hinges.

You couldn’t really ignore it, so with an exasperated sigh, you rubbed your eyes and made your way over to the door, twisting the knob and yanking it open.

“Can I help… you?” The person at the door had their fist poised up like they were getting ready to knock again, and at this moment, you wished you were better with people than you were, because when you laid eyes on him, all your coherent thoughts flew out the window. 

Black eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance, soft, lightly tanned skin with pink, plush lips that were pulled into a thin line. Long, messy black hair tousled around like he had just woken up with a few locks framed around his angular face. He was fucking huge, towering a few heads above you, clad in a compression black t-shirt and grey and blue plaid pajama pants, no shoes. He looked exhausted, displeased, and to your utter dismay, hot.

“Excuse me,” he started, and god, his voice was sinful. Deep and raspy, obviously tinged with sleep, syllables rolling off his tongue sweetly like they were dipped in liquid sugar, you could almost feel it in your chest. “You do know that it's seven in the morning, right?”

You swallowed, quickly gathering your composure so you could properly speak to this hunk of a man at your door. You looked down at your imaginary watch, tapping your wrist like it might have been broken.

“Uhhh, yeah, it seems like it.” You looked back up at him just in enough time to catch him rolling his eyes. “Very astute of you,” you said sweetly.

“Some of us are trying to sleep, y’know,” he replies, lifting a hand, gesturing to himself, face deadpan.

You paused, and your nostrils flared as you locked your gaze onto him, lips slightly parted as your brain was trying to register how unbelievable he was being right now. You must have been quiet for a hot minute because he lifted a hand to his cheek like he was trying to wipe something away.

“What, do I have something on my face?” he whispered, looking at his fingers to check if he got anything. “Did I drool or something-”

“You have to be kidding.” You finally say, eyebrow raised and arms crossed over your chest. “You’re saying that I’m being loud right now?”

The man looks around outside your door, then past your body into your apartment, then back at you. “Well, yeah, I think you’re the only one here, right?”

You were going to hit him.

“I can’t believe this.” You threw your hands up, chuckling to yourself as your neighbor watched with curiosity.

“Can’t believe wha-”

You interrupted him angrily. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to come over here and tell me I’m loud when every single night since you’ve moved in, your incessant racket 24/7 has made it nearly impossible for me to sleep, work, anything! It sounds like you're throwing parties over there. It's ridiculous! But as soon as I get up early– and on a fucking weekend of all days– to get some cleaning done, you decide to come banging on my door to tell me to keep it down?!”

“I didn’t mean-” he started, hands raised slightly to try and possibly de-escalate the situation. 

You raised a finger and glared at him. “I’m not finished! Not to mention whenever you have girls over! I might as well kiss the possibility of sleep goodbye! They’re so loud, can’t you tell them to shut up? Aren’t some girls into that! I didn’t know I was living next to a frat house. No matter what, these walls are thin, as you can finally tell, so have some courtesy and keep it down, will you?!”

When you finished your tangent, you looked up at him, frustrated, waiting for a response, only to be met with a sly grin and raised eyebrows like he found your tantrum amusing. He leaned his shoulder against your door frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

You let your eyes wander down to where the compression shirt perfectly contoured the dips and ridges of his toned stomach, but ripped your gaze away from them just as quickly to meet his eyes. Your music continued to drone loudly in the background as you stared each other down, waiting.

Then he spoke. “I can’t help it that they get a little loud, what am I supposed to do, fuck them bad?” 

You wished he hadn’t said anything at all. You took a deep breath. Clearly, you weren’t getting through to this guy. You sighed, smiling annoyedly as you took a step closer to him.

“What's your name?” You ask, teeth clenched.

“Mingi,” he drawls, tongue darting out to wet his plump bottom lip. “Pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.” He smiles and reaches out a hand for you to shake, and in turn, you tell him your name, ignoring his attempt at familiarity.

“Believe me, the pleasure is all yours. Listen, do me a favor. Have you ever heard of a hotel? Headphones? Another person's place of residence?”

He only smiles wider, letting his hand fall to his side as he looks you over. “Sounds familiar.” He replies, voice laced with what could only be humor at your lack thereof.

“Great, happy for you. Maybe invest in those. Sooner rather than later. I’ve been putting up with your nonsense for the past couple of months, and I can only handle so much before I start thinking about killing people. So please? Do you mind?” The look on your face is pleading, in hopes that maybe he might attune to your less-than-difficult requests.

“Woohoo, a bit violent, arentcha?” Mingi laughs, stepping out of your door frame. “It was nice to meet you, neighbor. Let me know if you ever need help fixing holes in walls, cause by the sound of it, you’d think you're knocking them in with all that rough cleaning this morning.”

He didn’t even acknowledge your requests. You step out of your home and stare at him as he walks back to his own door, twisting the knob as he plants his feet on the welcome sign.

“C’mon, man, can you at least get some headphones?” you plead, watching as he walks into his door.

“I already got a pair,” he replies, and you can practically hear the smirk on his stupid handsome face. “I’ll see what I can do.” He shuts his door, locks it, and you are left alone.

That entire exchange felt like it led to nothing. You stepped back into your house, feeling more irritated than you already were, as you picked up your cleaning supplies to finish the last bit of chores, turning down your music, opting for a less aggressive cleaning session for the rest of the morning.

You were pleasantly surprised to have found that Mingi seemed to somewhat adhere to your requests for the rest of the day. No loud music, no people shouting over loud screens. Just the occasional shuffle and silence, and Saturdays were usually his loudest days. You were grateful, and the sliver of hope that you had finally gotten through to him made you feel a ton better.

You spent the evening working on some paperwork you didn’t finish in the office, a nice fall candle filling your home with the comforting smell of vanilla and pumpkin spice as you worked in silence, the muffled sound of rain pounding on your roof like TV static.

Your foot tapped against the wood floors rhythmically. It was well past 8 pm, about time for you to wrap up. That's when you heard voices.

One you recognized was Mingi and his bassy, low drawl, and then a girl. It sounded like they were talking at his front door. She sounded upset, and Mingi sounded like he couldn’t care less about her dismay. They argued for a few minutes, and eventually, you heard what sounded like a “screw you” from the girl before the door shut, and silence settled again.

You wondered what it was about, but eventually, you couldn’t find it in you to care anymore as you wrapped up your work. You closed your laptop, blew out your candle, and after a nourishing shower, made your way to your bed, snuggling under your sheets. You picked up the novel you were reading, switching on your bedside lamp and settling in to continue reading. The rain was relentless against your roof, providing a comforting white noise as you lost yourself in the novel.

A couple of hours of reading and you were about ready to switch off the lamp and retire to bed, grateful you didn’t have to worry about work in the morning. You clicked off your lamp and slipped the bookmark back into your book, setting it on your nightstand.

Just as you pulled your hand away from the book, darkness enveloped your room as you heard more shuffling opposite your wall. You ignored it, getting comfortable, and just as you were about to lie down and try to sleep.

“Mmm…” Deep, guttural. Heated. You froze your movements. Eyes widened as you tried to justify what you heard. 

Then more noises flowed through the wall to your poor ears.

“Shit… hah…” There was no mistaking it. And you hated how it went straight to your stomach. Lust-laced, heady, quiet moans from your neighbor's apartment. A slow, slick sound, rhythmic in nature as breaths heavy and open hit your ears like a truck. You didn’t dare move.

It wasn’t like the loud moans you normally heard from over-satisfied girls, no, this time it was him. Low and throaty groans, litting up in pitch at the end every so often, sharp inhales of breath, and sonorous purrs that were downright sinful. And the slick, wet sound, and you didn’t need to see anything to know exactly what he was doing.

You wanted to bang your head against the wall over and over again until your brain matter splattered on the ceiling. You had never heard him like this. Breathy. Desperate. Needy. You only ever heard the women; you guessed his noises were drowned out by their cries.

And you felt perverted, but you couldn’t help but strain your ears and listen. Because you wouldn’t say it to his face, but his voice was intoxicating, perfect to drown in. Your heart raced as you listened to him touch himself, the slick sounds of his stroking himself muffled but still heard. His moans would stutter now and then, like he was close but wasn’t allowing himself release. He would groan, heavy and deep, like it almost hurt, and you couldn't help it as your thighs clenched in response to his rich noises.

“Fuck me…” he moaned into the quiet of his room, and in that moment, you needed to get out before you did something you regretted. You crawled out of your bed, rushed to the kitchen, and poured yourself a cold glass of water. Taking a couple of big gulps, you sat on your living couch and sighed, closing your eyes as you waited for his little session to wrap up so you could go back to bed.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch. You awoke slowly on Sunday morning, groggily forcing your eyes open as you took in your space, realizing you spent the night on your couch. And you felt… surprisingly well rested.

 You sat up, lifting your arms and stretching your limbs before reaching for your phone to check the time. 

“One o’clock!” You nearly shouted in surprise. You had never been able to sleep this late. You were always awakened by Mingi’s racket, which now you noticed was silent. He really did take your advice to heart, somewhat.

You stood from the couch, your bare feet padding against your floors as you walked to your bathroom to freshen up, the rest from last night well needed after a long few months of jumbled sleep schedules and unpredictable behaviors from your previously anonymous neighbor.

And unfortunately, it was short-lived. The loud music was back up, seemingly even louder than ever before, groaning into the laundry you were folding as you nearly felt your walls shake from the bass. You thought he had actually listened to you, and the pattern was right back.

Shooting to your feet, you stomped to your door, swinging it open and marching to his. You stopped in front of it and, without hesitation, you pounded on the door with purpose.

The music continued, and he didn’t come to the door. So you pounded again, harder this time, in a similar fashion to the first time he knocked on yours.

Some rustling behind the door, and then it swung open, and there he stood. And god once again, you were not prepared.

Sporting a tight-fitted white tank top and some athletic shorts, dripping in sweat, his hair clung to his neck and his forehead, and he was breathing heavily. In his hand, he held a navy blue weight, and behind him lay a yoga mat with a few more weights of various sizes littered around the living room. He looked down at you, chest rising and falling with labored breaths, as drops of sweat fell off the ends of his hair and onto his tank top.

“Need something, neighbor?” He asks, voice sounded ragged, tired, worked. You ripped your eyes from his flushed face and stared at your feet; your words had died in your throat.

He leaned down in an attempt to come eye level with you, and you squeaked quietly and took a step back. Sensing your nervousness, Mingi grinned and rested the forearm that held the dumbbell against the top of his doorframe, his gaze sharp as he looked you over.

“The music?” you managed to muster, forcing your eyes to lock with his. Half-lidded and teasing, his eyebrow quirked up as he waited for you to say more. 

“Turn it down, maybe? I thought maybe you’d have listened to me by now, but it seems like you must have hit your head overnight and forgotten our conversation.”

Mingi shrugged. “I didn’t forget. I’m just doing my normal routine, just like you.” His tone was relaxed and lofty, and the urge to clock him in the throat was strong.

“You do know there’s a gym that's quite literally a 5-minute walk from here, right?” You snarked, crossing your arms, your previous nervousness gone as his all-natural talent of pissing you off immediately made you feel like you needed to put him in his place.

He loved how feisty you got with him. Mingi loves girls who bite back.

His smile only widened, “You do realize that spending stupid amounts of money for a gym membership is worthless compared to just working out at home, right?” Copying your tone, he waved the weight in your face, and you scoffed.

“I don’t care about you working out at home, that's fine by me. The music, however, is so fucking loud, Mingi. Care to turn it down a little? It's literally shaking my walls.” He didn’t respond at first, eyes roving over your body for a second.

He sighed and nodded. “Fine then. I’ll turn it down.” There was a glint in his eyes, like there was something else he wasn’t telling you, but you ignored it as just him being a pretentious ass. And of course, though, you had to push the envelope. You could never settle for bare minimum answers.

“What’s with this reluctance to being quiet with you? Can’t you just be like a normal person and just not be so loud all the time?”

It was Mingi’s turn to scoff, waving a hand at you. “I’m not even loud all the time, maybe you just have sensitive ears. Go to a concert, that’ll fix that hearing of yours in no time.”

You laugh incredulously, stepping further into his space. Mingi only leaned down further to be closer to your face, the look on his face antagonizing, challenging you.

“I don’t understand why I have to adjust to your noisy lifestyle just because I live next to you. I don’t care if you’re loud, maybe like, once a week, but every fucking day is unbearable.”

“And I don’t understand why I have to adjust to your library rules and walk around on eggshells because you can’t invest in some noise-cancelling headphones.” He leaned closer to your face, and at this point, your noses were inches away from touching. The heat radiated off his skin, and you could feel it all over you, but you ignored it, the rage bubbling under your skin your main priority at the moment.

“And I don’t understand why you have to jerk off so fucking loudly either!” 

It slipped out before you could think about what you were saying. You slapped a hand over your mouth and took a step back. Mingi’s face shifted from challenging to sheer shock, and then amusement. 

“Oh?” He drawled, and you could already see that sly grin creeping onto his face. “You were listening?”

You were quick to defend yourself. “I wasn’t listening. I heard it. Because you’re loud. Whatever! Turn the music down, I have a headache.” Retreating quickly, you rushed back to your door, swinging it open and slamming it closed once you were inside, heart racing. He wasn’t even embarrassed; he didn’t even care that you heard him. God, he was infuriating.

You lie down on your couch, sighing and draping an arm over your eyes tiredly. It was quiet; he had turned the music off completely. You let your shoulders relax and your mind unravel from that awkward exchange.

Then came the grunting. The strained counting. The exaggerated moaning and breathing as he began working out again, and then you realized why he smiled when you asked him to turn the music down. The music masked the labored, suggestive noises he made when he worked out. You wished he would turn the music back on, and you were sure now he was being extra loud just to get under your skin. And fuck it was working.

Absolutely infuriating.

You had your first guy over at your place in a long time, years probably. One of your coworkers asked you out for dinner, and you agreed simply because you had no reason to deny. It was good-looking, polite, and frankly, you had never put yourself out there in search of relationships in so long, you figured this would be the best way to ease yourself back into it.

It was a Friday night, after a nice dinner, just talking about nothing, he took you back to your place. He stood outside your front door with you, and you could tell by the way he was talking that he expected to come in with you.

You thought about it, like really thought about it. If you did and it didn’t work out, it would just be really awkward to see him back at work again. And at the same time, you hadn't been touched in so long, at this point, you were desperate for any kind of contact.

You ended up turning him away, making an excuse that you had plans in the morning and wanted to get adequate rest. He sounded a bit broken up about the rejection, but left without too much of a fuss, bidding you a goodnight. 

You sighed and shut your door, wondering if you should have just invited him in, but it was too late to think too hard about it now. You poured yourself a glass of pinot and sat at your kitchen table, sipping on it lightly and flipping through a magazine you had received in the mail.

You sulked in the quiet, the one night you wished maybe you had a little hustle and bustle happening in your home.

And then here comes your neighbor. This time it's a blender. A fucking blender. Comical. This was not the night you needed this shit. So you stood, slammed your glass on the countertop, and stomped back over to his place.

Determined in your steps, you stopped in front of his door and knocked, softer than last time, but hard enough that you didn't have to knock twice. He switched the blender off and walked to his door, opening it and looking down at you. 

Your mouth opened, closed, and your voice didn’t come. Every time you saw him, it's like all your words left your brain. Grey sweatpants, messy hair, a loose black tee. He was holding an empty shaker cup, and when you met his eyes, you swore you saw something different.

Sympathy?

He spoke first. “Do you… Do you want to come in?” His voice was gentle, inquisitive. You were taken aback at the invitation; the surprise must’ve been clear on your face, because he smiled softly.

“I overheard you and your date tonight. Thought maybe some company would do you some good.” You blinked a few times, and you were nodding slowly before words came back to you.

“Uh, sure. Thanks, Mingi.” Your voice was small, unsure. He stepped aside so you could walk inside. You stepped past him, your shoulder brushing the lower part of his chest as he welcomed you into his home. Of course, it looked just like yours, just decorated more to his tastes. Darker furniture, darker art on the walls, cluttered end tables by his couch, and workout equipment by the front window.

“You can sit wherever. I was just making myself a protein drink, sorry if the blender bothered you.” Awkwardly, you sat at one of the seats at his kitchen island, resting your elbows on the countertop.

“Yeah, I was coming over here to give you shit about it, actually.” You laughed softly, and so did Mingi.

“Sorry again.” He replies, but of course, he was smirking. You glared at him as he poured his smoothie into a cup, the muscles in his forearms flexing too deliciously for you to feel safe and composed around him.

“No, you’re not.” You bite back, crossing your legs underneath the island, stifling the weird feeling in your gut when you realize that his entire apartment smelled like him. You were in enemy territory.

“You’re right, I’m not.” He set the cup down and walked over to you, leaning over the island opposite you and staring at you. “Would you believe me if I said I did it to get you over here?”

“Should I believe that?” You responded, but your stomach did a weird flip at the notion that he had annoyed you just to get you to come over. “Seems like overkill when you could just knock on my door yourself.”

“Seems like a lot of work to me.” He quips, grinning prettily when you rolled your eyes at him. “So tell me, what was up with the guy? Did he give off serial killer vibes? Have his mom as his lockscreen? Oh! Or did he have a weird third nipple or something?”

Your mouth fell open, and you snorted. Mingi laughed at your reaction. “What? No. None of the above. He was just a coworker, and I just wasn't sure. Nothing crazy.”

Mingi nodded and hummed, pursing his lips in thought, tapping his fingers against the marble countertop. “Got it, got it. So what, have you got a criterion they have to meet?”

“No, Mingi, you’re awfully nosy. Can’t I just not be interested?”

“Of course you can, I’m not saying that. I was just wondering if you had some specific type or something.”

You laugh and teasingly reply, “What, wondering if you check off all the boxes?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Mingi kept his eyes locked with yours, and his face was far more serious, like he wasn’t playing games. You froze, pressing your lips into a thin line. Your next words came quietly.

“For real?”

Mingi didn’t say anything, didn’t nod or shake his head, just kept his eyes on you, like he was trying to read your expression, read your body, gauge your thoughts.

“Do you want me to be for real?” He simply asked, but his tone had lowered, quieter, thicker. Your fingers twitched against the countertop when you realized it was your move.

“Do you?” you ask him. Dancing around each other. Mingi moved from in front of you, with careful, purposeful steps. He was now standing behind where you sat. You kept your eyes forward as you felt his chest press against your shoulders.

The body heat poured off of him onto the skin of your back, his hands settled on either side of your waist, not quite holding, just touching.

“I do,” he spoke, his voice heavy right above your head, and you felt yourself shiver slightly. When you didn't pull away, the hands on your waist slid down, gripping this time, hooking on your hips and holding you there. “Pretty fucking badly.” That stupid voice of his, low and dangerous, so low you felt it travel like a livewire throughout your entire body, and you couldn't help but sigh.

He leaned down so his lips were hovering right by your ear. He was so close, his breath tickled the shell of your ear, and you felt your spine straighten. “I wanna know if you think I could satisfy you the way you want. The way you need.”

Unconsciously, you leaned back into him, and the hands on your hips tightened when he felt you move closer, fingers digging into your flesh. His lips moved from by your ear down to press against your shoulder, pressing a feather-light kiss against the side of your neck, testing.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin, and you couldn’t help the quiet whimper that bubbled from you. “Do I meet your standards?”

Instead of responding, you moved. You stood from your seat and turned your body around so you were facing him. Quickly, you slid your hands around to cup the back of his neck and hurriedly pressed your lips to his. Mingi melted into you in no time, like he was impatient, as if he’d been waiting for this. For you.

His hands found purchase on your waist, and immediately he was lifting your body so you were sitting on the countertop, never pulling his lip from yours, devouring you in a kiss so deep, so hungry you’d think he’d die if pulled away from you.

Your fingers carded through the hair at the nape of his neck, craning your neck to kiss him deeper, let him consume you whole in his kitchen. His big palms roamed up your waist, down to caress the outside of your thighs. He gripped either one and slowly parted them, slotting his body between them to press closer to you.

His hands were back up, wrapping around the back of your neck and grinding his lower body between your spread legs, sighing into your mouth as your warmth seeped through his clothes.

“Fuck you’re so soft.” He moaned against your lips, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip and breathing against you like he couldn’t believe your taste. 

You gripped his hair harder, opening your mouth against his lips to beg. “Mingi, please….” You whined, arching your back and inching your hips closer to him. “Please touch me, please.”

“Of course, baby,” he purred against your lips, pulling back from your mouth, trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck, breathing heavily. He couldn’t keep his hands off your body, exploring every nook and cranny of your flesh, refusing to not touch you.

They landed on your pants, sliding them off your thighs and down your legs until they pooled on his kitchen floor. His hands gripped your now bare thighs, kneading the flesh, caressing the sensitive skin.

“Fuck… wanna eat you out.” He cooed, already trailing kisses down your body until he reached the bare skin of your thighs, and lowered to his knees below you. He hooked his hands around the back of your hips, pulling your body closer towards the edge of the counter.

Now knelt between your thighs, his hands rose and found both of yours, intertwining his fingers with yours and holding your hands down against the counter, restraining you from using your arms.

“Gonna make you cum with just my tongue.” He whispers against the soft skin of your inner thighs, a sinful promise. “Then I’m gonna bend you over and show you why it gets so loud over here at night.”

You whined when he pressed a wet kiss against your clothed cunt, letting his tongue fall from his mouth, and he licked a fat wet stripe over the cloth, his spit mixing with the wet spot you’d already made in them yourself.

Impatient to taste you, Mingi bit the waistband of your underwear and slid the flimsy fabric down your thighs with his teeth, letting go when they fell to the ground and hovering over your fluttering pussy.

“So pretty.” He mused, shouldering his way further between your thighs to spread you open more,  still keeping his fingers locked with yours. Pressing a soft kiss against your clit, he then opened his mouth over your cunt, letting a glob of his saliva slip down his thick tongue and land directly on your clit, before he began to devour you.

Ravenous, Mingi split your lips open with his tongue, dragging it through your spit-slick folds and humming loudly against you when your taste hit his tongue. 

The vibrations of his deep voice made your thighs clench around his head, but his broad shoulders kept them open for him as he licked and sucked like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

He groaned like it hurt, wrapping his soft plush lips around your sensitive clit, sucking, biting, swirling his tongue around it so perfectly you thought you might go insane.

His grip on your hands tightened like he was grounding himself, then dragging your hands up, guiding them to his hair. You felt as he pressed your fingers against his soft, messy hair, his hands slipping away and finding purchase on your thighs, holding them up and around his head.

“Hang on to me, baby.” He groaned into you, and the moan of satisfaction he let out when you gripped the hair at his scalp sent another gush of arousal between your thighs that Mingi was quick to drink up greedily. “Yeah— fuck, just like that, don’t let go.”

“Oh my god…” You cried, your head falling back as you let the feeling of his warm mouth wash over you, completely overwhelmed at how amazing it felt. How good he was at this.

“Feel good?” His eyes lifted to look at you, and from where you were, it almost looked like he was worshipping you, begging to taste you like you were his life source, and it made your brain go haywire.

“Feels so good.” You praised, and that seemed to spur him on further, burying his face deeper into you, nudging his nose against your clit, and sliding his tongue inside of you, and the pleasure was almost too much.

“Mingi…coming… holy shit.” He did not let up, only seeming to fuck you deeper on his tongue, the muscle so thick it nearly filled you up.

“Yes, fuck good girl. Cum on my face. Cum all over me, baby. Give it to me.” The fingers he was digging into your thighs slid upward to hold your lower waist, his thumbs pressing against your lower stomach, the pressure making your breath hitch and your vision flash white.

Before you knew it, you were cumming around Mingi’s tongue, voice breaking in a pathetic moan, thighs shaking around his head as he shook his head back and forth, helping you ride it out smoothly.

“That’s it, my pretty slut. Give me all of you, wanna taste every fucking bit of you.” Mingi finally pulled away, littering your inner thighs with slick wet kisses, his lips shiny from your arousal and dripping in your wetness.

When he rose from his knees, you immediately reached your hands out to pull him to your lips and kiss him, messy all teeth and tongue as you tasted yourself on his lips.

“C’mon.” He started, hooking his hand underneath your sticky thighs and lifting you off the counter, carrying you back down the hall and to his bedroom, kissing you all the way.

He set you down on the floor once you were by his bed, before flipping your body around and pressing you down against the edge of the bed. His hands slid up the expanse of your back, hooking beneath the hem of your shirt and sliding it up and off your body.

You heard him shuffle his clothes off behind you, and that’s when you felt it. Hot and heavy against your back, his cock lay against your lower back, pre-dripping from the tip and falling on your back.

You listened as you heard a drawer open, a wrapper rip, and then he slid the condom on with a suppressed groan. 

His hands gripped your hips as he maneuvered his body to slide his thick cock along your sticky slit, leaning his body over so he could press his lips against your shoulder blades, languidly kissing and dragging his tongue along the back of your neck.

“Fuck you smell so good.” He groaned into your hair as he continued to slide the length of him against your wet slit, the friction catching your clit every time he rolled his hips forward.

“Inside...” you whined, pressing your cheek against the sheets, Mingi’s lips pressing against the shell of your ear, his sweat-slick chest flush against your back. “Please, need you inside.”

“Inside?” He whispered in your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth. “My pretty baby wants me to fill her up?” He crooned, slipping his hips back so the tip of his dick barely pressed against your soaked entrance. His voice made your head fuzzy, so close and so intimate by your ear, your whole body shivered underneath him.

“Fuck, please… I want you inside me.” And he couldn’t wait any longer if he tried.

“Of course, beautiful.” He sank his teeth into the side of your throat, lolling his tongue over the bite as he began to sink his thick cock inside of you, so slowly, the stretch making your legs shake and your mouth fall open in surprise at how big he was. “Anything for you.”

He lifted his upper body so he could look down at where he slid inside of your pussy, moaning deeply at how you sucked him in eagerly, the slick that gushed between your thighs helping him glide in so easily it made him dizzy.

“Fuck baby…” he whined, careful as he slid out until just the tip sat inside before thrusting right back in, so deep, rolling his hips, perfectly grinding against that soft spot in your tummy that made you drool on his sheets.

“Oh my god.. so deep.” You whimpered into the mattress, feeling the heat of Mingi’s palms as one cupped around the back of your neck and pressed your face further into the bed while the other caressed the side of your waist as he began to roll his hips into you rhythmically, groaning into the space with every thrust as you sucked him back in every time he pulled his cock back.

“Mmm, yeah baby, you like that?” Mingi purred, admiring the slick sheen you had already begun to leave on his dick, with each deep-seated thrust he bullied into your pussy, grinning at each quiet, overstimulated whine that left your lips each time he hit that spot.

“You feel me in there?” He thrusted hard this time, and you nearly choked on your breath at the intensity of the feeling.

“I feel you…” You breathed out, fists gripping the sheets, loving the feeling of his big hand holding your head down and his cock stretching you out so good you were seeing stars.

Mingi picked up the rhythm, sliding the hand around your neck back down your spine before gripping the other side of your hips and beginning to take.

He began to pound you relentlessly, the tenderness of his touch now gone as he began to use your poor cunt like a toy, groaning each time you squeezed around him as he rutted against your G-spot like a man possessed.

“Fuck fuck fuck..! God baby, you feel so good. So fucking good around me.” You could only cry out as he used your body, each thrust sending your senses into overdrive as you found yourself tumbling towards another orgasm at record speed, Mingi having no trouble staying at the angle that made your thoughts fog.

“Fuck, Mingi, please. I need to feel you!” With all the strength you could muster, you reached your hand back to press against his lower stomach, urging him to stop.

He whined and stopped thrusting slowly, resorting to a deep, heavy grind in your pussy. “What’s wrong? What is it, baby?” He asked, barely holding himself back from continuing to pound you stupid into his sheets.

“Please. Take it off.” You cried out. And Mingi paused for a second. Silence shadowed both of your ragged breaths and fucked out whines.

And then you felt it. The way his cock twitched, and then jumped inside of you, nudging against your G-spot, making you weak in the knees.

“You want it raw?” He asked in near disbelief, his voice was so quiet you thought he was talking to himself. The grip on your hips was so tight you for sure thought it might bruise.

“Please..” you replied, voice broken as tears welled in your eyes.

Mingi thought he just might lose his fucking mind. You heard his breathing quicken, then the hands on your hips slid up your back, gripping your shoulders and massaging the area, and you knew then and there that you were done for.

“My little slut wants me to fuck her raw?” His tone switched, heavy, unbearably turned on. Full on feral.

He wasted no time. He slipped his cock out of you, the emptiness making you groan as you felt him grab your waist and flip your body over so you were lying on your side. With a satisfied groan, Mingi pulled the condom off his cock, throwing it off to the side as he situated himself behind your body. Pressing his chest to your back, sliding a hand to cup the underside of your thigh. He lifted your leg so he could press the head of his cock against your hole, pressing his lips against the heat of your neck, right beneath your ear.

Like it hurt for every second he wasn’t inside you, Mingi groaned with a satisfaction that made it seem he had cum right then and there as he slipped his cock right back inside of you. You could feel all of him now without the thin barrier of latex. Warm, pulsing, filling you with every inch of him.

He moaned loud and heavy below your ear, immediately fucking up into your pussy so hard you felt dizzy. Mingi was insatiable, the hand on your thigh spreading your leg open further while the other pressed against your lower stomach, letting you feel every slick inch of him pounding inside of you.

“Yeah, yeah, how's that baby? This better? Love when I’m fucking you raw and nasty? You— shit— want me to cum in this pussy and fill you up with me, sweetheart? Tell me that’s what you want.”

You nodded against him, moaning loudly, taking every purposeful stroke he gave you, the slick and wet sounds making your face hot and your cunt wetter.

“I want it.. please want you to cum inside me, Mingi.” He licked all over the side of your neck, kissing the veins in your throat and pressing ever harder against your stomach.

“Okay baby… yeah, I’m gonna give it to you. I’m gonna fill this pussy up and you’re gonna take it for me.”

You spasmed around him as your orgasm washed over you like a lethal wave, gripping him tight, Mingi’s hips stuttering, feeling you clench around him.

“Oh, there we go, what a good fucking girl cumming on my cock. So pretty when you fall apart for me.” Mingi whined into your ear as he felt his release building, his hip movements slowing to a sloppy rhythm, his voice dropping to a sultry, whimpering whisper as he pressed his plush lips right against your hot ears.

“I'm gonna cum for you, baby…” He murmured, panting quietly against your ear like he was in heat, squeezing your thigh and pressing harder against your stomach. And with a few last devastating thrusts, he slipped the hand on your stomach up to grip your chin.

Mingi turned your head so he could press his lips to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth with a sinful, whiny moan as he came inside of you, rolling his hips to push it deeper into you, moaning and sighing into the wet kiss you shared.

He pulled from your lips with a heavy sigh, the thin string of saliva connecting you two snapping when he turned his head to look down at the mess between your legs.

“Fuck… look at the mess we made.” he groaned, watching attentively as he slipped his soaked cock out of you, you in turn sighing at the absence.

You were both suddenly startled when you heard a loud banging on the ceiling, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“Christ almighty, could you fuck any louder!!??” Whatever neighbor lived above Mingi, banging on his floor with a broom, angrily shouting at the two of you for how loud you were being.

You gasp and cover your mouth with your hands. “Oh my god, were we that loud?” Mingi laughed and kissed the side of your neck softly, smiling against your skin.

“I mean, you were pretty loud.” He teased, and you immediately turned to hit him.

“And whose fault is that?!” You exclaimed, glaring with embarrassment written all over your face. Mingi smiled harder and proudly puffed out his chest like he was getting ready to accept a gold medal.

“That would be mine.” He peppered your face with tons of gentle kisses, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Does this mean that you’ll stop blasting music so I can get some good sleep now?” You asked half seriously, half jokingly. Mingi only shrugged.

“If it means that you’ll keep coming over and seeing me, I think I’ll continue as previously planned.”

“Oh my god, just knock on my door like a normal person, please! Do not turn your blender on every time you want to see me. I swear to god I’ll move out.”

Mingi pouted and kissed your throat. “You wouldn’t.” He softly murmured, giving you the most pathetic puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Stop using kitchen appliances and subwoofer speakers as mating calls, and maybe I won’t.”

Mingi grinned and kissed your shoulder, getting up and running to the bathroom to grab a rag. 

“No promises!” He winked, and you sighed as he leaned down to get you cleaned up.

So much for a peaceful lifestyle.

Being the heir of an empire drew attention in all the wrong ways, especially when the internet was a growing nebula of incrimination, even if he attended the most prestigious private school overseas— making true friends continuously proved difficult. Song Mingi learned privacy before he learned the name of each business his father owned. By eighteen, back at home, learning how to be the spine of a conglomerate, Mingi couldn’t say he’d surrounded himself with many. 

It didn’t affect his ability to be a businessman, though, to perform. He learned how to speak, what language to use, how to stand, posture that demands respect, how to shake a hand, what grip his palm should hold, how to negotiate, each and every skill was engraved into his very bones. By twenty, Mingi was a walking, talking mannequin— his entire life laid out before him, chosen for him, his brain was wired to function, not to live. 

Until twenty-five, two years after his father suddenly passed, when the empire was finally recognized throughout countries as a possession of Song Mingi. By twenty-seven, he had done more for the Song name than generations upon generations before him. Mingi wasn’t just a businessman anymore, Mingi was a fucking star. 

His childhood wasn’t warm. An absent father, a mother that only cared about molding him to his father’s standards, Mingi didn’t have many things that brought him genuine, unbridled joy. 

Memories of school were blurred. Strict, routine. He doesn’t remember a time when life had color— he had small things he possessed, baseball cards, stamps, books, but those were for collecting, for making money, according to his mother, his nanny. His second nanny. His third. 

He did sell them, yes. The ones he chose to. But there were ones he kept close; characters and stories he lost himself in, other worlds he wished he could transport his consciousness to, baseball cards he found himself attached to and stamps that were too beautiful to be in someone else’s hands. His mother, three nannies, thought his attachment to such small, meaningless things pointless. A flaw. 

They were still in his drawer at twenty-eight, when he owned the world and it thanked him in return. Fear is a beautiful thing, an opportunity for growth, for overcoming, self-improvement, unless the thing you fear is human. A six-foot industrialist that owned everything, as much as the world looked to Song Mingi he was, above all, someone to be fucking terrified of. 

There’s beauty in fear, it might be the first thing Song Mingi ever fell in love with. The second— the first time he’s cracked his chest open and had a woman drink the carnage from her palms. When a man stands above the world, there are plenty of men who wish to stand beside him, but none who dare. 

Song Mingi never thought his undoing would be a woman. A company dinner, a gala, his mother hosted it yearly. She laid out a list of appropriate, single women for the twenty-eight year old man, the country’s most eligible bachelor; none he wanted. It was a list of titles, of baggage, at the age where he should be thinking of marriage, of a future, of love, Mingi wanted his life to fucking start. He wanted to live. 

A private club, one of many he owned, this one was his favorite. Red velvet and black leather surrounded the space, the music low, the patrons wealthy— he didn’t care what the walls looked like, what booth he sat in, how they always kept his glass topped off. He cared about you, in your black satin dress and skinny red pumps his eyes always glued to. 

He cared about how you didn’t care about him. He saw you monthly, always on the arm of another man like a prized possession. He knew your real name and your social security number the first day he laid eyes on you, he knew what you were, he knew what you cost. 

A check he didn’t send until his mother sent him a list of names, and it dawned on him you were the opposite of every single bullet point. An idea that made his heart race. A thought that felt like rebellion, for the first time in his twenty-eight years of life. 

He didn’t speak a word to you until he was parked outside of your apartment building in a blacked out limo he never used for any occasion. The driver opened the door for you and it was as if you knew how long you drifted through Mingi’s mind as a risk, an opportunity he would never dare take. But Mingi’s a man who gets everything he wants, by the snap of his fingers or the wave of his hand, and to be a businessman is to take risks without the security of a certain outcome. 

At twenty-eight years old, the biggest risk he’d ever taken was inviting you in his limousine. He’s invested in what many would never think to, he's torn down other empires with his bare hands, he’s put himself in the spotlight for the world to see everything. But it felt like opening the drawer in his bedroom, a lazy grin on his lips, a hand outstretched to help you inside the limousine, the moment he smelled you he couldn’t believe he’s withstood life without you. 

“Mr. Song,” you nodded your head politely, dark gown blanketing over the black leather seats. “It’s an honor to meet you.” 

“Mingi,” he corrected, the corner of his lips curled, “thank you for joining me.” 

Your dress, your heels, your face, your smell, your posture— everything about you screamed wealth. Power, but submission. How is it that he could buy your time, your companionship, and his heart is lurching in his chest? Had he bought this feeling, too?

He’s had women, so many fucking women at his private school overseas, in his penthouse, the one he used for that very reason, entertainment and pleasure, he’s had them in the backseat of his Escalade. He’s had women everywhere, yet never once has he felt his heart dance beneath his ribs. 

You’re funny— in the way that businessmen’s eyes widen and a choked laugh falls from their lips, because there’s no way you’d speak those words aloud, on Mingi’s hip. You knew how to speak, you were fluent in the language of business and hierarchy and wealth. 

You’re intelligent. Observant, you could tell who Mingi’s allies are, who’s a competitor, who searched for details to exploit. Mingi supposed one Forbes article could have relayed the information, but in his bones he knew you were reading them, everyone, their body language, microaggressions beneath the lines of sweet words, silent insults behind pearly white teeth. 

Built for this world, but only with your toes touching the shore. You’d never attended an event of this stature, that Mingi knew from the file on his desk at home, yet you behaved like this was just another Saturday, like you knew these people just as well as Mingi, as if he briefed you for a week beforehand. 

His mother wasn’t as outraged as he would have liked. A woman with no title, with no wealth, no father to make a deal with— small discrepancies that no longer mattered, because if she liked you, you, somehow it felt better. Somehow he was proud. 

There was no time to be curious. Only stunned, satisfied, glad. He likes you. He likes you. He knew he would. But to like you this much, without knowing anything else than what lived in a manila folder on his oakwood desk, fear sank its claws into Mingi’s heart, and he encouraged it to sink deeper. He loved the way it felt. 

Tabloids ate it up, every picture of the two of you together sold for thousands. The first time Mingi was seen in public with a woman, fingers intertwined, a smile on his face, the country seemed to go through a grieving period. 

This Just In: Song Mingi Seen with Mystery Woman! 

Does the Song Empire Finally Have its Empress?

The World’s Favorite Bachelor is Taken! 

Song Mingi With Unknown Woman: What Does She Have That We Don’t?

Mingi never particularly enjoyed speculation on his love life, especially when it was broadcast to the world— but this he could get behind. He liked how he looked next to you, his smile looked genuine. He doesn’t remember the last time it was. 

Another sum wired to your account, within a week he had you on his arm again. A conservative bodycon dress on your body, closed-toe heels on your feet, hair styled, makeup done, you looked born of importance. A business dinner with the Choi empire’s son, a networking event, not that Mingi needed to network. He just needed to show face. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Choi,” you smiled sweetly, not even blinking as Jongho brought your knuckles to his lips. Mingi’s hand pressed a little harder to the small of your back. 

Jongho’s eyes slid to Mingi as his lips made contact, a challenge in the flare of his pupils. A flirt, he’s always been, tabloids made millions off of Choi Jongho’s excursions since he was a mere fifteen years old, parties, drinking, drugs, women, men. A billionaire’s son he was, at his core, no rules and no laws could touch him. He took advantage of the notion daily. 

Mingi swallowed down his irritation, keeping his eyes neutral, shaking the younger man’s hand next. Jongho smirked, a corner of his mouth lifting at the lack of reaction from Mingi. Jongho tilted his head, jet black hair set with so much gel it didn’t move a millimeter, “Where’d you find her, hm?” 

“You wouldn’t know it,” you replied before Mingi could take a breath. “Invite only.” 

Your tone, so intriguing, how you can say so much without saying anything. You wouldn’t know it, it’s too prestigious for you. Invite only, you aren’t nearly important enough. Mingi’s grin was utterly cheshire. 

Jongho’s smirk wilted, lips a flat heart between his nose and chin. He nodded once, “Well.” Looking between you, searching for words in his mind, “I look forward to seeing more of you, and Mingi, I look forward to the proposal my father mentioned.” 

Ah, the proposal. He knew there was something important tonight. At the head of the dinner table, naturally, a spot he’d forever wield. He kept his eyes on you during his speech, a monologue he pulled straight from his ass, one that had the table floored. The Choi corporation certainly wouldn’t be pleased when the fine print reached their hands— but each and every attendee worked like dogs, grins on their faces, eyes glazed over like they’d seen God. 

You, on the other hand, hands in your lap, polite smile on your face. Mingi assumed you didn’t understand a word until you’d reached his Escalade after dessert. 

“The proposal,” you turned your head toward him, a single crinkle between your brows. “It’ll tear down the Choi’s, will it not?” 

Mingi stretched his neck from side to side, unfastening the cuff links on his wrists. He should be more surprised you understood the severity of the deal, especially without reading the fine print, even more so that Mingi presented it like a gift. Somehow it felt natural that you knew what you weren’t supposed to. 

“In time,” he hummed, “maybe.” 

Your head turned to the window again. He watched you for a moment, how your hair bounced as they drove over gravel, your hands still politely in your lap as if you’d get scolded if they moved. Mingi, so soft it was almost a whisper, “What are you doing tonight?” 

Your neck craned to him, eyes wide like you weren’t expecting anything but being dropped off before your building. Mingi’s lips pulled upward, “Do you want to come back to mine for drinks? Maybe talk over the proposal a little more.” 

Stars would cower at the sight of your smile, he’d never seen anything so bright in his twenty-eight years. It made a pit form in his gut, made the length trapped his boxers present. Fear kissed his spine, but it only aided in his excitement. 

Your head didn’t stop moving from the moment you stepped foot in his penthouse, really when you stepped foot in the building, through the glass revolving door in the lobby, you watched every movement like a kid in a candy store. Amazement, Mingi thinks, danced in your eyes all the way up to the top floor, so much so he let you open the door with his key. 

“Beautiful,” awe soaked your tone, you whispered the word as you walked into the space, heels clicking against the tiled floor. Mingi couldn’t stop smiling, excitement lighting up each and every one of his veins, he pulled off his blazer the moment he stepped inside. 

“I had an interior designer take over,” still smiling, he hung his blazer, bringing you past the foyer to the living room. “I’m not much of a decorator.” 

You laughed— it was the first time he heard it, and it took his fucking breath away. The sweetest, most innocent giggle, he didn’t think such an incredible sound had blessed this place since he bought it. You followed him to the bar, eyes still searching every wall, every nook and cranny of the room, the act so cute Mingi wasn’t sure how he’d hold himself back. 

“I’ll wire you first thing in the morning,” he said as he stepped behind the bar, while you sat in one of the upholstered chairs that made up the conversation area. “I know this wasn’t a part of the deal.” 

“No need,” you shook your head, one knee crossing over the other, “I’m off the clock, if that’s okay with you.” 

He lifted his brows in amusement, pouring whiskey neat into two glasses, he’d never been more okay with anything in his life. “Even if we’re still talking business?” 

“Do you really want to talk business?” Lips curling at the corner, head tilting, tendrils of hair kissing your collarbone, the sight made his stomach tumble. 

He did— for some reason, he trusted the walls of his penthouse, the woman that stood between them. Just to amuse himself, he asked, “Can I trust your judgement?” 

“You can trust my honesty,” your eyes followed him as he rounded the corner of the bar, placing your glass on the table that separated you on two black velvet chairs. 

He took a long sip of whiskey, letting himself feel the burn of it licking down his throat. He sat with his knees spread, two arms lazily thrown over his thighs, one hand fingering the circular rim of his glass. 

“Let me ask you a question, then,” his voice thick, lowered, gravelly in the way that he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear what came next. But you nodded, as he knew you would, so he asked, “What do you think of me?” 

You shuffled in your seat, making yourself more comfortable. Back sunken lower into the velvet, two palms cradling the glass in your lap, knee still thrown over the other. “I think you’re strong,” you began with a steady breath, and for a moment Mingi thought you would stop there. You didn’t. 

“I think… you’re adolescent. I think you’ve never gotten a taste of what life is, what it could be. You were Song Mingi, heir of an empire, heir of the world. Now you’re Song Mingi, the man who stands behind the curtain, puppets dangling from his strings. You appear as a symbol of strength, wealth, control, but have you ever had anything ripped from your palms? From your heart?” 

Mingi’s jaw clenched, his ears danced beside the fade of his haircut. He eyed your uneven chest, despite your calm eyes, he could tell the words spilled from your lips without intent. Honesty you promised, it cut like a blade to his perfect, well-kempt skin, you asked him questions you already knew the answer to. 

“And what could my life be? If I was a different man,” his head tilted backwards, staring beneath thick brows. Your posture doesn’t change. 

“Fun,” you tried a smile, a curve to your painted lips, “it could be fun.” 

“Does my life not seem fun?” He popped a brow, amused all over again. “Women and money, anything I could ever want at my fingertips—”

“—And yet you don’t take advantage,” your smile turned sly, cunning. Eyes feline, you saw too much of him. Things that he kept hidden. “Do you?” 

Mingi shrugged, what was he doing right now? “I do. Enough so.” 

You shook your head slowly, taking a sip from your glass. Licking your lips, Mingi watched as the liquor poured down your throat. So fucking beautiful, an action so common, so small, having you before him has been the most fun he’s had. 

You leaned forward, the glass landing on the table between you, the clinking sound reverberated throughout the penthouse. “Not enough,” you said, voice lowered, sultry. “But I’m here.” 

His brows raised, head straightened, unexpecting of your forwardness. Swallowing down saliva and remnants of liquor on his tongue, his voice came out breathier than he wanted, “And?”

“You paid for my time,” you sat back in your seat, arms blanketing the armrests, casual, comfortable. “You don’t have to anymore.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“I want to know you, Song Mingi. I want to show you.” 

It felt like a love confession to Mingi. He’d never heard those words in his life— everyone wants money, power, they want the Mingi they answered to. Not the man beneath the mask, the man who laid at the bottomless pit of power, the man who dreamed of what his life would be if he wasn’t Song Mingi. 

It's easy to get lost in power, in strength, in control. To peer inside and not recognize who you see, to realize that’s all you’ve ever been, that there’s nothing beneath the mask. Hollow, a shell, a robot whose organs swam in blood. 

He took you to bed that night, two glasses of whiskey left half-drank on the table in his bar room. Even sex felt different, new, he’d never thought a connection between himself and his partner would make it better, his finishing point stronger. He thought your face beautiful, your words elegant, but your body was something he could only imagine. 

Perfection, every inch of you. And you could feel it in his fingers, in his tongue, in his body that carried you past the finish line over and over. Mingi embraced his fear, in the way he always had— he relished in the way you lacked it. Raw, unbridled, you appeared to him as yourself, no sugarcoating, no acting. 

You saw him for him, and he saw you for you. An eye for an eye, in a way. 

In the months to follow, he saw you often. Mingi never frequented the penthouse as often as he’d been, almost permanent residence, with you by his side each and every time. Each and every day. 

His business grew stronger, his mind sharper. You in his ear, your smarts, your wit, growing up Mingi never saw his mother with his father the way he kept you by his side. A lucky charm, or a new set of eyes to see the things he couldn’t, you’d become vital in a few months’ time. 

The tabloids went rampant. Your face on the front page more often than not, no one knew who you were, none would find out. It didn’t seem to bother you, nor did it bother Mingi, he was falling headfirst into something he never expected, and proudly so. Seeing you in the club, satin dress, red pumps, he never thought he’d love your mind more than anything else. He never saw farther than the gala. 

Other than his business, his mind, you made good on your promise; Mingi’s life has never been more fun. Public appearances were a joy instead of a chore, with you on his arm, with back rooms and closets and that sharp tongue he’s come to adore. Clubs filled with alcohol served to him in bottles and blow on a silver platter, at twenty eight he learned how to party. He especially learned it never really needed to stop. 

Most of all, you showed him love. A feeling that comes naturally, one he’s never felt before, in the months he’s known you, you’ve taught him empathy. Compassion, emotion, connection, you helped him talk through his heart twisting in his chest, his stomach so tight he feared he’d spill its contents onto the floor, just from looking at you. Talking deep into morning hours, about anything, everything— your past, his own, your future. 

It turned domestic before he’d realized, before he’d meant to put a label on anything. Naturally, on its own, who was he to fight what’s meant to be?

Waking up next to you, peppering kisses along your jaw, down your neck, your stomach until his tongue met between your thighs, it was heaven to him. Each and every morning, waking you up until your thighs shook around his head, just to push inside you until they shook around his hips. Natural. Routine. 

“I want to show you something,” still inside you, chest heaving, lips ghosting your cheekbone. “Later tonight. Pack a bag.” 

Your brows raised on your perfect, flushed, fucked-out face. “A bag? Where are we going?” 

“Outside the city,” he placed a kiss to your brow, “it’s special. No one else has seen it, ever.” 

You giggled, and his stomach tumbled the way it always did. The way it always will. You gasped as he pulled out, whining at the emptiness, the spillage onto sheets that’d be changed while he’s gone. 

“You trust me that much, hm?” You asked with a twinkle in your eye as he peeled off of you, off the bed, headed for the bathroom. 

He looked over his shoulder to give you a look, “Is that even a question?” 

You smiled at him like you loved him. Like if he said those three, pretty little words, you’d say them back in a heartbeat. Confidence, acceptance rushed through his veins. 

You met him in the shower for him to bully into you all over again. Pebbled nipples pressed into the tile wall, one of his arms splayed over your stomach, holding you upright. Growling hungry words into your ear, he drank up your moans like they were dessert. 

After getting dressed, suit and tie, he searched the bedroom again with his thick brows knitted together. “Baby, have you seen my wallet? My checkbook?” 

With your arms in a dress, you presented your back to him to zip you up, one hand holding your ponytail to the left. “You can’t find them?” 

He zips you up, two hands on your waist, planting a wet kiss to your cheek. “Haven’t seen them since yesterday.” 

You spin around, hands on his blazer, laying them down flatter with painted fingertips. Eyes meeting his, still sparkling, “Did you leave them at the office?” 

“Maybe,” he scrunches his lips to one side, “probably. I can’t believe I didn't notice.” 

You pull him in by his lapels, pressing your lips to his softly, a long, sweet kiss. “You’re Song Mingi, baby. I don’t think anyone expects you to throw down your black card or write them a check, you have people to do that for you.” 

“Come on,” his grin spreads wide, “you know better than that. I’ll check the office when I get there.” 

“What time should I be ready?” You ask as he turns on his heel. 

Walking out of the bedroom to put his feet in the dress shoes he left at the front door last night, “Eight, please. I’ll have Hiro pick you up.” 

One more kiss to your pretty lips, and he’s off, giddy as ever. He doesn’t remember to search for his wallet when he gets to the office, nor his checkbook. Both are lost on him, his mind filled with thoughts of later, what he’ll show you, how much it means to him that you’ll see it. 

Eight rolls around fast— the two of you in the backseat of his blacked out Escalade, fingers intertwined, driving an hour outside the city to a small cottage. A small, suburban house, baby blue, the interior something out of a movie, as if he’d stepped back in time. 

He carries your bags inside with one hand, the other on the small of your back. “I spent a lot of time here growing up,” he said as you entered the house, and just like the first time in his penthouse, your eyes danced as you took in every detail. 

“My first nanny’s house. She passed a while back, left it to me. It’s technically my main residence, well, this is home.” 

You had tears in your eyes as you took in the space. Fingertips riding along dusty shelves, the mantle of the fireplace, the crickety kitchen table that had seen too many years of use. 

“She left it to you?” Was all you asked, stunned, in awe of the gem he kept hidden away. 

He stood in the foyer, watching you learn his memories, his childhood. He took his first steps here, said his first words here, this was home before his parents’ home. Not that he could remember any of it, much too young to take in the weight of what his first nanny did for him. Too young to understand the love she had for him, how she treated Mingi like her own. 

“I don’t have any memories, the walls hold them more than my mind does. But I can feel it when I’m here, how she loved me, took care of me. When I was moved to my parent’s, she and two others took care of me there. I didn’t know this place existed until it was mine.” 

Tears had slipped down your cheeks by the time you met Mingi’s eye again. “I can feel it too,” you whispered, breath shaky, walking towards him on soft steps, “it feels special here. Like home.” 

He pressed a kiss to your lips after you swung your arms around his neck. “I wanted to show you because it’s special to me, like you’re special to me.” 

“Do you think we’ll live here?” You looked down at his chest while you asked the question, the first time he’s ever seen you coy. You look up again, eyes glassy, “Will this be home for us one day?” 

His heart pounded against his chest, eyes searching your face for something other than truth. This meant more than I love you, the three, pretty little words he kept locked up beneath his ribs. 

“Yes,” he whispered, swift, eyes wide and pulsing. “Yes, it’ll be home for us. It's yours now, as much as it’s mine.” 

More tears spilled down your perfect cheeks, dripping down into the smile that’d stolen your face. “I love you,” you said, words strong, no room to hear them incorrectly. 

Mingi swallowed, searching your face again, breath stolen from his chest. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. “I love you too,” he said, whispered, coated in disbelief. You meant it. You love him. You love him and he fucking loves you. “I love you,” he repeats again, assuredly, confidence in his voice, earnest and true. 

You kiss him, and kiss him and kiss him until his clothes are thrown to the floor of the living room, yours on the floor of the bedroom. 

He pushed into you slowly, fingers twisted above your head, tongue licking into your mouth while he made your body new. His and his only, from now until death do you part, Mingi would never let you go. Those pretty, three little words moaned, uttered, whispered, over and over— in his ear, in his skin, while he emptied himself inside you, while you pulsed around his length. This was love. In the place his life began, with the person it would end beside. 

Still cuddled in the queen sized bed, crocheted comforter thrown over your sweaty bodies, his fingers massaged your scalp as you laid over his chest. “I have one more thing to show you,” he said, voice low, tired. 

You looked up at him through your raised brows, silently asking what?

You whined when he untangled himself from your body, the loss of warmth. He smiled as he opened the top left drawer on the dresser, excitement nipping at his nerve endings. You crawled to the foot of the bed, comforter still covering your naked body as Mingi pulled the contents from the drawer. 

His baseball cards, his stamps, the book he’s held close to him since he was a child. “These,” he laid them out on the comforter before you, “are my prized possessions. Nothing in this world, until you, have meant what these mean to me.” 

You looked up at him with stars in your eyes, “Tell me about them.” 

He told you everything. From the meaning of the book, to why he needed the escape, to the baseball cards and the stamps and how they’ve left a mark on his very soul. He laid himself bare for you, the most vulnerable thing he could ever do, the very essence of his being fleshed out on a crocheted comforter. 

You listened to every detail, touched them carefully, looking to him for permission with every movement of your fingertips. You didn’t need his permission— not anymore. What’s his is yours. He’d rip his heart out and hand it to you on a platter, if you asked.

He slept better than he’d ever slept in his life that night. Body curled into you, falling asleep to your breathing, he woke up to you by his side and he realized in that moment, this is everything he’s ever wanted. This is what he’s been waiting for, all this time.  

Eight months into your relationship and he had a diamond ring in that same top left dresser drawer. When you know, you know, he told himself, he told his business partners, he told his staff, he told anyone that would fucking listen to the book he could write about how much he loves you. He needs you— it’s more than love, it’s more than companionship. It's a soul tie, and how fucking lucky is he that he’s found you? That he has you?

Eight months into your relationship and this was the first weekend you’d spend apart. He paid for the plane ticket to Cancun, a weekend trip with your girlfriends, all of the ones he’s met and done background checks on. He could never be too sure, not when it came to you. 

Hiro dropped you off at the airport, Mingi wrapped up in meetings, you assured him the night before he didn’t have to hold your hand all the way to your gate, promising him with your lips wrapped around his cock. Returning the favor in the morning, he let you go not without a fight, but you won nonetheless, as you always do. 

Waving goodbye to Hiro at the airport, you watched him drive away, turning the corner to get back on the highway— a smile crept onto your cheeks as his black Escalade pulled into view. 

The driver packed your luggage in the pull-up trunk as the door was opened for you, a trickle of adrenaline kissed your bones, the base of your spine, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him. 

“Baby,” he greeted, black hair gelled back, smirk already on his lips, suit painted onto his body. You nearly drooled. 

Your eyes widened, reality settling in that he’s real and he’s here. Heart pounding in your chest, “Yunho!” You squealed, hauling yourself in the backseat of the SUV, immediately crawling onto his lap, knees bent on the leather seats. 

His lips taste like home. Pressing yourself against him was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever felt; it was too long, a relationship only over the phone, unable to feel his touch, his lips pressed to yours. Only a few times over the last eight months had you been able to steal a glimpse, a quick kiss, your life had become too public, too quick, Yunho pushed to the shadows. 

“I missed you,” his grin is wide, pearly white teeth on display, a flush to the apples of his cheeks. His hands landed on your hips, giving you a possessive squeeze, “You did so good, my love.” 

You curled your hair around your ear, biting your lip. “You think so?” Heat floods you as the praise leaves his lips. 

“One more and you’re done,” he pulls you toward him for another kiss. “Go over it for me.” 

“Forty first street, two-one-three Ashland street. Baby blue house, spare key under a brown rock, small and circular, directly to the right of the welcome mat. I have a spare key to the penthouse, the code for the elevator is twelve ninety-seven.” 

Yunho raises his brows, pride in his eyes. “Twelve ninety-seven? Your birth month and year?” 

You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, you tilt your head with a bashful smile. “What can I say? He loves me.” 

Large palms find your cheeks, pulling you in for another quick kiss, “I fucking love you.”

“I love you,” you’re smiling against his lips as the car is put into drive, pulling away from the drop-off lane. “Three baseball cards, a storybook, and a binder of stamps, in the top left drawer of the dresser in the bedroom. There’s also a ring in there, if you want that, too.” 

He leans back until he’s flat against the backseat, eyes blown wide. “He was gonna propose?” 

“Still is,” you shrug, “probably when I get home from ‘Cancun.’”

The smile that spreads across Yunho’s cheeks would be terrifying if you were anyone else. If you didn’t know him down to his very bones. He groans, head tipping back against the leather seat, “I’d fuck you right here, right now if we weren’t in this fucking car.” 

Your smile mirrors his, eyes lowering as your finger reaches upward, pressing the button in the center of three on the ceiling. You hear the faint hum of the partition closing, severing the front seat from the back seat, and the chuckle that leaves Yunho’s mouth has your thighs tightening around him. 

“For good luck,” you press a kiss to his lips, one he deepens immediately, “before you take everything he’s ever loved.”

While you sat at the dining table on the back deck with Mingi after having drug him down the stairs after his fist drove into Jongseob’s jaw, the rest of your friends kicked everybody out. All of the underclassmen, all of their friends, the sophomores, they were cut off and thrown out. A lot of them lingered, your friends, drunk themselves, trying to usher other drunk people out of the house was taking a lot longer than expected.

Gripping his wrist, digging his fingers into the bone, the muscle, stretching his fingers backward with a wince, Mingi paced the boards in front of you, the moonlight hitting his tanned skin, illuminating his blonde locks. He’d thrown off his glasses the moment you shoved him out of the sliding glass door, somewhere on the sand most likely. You’d buy him another pair tomorrow, expedite shipping, and they’d be here within the day. 

Words had been thrown at one another, starting with the punching you couldn’t praise him for but wanted to, leading into the phone and the unknown number and how he’d done it and why, winding you up here, yelling at one another about the game.

“I kissed him because you said to do it,” you cried out, hands palming your cheeks, wiping your tears then wiping your hands on your skirt.

Whirling around, marching back in front of you, Mingi shouted, “That’s because I was under the impression you wanted to bring him into bed!”

The door slid open, both of your attentions turning toward it. Ryujin scurried out with a water bottle and an ice pack.

“Ignore me,” she breathed, “I’m not listening.”

Focusing on Mingi, you continued. “Then, you can’t be mad at me!”

She put the water bottle on the table beside you, pointed to it with a quiet, “Drink this,” then handed Mingi the ice pack and muttered, “Use this.” Turning to hurry back into the house before she heard anything else, she gave you a tight lipped smile.

“Where’s Aurora?” you asked her, and she paused. 

Tightening her palms into fists, she shrugged. “We don’t know,” she said. “Yeosang and Ken are going to their place to check.” 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, grabbing onto the water bottle she gestured toward once more before she took herself back into the house.

Mingi, icing his knuckles, staring down at the blue pack Ryujin had brought him, clicked his tongue, scoffed, and rolled his head back all within three seconds. “You kissed him, Tori, like, fully, like, kissed him.”

Sipping the water while he spoke, you nearly choked. “I did, Mingi, okay!? But, I did it because you said so. It’s a game.”

“Yeah, but-”

“What about you?” you questioned, sitting up straight, tilting your head aside. He met your eyes and you smiled maniacally. “Texting me? You know those texts drove me to talk to him?!”

He sighed. “They weren’t supposed to.”

“What else was I meant to think?” Narrowing your eyes, you capped the water and tossed it onto the table. It rolled and hit the ground. Mingi watched it, then shot you a look.

“It was obvious it was me,” he muttered.

You shifted into a more gentle smile. “No, it wasn’t.”

He took two steps toward you and you sat backward, the power of his voice nearly forcing you against the chair. “You thought it was Yunho, isn’t that close enough!?”

Springing back up, you pointed at him, stabbing your finger between his ribs. “You kissed Yunho!”

“Now you know that’s different,” he said with a squint. “He kissed me for your dare so he didn’t have to kiss Rora.”

Looking up at him, hands dropping into your lap, your beautiful boyfriend staring down back at you, you took a deep, shaking breath, and released it with a sigh. For weeks now he’d been masked as someone else, texting you like some complete stranger. Acting as if he knew nothing, he waited for you to tell him, he attempted to persuade you, through this alias, to say something.

Mingi. Your sweet, kind, loving Mingi who tries his utmost best to give you everything you need, everything you deserve… He held a secret from you, for weeks. A part of you felt proud, that he grew a pair and wanted to get a little sneaky, wanted to try some other outlet for a rush, and for your sake, but deep down you can’t seem to shake the guilt that grew around it. It wasn’t Mingi, this wasn’t Mingi. 

As much as you longed for the unknown, the uncertainty, the unpredictable, the moving on a whim- it wasn’t Mingi. It wasn’t you. It’s not how the two of you work. Your relationship is stability, comfort, a rock the size of a mountain that cannot be moved, and now that you’ve gotten a taste of sneaky, it repulses you.

“Mingi,” you whispered. He took another step closer to you, now standing directly in front of you. “Why did you do this to me?”

He loosed a breath. “Because…” Shaking his head, he spun around and wandered toward the railing facing the beach before looking at you once more. “Ugh,” he groaned, tipping his head backward, “Because I know I’m losing you.”

“What?”

“You don’t see it yet,” he said, keeping his voice steady, though you could hear how his throat tightened. “But, I feel it.”

Standing up, you placed yourself in front of him, big, pleading eyes gazing up at him.

He sighed, staring down at you, his fist still in his hand. “Maybe we’re too drunk for this right now.”

“Please-tell-me,” you spoke all too fast.

Pressing his lips together he glanced away, then met you with another headshake. “It’s what I said before,” he mumbled, blinking a billion times in one second. You’ve both been drinking, you’d be shocked if this didn’t end in tears. You may be the crier, but an intoxicated Mingi is a wildcard. It’s either tears or the zoomies. “You’re pushing us all away. And everyone has been trying to tell you, has been trying to pull you back in, but…”

Tears brimmed his eyes. Tonight it was tears.

“Each time you fight back, and it hurts more and more. Things feel okay for an hour,” he half rolled his eyes, “And then they’re right back where they were, and you feel another mile away from me. At this point no one knows what to do, or what to say, that we’re asking you for help. We need you to help us help you.” He used the back of his injured hand to wipe his cheeks. Gulping, all you could do was watch. “This phone thing… Wooyoung helped me with it.”

A scoff tumbled out of you before you could stop it, your head rolling backward as a grin broke out onto your cheeks. “Of course he’d help you sneak-”

“Tori,” Mingi said, as calm as ever, making you snap your neck back to focus on him, all emotion wiping from your face. “Listen to me, for one minute, please.” 

Your cheeks heated. “Okay,” you whispered.

“Wooyoung helped me with it,” he repeated himself, not breaking his gaze from yours. “I wasn’t talking to Yunho, I had no one else to go to, this isn’t something I can talk about with Jongho, he doesn't get it. Neither does Seonghwa, and lord knows I am not talking about anything with Hongjoong. I wasn’t about to trouble Yeosang with it either, he’s got too much on his plate, and he’s happy, I didn’t wanna bother him.” He took a breath, releasing it with a sigh. “Wooyoung, he’s a good dude. He cares, and I know you feel some type of way about him, so that’ll piss you off to hear that, but… It’s true.”

You swallowed your rage that wanted to pour out of you. From the way he’s been treating you all week, to how he popped off on you at the end of the game. Wooyoung caring, it didn’t sit right in you.

“He listened to me when I needed someone to talk to, and he gave really good advice. He’s logical, so even though my feelings were everywhere and I wanted him to tell me what I wanted to hear, he gave me the whole truth, and he helped me work through some things, and eventually we came up with a plan together to try to…” he glanced to his hands, shifting the now melted ice around his knuckles, “I dunno, to make sure you didn’t break up with me.”

“How did it work?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“There’s an app,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s so high school, but it worked. I text you off of that.” Meeting your eyes, he wore pure sorrow in his. “I thought it would excite you. I knew what was happening with Wooyoung and Aurora, I saw how it affected you. Even if that’s not the whole problem, I know how you felt about it, and I guess I thought… You wanted to try that. Or, you wanted something like that to happen, or maybe we would explore something together. So, using this number, I thought you’d tell me about it, maybe a day or so after texting each other. And that would open up a conversation.”

“Then, our… issue happened, we landed here, and it turned into something entirely different,” he said. “Something was going on, and you weren’t telling me. Even if you didn’t know what was going on, if you were just… going through it, you weren’t telling me. You wouldn’t talk to me. Then, you started telling this number about stuff that was bothering you, and I wanted to tell you it was me, but I was finally hearing about things and I didn’t wanna stop you. I also figured, if you were telling me these things and not someone else,” he shrugged, “Okay, I can forgive you thinking you were telling someone else. Because it was me behind the number and I felt guilty about that.”

“But, it got to the point of your hard assumption that it was someone else,” his lips pressed together, “And what I was offering as this other guy, you thought it was him.”

You asked within a whisper, “Who else would I assume it be, Mingi? You were talking like someone else.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna tell me there wasn’t more behind that kiss? Be honest with me, please, just say it so I know I’m not crazy.” “Maybe,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, and he nodded.

“See, Tor, that’s it. Just tell me.”

“I’m supposed to tell you when I’m attracted to someone else?”

His lips propped up in some sort of smile. “Look at what it’s been doing to us.”

“He’s a jackass,” you spat. “Yeah,” Mingi raised his brows, “Clearly, but you like him.”

“I don’t like him,” you whispered.

He narrowed his eyes, his lips still resting in that smile. “You want him.”

“Is that what those texts were about?” You put on your best Mingi voice, “Talk to your boyfriend and we can set up…” Your voice trailed off, your face warping with subtle shock. “Mingi?”

Licking his lips, his confidence dropped and he retreated within himself some. “Hm?” he hummed, tilting his head, his shyness beginning to consume him.

From what he said of your friends, to the reason he’d been texting you from another number, to now Jongseob…

“Have you been thinking about having a threesome?” you asked, and the most bashful laugh sparked at his lips. 

“Um,” he swallowed hard, composing himself, “No, not uh…” He shook his head, looking everywhere but at you for a moment. “Not completely, but I know you, I watch you, and it seems like maybe you might be interested, so I… I’ve been trying to be more open to the idea…”

Tilting your head aside, you said, “So you secretly text me to ask me.”

“Kinda?” he shrugged for the umpteenth time. “I didn’t know how to talk about it, how to ask, how to bring it up, I just-”

Throwing your arms around him, squishing his hands between your chests, you shot to your tiptoes and yanked him closer, smushing your lips to his, his words getting lost in mumbles before he was kissing you back. Knotting your hands in his hair, you deepened the kiss, then pulled back from him, keeping yourself dangling on the front of him. 

“I’m still mad at you,” he mumbled.

“I love you,” you whispered. “And, I’m sorry, but I was listening to you.”

Clenching his jaw, his eyes drew all over your face. You could see every heavy emotion he kept within. As much as it killed him, he asked, “Do you wanna sleep with him?”

You sighed. “You would really do that for me if I wanted that?”

“Maybe,” he answered all too fast, “I think so, I dunno. Possibly. If it’s… If it’s what you need.”

Tears brimmed your eyes. “Mingi, I don’t know what I need, but it’s definitely not Jongseob.” He tried to hide it, but the breath he let out expressed his relief. “I know I need you, and I’m sorry. It’s empty now, my apologies, but… I am, I’m sorry. You’re so good to me, and I… I took advantage of it all and I can’t even tell you why.”

Lifting a hand between you, he brushed tears from your cheek. “You helped me and Yunho, and you… You were having fun tonight. When the questions weren’t about us. You… You try to fix things even if they aren’t totally yours to fix, but because you care.”

“Problem solver,” you muttered.

He took both hands to your cheeks now, dropping the bag of melted ice to the deck. Squishing your cheeks, he smiled. “My big brained girl,” he said. “You get stuck in there, it’s so big. You’ve been lost. I’m here for you if you can find your way out, but until-”

Cutting him clean off, stumbling forward into him, you spewed from your lips, “You are not breaking with me, Song Mingi.”

“I’m not,” he cringed. “Jesus, Tor. You think I’m gonna leave you over these things? Unfortunately I’m a problem solver too. I want you to be happy, I want to make you happy. Forever.”

Your heart lurched. “Mingi-”

“Not proposing either,” he smiled. “Deep breath.” You listened. “You told me before, you’re struggling. We can do something about that.”

“You thought a threesome was the answer?” you asked, and he laughed.

“Couldn’t hurt, right?”

“I dunno,” you mumbled, and his smile fell just as your eyes did. “After seeing Aurora, I… damn.” She wasn’t in the house. She’d run after Yunho.

As if he read your mind, he lifted your chin and brought your focus back. “They’ll find her,” he said softly, “Wooyoung was right behind her, she can’t be alone, he’s definitely with her.”

“I fucked up,” you whispered, and he listened, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, beneath your lashes. “She tried to be a friend to me, and I… Acted like every person who’s hurt her.”

“You’re going through something too, Tor,” he reassured you, “Don’t beat yourself up. It doesn’t excuse anything, but…”

“She tried,” you said, tears falling down to meet Mingi’s fingertips. “And, I don’t know why I didn’t let her. “

Mingi took a deep breath, hoping you would take it with him, but you didn’t. “There’s a lot of big feelings. You guys went through a lot together, it hasn’t even been a year yet. Yeji tried to divide you, she tried to isolate Aurora from everybody. Wooyoung did something major for her, I don’t think I blame her for clinging to him.”

Blinking, your brows straightened over your eyes as you stared at him. “What has he told you?”

“That Aurora is literally clinging to him. Because Yeji isolated her. He did what he did, exposed himself, their whole plan, got kicked out of his frat, for her, and now her subconscious is tethered to him for the time being.”

Blinking again, you let out half of a laugh. “You spend too much time with him.”

He nodded his head side to side, curling his lips. “It makes sense, and it’s interesting. They have feelings for each other, but Wooyoung doesn’t think this kind of relationship is long lasting for either of them.”

“What the fuck,” you sighed, “You knew all of this?

“Yeah,” he said simply, “Wasn’t mine to tell though, you could’ve asked her about it.”

That stung.

“Ouch,” you muttered.

He squeezed your cheeks, popping a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’m being honest, Tori. Head out of the clouds, Miss Song. Your friends love you. They have their own shit going on, but that doesn’t make you, or your life, or your shit any less important or valuable. You matter, to all of us. In fact, Rora might love you more than I do. When you kissed him, San had to hold her back from running over to you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why didn’t he let her go?”

Mingi smiled and shook his head. “It’s not alway malicious, baby,” he said, his gentle tone washing you with comfort. “We were all drinking, who knows, she told you to stop and I told you to go.”

“He should’ve let her go,” you whispered.

“So, what?” he scrunched up his face, “You could fist fight and yell at her? You didn’t know any of this half an hour ago, you really think you guys were gonna kiss and make up if she pulled you off of him?”

Making a face, you looked away from him and groaned. “She’s avoiding me because she thinks she’s bothering me.”

“Gee,” he said without an ounce of sarcasm, “I wonder what gave her that impression.”

“Mingi,” you whined, bouncing on your knees. He smiled and held you closer.

“Tor, I have your back. In front of them, always. If two plus two is six, hell yeah it is! But, baby, I have to do this and tell you it’s four. You’re short tempered with her, you’ve snapped at her more than once, you’ve insinuated the same thing again, and again.”

Taking a deep breath, you let it out with a whisper. “Aurora’s world.”

“And then you get upset because he’s silencing her? That other people are tainting her spirit when her very own best friend is saying those words to her face?” 

Tears spilled over, a sob heaving from your chest. Mingi slid his arms around your shoulders bringing you into his chest.

“She’s not the good guy here either, trust me,” he said, dragging a hand over your head, through your hair to soothe you while you cried. “I guarantee you Wooyoung has had to do this too.” It’s quiet for a moment, your cries slowing down until nothing but the breeze and crashing waves could be heard. “Seonghwa has tried to talk to her,” he continued. “President to president, about Nasara stuff, things we want to present to you guys. They need to talk about it first though, and she won’t do it. Hwa says she declines every chance he gets to talk to her.”

“It’s like she’s running,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “From what, we don’t know. But, I do know she needs her Vice President to help her. Her best friend. Her sister. You both have shit to talk out, and it needs to happen, and you need to work it out. I know none of us wanted to talk school while we were here, but unfortunately it’s all we can do. We have one more year together, Tori.”

One more year until everything changes for all of you, like it did this year for Ryujin and Yeosang. Something you were keeping far far away until it happened to appear right in front of you. It made you sick to your stomach.

“And I know that thought does nothing to help you,” he said, reading your mind, “But, this year is supposed to be one of the best for us. You’re starting the year as the board, it’s completely, entirely yours. You guys need each other. You can fix this. You can get her back. You said that she said it, she misses you,” he paused. Taking a slow breath, he said, “It’s likely she still does. Talk to her.”

Waking up beside Mingi, pressed into his side with one arm slung over his chest, he laid on his back with an arm snaked beneath you, the two of you finally waking up closer than you have since you’ve left for this vacation. Blinking the hangover away, the ache in your head and dreariness in your eyes, you drank up his lazy smile and lifted your chin to press a kiss to his cheek, letting him catch your lips for all of two seconds before his own head and messy blonde hair flopped back onto the pillow. 

At some point in the night Ryujin came out to let you know the house was clear, that all the kids were gone, and that you could come back in when you were ready. Holding onto Mingi, the two of you mumbling things to one another, endless apologies, you wandered back inside and up the stairs hand in hand. Through the second floor, past the couches you all sat around not too long ago, and straight up to your bedroom where you dressed each other for bed and curled up beneath the sheets together.

No sign of Aurora. Ryujin and Jeongyeon were straightening up as you walked through the house, the two of them sparing you a small smile. On the second floor Yuna and Jongho were doing the same, throwing trash away, pushing furniture back to where it should be, and appearing every now and again, you only saw him once, was San, quieter than usual, his chin down as he carried glasses down to the kitchen.

Seonghwa likely took Hongjoong home, neither of them were around, and like Ryujin told you, Yeosang and Keni went back to their house to check if the rogue couple were there. 

It had turned into a quiet night.

A quiet night that turned into a quiet morning.

As much as the energy had shifted, a tension now lingering amongst everyone somehow, there was peace right here in bed with him. Against his bare chest, the rise and fall of each of his breaths, the steady beating of his heart, he was yours. And he was here. And he wouldn’t leave you. You wouldn’t lose him. What should’ve broken the two of you, it’d be used to make you stronger, strengthen your relationship. 

Given a taste of what you thought you wanted, what you thought you needed… This was it.

This is how it should be, you and Mingi, together, with no one between you.

Sticking with you after last night should be enough of a sign for you to realize that, yes, he wasn’t going anywhere, but, no, you didn’t need anything more. The two of you weren’t missing anything, your relationship didn’t lack anything, if you needed a change, if you needed something new, you could tell each other. 

Mingi’s thought, his offer, he didn’t take it off the table, it still lingered in the air somewhere, but you were both too fragile right now to explore that. You’d get yourselves back to where there were no questions in your collective loyalty, trust would become the utmost focus, and then you could open that door.

“Good morning,” he grumbled, his gruff morning voice like music to your ears.

Giving him a smile, you said, “If it was a good morning I wouldn’t have to talk to Aurora today.”

He sighed and stretched his legs out, slipping his arm out from under to you to stretch them over his head, his hands pressing against the headboard. “Do it and get it over with, rip off the bandaid,” he muttered, rolling onto his side, facing you, tucking his hands under his cheek and his knees into his chest. 

Giggling when he fluttered his eyes shut, you took hand to his cheek and messed with his hair, twirling a few strands around your pinky finger. “You’re so cute.”

“Mm,” he hummed, smiling, nuzzling into your touch. “Don’t talk to me like that if you’re gonna get up.” Opening his eyes, he fluttered you his lashes.

Kissing his forehead, you mumbled against his skin, “I’m gonna go get us some water, and then I won’t get up again, and you can keep me here all day.”

His pupils doubled in size. “Go,” he whispered, rolling onto his back, pushing you away with a smile. “Go, the faster you go the faster you come back.” 

You kissed him one more time, letting your lips linger on his a little longer than they should. He lifted his head to keep his pressed to yours, but when you got too far from him he fell back to the pillows with a sigh and a lazy smile. 

“I love you,” you whispered, ruffling his hair before you moved off the bed and slipped into a pair of his sweatpants that hung off of you, the band low on your tanned hips.

Rolling onto his side, his eyes unable to leave you, he watched you start for the door, and whispered, “I love you.”

Out in the hall, like the aftermath of every party, mess lingered, but you couldn’t be bothered. Your friends took care of most of it last night, at some point you’d get to it and recruit Mingi in the process. Light mumbles carried up from the first floor, guiding you through the hall of the third to the stairs, familiar hums of voices you knew, voices that invaded the peace you’ve curated within the last few hours.

Heart rate picking up, palms growing sweaty, you flew down both flights of stairs and nearly stumbled into the kitchen. Eyes wide, jaw clenched, hands pressed to your middle, you glanced about the space as confusion warped your senses, taking away some of the anxiety of having to face her. 

Standing between the couches, Wooyoung spoke to Seonghwa, the boys murmuring to one another broken words you could barely make out. Beside them, rifling through her carry on bag on the couch, sat Aurora. Hair thrown up messily, makeup on her face from last night still half decent, she looked tired. Heavy eyes, she’d definitely been crying, whether last night or this morning, you didn’t know, you couldn’t tell. She rummaged for something, and when she found it she pulled it out and stood up, zipping her bag shut.

Fumbling with the tiny paper in her hands she read over it and moved to slip it into the pocket of the sweats she wore, but in doing so she looked out into the kitchen, and she found you. Freezing for a moment, she folded the paper in her palm, closing her fingers around it.

Wooyoung, his lips still moving a mile a minute for Seonghwa who nodded along, the president's eyebrows low, his entire being on alert, he glanced at Aurora, then you, his expression not changing. Talking to Seonghwa, he watched her wander around the couches and into the kitchen.

Your stomach rolled, cartwheels in your gut, worry building up in your throat, every muscle tightening because you did not know what was coming.

Their suitcases lived by the door, hers and Wooyoungs. Her carry on sat on the sofa, his had to be nearby. They were both dressed in sweats, comfy clothes, in shoes they could easily slip out of. They were dressed for a flight, the airport, and they were packed for one too.

“Are you leaving?” you asked within a breath as she approached you. 

She stood about two feet away from you, stopping there, planting her feet into the floor. Nodding, she said, “We have to go.”

Lowering your brows, but not enough to seem upset, you said, “We have another two weeks, Ror.”

“I know,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m sorry.” Bobbing her head she let the words marinate for a second. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, holding out her hand, “Here,” she shook it a bit and you held out your own. She dropped that piece of paper into your palm. Giving her a look you unfolded it, looked it over, and immediately shook your head.

“Aurora, no, this is not-”

“Take it,” she said, looking at the check you held. “It doesn’t completely cover two weeks for the house, but… I’ll find a way to get you the rest somehow.”

Dumbfounded, unable to do anything but shake your head, you whispered, “Where did you get this?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dropping your hands at your sides, you gaped at her. “Aurora, I’m going to worry about it.”

“Wooyoung,” she said quickly, tossing a hand toward where he stood with Seonghwa, now listening to him mumble. You glanced his way, he wasn’t paying attention. “He’s just spotting me for now, I’ll pay him back.”

Your eyes drifted back over to her. “And somehow you’re gonna do that, and give me the rest to cover two weeks here?” She took a deep breath, her hands smoothing against her thighs. “Ror, I don’t ask that in a bad way, you know that, it’s just… Don’t do this, don’t give this to me.”

You held out the check, and all she could do was look at it.

“My dad’s in the hospital,” she said, sucking down a shaking breath. Brows flipping over, you let her speak. “My uncle called me this morning, I didn’t even sleep, but whatever, he was at their house and… He wasn’t feeling right for hours, he said. They weren’t doing anything crazy, they had dinner, they were drinking, and when they were in his garage smoking, he collapsed.”

“Ror,” you whispered, taking a step toward her. “I’m so sorry, what did they say happened?”

She looked at you and pressed her lips together. “Heart attack,” she shrugged, “We just don’t know how bad yet. Last I talked to Yoongi he said they were still running tests, but… he lost, like, the brain oxygen, I dunno, I just, I have to go.”

Nodding, you took another step closer to her. You wanted to throw your arms around her, hug her tight, but there was still too much left unsaid, too much unspoken shit between you that needed to come undone, that needed to be spoken. Seeming to want to do the same, she gave you a glance as you came closer, but she looked away just as fast. 

“Go,” you said gently, thrusting the check toward her. “Don’t leave me with this, not now. I don’t need it. Go home to your dad and be with him, hug him, and make sure to tell him I still think he’s the hottest drug dealer ever. But, don’t leave this with me, I promise you, you don’t-”

“Take it,” she said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. Squeezing her eyes shut, tears slipping out of them, she blinked them away, breathed through a sob, and gestured toward you. “Take it, keep it, let me do this, please. I owe you, I’ve owed you a lot for a long time, let me start getting my shit together, okay? One day I’m gonna be left with just me, and it was almost last night, and now it could be any day, I can’t keep doing this. I owe you, Tori.” She looked up at you and shook her head. “Thank you, for everything, for all of this, for bringing us here. For everything you’ve done for me, thank you.” Gulping, she held in a cry, but her tears fell down her cheeks. “I’m sorry things got so messy, I didn’t wanna say this and cry, but now with my dad, don’t take these tears as anything else. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you, I’m sorry for Wave and what I did that night, and I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to me, about anything. I never want you to feel like you can’t, but somehow I did, and I don’t know why yet, but I hope you’ll tell me, but I know you don’t owe me that.”

“Aurora, it’s-”

“No, you don’t have to say anything right now,” she sighed, wiping her cheeks clean. “I just dropped a bomb, and whatever you’re gonna say is gonna try to make me feel better and I don’t deserve that.” Taking a breath, she folded her arms over her chest and glanced to Wooyoung who now sat alone on a couch tapping at his phone. Seonghwa had snuck away at some point. “I’ll let you know when I’m home, if you wanna know,” she shrugged, “Or, if you don’t just tell me. I’m gonna get out of the way. Tell Mingi I said bye.”

“Tell me yourself,” he said from the staircase, sending the two of you and Wooyoung’s head whirling around. With furrowed brows Mingi stepped onto the floor and wandered closer to you. “You’re leaving?” 

“What are you doing down here?” you asked him, and he gave you a look.

“I heard everybody talking,” he said, acknowledging Wooyoung with a wave, “I got FOMO.” 

It took everything in you not to laugh. Taking a hand to his arm, you smoothed it over his skin. “I’ll tell you later. They are gonna go, though.”

Mingi shared a look with you, then shifted it over to Aurora. “Damn, okay. You fly soon?”

“Two hours,” Wooyoung said from the couch, now facing the three of you. “We’ve got a car coming soon, then we’re heading straight to the airport. One way to Iloa.”

“My dad’s in the hospital,” Aurora said, and Mingi gasped.

Thinning your lips, meeting eyes with Wooyoung, you stepped away from your boyfriend and best friend, leaving her to tell him the story she told you, hoping she’d give him some more details she seemed to be sparing you, still in her avoidance mentality. 

You didn’t want to, but you were drawn to his side. Something in the way he looked at you, in the way he sat there knowing, like he pulled you toward him with his mind and you walked over and sat down beside him involuntarily.

His presence wasn’t awful. It never has been. Now that you know what you know, he’s almost tolerable.

“Hi, Tori,” he spoke gently, like each word held value.

Shifting on the couch, shoving your hands in your lap, you nodded once. “Hi.”

“Take the money,” he whispered, and you frowned. “No,” he smiled with a little shake of his head, “Don’t, I know, trust me, but, do that for her and take it.” He glanced toward his lap. “She’s very mad at herself,” he mumbled, looking up at you with just his eyes, “I don’t mean to speak for her, but she is sorry.” Pursing his lips, he squished them around before smacking them open. “I think you and I can both agree she’s not the easiest girl to deal with.”

You lowered your brows, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean by that?”

Assessing you, he smiled. “Exactly that,” he nodded. “She’ll drive us crazy, but we’ll protect her no matter what. I can see what you’ve been trying to do, extending a hand after shit hits the fan, but it somehow gets worse and worse each time?” He pulled a nod from you. “You can’t control her, none of us can. I don’t know how she’s gonna wake up in the morning, but once I know, I roll with it. Her mind changes constantly, always craving something else, and I don’t know why, but… It’s amazing to watch.”

“Dealing with her high at the bar was not amazing to watch,” you muttered, and he laughed through a breath. “I don’t know what you get, but that was not fun. Sometimes she moves for herself, and herself only, it feels like she doesn’t think twice about other people before she makes decisions sometimes.”

Wooyoung studied you, bobbing his head while you spoke. “She’s got quick triggers,” he said, keeping his voice between the two of you. “She learned from a young age that she can only rely on herself, even if that isn’t the whole truth. In the same way you crave stability and a constant, so does she.”

You held up a hand, then slapped it to your chest. “How do you know what I crave?”

He didn’t move. “Mingi has become a constant for you. Aurora has become a constant for you. You were set in your ways for a long time, it became normal, it became comfortable. When everything was shaken, when everything got messed up, you both… lost it a little.” You soaked in his words, half amazed at what he was able to do. “Ro is moving with the instability because that’s what she knows, she has to ride it out, remove herself from places she thinks she’s causing problems in, she has to run away from it. You, on the other hand, Tori, you go against it.”

“You fight it. And I commend you for that, for fighting for things you love and care about, but when that grows too strong it can turn to resentment, because everyone else is moving differently and not like you. Growing up, did you feel like you weren’t somewhere safe? Were you put in any situations that made you feel… alone?” 

He asked genuinely. Now sitting over his own lap, his elbows on his knees, he spoke with care, and his eyes did the same.

To answer his question, yes.

And hearing him ask it drove a dagger through your heart.

“I… I have a sister,” you started, and he nodded, encouraging you to continue. “Sitara. She, uh, got a lot of my parents attention, I guess. You know, the whole thing of ‘siblings having different parents’ thing?”

“I know all about it.”

“Right,” you sighed, averting your eyes to your lap. “I don’t know. Some days were fine, I guess, you know my dad is always there for me as much as he can be. Sometimes we would go behind my mother and Sitara’s backs and have days to ourselves, and he’d joke with me about them. He’s the only one who reaches out regularly when I’m not home, but Sitara’s busy with her career and my mom is busy riding on her success, so…”

Wooyoung blinked. “What happened when the time you spent with your dad was over?”

You shrugged. “He’d have to travel with Sitara, or spend his time with her and my mom because of work. Sitara’s been doing what she’s doing since she was a kid, so this has been going on for as long as I can remember. It was not easy being the little sister of the girl who was the face of every kid’s show, and it sure as hell isn’t easy being the little sister of the girl who, very soon, is probably going to be the face of every blockbuster film in Hollywood.”

“Tori, Aurora’s not going to leave you behind,” he said, sitting backward against the couch. 

You felt like you could be sick. “I’m not worried about that, I-”

“But, you are,” he gave you a soft smile, “And, it might be why you feel the need to sabotage relationships sometimes. When things seem hard, when things seem rocky, it’s easier to just throw them away before they throw you away first, right? It felt better to decline spending time with your dad, your family, because you knew if you spent time with him, with them, it would end and they’d leave you for an unbeknownst amount of time, right?” He tilted his head to the side. “Better to be the one squashing hearts than to have yours squashed by someone else, am I right?”

“It gets squashed either way,” you mumbled, and he smiled.

“None of it feels good,” he agreed with you, “But, we do it anyway.” His gaze drifted over to Aurora and Mingi, both of them babbling away at the kitchen counters, the two of them leaning over the edges like they’ve been best girlfriends for years.

Messing with your hands, tangling your fingers together, you twisted up your brows and shook your head. “Then, what happened with Mingi,” you whispered, “Was all just me subconsciously afraid that he was going to break up with me first?”

Wooyoung rubbed a hand along his chin, his eyes on his girl. “Something like that, it seems. Sabotaging it before anything even happened.”

“That’s awful,” you breathed, thinking it over. Giving you a look, Wooyoung smiled. A parent wound, a family wound, one you didn’t even think twice about before, it’d been woken up by the events of last year at Nasara. The loss of your core four friend group, Yeji isolating Aurora, pulling her from you, and then the simple act of friends graduating- That’s why it all felt so large and detrimental. 

Even small changes now felt catastrophic.

“I compared her to my sister,” you whispered, looking him dead in the eyes. “That’s why I’ve been saying what I have to her. To anyone, really. I compared her to… To Sitara.”

Narrowing his eyes, giving you a once over, he said, “I can see why. Especially now that she’s got… the title. You’re no longer equals, though, if we think about it, you had a position first last year.” You were on the board before Aurora, whether or not she’d been bought out of her rightful position or not. “It comes down to the title, I believe. You’re the little sister, Tori. Now you’re the Vice President. I’m not saying those two go hand in hand, I’m not saying that makes you inferior, or unimportant, because you’re very important, but if we’re talking about what triggers what…” He gestured his hands around a bit to put the pieces together.

Mouth parted, slouching over slightly, drawn into him, his words, his aura, you couldn’t move. For many seconds you sat and stared. “You’re like… Lawful chaotic. Or, no, lawful good… Chaotic good? I dunno which one, but you fall somewhere in there. Jongseob, he’s… Chaotic evil. Lawful evil.”

Wooyoung scrunched up his face, then let it fall with a shake. “Jongseob’s just evil. Stop messing with him.”

“He messed with me first!” you shouted, leaning toward him, silencing the room. Glancing behind you, Aurora and Mingi were looking to you with wide eyes. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Why bring him up?” Wooyoung asked when you turned back toward him. 

“‘Cause he said something to me last night, before he came in,” you shook your head, placing your fingers over the bridge of your nose before twisting one of your piercings around. “How you are quick, but he is quicker, or something.” When you met his eyes, his told you what he said was the truth.

“He’s taking all the classes I took when I was in his year,” he nodded, “He’s gonna be a finance bro,” he said in a funny voice to make you laugh, and it worked, “So, don’t worry, but he takes all these extra classes. He’s insanely smart, and scary. All of his friends, he’s manipulated them into sticking with him, and we almost had Soul out of it, but…”

Your heart sank. “He pulled him right back in.”

“Yep,” he said with a pop of the P.

“Damn,” you sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said with a furrow of his brow as he reached for his phone that vibrated on his lap. Tapping at the screen he answered the phone call, it was their ride. They had to leave.

They were really leaving.

Wooyoung just therapized you, Aurora’s dad was in the hospital, you and Mingi were going to be okay, you and Aurora were up in the air, and you still had no clue what happened with Yunho last night. Everyone moved at once, too quick for your liking, but you took what Wooyoung said and you let it happen. 

It had to happen. 

Helping them with their suitcases out the door, sharing small looks with Aurora, letting her know you still held onto the check she gave you, when Wooyoung slapped a half hug around Mingi’s back and slid into the backseat of the SUV, you and Aurora spared one last look at one another.

“Thank you,” she whispered one last time.

Space stood between you. Space neither of you liked. 

She’s the girl you walked into ITZ with, hand in hand, after barely knowing each other for a couple weeks. You stood next to one another when you met Yeji, when you whispered about her in awe after she walked away to greet the seniors. For every fundraiser that first year, somehow, RorTor were put together, and you were stuck to one another from the very start. That first visit to ATZ, that very first party you walked into, your arms stayed linked for hours, giggling at every older boy who glanced your way. Your roommate of three years, hopefully now going on four, you’ve seen each other at your absolute worst, you’ve taken care of each other when you got sick, when you needed to vent about family or lack of, every secret, every whisper, you knew.

It’s supposed to be RorTor until the end, a promise made at the recruitment dinner freshman year, locked in with a hooked pinky and a kiss to the thumb. 

Sisters from the start.

Deeper than any sorority title given or taken away.

You both spoke at once.

“I’m sorry.”

And a laugh threatened to come out of both of your mouths, but it didn’t.

Reaching out a hand, you placed it to her shoulder and gave her a shake. “Take care of him, be with him. We’ll talk later. Promise.”

Her lip crinkled. Grabbing onto your arm she yanked you closer and wrapped her arms around your back, hugging you tight, crying into your shoulder. Your own tears spilled over as you slid your arms around her shoulders, laying your cheek over her messy hair. Keeping your cries quiet, you drug a hand over her back.

“Take time, okay,” you said as she started to pull away. Wiping your cheeks, she did the same. “And take care of yourself.”

She released a shaking breath, nodding as she adjusted her clothes. “You too,” she whispered, locking eyes with you for a few more seconds, then she jumped up into the car, settling beside Wooyoung, clinging to his side. Everything Mingi told you last night about their relationship popped back into your mind.

It made sense.

Wooyoung gave you a smile, letting you know they were good, that they would be okay, and you shut the door, the couple disappearing behind the tinted windows. Joining you at your side, leaving Wooyoung’s window, Mingi slipped an arm around your back and pulled you into him. He lifted a hand to wave as the car pulled away, leaving you both in a beautiful, calm, sunshine blazed silence. 

Mingi’s fingers tickled your side, making you squirm. Looking down at you, he asked, “Now what?”

Pursing your lips, squinting your eyes, you shot a look down the street to Jongseob’s house that stood in silence. Snapping your neck to look up to your boyfriend, knowing you wanted and needed to unpack everything Wooyoung had discussed with you, you set your mind on another mission. That problem solver, fixer attitude, that may or may not be a trauma response- you’d discuss it again with Wooyoung when given the chance- it woke right up.

“We need to call Yunho.”

the story continues on... season 3, coming soon <3

read it on ao3 | talk to me | my masterlist

Groaning, driving a hand through your hair, you trudged over the sand toward him and helped him lower Aurora onto her feet. She moved as if her body was made of liquid. Lifeless blinking eyes looked over at you. Yunho kept one arm around her back, your best friend clinging onto him for stability. 

Sanity, you thought, and wanted to giggle.

She couldn’t stand on her feet for long, Yunho was scooping her back up in seconds.

“Who knew you were so strong,” you said to him, following him over the sand, further from the dunes and buzz of nightlife, closer to the water and the rush of the waves. Giving you a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, he sighed when Aurora adjusted herself on his front, her whole face nuzzling into his neck. “Or, you don’t wanna put her down,” you added quietly, and he huffed, focusing forward. 

Reaching the edge of a hill on the beach, Yunho paused and looked out over the ocean. Waves crashed, water rushed up the coast, but it didn’t reach your feet, it only blew salty mist your way, the breeze grazing your skin, cooling it. 

He could’ve let her go. He could’ve sat her down, laid her down, or something, anything other than what he chose to do, sitting down on the sand with her in his lap. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you sat down beside him, about a foot of space between you. Folding your legs, you opened your messages and internally rolled your eyes.

[ITZ]: don’t u wanna know who i am tori

He sent the message a half hour ago.

[you]: yes.

He started typing immediately. Then, the bubbles went away. Aurora stirred on Yunho’s lap. He started typing again.

[ITZ]: maybe if u tell him abt me, i’ll tell u who i am :)

[you]: and how the fuck does that make any sense?

[ITZ]: because…

[ITZ]: maybe i’ll get invited in ;)

[you]: what

[ITZ]: u aren’t with it tonite, what’s wrong with u

[you]: my best friend saw my messages, idiot. 

[ITZ]: aurora?

[you]: yes. and i named you something that made her mad at me. so stop texting me.

[ITZ]: you texted me back first

[you]: whatever

[ITZ]: u were so interested the other night… telling me to come over… inviting me to that party… couldn’t even figure out who i was.

[you]: w h a t e v e r .

[ITZ]: that game aurora plays with her man

[ITZ]: it doesn’t intrigue u at all tori

[you]: what are you talking about

[ITZ]: the way they invite ppl into bed with them

[you]: and what the fuck do you know about that?

Aurora sat up, taking Yunho by the shoulders, glancing around like she’d just woken up.

[ITZ]: plenty.  ;)

[ITZ]: u tell boyfriend abt me maybe we can make a playdate

His texts sent a shiver down your spine, and not a good one. Leaving your phone in your lap, locked, his notifications silenced, you sat backward and rested your hands in the sand, letting the breeze blow your hair off your shoulders. 

“Hey, Ror,” you said, giving her a smile. 

Yunho had his knees propped up where he sat, she was cradled perfectly between his thighs and his torso, her legs straddling his waist. He sat like you, hands backward in the sand, watching her. She lifted her hands, limbs shaking, raking her fingers through her hair. From side to side she looked, at you, at the sand, at the ocean, then at Yunho.

They did the thing again.

Yunho, tilting his head ever so slightly, Aurora, eventually wearing a pout on her lips. They stared. They spoke through blinks and lash flutters, until she actually spoke.

“You suck,” she muttered, and he laughed, glancing away for all of two seconds shaking his head.

“I know,” he said with all the care in the world.

“You really, really suck,” she said again, louder.

He bobbed his head, the softest smile on his lips as he looked at her. “I know,” he whispered, and somehow it worsened her pout. 

Thrusting a hand at him, she tried to shove his shoulder, but barely got a valid hit in. Taking the miniscule blow, Yunho sucked in a breath. She threw another hand, and he took it, blinking up at her, letting her do this. Each push grew somewhat stronger, accompanied by a sound, or a you suck or a fuck you, and eventually the words turned to tears. Her hands took on speed until he snatched them, holding onto them, sitting forward to look at her, and then she sobbed. She fell into his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and sobbed.

He held her. Hands sliding over her back he took a long, deep breath and released it, staring out into the ocean, allowing Aurora’s cries to drown out within the crashing of the waves on the shore. 

You wanted to move. You felt like you should move, like this was their moment and you were in the middle of it, but she wasn’t sober. And her and Yunho, they weren’t okay. As much as you wished that this could be it, that this would fix it all, it wouldn’t.

Your phone lit up on your lap, the little buzz against your skin pulling your attention away from the two of them, thank god.

[loverboy]: where are u?

[you]: we left wave, i’m on the beach with aurora and yunho… she got fucked up, we couldn’t stay there.

[loverboy]: i just showed up with wooyoung san and seonghwa…

[you]: at wave??????

[loverboy]: yeah. wooyoung is looking for rora

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck,” you muttered, scrambling to your feet. Yunho, startled though he barely moved, looked up at you in a panic. “They’re at Wave.”

His brows settled over his eyes in a straight line. “Who?”

“Exactly who you think,” you sighed, and he laughed out of pure dread. Glancing around, both hands on Aurora, he lifted one and pointed at her, looking at you, mouthing, “What do I do?”

“Um,” you drug out the word and let it will thoughts into your brain. This was your thing, this was your expertise, quick thinking, problem solving, it was the position you were voted into at ITZ last year, legit the problem solver. “I mean, if no one’s in the house we can get her in there and you can get out, like nothing happened. It’ll be like I brought her home.” 

“No, no,” Aurora mumbled from his chest before she lifted her head. “No,” she pouted. Taking her hands to Yunho’s cheeks, his eyes shot open wide, her thumbs dragging over his cheekbones. 

“Aurora,” you said with some oomph, and she whined.

“No.”

“Yes,” you snapped back. “Let him go.”

He didn’t want her to let go, but he still said, “You’re mad at me.”

Aurora shook her head, her body still resting over his chest. “No, ‘m not”

The way his body reacted was lost on her. “Yes, you are. You’re very mad at me. I’m not allowed to talk to you unless you talk to me first, that’s how mad you are.” 

She sat up. She sat backward, her back against his thighs, and she watched him.

And he watched her.

And somehow, it still felt better than seeing her cozied up next to Wooyoung, or under his arm.

She took in a breath, but you saved her from saying anything incriminating. 

Dropping down at her side, you rested a hand on her shoulder and said, “Let’s go home. We can have a sleepover. The spare room between ours, we’ll stay there, we can talk all night, ‘cause I know you have a lot to say right now.” 

Her head turned slowly. “And sleep next to a liar?” Yunho pressed his lips together and looked elsewhere.

“Ror-”

“I’d rather go to his house,” she pressed a finger into Yunho’s chest. “You know what I could do with him?” 

Half a laugh came out of him, one that made him gasp.

Rolling your eyes, you took her hand off of him and returned it to her own lap. “Aurora, I am not a liar, and you are not going home with Yunho, we need to go home, now.”

She leaned toward you and squinted her eyes. “Why?”

“Because, you were already sick, it’s time for bed.”

“Why?”

Sighing, you forced a smile onto your lips. “Good god, this was not the time I was hoping Aurora would come back to us.” Yunho laughed to himself. “The boys are at the bar looking for us. Wooyoung and San are there. So, that means it’s time for us to go home.”

Her eyes drifted toward the sand. “Wooyoung and San,” she mumbled. 

Yunho blinked toward you. “Oh, yeah, what happened by the way? I meant to ask you, or Mingi, but…”

Shifting your brows, tilting your head, you gave him a look, one that made his lips part.

“Oh,” he said, looking off somewhere behind you before he took a look at Aurora and glanced the other way. Quiet surrounded you all for a moment before he asked, “Why was it… weird earlier?”

Taking in Aurora, how she watched the sand, blinking through nothing, you shrugged. “She…” Yunho looked at you. “I can’t talk to you about this. It’s hers to tell.”

The tiniest laugh came out of her, both of you sparing her a glance. She lifted her chin and smiled at you, then smiled at Yunho.

“Bye,” she said, hoisting herself off of his lap, slipping out of his grip more gracefully than she could when she was sober. Trekking up the sand, teetering to the right, she sauntered away.

“What the fuck?” Yunho was quick to jump to his feet, you following him soon after.

Sharing a look, you offered for him to take the lead. “Shall we?”

Peering between Aurora wandering further up the sand and you, Yunho started to follow her, mumbling, “I guess so.”

Down the wooden planked walkway designed to get you from the promenade to the beach and back easily, you and Yunho walked in silence, eyes on Aurora stumbling every fourth step. He flinched each time he thought she’d fall, his chin jerking, or his hands tightening at his side.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly, taking him by surprise. Pausing halfway down the planks, he turned to you. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”

Smoothing his hands over his shorts, he shrugged the matter off. “It’s okay, you wouldn’t have been able to get her up here. Or home, for that matter. She was deadweight.” Looking her way, both of you, she’d reached the end of the path and waltzed over the concrete of the promenade now, following lines in the pavement with her head down. 

“You’re pushing this,” he said, focusing back on you. “Why?”

Pursing your lips, you met his gaze and shook your shoulders a bit. “I want you together.”

He scoffed. “After what I did to her?”

“It’s Aurora,” you groaned. “She slept with Seonghwa, did she not?”

Yunho cringed and walked a small circle around himself. “She did, but they weren’t like…” he paused, softening his brow, “I was worse. I did worse. You said he’s good with her, leave them be.” Voices sounded at the end of the pathway, Aurora’s laughter ringing aloud amongst the commotion. Yunho broke first, peering down the planks, his softened expression hardening quickly. “Example,” he muttered.

His arms were around her waist, holding her close to him. Rocking her back and forth, in a way that seemed she wanted, Wooyoung shot glares your way over her shoulder. Slipping her hands into his hair she pressed kisses to his jaw, and he started to smile. San lingered behind, speaking to her, speaking to them both. In blue jeans and a white tank with a leather belt strapped to his waist, he wore a smirk that grew as he slid his hands into his back pockets. 

 Mingi ignored them, walked around them with Seonghwa in tow, headed your way.

Holding out his hand for Yunho to slap, he turned to you as they bumped shoulders. “I couldn’t stop him,” he said, half a frown dancing on his lips, “He was gonna find her either way.”

“Did we not want him to find her?” Seonghwa asked, greeting Yunho similarly to how Mingi did. Yunho didn’t take it nearly as inviting as he did when Mingi did it. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you breathed, taking hold of Mingi’s hand, curling your fingers around his. He gave your palm a squeeze, dipping his chin to brush his lips over your cheek. “She got really drunk, got sick, I kinda just wanted to take her home and not bother anyone.”

Seonghwa quirked a brow. “You ended up here,” he said, nodding toward the beach. Facing Yunho, he added, “With him.” 

“What’s the word on Soul?” you asked, switching subjects.

The curiosity in his dark eyes went unchanged. “Can’t find him. Untrackable.”

“Damn.” You leaned into Mingi, wrapping your other hand around his bicep. “Hope he turns up soon.”

Seonghwa was a rock. “Could you ask Jongseob?”

A sinkhole opened up beneath you on the sand, taking you under. Mingi could feel it, he held onto your hand a little tighter.

“W-What?” you stammered, tilting your head.

Seonghwa blinked. He glanced at Mingi, then his eyes burned through yours. “He’s been following you around this whole time, no?” 

What the fuck was he doing?

Mingi focused down on you. Nighttime air blew by you, an ocean breeze, one salty and cool that did nothing to lessen the heat that built into your cheeks, that coursed through you.

“I try to not talk to him, Hwa, no matter what it looks like,” you said after a breath. “It may seem like he’s hanging around me, but he’s not. He’ll try to get under my skin, but I won’t let him.” He waited a few seconds, took another look at your boyfriend, then nodded. “I mean,” you started, giving Mingi a glance yourself, “If it’s okay, I will ask him, for Soul’s sake?”

Mingi shrugged. “You don’t need permission,” he mumbled. 

“Okay,” you said, sharing a small smile with him. Setting your eyes over Seonghwa and his lengthy dark hair, you flattened your brow to tell him not to say anything else. “I’ll shoot him a message, or something. I’ll let you know what he says.”

“You have his number?” Seonghwa asked, humour in his tone. Mingi tensed beside you, not even a reassuring squeeze of his arm could relax him.

“Instagram is a thing,” you said smoothly, laying your head against your boyfriend.

“Not to be that guy,” Yunho spoke up, directing everyone's attention to Aurora walking away in Wooyoung’s arms, the two accompanied by San, “But, where are they going?” 

Seonghwa tried to keep his laugh to himself but ended up with Yunho’s elbow in his chest anyway. His eyes found you, his knowing eyes, and they now asked you for help, like you’ve both formed some sort of secret Aurora Alliance within the hours of this night. Behind the need for assistance, the need for this to be squashed and over with lingered. It had to be set aside. It couldn’t and shouldn’t be touched again, for a while, until something needed to happen. He asked you to do that for him. For her.

Wooyoung locked eyes with you. Aurora talked to him, between kisses slapped onto his cheek, she spoke to him, and his stare traveled to Yunho unintentionally shielding himself behind Seonghwa. Then, he looked back at you, and that nasty grimace returned. Behind them, San kept his eyes to himself, but the smirk on his baby pink lips told you plenty.

“Great,” you sighed. Mingi held onto you a little tighter. “I’m a liar,” you shared a look with Yunho, “You’re in deeper shit, and we’re all gonna get written off.”

Seonghwa tossed his hands up with a smile. “I’m excluded from the narrative.”

Yunho side eyed him. “What do you know about the narrative?”

Mingi’s hold loosened around you as he took a step toward his best friend. “Don’t listen to him, it’s-”

Yunho’s eyes popped open wide with a tilt of his jaw, cutting him clean off. “Finish that sentence.”

“No,” you said, stepping around your boyfriend, inserting yourself in the middle of the suffocating testosterone circle. Placing a hand on Mingi’s chest, you looked up at the other two, pointing at them directly. “The narrative does not exist,” you said to Yunho, turning to Seonghwa, “And even if one did exist, you would not be excluded.” You shut the two of them up, both of them looking down at you like a pair of brothers who’ve been grounded by their big sister.

It took a few seconds within the silence to realize, but Mingi had let go of you completely. He stood behind you with his hands in his pockets, his eyes soft, and his chin tipped low. 

“Why are you a liar?” he asked quietly, the deepness of his voice almost drowned out by the crashing of distant waves. Turning to him, trying to hold onto him somehow, he wouldn’t let you. 

“Mingi, can I-”

He took a small step backward, out of your reach. “Why are you a liar, Tori?”

Jaw agape, a singular laugh came out of you. “I’m not…”

Don’t go there, he heard you call yourself a liar.

Extending a hand toward the promenade where the others stood, you said, “She called me a liar. I am not a liar, but Ror called me one.”

“Why?” he asked, unmoving. The boys behind you were silent.

You can’t tell him about the texts. It’d be nice if you could, but look how far they’ve gone.

Would it be better to admit it? To flat out tell him they were happening, that you’ve entertained it for over a week? For what? Because you were bored? Because you were envious? You were not envious. You knew Mingi, you knew what it would do to him. To make him feel like he wasn’t enough, like he wasn’t giving you enough, doing enough for you, that you were unhappy in your relationship, that you were unsatisfied, you couldn’t do that to him. None of it was even true.

Why were you doing it?

“The ITZ thing,” you said, and you swore you heard Yunho sucked in a breath. Mingi crinkled a brow. “Last year. We all know her trust is fucked up. She got messed up tonight, we were talking about stuff, my words got taken the wrong way, she called me a liar.” His cheeks softened, yet your stomach twisted. 

He believed you.

“She’ll be okay tomorrow,” you said. With the smallest shake of your head you stepped toward him, and he let you. Your arms wrapped around his waist, his found your shoulders. Rising to your tiptoes you gave him a kiss. “It’ll all be okay.”

All was not okay.

Aurora remembered everything.

“I just don’t understand why you would do something like that to me,” she spat, pacing the length of the painted deck on the back of the house, the one right outside the kitchen. Both of you in swimsuits, the sunshine beat down on your bare skin, aiding in the boiling of your blood. 

You smacked your hands together and bounced in your seat, one of your legs propped up against the arm of the wicker chair. “Do something like that to you, Ror, I didn’t do a thing to you!”

It’d been twenty minutes of this. The back and forth. The volley of you did this, and, well you did that. Seconds after she’d come down the stairs ready for the day, freshly showered like you, you took one look at her face and knew you’d have to talk it out before anything else happened.

“Yunho,” she hissed like the word tasted awful, whirling herself around, nearly bending in half. She kept her voice quiet. “Why’d you do any of that?”

The first sober conversation about him. Yesterday it’d been shut down. Telling her about him, about what she’d said about him while she showered, it nearly made her sick all over again.

Shrugging, you shook your head. “I’m not gonna sugar coat shit. I want you and him together.” 

She balled her hands into fists. “You know he-”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know, Aurora,” you snapped, and she sharpened her glare. “I was there. Did you forget that? Seems-”

“What,” she said within a breath, her eyes narrowing. “Tori, why would I forget that?” Folding your arms over your chest, you sat back in your chair and rolled your eyes. Aurora took a step toward you. “No, finish that sentence.”

“You’ve just been so busy,” you kept your tone calm, tightening your jaw. “Wooyoung, keeping up with him, listening to him, Soul, taking care of him…”

She loosened her fists, her shoulders drooping as she let out a laugh. “You can’t be serious,” she said, some sort of smile growing on her lips.

“I’m very serious,” you said, and she laughed.

With another step toward you, she said, “Tor, I tried to get it through to you. About any of this. Soul needs help, and he-”

“Then let him get help from someone else!” you shouted, slamming a hand onto the glass of the table you sat in front of. If the boys were in the house, in the kitchen mere feet away, they surely heard you both. “It is not your responsibility, and it sure as hell isn’t good for you to be around him if he does crazy shit, look at what you did last night, that’s not you.”

Her aura calmed tenfold. Pressing her hands to her thighs, she took a deep breath, then nodded her head. “If I’m with Yunho then I’m closer, right?”

Taking a hand to your forehead, you sighed. “What?”

“To you,” she almost whispered, and your stomach flipped. “If I'm with Yunho, I’m closer to you, I’m closer to Mingi, it goes back to us four, always.”

Your arms made their way back over your chest, your skin warm from the sun. Giving her a look, one you didn’t want to hurt her with, but wish you could, you said, “That’s not it.”

She laughed again, throwing her arms out to the side. “Then what is it, Tori? I’ve tried, I’ve been trying. Before we even got here I tried to talk to you, I wanted to get rid of whatever animosity there was.”

You raised a brow. “Animosity?”

She nodded once. “Yeah, animosity. Ryujin taught me that word.” Silence, for three seconds. “Did I… Did I use it right?”

Tilting your head side to side, you curled your lip. “Kinda, but I wouldn’t say that’s what’s going on. That’s how I feel about Wooyoung.”

The words left you before you could stop them.

Aurora pointed at you, her eyes shooting open wide. “I knew it. What’d he do to you?” You answered with a shrug, but it wasn’t enough for her. “Tori.”

Springing forward, you held up a hand and counted on your fingers. “He gets pissy with me whenever you tell him things about us, he’s rude to any human being you aren’t cool with, he got into a physical fight with Intak, he’s silencing you, and he’s making you do things that you don’t want to do.”

Aurora’s turn to cross her arms. Sitting in her hip, she thought to herself before she spoke. “You tell Mingi things about us.”

“Mingi’s my boyfriend.”

She cringed and glanced away. “Whatever,” she muttered.

The ocean, blue and visible from the deck, rolled in the distance. Beings were scattered all over the sand, umbrellas in view, towels littered here and there. The air was fresh, the breeze calming, the sounds of the seagulls squawking and the waves crashing and the wind blowing, all of it, serene. None of it matched this scene. None of it matched how the two of you felt.

“Intak disrespected me,” she said, looking back over at you, her face a lot calmer than it had been. “He was drunk, they both were, he did what he knew. That doesn’t mean I condone that, though. When he told me, I cried, Tori. Laying in bed with San, they both told me what happened, and I cried.” You parted your lips to speak, but she continued. “And as for that, Wooyoung and San, leave it alone. They didn’t make me feel that way, I made myself feel that way.”

“Aurora, you-”

“No,” she smiled. “I don’t want to talk about it. I know what I’m doing.” 

Screwing your face up, you let her know without words that you wanted her to talk about it. But, then somehow, she managed to twist up everything you wanted to say, fry it in your brewing, boiling anger sprinkled with frustration, and forced it to erupt.

“I’ll talk to Wooyoung,” she breathed. “I’ll tell him to cool it with you, with everyone, and he will.”

You couldn’t swallow your grin. “Of course he will,” you grit your teeth, “Because whatever you say, goes.” Her gaze shifted. “Aurora’s fucking world.”

You hated that you didn’t regret it once you finished.

Her hands fell to her sides, arms dangling in shock, the very feeling apparent on her face. Lips parted, eyebrows flipped over, she stared at you. She waited for you to say anything else. To change what had come out of your mouth. To take it back.

Snapping her jaw shut, she bobbed her head and pursed her lips. “Animosity,” she whispered, and turned on her toes.

“Go tell him everything,” you called after her, jumping out of your seat. Following behind her as she thundered down the stairs to the sand, you stopped at the top. “Does he know you wanted to go home with Yunho last night?” She whipped herself around mid-staircase, her hands grabbing onto the bannister. “Oh, yeah,” you laughed, “You wanted to do that. You gonna tell him that part, too?”

“Don’t you dare,” she grilled you, then hurried on her way.

“I’m ready for him to hate me more now! I’ve caught on!”

Hot July air suffocated you. Laying on the beach over a blanket stitched with patterns of pastel blues and hot pinks, the teal bathing suit you wore contrasted against it perfectly. Hair thrown up on top of your head, dainty gold sunglasses perched on your nose, you had your arms and legs stretched out above you, below you, your heels digging into the warm sand. 

Eyes closed, you paid no mind to the chatter around you. Taking deep breaths, focusing them down within you, you kept calm. You were on vacation. You were here to relax, to unwind, not to stir up new drama that honestly should be left in the past. This month was meant to bring you all together, not rip you apart.

You would talk to Aurora.

As much as it pained you, you would apologize to her.

She kept so much from you last year, thinking that she couldn’t tell you things, that she couldn’t let you in on her life. You didn’t want to move backwards. Aurora, she’s family, more of a sister than the very one that grew up with you in the neighboring bedroom of your house in Tamoe. Sitara, your movie star of a sister, one who couldn’t give two shits if you were having a bad day, and if you were she’d judge you for it, something Aurora wouldn’t think twice about doing. 

She said the words herself, she tried to get through to you. She tried to talk things out with you, she even tried on the plane here. That’s something sisters do. They understand if you’re having a bad day, they stick by your side when things don’t feel right, even if they don’t understand it themselves. They try. 

Aurora knew your secrets, and you knew all of hers. Nights you’ve spent dishing familial trauma to one another, understanding one another even if it wasn’t a life you came from. You grew up with a sister, one distant, raised by a completely different set of parents than you were handed, and Aurora, she grew up alone. She didn’t have sisters, she didn’t grow up around kind women in her life. You needed each other.

Sitting up to your elbows, letting your glasses slide to the tip of your nose, you blinked in the blinding sunlight and scanned the sand. Mingi sat up to your left, shirtless, half dried salty blonde hair a mess on his head. He talked with Seonghwa, the ATZ President on another blanket with his legs crossed and Hongjoong laying down flat on his stomach beside him with his nose in a book. They spoke gently to one another, something about organizing the week long back to school rager in a way so it held more purpose, created more of a statement. 

Slightly in front of you, in chairs who’s bottoms touched the sand, Yuna and Jongho sat, facing one another. Cold cans dripping with condensation lived in their hands, the droplets of cool water dabbling their bare skin when they brought the drinks to their lips. On a blanket in front of them, almost out of view behind Jongho’s broad, bronzed muscled shoulders, Aurora sat with Wooyoung, the two on a towel. She laid between his legs, half of her draped over his front, leaning back on one of his knees propped up to support her. 

Down by the water, Ryujin leapt through waves, Jeongyeon watching from the shore, her ankles kissed by the ocean with every crashing wave. Yeosang swam around with Keni, the two hanging around Yunho, suspiciously accompanied by San.

Sitting all the way up, pulling your legs beneath you, Mingi placed a hand over your thigh and drew circles over your skin, not letting his attention falter from Seonghwa. The president looked at you, sharing a mere glance that meant nothing aside from acknowledging your presence. Grabbing onto Mingi’s hand, Seonghwa’s eyes flickered down to them, his lips never missing a beat, keeping up with your boyfriend in discussion. 

Leaning forward ever so slightly, Aurora in view, you hoped to get her attention, like her subconscious would know you were looking for her, looking at her, but she didn’t move. She smiled with Yuna, the boys around them simply happy to be there. Her smile weighed heavy on your chest.

“Hey, Ror,” you called out, turning Jongho’s head, and Mingi’s. Yuna looked your way too, but it didn’t last long. Wooyoung spared you a glance behind his Ray Bans, but let it linger on Seonghwa before he turned to the water.

She didn’t move. Smiling at Yuna, it was as if she didn’t hear you. Their conversation continued on like you hadn’t spoken a word.

Mingi’s hand tightened on your thigh. You didn’t tell him what happened, not yet, but you knew he’d question it after this. Her words hung in the air, the fact that you tell Mingi everything. Rightfully so, though, right? He was your boyfriend, you shared everything with him, you shared life with him, there wasn’t anything you’d want to keep from him…

Blinking, you swallowed hard, averting your eyes to the sand.

The text messages. The mystery man. One who suggested you tell Mingi about him so that the three of you could orchestrate a playdate. Thinking about him, where all the signs pointed to, you wondered if it could be anyone you sat around at the moment, or if it was someone brand new. Jongseob had a house full of people down the street, it could be any one of his minions, like that boy from the party who knew about you because Jongseob talked about you.

It could also just be Jongseob.

But, then again, it could also be-

“Shota!” Seonghwa leapt from the sand, hauling ass to a group of boys walking along the water many, many feet away. How he even made him out amidst the group of ten or so boys was lost on you.

Aurora lurched forward, scrambling out of Wooyoung’s lap who flew to his feet soon after he had the room to do so. She didn’t run, she walked, with purpose, with Wooyoung right behind her. Seonghwa had made it to the group first, towering over the underclassmen, speaking to them with his jaw clenched and his teeth grit, but as Aurora approached them, the attention turning to her, she pushed them each out of the way like they weighed nothing. They parted for her. And there was Soul, with an arm thrown over Jongseob’s shoulder.

He smirked toward Aurora, her lips sealed as she took hold of Soul’s wrist and yanked him off of him, and then, he scanned the beach. His eyes drew over your friends, toward where the group of you sat, your friends stumbling out of the water, and then he found you.

And he smiled.

Mingi slid his hand further over your thigh, nearly between your legs.

Jongseob, shameless, didn’t look away.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung stood behind Aurora, ignoring the other boys remarks, their confidence having grown somehow, without a care for how they spoke to their seniors, some of them legitimately in a binding contract with one another. Intak sized up Wooyoung, rocking back and forth beside him, his chin tipped backward, a small smile on his lips, as if to ask for round two. 

Aurora talked to Soul, both of her hands on his shoulders, holding him so close their chests pressed together. Her lips moved a mile a minute, and he watched them. She wrapped a hand around the back of his head and pulled him down, their foreheads touching. 

Giving Jongseob the nastiest look, you squeezed Mingi’s hand and scooted closer to lean into him. With a tilt of his head, Jongseob’s grin deepened, then he reached out for Soul, grabbing him by a fistful of t-shirt, and pulled him backward, Aurora nearly falling forward as the boy was ripped from her grasp, both Seonghwa and Wooyoung reaching for her somehow.

Starting to wander off, the boys cackling, leaving your friends behind with rude remarks, sarcastic smiles and utter disrespect, Jongseob made sure to leave you with another look. Some sort of glare. One that said plenty. One that made Mingi tense up, and your heart rate skyrocketed.

They didn’t go after him, the three down by the water, instead they watched him walk away. Wooyoung laced his fingers with Aurora’s, Seonghwa stood tall beside them, and none of them said a word. Soul didn’t even turn around, Jongseob had him pulled into his side tight.

Turning to Mingi, nestling yourself further into his side, he returned your look and pressed his lips together.

“That was nothing,” you started, “Don’t let that-”

“Did that not upset you?” he asked, his voice quiet. When you didn’t move, he scoffed, turning away to watch your friends wander back up the sand.

“It’s not my fight,” you said, keeping your own voice down.

He shot you a look. “You know what this means. If I’ve heard about it, I know you have, too.” He studied your face, you felt your cheeks warm. “You’ve been ignoring each other all day.”

“She’s been ignoring me,” you mumbled.

“Why?”

“I may have said something not too nice to her.”

Mingi sighed, looking up at the group that returned to the circle of blankets and towels, the four from the water returning with them. “I thought you guys were good, Tor, why does this keep happening?”

Because, like Sitara, Aurora gets what she wants.

Like Sitara, Aurora gathers attention without even trying.

Like Sitara, Aurora does as she pleases without a thought of the consequence, of the aftermath.

Like Sitara, Aurora moves carelessly when she needs to care.

Nausea filled you. It rolled through you in waves but didn’t crash as beautifully as the ones down on the shore. 

She sat on the blanket with Wooyoung, wedging herself between his legs like she once had been sitting. Gulping, taking in her teary eyes she tried so desperately to blink away, you wanted to feel bad. You yearned to feel bad, to reach over to her, to give her a hug like Wooyoung did now. She started to cry, in front of everyone, a rare sight. Tears were for you to share. Something Yunho has seen before, even Wooyoung. But, never anyone else.

She didn’t get what she wanted.

She was hurt. In such a way that the vulnerable pieces of her came out where they never would.

And beneath the nausea, the lump in your throat because her tears triggered your own, the rushing course of blood in your veins- it felt good.

read it on ao3 | talk to me | my masterlist

[wooyo <3]: She’s m.i.a all morning and this is what happens?????

[kee]: her dinner was last night we don’t even get to hear about that first and we’re here

[wooyo <3]: Ro moves fast are we surprised

[kee]: no especially since it’s yunho

[tae bae]: guys he loves her so much, i can see it, and i’ve been seeing it. you both can’t see the way he’s listening to her, ugh.

[wooyo <3]: Keep an eye on them

[kee]: yeah let us know if you need backup babe

[tae bae]: i’m gonna bring them more coffee… gonna see if i can hear what they’re talking about…

september 21st ~ sunday ~ 2:23 pm

[tae bae]: oh it’s on. it’s so on. he said, and i quote, ‘it’s over? you’re mine?’

[wooyo <3]: Possessive much?

[kee]: awh

[wooyo <3]: No awh, that’s weird.

[kee]: give it up, she wants him, he wants her

[wooyo <3]: Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, there is nothing to give up, Keeho, it’s done. As Yunho said, it’s over.

[kee]: hehe yeah okaaaaay whatever you say

[wooyo <3]: ENOUGH

[wooyo <3]: Where’d Theo go, get back here please, update.

[tae bae]: hang on princess, some of her sisters just got here

september 21st ~ sunday ~ 2:41 pm

[tae bae]: think we’ve got a problem.

[wooyo <3]: What.

[wooyo <3]: What happened

[kee]: am i getting in my car

[kee]: taeyang

[kee]: taeyang.

[kee]: TAE

[tae bae]: sorry, talking to shota. ror and yunho just left, they didn’t even say bye to me. all her sorority girls are still here. something happened at the frat, i don’t know, i can’t get words out of my brother. he’s really upset. 

[you]: someone has a video of me. allegedly. tae you can tell soul he has one hour to speak or he’s dead to me.

september 21st ~ sunday ~ 3:00 pm

“It can’t be that bad.”

Scoffing, you sunk further down his leather seat and groaned. “Why must there always be something.”

Yunho reached a hand over and slipped it behind your neck, digging his thumb and his finger into the muscle while he focused on the road. “I’m telling you, it can’t be that bad.”

“You don’t know that,” you muttered, then threw your hands up. “I don’t know that. Half the shit I did this summer? Everything I did with Soul? Who’s to say he didn’t do something one of those times, or filmed something without me knowing, when I was drunk, or whatever.”

The car came to a screeching stop in the middle of the road, the car behind Yunho swerving as you jolted forward, your seatbelt catching you. 

“Yo!” Hands flying for the dashboard, you sat backward and sucked down a gulp of air. His jaw tensed. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

He thrust the car in reverse, and down a one lane road drove backward, glare burning a hole in his rearview mirror.

“Yunho,” you sighed, grabbing onto his wrist gripping the shifter. He flipped his hand, offering it to you.

“Wooyoung know about any of this?” he asked, pulling the car out onto the street Blend was on. 

You held in a groan. “No.”

“San?”

“No, if either of them did, they would tell me.”

He raised a brow and shot you a look. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” you said.

He wound the steering wheel, cutting across the opposite lane to swing back into a spot in front of the coffee shop. Throwing off his seat buckle, setting your hand gently on your lap first, Yunho kicked his door open.

“Stay here,” he ordered, bending in half to stick his head in the car before slamming his door and storming inside.

Through the shades hanging in the windows, the booths shoved up against the glass, the slight tint preserving privacy behind it— Yunho disappeared, and you were certain all of the girls were still inside.

Pushing hair from your face with the back of your hand, you scrambled for your phone and swiped through messages.

[wooyo <3]: What the fuck??? Aurora???

[kee]: nahhhhhh, tell me not the kinda video i’m thinking

[wooyo <3]: Where are you

[kee]: it hasnt even been a month back yet what the hell

[wooyo <3]: Ro where are you

[wooyo <3]: I’m coming to the house. I’m sorry

[kee]: genuinely hate living so far from campus

[tae bae]: yunhos in here. hes pissed. 

[kee]: live updates pls

[tae bae]: can’t really look down, he’s yelling at everyone

What the fuck?

Throwing off the seatbelt, kicking open the door, not a worry that the key still sat in the ignition, your feet burned holes in the concrete with every step, even as you walked into Blend, all eyes pointing toward you with the jingle of the door.

Then, they all looked back at Yunho.

“And, what about you?” he said, his tone stern, slightly raised, but he wasn’t yelling. He leaned over the counter, toward Theo.

“What about me?” he sassed back, slapping one hand on the linoleum. Yunho glanced at it. “I’ve been around a lot more than you have.”

“At her discretion,” Yunho snapped. “You going to let your brother get away with this shit?”

Theo curled his lip and narrowed his eyes. “My brother didn’t do anything.”

“Bullshit, he’s been causing her problems for a while now,” Yunho shot his glare toward Soul, “You gonna speak up or what?”

You hurried to his side, pushing past a few of the girls. Your sisters. “Okay, Yo, let’s not… let’s go.” Reaching for his arm, you gave it a tug. He didn’t budge, solid mass of muscle. “Yunho.”

“No,” he said, looking from you to the girls around you. “Who the fuck do you all think you are?” He shook his head, then nodded at Kaz who cowered behind Eunchae. “You,” he scoffed. “Manners exist. You always greet your seniors the way you did when you walked in here?”

Some type of panic erupted within you, forcing a nervous laugh from your lips. You tugged on him once more, and he gave in. “Yunho, please, we’re leaving.”

Theo watched in awe, taking it all in, a half made coffee sitting in his hands. Lips parted, eyes amused, you gave him a look before finally pulling Yunho out the door.

“What the fuck was that?” you spat, releasing him on the sidewalk.

Stumbling in his rage, he drug a hand through his hair and then tossed both of them aside, letting them slap against his legs. “I’m not gonna let people treat you like that.” Taking a deep breath, he slipped his hands into his pockets, searching. After a moment, he blinked and spun around, realizing he had left his keys in the car. In the ignition. Still running. “Shit.”

“Yunho,” you sighed, following him to the car. He pulled the door open for you, shutting it oh so gently after you slid inside. Much different behavior then the Yunho who just blew his top in front of many people you’re involved with. “Treat me like what?” you asked after the subtle slam of his door.

“A show,” he muttered, peeking over his shoulder before pulling out of the parking spot. “Their entertainment. You’re a person, Rory.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Rory.

It didn’t feel real.

After he pulled onto the main road he relaxed in his seat, a slight slouch in his shoulders, a shimmy of his hips, the stretch of his legs in front of him. His sweats hung off of him, his thighs protruding through the fabric. He was driving, but you longed to straddle his waist and wrap your arms around him. Just the mere thought of existing in his hold flooded your belly with butterflies, like you were sixteen beside a crush. He suddenly made it hard to breathe.

“It’s fine,” you whispered, tearing your eyes off of him. Lacing your hands together you laid them over your lap. “I’ll handle it. I always do.”

The sigh through his nose filled the car with disappointment. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“I’m not, I-”

“Rory,” he said, one of his big hands reaching over to cover both of yours. Your heart leapt into your throat, the butterflies were on speed. “Let me be here for you. Please.” He turned his chin, and it took you three whole seconds to muster up the courage to look back at him. 

Honey brown eyes.

Devastating.

Sleepy, undone hair.

Devastating.

The butterflies flew up into your chest and ripped your heart to shreds. Devouring it entirely. Not a crumb left behind. As if each one bore his name.

“Let me make up to you the last year and a half.”

The last year and a half.

You didn’t need to ruminate. There was nothing to discuss, nothing to clarify.

The last year and a half, there wasn’t a single detail left unturned. There was no need for him to say what it was.

And as much as you couldn’t wait to watch him try, the butterflies choked. Gagging on memories, a poison in your heart, they overdosed on betrayal, beautiful wings withering into a pit of hurt that manifested as nausea. 

“Fine,” you whispered, and he squeezed your hands. Phone buzzing in your pocket, you took a quick breath and removed your hands, his returning to the steering wheel. Pulling the text out, you said, “Just don’t talk to the girls like that again, please.”

He glanced toward you and held both hands up to address his surrender. And you trusted him.

[choi asshole #1]: Heading to the dr’s, I’m with Yoongi

Damn, that’s today.

[you]: keep me updated. <3

You swiped and rolled your eyes.

{three men and a baby}

[tae bae]: NOOOOOOO WAY

[kee]: what what WHAT

[tae bae]: yunho spoke on SHOTA

[kee]: shut the fuck u p

[tae bae]: okay so actually maybe he’s crazy, ror, are you good, where is he taking you, are you going to die

[kee]: okay hold up

[kee]: what did this man say

[tae bae]: i’ll call you.

[kee]: wooyoung where tf are u u’ll eat this up lolol

[you]: *replied to ‘wooyoung where tf…’* going to ignore this, cause…???

[you]: *replied to ‘okay so actually may…’* not going to die. he’s not crazy. he’s on edge. remember how everyone else was last year? he’s living it now, we never got to deal with this together.

“Three men and a baby?” Yunho asked, scaring you. Your phone dropped into your lap as you jumped and he laughed.

“Christ,” you gasped, lobbing a hand at his shoulder. He’d been leaning over the center for a few seconds. 

He laughed, taking the blow. “Am I the only victim of this physical abuse?”

“No,” you glared at him, rubbing your hands together, his shoulder hurting your fingers more. “Keeho gets it too.”

Yunho pursed his lips and nodded, the tiniest smile gracing his lips. “I’ll take it. Who’s baby?”

Your stomach rolled and plummeted all at once. Whirling around in your seat after recognizing you were parked in front of ITZ, you grasped your chest, eyes wide, sighing, “What?”

He giggled, nodding toward your phone. “The groupchat, who’s the baby? Three men? Is it you?”

‘Who’s the baby?’

Must’ve missed that part.

Relief washed over you, your entire body going lax. “Oh, no, fuck no.”

He bobbed his head, slow, eyes dragging over your body. “Oh-kay,” he sang, then laughed again. “Then, who is it?”

“Kee,” you said, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “How much of that did you read?”

Rubbing his cheeks with one hand, he squinted and cocked his head. “Uh, not much, just that we… We get to deal with this together… Or, something.” His smile grew tenfold as you rolled your eyes and threw another fist at his shoulder, him actually catching this one. Yanking on it, he pulled you into him, your noses centimeters apart.

The butterflies twitched. Wings yearned to take flight.

“I know I said what I said before,” he spoke softly, “About stuff… being over, and us… happening,” he blinked, “But, I know there’s a lot that has to happen before that.”

“Talking,” you whispered.

He smiled. “Yes, talking. Lots of it.”

It sucked your body knew him. Really knew him. 

There was no other word to put in that sentence. It sucked. Every fiber of your being needed him, screamed for him, needed him. Something primal, a deep rooted instinct, one you’ve ignored for a year that you didn’t realize was pure cause of-

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, pulling you out of an early onset spiral.

“L-Like what?”

He scrunched his brows together. “Like,” his voice dropped drastically, “Sad.”

Because you knew if he knew, he’d-

“I’m not,” you breathed. “Trust me, I… My dad is going to the doctors today.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“He sees a specialist,” you said, and he nodded. “They have select patients, and Junie fits the criteria. They schedule whenever the doctor can see them.”

Yunho drug a thumb over your fingers, you’d forgotten he’d been holding onto you. “I hope it goes well.”

With a smile you pulled your hand back and moved to get out of his car. “Thanks, they usually do, but… I get scared every time he goes.” Pushing his door open, he did the same, following you up the lawn.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, taking up the space beside you. “If this guy is a specialist, he’s gotta be good right? Your dad’s in good hands.”

Giving a him look, you winked. “She.”

Yunho’s eyes went wild. “She, forgive me,” he bowed slightly, laughing with you. “She’s taking good care of him.”

Stepping up the porch of the quiet house, odd for a Sunday, an off day, you turned to Yunho who stood on the ground, tipping his chin up a bit to look up at you. “I’ll… see you later?”

Shrugging, hands still in his pockets, he gave you a smile. “Do we need invitations?”

Barging through bedroom doors, crawling on rooftops, pulling up a chair at the library when one spotted the other… It used to be easy.

His smile persuaded yours, corners of your lips perking as you shook your head. “No. We don't."

He nodded once, lips pulling down boyishly as he tapped a step with the toe of his sneaker. “Okay,” he said, hushed, like his own butterflies devoured his own heart, each one bearing your name. They called out to yours, an energy you could feel brewing between you, intensifying as he blinked soft eyes up at you, brows flipped and… down bad crying at the gym.

Theo was going to die.

Reaching out your arms, your hands brushing his shoulders, you leaned forward and let him catch you, all of your body weight hanging onto him, his strength keeping you on your toes on the porch. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he released a sigh into yours and chills shot down your spine. His hands pressed into your back, his grip, his hold, that feeling of safety, godamnit, you were balancing on your toes off the porch, and he was not going to let you fall…

It woke up.

The ten months you spent shoving it into a box, wasted.

Tears welled in your eyes. Your throat, it tightened. Butterflies wept, and it was going to take a lot more than just one day before they could fly again.

Gulping, you remembered what he said in the car.

You don’t have to do it alone.

Sucking in a shaking breath, you whispered, “Yunho…”

And the door to ITZ flew open behind you, Yunho meeting the startled gaze of the culprit catching you in the act before you had the chance to jump away.

But you heard her first.

“...I can place these orders, then we can- Oh!”

Tori.

Using your balance, you pushed off of Yunho and turned on your toes to face her and Mingi who wore the world's biggest, cheesiest grin. Tori however, glanced between you and Yunho suspiciously, almost like she didn’t believe what was happening in front of her.

“Okay, so you were right,” she said to Mingi, “They did leave together.”

He put a hand on her shoulder and bounced on his knees, his eyes stuck on Yunho. “I told you.” Sparing you a glance, he pressed his lips together, but couldn’t contain his joy. 

Tori steadied her gaze, pointing it to the titan at the bottom of her stairs. Stepping forward, she crossed her arms and tipped her chin. “Why did I get multiple messages that you were harassing my girls?”

Breath catching in your throat, you turned to her, shock overriding every sense. She stood on business. Never faltering. Never taking back a word. She’d been prepped, informed, and ready.

Yunho held up his hands. “It was directed at Soul, I swear, I-”

“Let’s be honest with ourselves.” Tori narrowed her eyes.

He dropped his hands and his brows shot up. “I am, I just-”

“Blame me,” you said, trying to step in front of her. “He was defending me, I-”

She wouldn’t let anyone finish a damn sentence.

“Ror, those were my underclassmen,” she said with a snap of her jaw. Flashing you her done up eyes, fresh lashes, bronzed cheeks, she stood her ground, with or without noticing how your world shifted before you in less than a second.

“...Your-”

She turned. “Yunho, I’m glad this,” she gestured toward you, “is working out today, but please don’t yell at my girls again.”

Yunho, standing up straight with his arms tucked behind his back, nodded toward you. “I’ve already received those orders.”

“Well, now they’re official,” she smized, “And, if you-”

A black BMW pulled in front of the house, bumping music, parking across the street. Mingi perked up, Tori rolled her eyes, Yunho hadn’t moved. He gave you a look, one curious, one analyzing. You met his eyes, and all at once, a new found anger flowed through his veins. 

“Is Wooyoung here?” Mingi asked.

You released a breath. “Oh, thank god.”

Familiarity fueled your feet, in seconds you’d flown from the porch halfway down the lawn.

“Hey,” Yunho called after you, “Where you going?”

Wooyoung's tinted windows begged you to keep moving, to come closer, to get inside, but you stopped at the sound of his voice, and you turned as he got closer. Behind him, Tori and Mingi whispered to one another, heading toward her car.

Shooting a thumb over your shoulder, you said, “To talk to him.”

Yunho stood centimeters in front of you. “Why?”

“Uh,” you stammered, not knowing you needed a reason. “Because, he’s my friend.”

He glanced at the car, then at you. “Friend? He’s your ex.”

“No he’s not, he’s my friend,” you said with a tilt of your head.

It took everything in him to not react how you knew he wanted to. “Aurora, everyone says you broke up.”

“Y-Yeah, well, we don’t… hook up anymore. We… ‘cooled off’, or whatever.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet, “Okay, yeah.”

“Ro!” Wooyoung shouted from his window, the beat of the song he played flooding the quiet street.

Yunho looked at you and something flashed across his face.

“Just give me a few minutes, please?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“It’s okay, go,” he shrugged his shoulder toward the music, “I have a meeting I have to get ready for anyway, text me.”

Swallowing, hard, you nodded. “Okay,” you whispered.

A small smile snuck onto his lips. Closing the space between you, he stepped forward and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

A flutter.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispered.

Smiling, you whispered back to him. “You gonna sneak onto my roof?”

“Maybe,” he smirked.

You furrowed your brow. “We have classes tomorrow.”

His nose brushed yours, your lips ghosting one another. Knees buckling, heart thumping, your yearn suffocated you.

“Who cares?” he whispered.

“Yo,” the sound barely came out, “You care, I know you do.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his forehead pressed to yours. “I care more about you.”

“You,” you whispered within the shared air, eyes glazing over with something rose colored, “Shit, I don’t even know your schedule, I have nothing to use against you…”

He smirked, whispering, “Checkmate.”

And his hands grabbed your waist, telling you what he wanted, what his lips couldn’t, what he didn’t want them to say just yet. He kissed you, a delicate moment in time, sealing his promise, this kiss much different than the one in the hall. This one was new. This one meant something new.

This was new.

It would be new.

“I want you to be mine, Aurora,” he whispered against your lips, pressing one more soft kiss to your hungry lips before he forbade you from taking more. “Thank you for today, for talking to me.”

A silly thing to share gratitude over, but necessary you supposed. “We should do that more often.”

He huffed. “Yeah, we should.”

Blinking open your eyes, finding him already gazing down at you, you blushed. “I have a lot of questions for you.”

“I have a lot for you, too.”

You smiled, biting at your bottom lip. “Bring your notes, come prepared.”

“For you, I will be.” Smiling with you, he stepped back, the loss of him more devastating than anything ever before. 

Taking a deep breath, reeling in the drama, you told yourself that it meant he had to come back. You would have to see him again. And you would. You would make that happen almost immediately.

Reading you like a book, for filth, like he always could, he gave you a glimpse of the Yunho who sat beside you in English. A glimpse of the Yunho who used to wander two steps behind you in the library. After a once over, he shot you half a smile, then started for his car, leaving you weak in the knees.

This time you knew why.

How you never saw it before is beyond you.

It’d been a few hours and he already had you screwed.

Wooyoung honked his horn and you jumped, slapping a hand to your chest. Ripping your eyes from Yunho’s ass as he walked away, you glared at the tinted window and charged for it, leaping into the passenger seat, somewhat out of breath.

With one look he told you every thought in his head. “Already?”

You whined, throwing your hands up, ragdolling in his seat. “It’s too easy, I dunno.”

He pulled away from the curb after Yunho passed by, the two not sparing each other even a look. “What did you guys talk about?”

Sliding your hands over your face, you sat up and folded your arms over your chest. “You.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “He have a problem with you getting in my car?”

“Not really,” you said. “I think. I explained,” you sighed, glancing out the window as he pulled onto the main street. Everyone and their mother were out for the day apparently, couples littered the sidewalks, walking dogs, shopping bags in hand. “We’re friends.”

Wooyoung shot a look and a scoff your way, spinning you around.

“What’s that for?” 

He huffed. “Friends is funny.”

“Why?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Wooyoung.”

Lifting a hand, he dropped it back on the steering wheel. “He lost you, twice. And still let you go get in my car.”

Mouth going dry, you asked, “Twice?”

Keeping his eyes on the road, he pulled into a highway entrance and bobbed his head. “When we first got together, before you guys existed, and then again, after the… thing happened. He must just really trust you.”

Staring him down, his unruly waves and his black hoodie and his dark denim baggy jeans and his silver jewelry, you scoffed. “Are you saying if you were him you wouldn’t trust me?”

He slapped the steering wheel, his teeth peeking through his lips as he breathed through a laugh. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“No, you didn’t,” your tone mocked him.

“Yes, I did,” he teased you right back, “And as much as you’re butterflies and rainbows right now about him, something is bothering you, what happened?”

Groaning, flopping backwards again, you asked, “You have somewhere to be?”

“Nope, I’m yours,” he said.

“Keep driving,” you half whispered, “My dads at the doctors, I don’t wanna sit anywhere.”

september 21st ~ sunday ~ 4:17 pm

“Since we’ve been back you’ve been with San,” he said, voice low, eyes pointed, taking in information, piecing it apart, “And… me.”

You nodded, facing him entirely, legs crisscrossed over the seat. “Yes.”

Holding up a hand, he said, “I did not do anything, you know that.”

Taking it in yours, you laced your fingers with his and set it down in your lap. “Of course,” you smiled, “If you did, I would cut your dick off.”

He cocked his head and snickered. “Sounds about right,” he released a breath and shook his head, “As much as San fucks… I don’t think he’d ever cross a line like that. Not without consent.” You agreed with a hum, and he smirked. “And he sure as hell wouldn’t share it with anyone else. He’s a freak, he’s not a jackass.”

“I don’t even know who he shares a room with though,” you said, thinking back to that night at ATZ with San. You had told Wooyoung almost everything. “What if his roommate did something?”

Thinking to himself, his smirk grew. “If San was in a sex tape, we’d be hearing about it right after it happened.”

A giggle slipped through your lips. “That night…”

The sound outside in the hallway grew. Doors were opened and shut, more voices filled the space. Muscles tensing, San felt it. Not worried in the slightest, he slid a hand down your back and leaned over you, pressing kisses to your shoulders.

“Don’t listen,” he whispered between slow kisses, the soft smack of his lips and gentle rutting of his hips into your center grounding you, keeping you in the room with him. “You and me,” he whispered. 

“You and me,” you whispered, but your words twisted with a moan. Hooking a finger in your thong he tugged it aside and had his zipper down in a flash. He wore nothing beneath his pants, because of course he didn’t.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Your body jolted.

Soul shouted in the hall, laughter following.

His dipshit asshole friends.

“There were boys in the hall… I thought it might be Soul, or Jongseob, ‘cause it sounded like they were in their room,” you mumbled, toying with his fingers.

Giving you a once over, watching your fingers play for a second, he focused back on the road. “You think Soul would do that to you? The guy who would… forgive me… fuck you like an animal, then infodump Pokemon to us for an hour after?”

You laughed, but you didn’t want to. Soul was something else entirely, something you’ve never experienced. A little weirdo, but a sweetheart all packed into one gangly body wired with stamina. “I don’t know, what if it’s revenge or something?”

Wooyoung screwed his face up. “Revenge for what?”

“I dunno.”

He pulled his hand away to grab onto one of yours. Shaking his waves around, he sucked in a breath and let it out with a groan. “Not everyone is out to get you, Ro.”

Widening your eyes, throat tightening, for the very first time you felt as though he couldn’t see you. “Feels like it,” you whispered.

Like he could hear the thoughts in your head, his grip tightened, and in mere seconds, without a word, he steadied your heart.

You used to hate to admit it, but he was right.

Another aftershock of Yeji.

Minutes passed before you spoke again, the radio filling the comfortable quiet you used to speak to one another with a mere touch of your palms.

“That’s why he went into Blend and got mad,” you whispered.

“Wild way to handle that,” he muttered.

Dragging your thumb over his, tracing his knuckle, you smiled. “That’s Yunho… Wildcard.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Wildcard.”

Consistent, though, he was in his wildcard status. Yunho, the textbook definition of never let them know your next move, partnered with that one friend who always has a new hobby, new job, new circle of friends… No one knew what he would say next, no one knew what he would do next, no one could predict the pattern, because there was no pattern, Yunho flew by the seat of his pants. Forever unsatisfied. Insatiable for more. More, more, more. His big brain needed it, craved it.

Nausea sat in your stomach, forever associated with him.

Voice meek, you asked, “Where are we going?”

Wooyoung said quietly, “I’m just driving.”

“Okay,” you whispered, and he looked at you.

Clearing his throat, he started, “How was the dinner last-”

“I gave up my spot.” 

Lips parted with an unfinished thought between them, he sang, “Uh… What?”

“President,” you said, then laughed involuntarily, “I gave it to Tori.”

He almost slammed on his brakes, frantically glancing over his shoulders at the traffic around him. “What!? Why?”

Letting go of his hand, you waved yours around. “You really have to ask?”

“No, I don't," he sighed, sitting forward, merging lanes, shooting you a glare all at once, “But, Ro…”

Clenching your jaw, you returned his glare. “She deserves it. I don’t.”

Silence.

After a beat, he sharpened his glare, and you wanted to gag. Stomach rolling into a ball, heavier than ever, your chest squeezed.

“I make and cause problems,” you said, trying to keep your cool, hiding the shaking of your voice. He dropped his head backward and loosed a breath. “I’m also irresponsible. I couldn’t handle the spot, she did it all anyway. I was in the way.”

A chill shot through him, one that had him figuratively shaking your words off and out of his energy. “Have you gotten any schoolwork done?”

Your brows flatlined as you snickered at him.

“Any?!” he asked, strength in his tone.

“Some.”

“May I suggest something?” He placed his elbow on the console separating you and pointed a finger at your face.

A smile tugged at your lips. “Always.”

Spinning his finger around, he came to a stop at a light and dropped his chin to give you a look. “Put the boys away, and focus on Aurora. You have to graduate with me, that’s an order.”

You giggled, and he smiled, his cheeks dimpling. “An order?”

“An order,” he breathed, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands, sitting backward in his seat. 

On the screen in front of you, the one that told you what songs were playing through the speakers, a text popped up, from someone named Cirrus, in a group chat called, senior philosofuckers.

“Who’s that?” you asked, sitting forward to tap on it.

Wooyoung grabbed your hand and gently redirected it to his lap. “Someone in my psych courses, not important.”

You watched the message disappear, then turned toward him, fighting the urge to lean all the way over and pop a kiss to his cheek, or his nose. God, his nose.

“All your classes are going good?”

He nodded, ignoring your gaze. “For the most part. Not too hard yet.”

Rocking with the car as he pulled onto an empty street, you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth and nodded with him. “I hope they stay good,” you whispered, dropping your eyes to his lips. 

Hitting you with a quick side eye, he almost laughed. “Me too, thank you.” Turning into a parking lot, he returned your hand to your lap and tapped it twice. “It’s been a week. You can do this.”

You retracted from him faster than he let you go and curled your lip. “Shut up.” 

Shifting further from him, leaning against the car door, you peered out the window and perked up. You knew that building. You knew those cars. You knew this asphalt, every bump, every dip. The one story tall brick hell hole with tiny windows and sliding glass doors.

He’d driven you out of Delo and into Soro.

Parking right out front, he pulled off his buckle in time with you. “You, uh… You didn’t tell Yunho about-”

“No,” you said swiftly, twisting your brows in utter confusion, “And, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” he said, lifting his chin, “What am I talking about?”

Narrowing your eyes, you whispered, “You’re crazy.”

He shrugged. “I am clinically insane.”

“You’re getting memories mixed up, you’re pre-dementia, or something.”

Sighing, he pursed his lips. “Something like that, damn.”

Tossing a hand toward the building, you pouted. “You really brought me here?”

Wooyoung took in the building, his gaze softening. Months stood in between you, hours spent inside this building together, endless time he selflessly gave up, for you. For your dad. He tried to smile. “You need him.”

Tears brewed beneath the surface as you blinked at him. “Come with me?”

Within a breath, he whispered, “Of course.” Stepping out of the car and onto the curb, you latched yourself to his bicep, wrapping yourself around his arm, curling your fingers in his. Pulling open the door for you, he led you inside with the occasional glance. A soft smile sat on his face, one small enough to go unnoticed by others, but this face you knew. 

And if your heart could blush, she’d be a flushing mess of pink hues.

Wooyoung tucked your hair behind your ears before you stepped through the main doors of the lobby, a flicker of the past, a few months back, muscle memory. Except now you weren’t teary eyed and sporting bed head after a weekend of anxiously pacing your bedroom floor wondering how the next appointment would go.

He’d fix your hair. His thumbs would brush along your lashes, drying them. With a kiss to your cheek he’d aid you with a deep breath.

But today he stopped at the hair.

And you cursed your greedy heart for wishing he’d take it further.

Memories, that’s all it was, all you were left with. It’s what you asked for, it’s what you wanted, you said it yourself, that there was nothing left between you, that you were better this way. Friends. He’s the one person who never needed an explanation, he’s never once questioned you, who you were, what you wanted, nor has he ever gone to lengths to hold you back, from what you want, from what you need. 

In a single year he’d completely rewired your brain, he’d taught you things you never once considered to be true, things you never thought existed, how to live, how to survive, how to be happy. Taught you how to enjoy life when it feels like there’s no end to certain suffering, then taught you how to reel back the dramatics for no other reason than to protect your own sanity.

An emotionally mature hot head, if the two could be true at once, Wooyoung earned the title, and he wore it with pride. 

The things he’d done to protect you, and the things he continued to do to protect himself, logically moving through decisions with precision and thought, but for himself. No one else.

Unless you stood in front of him.

“Aurora! Wooyoung!” Her voice bounced off the cream colored walls and enveloped you in a hug, just as she did with her arms. Kamara, a five foot ten curvy beauty with espresso colored skin and a personality to match. Old enough to be your mother, she didn’t look a day over thirty. “Good to see you,” she sang, rocking you both back and forth in her arms.

“Kam,” you sighed, burying yourself in her, staying for as long as she’d have you. Wooyoung slipped from her arms, but his hand still cradled the small of your back.

“Want me to bring you back? They just got to his room,” she said, looking down at you, her eyes a warm milk chocolate. 

You gave her a small smile. “We’ll wait out here, if that’s okay?”

Kamara glanced over your head into the empty lobby that housed six chairs, a coffee table, a singular bookshelf, and a TV on the wall. “We’re slammed, baby, I don’t know if you’ll find yourselves a seat.”

“Damn,” you mumbled, taking a step back under Wooyoung's arm, “Wanted to come hang behind the desk with you.”

Flashing you her stunning white grin, she shook her head. “Too bad this place has a rat,” she spat, glaring at the woman behind the computer on the opposite side of their office space. Edith was her name, a retired woman in her seventies with a long silver brain down her back.

Typing away, Edith shook her head and muttered, “Protocol. HIPAA. Safety violations. Patient privacy. Insurance fraud…”

Kamara flickered her eyes over to the two of you and almost lost it at the smiles you and Wooyoung wore. “She’s gonna keep going.”

“...Security breeches. It’s small back here. If I roll over a toe, she can sue me…”

“Oh, the toe,” you whispered, and Kamara widened her eyes.

“Look out for the toe,” she squinted, then she winked at Wooyoung. “Make yourselves at home, please.”

Edith turned around for only a second. “Nice to see you, kids.”

It wasn’t until she faced her screen again that Wooyoung whispered, “I think she smiled,” and accepted your gentle slap to his chest with a laugh.

Bringing you with him, he turned to the chairs and plopped you into one, facing the TV, and flopped down beside you. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled for a solid minute, eyes scanning texts. He typed one out with fervor, then slid it back into his pocket and sunk backward in the chair, his thighs parting as his feet stretched out, resting on the heels of his boots.

He was wearing jeans, and a hoodie, when he wore a hoodie here he would…

Fold his hands together inside of the pocket.

Like he just did.

If he wore a t-shirt sometimes his hands would slip under the hem and rest on his belly.

If he wore sweats instead of jeans he’d put his hands in those pockets, or he’d tuck his legs under him on the chair. 

Sometimes he’d sit on the floor in front of you, and he’d let you play with his hair. One time he fell asleep, his head between your knees, resting on the chair, and you used the top of his head as a bookstand. You’d read almost every book that lived on that singular shelf, the fantasy series, the children's chapter books, the smutty mom novels that ‘weren’t porn’. At one point you’d woken Wooyoung up to have him read a page or two, the look on his face priceless when he read what the CEO’s beefy secretary would do to her before a very important meeting…

To think a little over a week ago you sat here as a different person.

Before your dads birthday, before everyone knew you and Wooyoung were over, before you made San your crutch, before your alleged OnlyFans career took off, before you ever heard your mothers voice…

Nine days ago you were the president. 

Nine days ago you were Choi Yeonjun’s daughter.

Just his daughter.

And now you’ve kissed Yunho three times, you stepped down from the biggest position of your life to date, Wooyoung won’t let you get closer than holding his hand, Tori took on her new role really, really quick, and hasn’t even given you a chance to talk about it again.

Not even a message. A check up. An, are you okay?

Maybe you didn’t need one. You were pretty certain about giving it up, and it’s not like you were the world's greatest president, they were clearly fed up- Tori, Seonghwa, Hongjoong…

Seonghwa and Hongjoong… Still top of their board, in the highest positions, regardless of what happened last year, regardless of their involvement with Yeji and her master plan. Sure, Seonghwa owned up to his bullshit, he took your side, he had been threatened by the bitch as well, he did what he had to do for his safety, but Hongjoong?

Former president who kept Wooyoung on a short leash, who ran ATZ like his own personal cult rather than the organization it should be, personal growth and networking. He allowed the parties to rage, to rally on endlessly, people waking up there to do it all over again, a tumultuous loop. After Seonghwa stepped up the hype slowed, the parties varied, he managed them with strategy, the boys were happier, a certain freedom lingered in the air.

You shook your head and sighed.

The TV on the wall changed from a cooking show to an old sitcom from the 90s, one your dad raised you on. Glancing over to the desk you caught Kamara lowering the remote and shooting you a wink. It was a random episode this time, but the entire month of July, you and Wooyoung binged the show from start to finish, right here in this lobby.

All ten seasons, arm in arm, or with your legs slung over his lap, your head on his shoulder.

Peeking at him, he had his head resting on the wall, his neck stretched.

You did not want to sink your teeth into it. You did not. You really didn’t.

Clasping your arms across your chest to keep from reaching for him, you bit down on your lip and bounced your knee. Taking a short breath, you looked up at the show, the three sisters on the screen bickering over stuffed animals, and you took another short breath.

Hongjoong could totally be doing something. He has the money, he has the power, and if he has Seonghwa wrapped around his finger like you know he does, he can get that boy to do anything.

He’d need a motive though, and as far as you can see, there’s no reason for Hongjoong to want to pull you out of your spot or spread a video of you, aside from ITZ needing a legitimate actual president who pays attention and doesn’t fall into spirals speculating that everyone around her is trying to steal things from her and humiliate her at every given moment of the day.

Wooyoung grabbed onto your knee, ceasing your anxious bounce.

You froze, turning only your chin. 

“You are going to fly away,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and he frowned.

“Don’t be,” he shook his head, then slid an arm around your shoulders, “C’mere.” Melting into him, your head laying on his shoulder and your arm sneaking into his lap, into the pocket on his hoodie to hold his other hand, you sucked down a deep breath of pure Wooyoung. Comfort. “Have you been hearing from your mom?”

“I told her to lose my number today,” you muttered, and he perked a brow.

“You spoke to her?”

“Yeah,” you rolled your eyes, “And then I made Tori president.”

“I wonder if we could get the police involved,” he whispered, like he meant to keep the thought to himself.

“Uh,” you stammered, then laughed sarcastically, “Very bad idea.”

“I know,” he sneered through his teeth, “But, like, regarding her, yanno?”

You looked up at him from where you laid. “And have them trace everything back to my dad? I love him, but he’s not a fucking saint. With everything… They wouldn’t listen to us. We’ve started anew. No cops.” 

He sighed, his eyes focused on the TV. The episode was at the cry your eyes out part, toward the end, where everyone kisses and makes up and the dad drags on and on about the life lessons learned…

“Neither of you know what she wants?” he asked.

“Nope,” you said. “We have absolutely no money, so it’s not that. I still have to pay you back for vacation by the way, I didn’t forget.”

He grimaced. “Please forget.”

“No, I owe you.”

“Ro, you don’t.”

Sitting up, you pulled your hands to yourself and faced him. “Yes, I do, you gave me-”

He looked at you directly. “Tori never cashed the check.”

The check he wrote you to give to her to pay for the vacation her father paid for because you felt bad for ruining her time in Haos. You never owed her money, you wanted to make it up to her. It being your guilt and assumption that you ruined her vacation. She’d done so much for you, too much, you owed her more than paying for half of the time you spent there.

“You’re kidding me?”

He smacked his lips against his teeth. “Serious.”

Just serious. Not dead serious. Not in this building. In this building where the walls listened and that lingered amongst the halls. Just serious.

Whipping out your phone you pulled open her thread.

[you]: you never took the Haos money???

[honey sweetie light of my life (no she didn’t make this her own name in your phone)]: what haos money?

You clenched your jaw.

[you]: hysterical. why didn’t you take it?

It took her two minutes to answer.

[honey sweetie light of my life (no she didn’t make this her own name in your phone)]: Ror literally what are you talking about

Gulping, you slid down the top panel and tapped on Do Not Disturb, putting your phone into your back pocket. Slouching, you dead weighted onto Wooyoung's side and sighed.

“What’d she say?” he asked quietly.

Blinking at the TV, a new episode began, you said, “She didn’t take it.”

“I told her to,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

You took a deep breath. “I do.”

Locking in to the TV, the new school episode that had you and Wooyoung doubled over in laughter before tearing up, you relaxed into him, hoping to turn your brain off, to shut everything out for a little bit. That worked last year when you came home, when you stayed with your dad, when you had a weekend with him and Keeho. Away from Nasara life felt lighter. Easier. Better. Happier.

To your right, the door to the office opened, professional voices giving their thanks, saying that they’ll see you next time, and take it easy… And then, your dad spoke.

Yeonjun said goodbye to his doctor, and your heart shot out of your chest, and you leap to your feet. Without a word, you rushed his way and threw your arms around him, sending him stumbling backward into Yoongi who carried papers from the doctor.

“Aura,” he released a breath and grabbed onto you, his cheek pressing to the top of your head. “I missed you,” he whispered, meeting eyes with Wooyoung who stood up to give him a wave.

Gripping fistfuls of his shirt, you swallowed away the lump in your throat, his presence enough to rid of the shadows you brought home with you. 

You had to tell him.

“I missed you too.”

NU home ✧ speechless masterlist ✧ talk to me ✧ ao3

He was over in the corner, where Aurora escaped to. They were all over there. You couldn’t see them over the crowd, the people dancing, but they were there. And you wished nothing more than to be able to walk out of here without any of them spotting you. Not one ounce of your being longed to push through the sea of bodies to join the group, but you knew you had to.

Mingi was over there, and you really should be the first one to tell him you spoke with Yunho. After what’s happened within the last few days you weren’t sure your relationship could withstand another hit before one wasn’t even fully patched up. You’d fix it. You would take the time to fix it, you had to talk to him, had to work it out, let him know that everything was good, that you two were okay, that everything would be alright, that you would make it through this, that it was you and him, Tori and Mingi.

Tears brimmed your eyes, but you blinked them away, tipping your chin up so they wouldn’t roll down your cheeks like one already had.

You took a peek at your phone screen and the message on it. Turning around, searching for Jongseob, he was still at the table with his friends. Continuing in a circle, twirling perfectly under the dim lights, you spotted the back of Yunho’s head still sitting at the bar. Locking your phone, you shoved it back into your purse and sighed. 

Whoever this was, you were going to catch them, for no reason other than to get rid of the feeling within you. The need to know. Whoever it was, they knew you, because your curiosity overwhelmed you.

Lurking back toward the corner, stepping around people too wrapped up in their own drama to pay attention to you, your arm grazed over Mingi’s where he stood at the end of the bar, his large frame leaning against it. The boys stood around him, Wooyoung, Yeosang, who gave you a wave, Seonghwa, Soul, Jongho, they all had a drink in their hands, even the twenty year old. Across from them, tucked away in the booth mere inches from where the boys stood, the girls squished together, and your stomach sunk. 

On the end, facing Jongho with her attention turned to Keni and Jeongyeon, Yuna sat with her legs crossed, her fingers tracing lines in the glass she acquired from the bar earlier, still half full. You’ve finished a whole other one by now. She smiled with Keni, nudging her arm as they spoke, doing her absolute best to make sure that the two newest within the group felt welcomed, felt like they belonged. Keni’s been around since the start of junior year, but her and Yeosang’s relationship was fresh, much like Yuna and Jongho’s, and Jongyeon and Ryujin, who had an Aurora under her arm at the other end of the rounded booth.

Appearing in the dim light, some of it flashing over you, Ryujin glanced your way, her brows in a straight line, her hand grasping Aurora’s arm tight. From beside you, Mingi watched, looking down at you, you could feel his eyes. He wanted you to look back at him, but there were more serious matters at hand. 

You needed to talk to Aurora before she told any of them.

You also had to come up with a better argument as to why you sat down next to him and talked to him.

Closure didn’t cut it, at least not with Aurora.

Truthfully, you didn’t even want the closure. You wanted things to go back to the way they were, Yunho should be over here, not at the bar by himself wallowing in miserableness while the rest of you laughed the night away without him.

“Here!” Jeongyeon shouted over the music, flinging her arm in front of Ryujin and Aurora, a phone in her hand. Both girls glanced at it. “It’s Isla,” she said, and they gasped at once.

Pulling her arm off of Aurora, Ryujin snatched her cell phone and opened the messages, typing back to her best friend. Yours smiled at the phone for a second, then fled to the safety of her apparent boyfriend's arms, using Seonghwa’s chest for leverage as she almost veered sideways on her way to Wooyoung’s outstretched hand that beckoned her closer.

The spot beside Ryujin was free, calling your name.

Peeking to your left, Mingi smiled at you, perking a questioning brow as the softness slowly bled into a sly smirk. Taking a breath, you gave him the smallest smile, then hurried into Ryujin’s side, bumping into her, making her bump into her girlfriend. 

Leaning towards her, trying to catch a glimpse at the screen, the messages they were sending that had everything to do with Vernon, or how she was doing, or what their travel was like, you bit down on your lip, and asked, “How’d you do it?”

Ryujin sent a message. “Do what?”

“Adjust,” you gestured to her phone.

She shot you a look, her round face incredibly confused beneath her piecey bangs. “To Vernon?”

“No,” you breathed through a laugh, then thought about it. “Maybe.” There’d been more to it than boyfriends, girlfriends, anything of that sort. “To all of it,” you said, meeting her gaze, “Her leaving, the way she left…”

“You think she’s adjusted?” Jeongyeon leaned toward you over her girlfriend's lap. Ryujin tipped her chin back, shook her head and laughed.

You wanted to smile, but it wouldn’t manifest. “So, it never ends?”

Ryujin scoffed, looking over at you. “It’s not that it never ends, it gets easier, you just gotta… Focus on what you do have.”

“And that happened with Isla?” you asked with a raise of your brows. “You focused on what you do have and you magically got over everything that happened to us?” Jeongyeon focused on her girlfriend, sliding an arm around her back to hold her while Ryujin studied you.

“What goes on Tor? Asking for a friend?” She attempted to read you, but you knew with Ryujin that it was hard for her to do that with any of you that weren’t Isla.

Rolling your eyes, you muttered, “Totally.”

She shook her head once. “I didn’t get over it, it sucks. I miss her every damn day, but she’s happy. She’s safe. Am I supposed to make her feel bad for doing what’s best for her just because I get sad that she’s not here?”

Her words struck you across the face. Keeping the feeling within you, not letting it leak outward, you frowned. “No, I just… I don’t know.”

“She’s sick,” Ryujin said in a way to back up what she said, not to insinuate that you didn’t know. Everyone knew. “I have to put that first. And, I can still talk to her whenever I want. I know she’s okay, she’s with Vernon, she’s with DK. Our time at Nasara with Isla is over, my time at Nasara is over, it’s time to move on.”

Your lips parted, and she waited patiently for you to speak. It took you a few seconds, but you managed to whisper, “What if I don’t wanna move on?”

She answered fast, like she somehow knew what you were going to say, her head jerking around with a sureness to it. “Personally, I don’t wanna stay stuck in a place that made me miserable. It’s cliche, but that chapter is closed. I have Jeongyeon, I have a job, I have you, I have them,” she gestured to the group in front of her, the girls beside her, “I gotta hold onto you guys, I can’t make it to the next step without you. So, yeah, I miss Isla, I miss last year, and the year before that, but if I want to feel better, I have to keep going. Gotta protect what I do have in front of me.” She held your heavy gaze, both of your eyes wide, full of genuinity. “If I stay stuck I risk losing it all. I’m willing to make sacrifices for the people I love.”

Gulping, attempting to swallow away your tears that threatened to spill over once again, you tore your eyes from her and glanced over to Mingi. Smiley Mingi resting against the bar, laughing with his friends, teasing one another, sipping their beers. He caught onto your gaze mid laugh, his grin faltering as he drank in your energy. Eyebrows nestling over his shining eyes, two fingers lifted off of the bottle he held and waved you over to him, your body listening without a second thought.

Melting into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, you laid your head on his chest. His heartbeat in your ear, something steady, something absolute, something real. Taking a step away from the boys with you in tow, he rested his cheek over your hair, his hands slow dancing over your back, smoothing over your arms, tickling then soothing your skin. 

But, I still care, Tori.

His words had made your head dizzy. The longer they stayed there, the worse they felt. You could easily get rid of them by looking up at your boyfriend and telling him, but you couldn’t explain yourself. Not yet. Pressed to his chest you looked over to your friends and sighed. Aurora watched you, her own head pressed to Wooyoung's shoulder, one of his fingers twirling around in her hair while he talked to Jongho. It didn’t kill you, her stare, but you couldn’t figure it out.

I still care.

[ITZ]: did u figure me out 

[you]: no, asshole.

[ITZ]: oh

[you]: how the fuck would i be able to figure you out

[ITZ]: thought it was obvious

[ITZ]: guess i have to try harder now

You slapped your phone down onto your bare thigh startling Yuna who lounged beside you, her legs tangled with your own. Head laid back on the stitched pillows, she groaned and tapped you with a pedicured foot, running her hand over her forehead.

Yeosang and Ryujin may or may not have forced you all into a rally last night soon after you rejoined the group.

Everyone’s here now! Go, go, go! You have to do it, we just graduated, we’re not coming back! Do it!

Yuna’s been a mess since the first round of shots.

“Cheers is a good time, we’ll go back,” Seonghwa’s voice carried into the living room from the kitchen, three of them puttering around in there, eating no doubt. Peering over the back of the sofa you spotted Soul rocking back and forth on his feet behind Seonghwa who faced Hongjoong, the former president in clothes you’d rarely see him in, a plain black t-shirt and shorts. 

Hongjoong had his body turned to Seonghwa, the two with a foot of space between them, their hands going in and out of the bag they snacked from at the same time. “There’s one on the beach called Wave,” he popped his brows, gaze locked on the boy that appeared a foot taller in front of him, “Have you gone there yet?”

Soul gasped, his hands slapping onto the counter. Both boys turned to him, smiles appearing on their faces. “I’ve been there! They won’t card you.”

Hongjoong tilted his head and gave Seonghwa a look. “Course they won’t,” he breathed, the two sharing a laugh. 

Soul beamed. “Me, Seob, Intak, Jiung.” Your nervous system jolted as you looked at him. “We’ve been there so many times, it’s a blacklight bar, it’s so dark, but it gets so hot, it’s kinda small, but so cool.”

Seonghwa gave him a soft smile. “So cool,” he repeated, and Soul nodded.

Then, he looked at you.

“Let’s go tonight,” you said as soon as he met your eyes. 

Yuna groaned from the pillows. “I can’t do another night out, Tor, not in a row.”

You painted your face bored, glaring down at her, one she didn’t see with her eyes screwed shut. “Come on, we should be going out! We’re here, let’s do it.”

Seonghwa hummed, his shoulders shrugging. “We have like two weeks left.”

You shifted your glare over to him and he seemed to match it. “I wanna go,” you said, peeking at Soul who now leaned over the counter on his elbows, watching you. “Soul wants to go.”

“Soul wants to go where?” Aurora asked, bouncing off of the last step of the stairs, sleep all over her face. Wooyoung, her shadow with the hood of his sweatshirt over his tousled waves, didn’t deter from the path written for him by her. 

But he did look at you. 

And it hurt.

“Wave, a bar on the beach,” Seonghwa spoke for the boy, following the couple with his eyes as they wandered through the kitchen, gave mediocre hello’s to Hongjoong and met Souls side.

Yuna tapped you with her foot, pulling your attention from the kitchen. She’d seen Wooyoung’s face. “What was that for?” she asked, brows pulled over her wide eyes. Appeasing her with a subtle shake of your head for now, you turned back to the kitchen. Aurora, at Souls side, nearly pressing herself against him, listened to him with a smile.

“Not just a bar…” He went on and on, and the world moved around him. Seonghwa and Hongjoong ate their snacks, Wooyoung slid an open water bottle in front of Aurora, Yuna watched Soul half impressed. It was the most half of you have probably heard him speak, ever. He spilled stories, moments in time that appeared to make him happy, stories of Jongseob and their friends, the four of them sneaking out of his parents beach house to get plastered under the neon lights half clothed because the air grew so warm. “Tori wants to go tonight,” he ended with a smile flashed in Wooyoung and Aurora’s direction, the two of them posted up on either side of him.

She looked at you, nothing on her face yet.

“San and Hongjoong did just get here, we could give them a night out,” she offered.

Yuna groaned, obnoxious and long. “I can’t do it again!” Her body jolted as she shook herself around, jostling yours with her. “Somebody agree with me, please!” 

You laughed, putting your hands over her ankles to calm her. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

“Maybe one night here won’t kill us,” Aurora said definitively, and all of the energy seemed to be sucked from the room. “We can do Wave another night.” Paralyzed in place, you whipped your head in her direction, instant steam pouring from your ears. As if she could see it, she mirrored your piercing glare. Wooyoung leaned into her, a whisper falling from his lips for only her to hear.

“Amen,” Yuna sighed, going still, relaxing back onto the sofa, her arms going limp off the edge of the cushions.

“Sure, okay,” you scoffed, and no one reacted. They all went about what they were doing before, snacking, sipping water, mumbling to each other, sharing small smiles. “Fuck me, let’s all just do what Aurora says.”

Yuna lifted her head, her lips parting, but no words came out. In the kitchen, Seonghwa paused, his eyes on you. In fact, everyone's eyes were on you, even Hongjoong, the tiniest smirk pulling at his lips.

Her eyes burned. If looks could kill you’d be a goner.

Regret filled your gut, your insides actively spinning in a circle, tangling together, squeezing and pulling.

She opened her mouth, her words like a knife cutting through the air that had grown thick in the worst way. “You can do whatever you want, Tori. You wanna go to Wave? Go to Wave. Free will, clearly you have plenty of it.”

Wooyoung moved behind her, an arm sliding around her front. “Okay,” he whispered, “No, no.” No one else moved, they either stared at you or Aurora, waiting for more. Without another word from her, she let Wooyoung walk her away, she let him hold her metaphorical earrings, ones he put back in by ushering her out of the room.

“What happened?” Yuna asked you within a whisper, sitting up on her elbows. You spared her half a glance before focusing on Soul.

“Oh, you guys have fun,” Hongjoong snickered with a shake of his head.

Souls gaze danced about the room before he said, “So, no Wave?” Seonghwa hit him across the shoulder and the boy cracked a laugh. “Right,” he breathed, then made it a point to look at you and shrug his gangly shoulders. 

The front door swung open and the room fell back to normal in an instant, Yuna sprawled on the couch, the boys in the kitchen chattering away. Leaving the door open behind them, their arms full of cardboard cases and trembling glass bottles, Mingi and Jongho strut through the living room and straight back into the kitchen, Jongho stopping by the couch first to greet his girlfriend, leaning over her to press a kiss to her forehead where she laid, boxes in hand and all. Mingi went to the kitchen.

“We found all they had,” he said to Seonghwa, cocking his head to the side. “They said they’ll have more next week.” Jongho met him at the counter, sliding his box next to Mingi’s.

“That’s fine,” Seonghwa shrugged, taking in what liquor they’ve bought, the beers that still rattled. “They take my card?” Mingi smiled, slid his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, and slapped the black card onto the marble. “Thanks,” Seonghwa nodded, placing it between his fingers.

While Mingi turned around to find you, Jongho unloaded the bottles one by one, the three in the kitchen falling into a discussion about what they found and where. Listening to him, Seonghwa handed the credit card to Hongjoong who reached for it, but as his tiny fingers grazed the edge of it, the eldest pulled it away and smirked, not even giving his former president a glance. Nodding along with Jongho, Seonghwa placed the card between his teeth and laughed as Hongjoong huffed and snatched it away, pulling out a thin wallet from his pocket to slide the card into.

Mingi, happy as clam, peered out into the living room and smiled at you. Hitting you with a wink, one that would normally make you giggle, he hurried over to your side and squatted down behind the couch, half of him still towering over it. Taking a second to read your face, the tension in your brows, he pouted.

“Something happen?”

“Yeah,” you sighed.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked softly, tilting his head ever so slightly. Narrowing your eyes at the question, at his need to question, he backtracked. “I mean, let’s talk about it.”

“Go help Jongho,” you whispered, gesturing to the boy unloading the bottles with your chin.

“Right,” Mingi mumbled, blinking fervently, “Okay, I’ll be back.”

Yuna screwed up her face and wiggled her feet. “How long have you guys been having problems?” Turning to her quickly, peeling your eyes from Mingi’s toned middle, you laughed to yourself. “I didn’t feel it till now. Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” you said, looking back into the kitchen at Soul now organizing beers in the fridge. He turned with focused brows to grab more, but looked at you first. He hesitated, smiled, then went on his way, grabbing onto bottles that Mingi set out for him. “You know his other friends are staying down the street? Jongseob has a house.”

Yuna blinked. “That sleazy blonde one?”

“He’s not… Okay, yeah.” Thoughts of last night haunted your brain. Sleazy wasn’t too far off.

“Did not know that,” Yuna muttered, dragging a finger over her eyebrows to soothe the ache you know was pounding them. “How do you know that?”

You eyed Seonghwa and Hongjoong, how they drew closer and closer together while the other three moved around the kitchen. “He was in Cheers last night, I talked to him.”

“The lowerclassmen are hilarious,” Yuna said. “Some of our girls are down here too. I don't wanna know what happens in that house.”

You shot her a smirk. “You know what’s happening in that house, we were them. Ror isn’t the only one who’s slept with more than one of them.” Laughing aloud, catching Jongho’s attention, the boy spinning around with a smile on his face, Yuna kicked you and the mention of her and San’s freshman year once upon a time.

“You should’ve seen Jongho’s face the last time that got brought up,” she sighed, both hands sliding over her face. “He gets so jealous, it’s so hot.”

Your eyes fell over Mingi. He’s never gotten jealous, only protective. Confronting Jongseob he would put him in his place, then leave it all be. He wouldn’t attach himself to you, get more clingy, or whine about you talking to him. Confident in himself, as he should be, Mingi never felt the need to prove himself if another guy came onto you, or flirted with you. He’d assert his dominance to the guy, then move on almost as if it had never happened, never acknowledging it again until there were repeat offences.

It’s not that you wanted Mingi to be jealous, you didn’t want that type of toxicity in your relationship regardless of how harmless it’d be, but something about your man doting on you a little extra to show how much he loved you wouldn’t hurt. 

Wooyoung and Aurora made their way back into the room, Aurora dragging him along by the hand behind her. The dynamic fascinated you as much as it frustrated you, how Wooyoung could go along with everything she wanted, everything she said, at the snap of her fingers. He listened to her, he knew what she needed before she knew she needed it. Always one step ahead though it appeared like she ran the show. He simply let her think that. He didn’t have to prove he knew something before her, he didn’t gloat when he tended to her, he didn’t show off for her sake.

That was what you and Mingi had, you think, at some point. You remember it, but instead of one step ahead the two of you walked in time, side by side. 

Now it felt as though every other day one of you was tiptoeing while the other ran marathons, sometimes not even in the same direction.

Taking a deep breath, standing to retreat to your bedroom, you unlocked your phone and opened your messages. No bars were happening tonight, you knew that much, no matter how much you’d fight it. Trailing up the stairs slowly, you typed out a message and hit send. Little to no remorse settling within you.

[you]: come over tonight.

Wobbling into a sophomores shoulder in the platform sandals Yuna wore to the bar last night, you ignored the kid's mumble of frustration and then his apology when he realized who he was speaking to. Or, trying to speak to. Glued to your phone, your nose nearly pressed to the screen, you grunted with frustration, mimicking the sophomore you bumped into.

No answer.

The phone number didn’t answer you. The person didn’t answer. The guy left you on delivered. He was smart too, he didn’t have his read receipts on. He didn’t have his location on. He was simply a number on a screen. For all you know you could be texting one of your professors, or worse, Seonghwa’s uncle.

Venturing into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge that had been ravaged for the last hour since the party started up, you reach for a can of fruity bubbles and crack it open, closing the fridge with your foot. Turning, you looked out into the living room over several heads to find more heads. Voices filled the space, some familiar and some unknown, the brothers and sisters of the fraternity and sorority bringing extra’s along since they could actually get into this party. 

Everyone in bathing suits or summer clothes, they radiated sunshine energy, a much different feeling than whatever got conjured up in the houses at Nasara. Dancing to the music, singing along, gossiping with friends, flirting with someone across the room, stealing spots on sofas to make out, it comforted you. This felt normal. It would be normal. It should be normal.

Your eyes wanted to find him. You wanted to lock gazes with him across the room and know.

You typed out a message after a gulp of your drink and sent it, whipping your head back up to scan the open space flooded with bodies.

[you]: are you here?

You waited. Meeting eyes with ample people you barely recognized, ones that recognized you, you didn’t stop scouring. If Jongseob was here, he’d be easy to spot, you’d just have to look for two boys sucking up to him and he’d be in between them. If Yunho was here, he’d also be easy to spot, you’d just have to look for a boy as tall as your boyfriend most likely standing alone.

Behind you, San and Wooyoung stepped into the kitchen, the two leaping off the stairs to the second floor bar where more hoards of people lingered. Peeking over your shoulder, you met San’s eyes, his pure, lust fueled, dark chocolate eyes. Wooyoung had an arm slung over his shoulder, his entire side pressing against the wider, stockier boy, speaking to him in whispers with his gaze fixed on San’s face. He didn’t care that he wasn’t looking at him, as long as he was grasping whatever Wooyoung said to him. 

A smirk grew on his lips, his perfect pink lips that sat perched on his smooth, cream colored skin. Snaking a hand up to hold beneath Wooyoung’s jaw, he turned to him and mumbled, “Find me in ten.” Wooyoung hurried off without sparing you a single glance, but he knew you were there. As soon as San released him he was off, disappearing into the crowd. 

Searching through the fridge, San emerged with a can in his hand, one he cracked open as he swaggered up to you, dressed exactly how you’d envision him to dress for tonight. Short, black trunks cut off halfway at his thigh and a matching button down hanging open, exposing his broad, toned chest and torso, one you guarantee has been felt up already by curious hands.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he said to you with a wink, throwing an arm around you, pulling you in for the tightest hug. Your arms wrapped around him, the boy a solid mass of muscle. Pulling away from you he took one hand to your cheek and squeezed it. “How are you?” he asked with a soft smile, dipping his chin down.

“I’m alright,” you said, and he hummed immediately in disapproval. 

“Mm, no you’re not,” he said. San and Wooyoung were parallels in the way they could read energy, both of them incredibly emotionally intelligent, both of them using it in their own way, San mostly for his own advantage. Lifting his eyes above your shoulder, to someone a few inches taller than himself, his smile grew. “What’s wrong with her, Mingi?”

Your boyfriend draped a hand over one of your shoulders, his fingers squeezing you ever so slightly. Giving him a quick look, his obvious unease forcing you to look back at San who watched you, Mingi said, “She wanted to go out tonight, but the party’s here.”

San’s eyes sparkled, his smirk one you’ve seen before, but never been on the receiving end of. “She needs an orgasm.”

“San!” you shouted, laughter erupting out of you as you stretched out your arms to give him a gentle push.

Smile growing, dimpling his cheeks, he said, “Go make her cum Mingi,” then he winked at you, “Or go rub one out for me and come back.”

“Bro,” Mingi spat.

“San!” you shouted again, bouncing your knees, reaching back to place your hand over Mingi’s. Trying to tangle your fingers with his, he pulled away, tucking his hand in his pocket.

“I’m kidding,” he said, looking between you and your boyfriend, “I’m busy anyway, I won’t be able to fit you in tonight.” Tapping you on the nose with his finger, he circled around you and threw a hand behind Mingi’s head, pulling him down easily, planting a sloppy kiss to his cheek just beside his lips. Pushing him away, jumping backward as much as he could’ve, but not with much persistence, Mingi wiped at his cheek and missed how San snickered as he walked off, head held high, chest puffed.

Spinning to face Mingi, you smiled up at him and said, “He was kidding by the way.”

“Did you tell him or something?”

Your stomach dropped. “No! I didn’t… I didn’t tell anyone.”

Mingi, a frown pulling at his lips, bobbed his head. “Right.”

Reaching out to grab onto his bicep, he glanced down at it. “Don’t let it bother you.”

“That doesn’t bother me,” he spat, flashing a glare your way, “That happens sometimes. I would understand, I would’ve done something else. You lied to me.”

Pressing your lips together tight, you took a breath and shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

He stared at you in disbelief, as if reliving the night. “You think I have sex with you just to get off?”

“No,” you said, rushed, “You don’t, we don’t-”

“You know what it means to me,” he said. “How important it is to me, I don’t care how pussy I sound right now, Tori, that’s me giving myself to you. That’s me loving you. That’s time when I can really show you just how much you mean to me, where I can tell you and show you how much I love you. I never did hook up culture, you know that… I can imagine it feels alot like that night, right?” 

Everything that came out of him, the absolute truth. Mingi didn’t spend his high school years like most, he found himself in relationships, long term, much like the one you shared with him now. He didn’t kiss and tell, he didn’t flaunt around about how many girls he’s slept with, that number wasn’t even high, when he shared it with you in the start of your time together you were shocked. He knew you were something special, something to hold onto, because from the beginning you’d both be diving head first into bed. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t feel anything, he wouldn’t have, like he said, given himself to you if he didn’t see you sticking around in his life long term.

“I love you, Mingi, I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Rolling his eyes, he pushed by you with a huff. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

A shorter than Mingi, scrawnier than Mingi looking sophomore or junior pushed him back toward you, but paid no mind to him, like your tower of a boyfriend didn’t exist. Edging the counter, posting himself directly in front of you, he wore a smile, one showing off his pristine, shining white teeth. They were fake. They weren’t his. They couldn’t have been.

“Hey, you’re Tori, aren’t you?” he laughed, keeping something to himself. Raising your brow at him, you shared a look with Mingi, but he didn’t reciprocate, he was focused on this boy. “Vice President of ITZ?”

“Yes,” you said, tone flatter than it’d be if you were talking to Jongseob in front of Mingi. “Can I help you?”

The boy checked you out, his eyes glazing over your body, your bikini peeking out of the lacey cover up you had slipped on over top of it. Mingi watched him do so, and you wanted ever so badly for him to grab you, to hold you, to get jealous.

“Seob told me all about you,” the boy said, blinking his crystal blue eyes toward you. “Guess he wasn’t lying.”

Cheeks flushing before they turned pink, you sighed heavily and tossed your hair over your shoulder. “He- He, what?”

“Get out of here,” Mingi grumbled. The boy jumped, your boyfriend's deep voice startling him.

Looking up at him, he tried to laugh. “Who are you?”

Mingi looked at you. You looked at Mingi. Rage brimmed his expression, the sheer mention of Jongseob’s name threatening to send him reeling. That and the fact that this kid didn’t know who he was speaking to. A very important member of ATZ. His eyes bore into yours, for too long, before you realized he wanted you to answer his question.

“M-my boyfriend,” you said, stuttering as you did. Mingi rolled his eyes. A wave of shame flooded your senses. You wanted to run. “His name is Mingi,” you tried to recover, “On the board of ATZ, you a member?” The boy eyed him, then shook his head toward you. “Then why are you here?”

He winked at you. “Jongseob brought me.”

He was here.

“Well, you can leave me alone now,” you said to him, glancing up at Mingi who stood around to hear the end. “And don’t tell him where I am.”

You were the first to turn around, the first to walk away. Leaving Mingi behind who walked away the second you left, you hurried through the crowd, drink in hand, gulping it down as you elbowed past groups and teetered over people on the floor. Jongseob had been running his mouth, to people you didn’t even know. Either that or his friends were telling their friends, which meant that other people besides you, Jongseob, Jiung and Intak knew what happened last night at Cheers. Other people knew what he said to you.

Other people knew what you didn’t choose to stop.

Your cheeks burned, your stomach lurched, the urge to vomit so strong out of pure panic, embarrassment, you couldn’t place it. Every wrong feeling one could feel, you held it in your chest, your shaking hands, your tipsy feet. Hands landing on the back door, you scrambled for the handle and tugged it open, the panels of glass becoming one to allow you outside onto the deck where people and couples lined the railings or sat on the cushions, joints or cigarettes passed around as you flew by, your platform sandals thumping on the stairs that led down to the sand.

A mile further and you’d be on the beach, but down here, on the sand behind the dunes, there lived a fire pit, one lit and burning just as hot as you were internally. Few people sat around it in beach chairs low in the sand, a couple lost in their own whispers, cuddled into one another, a pair of friends sharing a vape, and a loner with a beer in his hands.

Circling the bonfire, he looked up at you and you froze.

“Tori?”

“Yunho,” you breathed.

Something of a laugh tumbled out of him. “We can’t keep meeting like this,” he muttered sarcastically. He trained his gaze on the fire in front of him, sipping his beer occasionally. “You look upset. Again.”

“Again?” you asked within a scoff.

He hit you with a side eye. “You weren’t supposed to talk to me last night, were you?”

“It’s not like that,” you said.

Yunho faced the fire, sitting backward in his chair, his long, bare legs extending in front of him. “Sure it isn’t. I’ve seen her make that face before, it was like she caught her boyfriend with Yeji all over again.” 

His words made you shiver. “Don’t talk about that.”

He smiled, but he didn’t look at you. “Noted,” he said quietly, gesturing to the chair beside him with his beer. “Take a seat, you look like you need to unload.”

“Not with you,” you spat involuntarily. That got him to look up at you, the surprise on his face worsening the feeling within you. “Yunho,” you sighed, pressing the hand that wasn’t gripping your can to your face.

“Nah, I get it,” he nodded. “Your allegiance lies elsewhere, you can’t be seen with me. You’ve already been caught once, the council will behead you if they catch you again.” 

As horrific as it sounded, he made you laugh, the sarcasm dripping in his knowing tone forcing it out of you against your will. He was good for that, talking himself out of things, covering everything up with humor, self-deprecating so you’d forget about your own bullshit even if just for a second. His thing with Aurora truly came as no surprise to you.

“She won’t let me talk to her about it,” you said, taking your hand from your face, revealing to him your fading smile. He swallowed his own and nodded, listening. “I tried, but…”

“She wouldn’t have it,” he finished for you. 

Releasing a breath, you whispered, “Yeah.”

“What did you tell her?” he asked.

“That I… That I needed Yunho closure,” you said, voice smaller than ever.

He blinked, looked up at you and asked, “And what did she say to that?”

“What do you need Yunho closure for, none of us have Yunho closure.”

Quiet, processing what you’ve said, the corners of his lips began to perk up. Turning to the fire, he sipped his beer and tilted his head seemingly happily. 

“What?” you questioned, taking a step toward him.

Yunho shook his head. “Nothing.”

“No, tell me. What did that just make you think of?”

He glanced toward you with a smile, then faced forward. “That everything is open ended right now.”

Twisting your brow, you took another step toward him. “Explain.”

“Everything is open ended,” he shrugged, turning completely in his chair to look up at you, his eyes appearing wider than usual, more bright, glistening against the flames to his right and the moon above him. “Closure, she didn’t like how it sounded. When you told her that’s what you were getting, it upset her. The Aurora I know would’ve yelled at you when she caught you, especially if she’d been drinking. Did she yell at you? No. I didn’t even hear her yell after you walked away either.”

“Yunho, Wooyoung’s been really good with her,” you said just above a whisper. He snapped his jaw shut. “You know him. He’s rubbed off on her. The Aurora we know, or used to know, she’s different. After last year, the bullshit? It changed her.”

He thought to himself, his genius brain making marks you couldn’t see, solving equations only he’d put together. “But, still, if she-”

“She was angry, Yunho,” you said, and he met your gaze. “Just a different kind of angry.”

Nibbling his bottom lip, a breeze blew his dusty colored hair over his forehead. “I know her, Torilynn,” he whispered. “And it’s open ended.”

Groaning, your phone vibrated at the same time making you jump. Fumbling to open it, you mumbled, “Yunho, she’s… Damn.” You hurried for a notification from Instagram. A few drinks deep and you’ve forgotten that you silenced his incoming messages. You swiped into the thread with still no reply to your last message.

“What happened?” Yunho asked, pulling you from your screen. His eyes flickered between the cell phone in your hand and your eyes.

“I”m being ignored,” you said. 

“By who, everyone’s here,” he smiled, narrowing his eyes.

Through a sigh, you whispered, “I don’t…” but stopped yourself, shooting him a look.

Raising a brow, Yunho sipped his beer. His smile settled into a smirk. “You don’t know?” Your blood ran cold, as it seemed to do now in his presence. “Is that what you were gonna say?”

“...No.”

His eyes ate you alive, curious, yet knowing all at the same time. “Okay,” he said after a beat of silence, slowly turning back in his chair before your question pulled him back in.

It came out of you in a whisper. “Are you the one texting me?”

He sat forward, elbows on his bare knees, delighted as he looked up at you. “What are you talking about?”

“The messages,” you still spoke no louder than a whisper. “The unknown number, they’ve been here in Haos the whole time, they know about me, they know who I am, is it you?” He laughed. “And don’t bullshit me, because you repeated something they said verbatim, Yo.”

His eyes bugged out of his head, his laughter growing louder. “I did? How!”

Throwing your hands out to the side, some of your drink spilled from the can. “I dunno, you tell me! How are you texting me from an unknown number when I have your number!”

“I’m not texting you, Tori!” He slapped both his hands to his chest, beer bottle in grip. “I wouldn’t know how to do that, I… I wouldn’t wanna do that, no offense.” A weight felt like it’d been lifted from your shoulders. “It’s not me, I swear to you.”

Taking a deep breath, you turned yourself around and soaked in the sights. The sand stretching on forever, the stars and the moon in the sky, the house pulsing with life, the fire warming your exposed skin. Sipping your drink that was half warm, you cringed and shrugged your shoulders.

“Well, good to know,” you said, and he laughed.

“How long has this been happening?” he asked.

“Since we got here,” you muttered. “Our first night here, we literally just walked in the house and he told me he knew I was here.”

Yunho raised a brow. “He? You know this person is a guy?”

You looked at him for two seconds, then stared at the fire. “Yeah…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been talking to this person… To him.”

“Maybe I have,” you whispered, sipping your drink.

Yunho fell back in his seat and laughed. “Tori! Does anybody know about this?”

Thinking to yourself, already knowing the answer, you hit him with a glare before mumbling, “No.”

Dragging a hand through his hair, his veiny, slender, pretty fingers dancing through the overgrown strands, he sighed, blinking up at you. The roundness of his eyes, the curve of his nose, things you haven’t taken the time to notice before, they were endearing. Tongue poking between your lips, you pressed your can to them and sipped your drink, the two of you maintaining eye contact that made your stomach twist.

“Tori,” he said, clearing his throat. Ripping his gaze from you, he focused down on the sand. “Don’t keep this from them. Rory, and Mingi. They’re your best friends, go tell them. They can help you figure it out.”

Clenching your jaw, you nearly crushed the can in your hand as your grip tightened around it. Yunho’s eyes flickered to it before they were on yours again. “But, if I do, then they’ll see what I said to him.”

“What did you say to him?” Yunho asked in a way that made it seem as though you should be incriminated. 

Shrugging, you finished off your drink. “Just, stuff.” 

“Jesus, Tor,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “You have any ideas on who you think it could be?”

“Possibly,” you said, crinkling the can, tossing it into the fire. Yunho watched it, the metal shriveling up within the flames. 

“And will it end well if it’s who you think it is?” he asked, eyes lit up by flames.

Folding your arms over your chest, you smiled to yourself. “No. No it won’t.”

Commotion stirred on the deck above you, voices got louder, some people shouted. Tipping your chins up, both you and Yunho, you're greeted by a head peering over the edge to look at you at the same time. Warm blonde hair, honey skin and a sleazy smile.

“There she is,” Jongseob sang. Intak appeared beside him, a laugh falling from him when he spotted you. Jongseob elbowed him away as his eyes shifted over to Yunho. “Hangin’ with him again?” Sipping his beer, Yunho nearly choked on it.

“Keep my name out of your mouth,” he spat, pointing up at the twenty year old. 

“Why, ‘cause it’s too busy in everyone else’s?” Jongseob snickered, and Yunho looked away with a groan. “Come take shots with me, Tori,” he said with a slight pout on his lips. “These losers won’t leave me alone. Save me.” Various ‘hey’s’, and ‘asshole’, sounded off from the boys around him, people he called friends. Jongseob swatted a hand backward toward them, disappearing from the ledge.

Meeting Yunho’s glance, you gulped as he whispered, “I sure hope to god it isn’t him.”

All around the living room table people collected, Seonghwa and Hongjoong sliding out shot glasses to anyone who approached and sat down with them, the two turning it into a game when newcomers joined them on the floor. How many shots can you endure before you’re spinning? Stepping around the sofa, Jongseob on your heels, his friends behind him, you fan out, you take in the scene. Intak and Jiung cheer the next round on, Hongjoong peering up at them behind his chunky black frames perched on the end of his nose.

This was how you knew him, how most knew him. Dressed to impress, ironed clothes, accessories impeccable, chestnut hair slicked back off his forehead, glowy skin, the former president was nothing short of stunning. 

Groans, echoes of boo’s rung out into the air after a shot was thrown back and two sophomores tapped out, leaving the table. At the end farthest from you, three participants beamed amongst themselves, only two seeming to participate in the game. San and Aurora, your best friend sitting on one of his thighs, they slid their glasses toward Seonghwa after they pressed their cheeks together and giggled, Wooyoung on the other side of Aurora watching her with a smile. Her other hand that wasn’t latched onto San or the shot glass held onto Wooyoung’s.

Stepping forward, you bent over to whisper to Seonghwa, “Have you seen Mingi?”

Pouring out shots, sliding them back down over the wood, he peered over at you, his own eyes glazed over. “Last I saw him he was upstairs with Yeosang.” His drunken gaze traveled backward over you toward Jongseob and his friends. “Did they come with you?” You bobbed your head. “Why’d you bring them back in here, I just kicked them out.” 

Hongjoong smacked his hand on the table multiple times, his wicked smile growing wider as Aurora and San swallowed their liquor, gasping as they slapped the glasses back onto the wood. Laughing aloud, tongues slipping out of their open mouths to prove they finished it, they leaned into one another, tongues pressing together for all of three seconds before they sent the glasses back to Hongjoong.

“Kicked them out, why?” you asked, brows twisting over your eyes that flashed from your best friend to Seonghwa. 

Hands grabbed onto your shoulders for leverage. Leaning over you towards the table, Jongseob and his friends laughed behind you, even more so as Intak said, “Not the only thing she likes on them pretty lips, right Aurora?”

She was oblivious, slow blinking, limp moving, her hands holding onto San. Both boys nearly broke their necks with how fast they reacted to him, faces wiped of all feeling. Wooyoung leapt to his feet. The boys behind you all took a step back. 

“Who the fuck brought you back in here?” he spat. Aurora turned at the sound of his voice, his tone loud, angry, an Wooyoung you all knew well just about three years ago. The look on her face, one you hated. San pulled her into his chest.

“The president’s right hand,” Intak said, smug as ever. Stepping closer, the air in the room depleting with every inch of space he stole, Wooyoung settled his face into the grimace he’d shot you that morning, giving it to you again.

“They didn’t tell me they were kicked out,” you breathed, holding your hands up.

Wooyoung clenched his jaw. “He’s been harassing her since he got here, he’s shitfaced.”

“So is your girl,” Intak bellowed, wobbling on his feet, tossing up a hand to prove his point. It’s a shame his smirk and the way his eyes crinkled was sexy. “You gonna let San take her for a ride?”

“You motherfucker.”

Lunging for him, you and the boys darting apart for the two to fall through, Wooyoung grabbed him by the shoulders and they vanished in the midst of people. Shouts sounded, from Wooyoung, Intak, shouts from others either cheering them on or too drunk to process what the actual fuck was happening. He hadn’t put his hands on anyone in ages, the look on his face one you haven’t seen since he was younger than the boy he tackled, grit teeth, wild eyes, red in the face…

Seonghwa leapt to his feet soon after Wooyoung grabbed onto him, a massive, “Hey!” sounding from his chest, triggering your own fight or flight, your body jolting.

Jongeob and Jiung disappeared the same as their president, in a hurry, the commotion condensing around them, more people rushing over to watch, to catch a glimpse of what the hell was happening.

“Oh shit,” San muttered, grabbing onto Aurora as he stood up. Her arms flailed before they found his shoulders. Eyebrows low, he rounded the table and placed her in front of you, taking your arms to wrap them around her back. “I’ll be right back,” he said to you, then he vanished with the rest.

Aurora sunk into you, her arms snaking around your back, her hands grabbing onto her elbows. Keeping your arms where they lived over her back, you searched the crowd but couldn’t see anything over the cluster of heads, the mess of people yelling, jumping. Hongjoong had to scramble to his feet to keep others in line, ones that couldn’t even get into the center of it all, trying to start their own shit outside the circle. It amazed you to watch him work in real time, the way people obeyed him in seconds, his own fraternity members still recognizing him as someone with the most power though now he was one step below. Neither wanted to have to do their jobs this month, Seonghwa and Hongjoong, nor did you or Aurora, yet here they were.

Over someone who hasn’t been a member in almost a year.

On your chest, Aurora stirred. She caught her own balance, tipping her chin upward to look at you. Blinking, you looked down at her. Smelling like a bottle of vodka, her hooded eyes and weak smile made you sigh. Intak was right, she was shitfaced. To the point where you knew she wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. Squeezing you, her lips formed a pout.

“I miss you,” she whispered, her eyes attempting to read you, but there wasn’t a single coherent thought in her head. 

Swallowing away the lump that lodged in your throat, you frowned and nodded. “I miss you.” 

A couple of shouts sounded off from the crowd and her eyes shot open wide. Taking her hands to your shoulders to push away from you, you held her closer, putting a hand behind her head, pulling her back down against your chest.

“Where did…”

You shook your head. “No, don’t worry about it.”

She huffed, her hands scooping beneath your arms to hold behind your back. Her grip was weak. “He’s fighting him, isn’t he.” Blinking, eyes following the crowd that condensed again, Soul and Jongho now in the mix, you couldn’t put any words together. “Sometimes I wish… he could be like Mingi.”

“What?” you gasped, glancing down at her. “Why!?”

“Mingi… fights clean,” she mumbled. “You know what you get with him, he is who he is.” 

She wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, I guess so, but Wooyoung-”

“It’s never…” she paused, and you checked to see if she’d knocked out, but she watched the backs of the people in the circle. “It’s never one thing with him. It’s always gotta be something else, more feelings, talk about this, you feel this way because…” 

Opening your mouth, words didn’t come out. It took a minute for you to be able to say anything. Here you were for so long thinking their dynamic, their relationship, their bond was all sunshine and daisies and rainbows. “He cares about your relationship.”

Aurora whined, turning to bury her face on your shoulder. “I know,” she muttered. “My dad said the same fuckin’ thing, that he’s a good guy, that he cares.”

Rubbing a hand between her shoulder blades to soothe her somehow, you shrugged. “Listen to him, Ror. You’ve got it good.”

“So do you,” she said quietly. “You’re like, with your soulmate.” She lifted her head, glassy eyes blinking up at you. “I wish mine didn’t suck.”

Your stomach flipped. You shook her accidentally as your hands flew to grab onto her cheeks, cupping her face, her entire body weight resting on top of you. “What do you mean by that?” 

A smile played on her lips, the corners of her eyes tipping upward. “Did he say anything about me?” she asked within a whisper. “Yunho… Did he-” 

She didn’t get to finish her sentence when you really fucking needed her to. San hurried back to you, people dispersing the scene reluctantly. His arm grabbed onto her waist and pulled her off of you, scooping her into his arms. With a laugh she moved pliantly, arms thrown around his wide shoulders as she wrapped herself around his front, legs slinging around his waist. Behind you Wooyoung passed by, hands wiping at his face, brushing his arms, adjusting his clothes. He paid no mind to a single soul, not even you. His eyes were forward, narrowed and dark.

“Where are you going?” you called after her and her drunken smile bouncing over San’s shoulder. 

She grinned wider, a giggly mess as San pressed his lips to her neck, following Wooyoung to the stairs. Looking at you, behind you, all at once her smile faded and she pointed at you like she suddenly remembered something, shouting, “Don’t let him leave!” They were gone in seconds.

Laying a hand over your chest, your heart pounding between your lungs, the other found your hip, resting there. Spinning on your heels, wandering back toward the table that Seonghwa and Hongjoong have found themselves at again, you stood beside where they sat, their sudden calm energy while they whispered doing wonders to calm yours. People wandered off, some clearly wired, others muttering how disappointed they were it ended so fast. Looking down at Seonghwa, he met your eyes and smiled as if to tell you that everything would be okay, his attention turning back to Hongjoong in a flash, like he was worried he was going to miss something.

A hand grabbed you and spun you around, the sight sending a gasp through you. Intak, his pretty face, messed up. One hand held onto his jaw, the other clasped onto his forehead, he was leaning against Jiung who had a few scuffs himself. Soul stood behind him, his hands on his back to hold him steady, his focus on Jiung, the two whispering over their friends head.

Jongseob had been the one to grab you, to put his hands on you. “Your dudes are fucking nuts,” he snapped. 

You didn’t know where to look, searching Jongseob for any sign of him having been touched by one of your friends, you muttered, “I’m sorry.” 

I’m sorry?

“We’re out of here,” he said, his voice growing tiny. “If you really want me like you let on, you come find me.” He glanced behind you and smirked. “Bye Tori.”

What the fuck?

“The fuck did he mean by that?” Yunho’s voice came from behind the sofa. Chills shooting down your spine, you spun around and slumped your shoulders. He took a second to look down at Seonghwa and Hongjoong sitting around the table. They were watching. Following his stare, you met eyes with them both and groaned. With one look at Yunho you spoke to him through it, and he followed you.

Darting through the maze that has become the house, he stayed but three steps behind you. Leading him around corners, groups of people, through a doorway into another smaller sitting room on the first floor, one with bookshelves kissing the ceiling, you crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him with a huff.

“I hate you and your smart brain,” you said.

Yunho tilted his head. “Huh?”

“Open ended?” you scoffed. “You don’t speak a word to her in months yet you still know how she feels?”

His lips parted, his body frozen. “What?”

“Oh, now you know nothing?”

He stepped toward you in the small space, only the two of you occupying the carpet. “She still has feelings for me? How the fuck did you learn this in a half hour?”

“Because, I may talk a lot of shit, but when she’s drunk-”

“She tells you everything,” you both said at once. Yunho tipped his chin backward, his own arms crossing over his t-shirt. 

“Don’t go trying to break them up, Wooyoung almost just murdered Intak in the living room.”

A smirk graced his lips for all of a few seconds. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides,” he sighed, looking over at you, “You said he’s good for her. He’s good with her.”

Hesitating, knowing all you knew now, that Aurora had her own relationship issues, you whispered, “He is.”

“I want her happy,” he said, his genuine smile growing as he shrugged. The air falls quiet around the two of you, the commotion of the party still very much alive outside the library. He took a deep breath. “I’m gonna go.” Starting for the doorway, you watched him step out and turn a corner, but then your heart skipped a beat.

“Wait!” you shouted after him, hurrying out of the room, platform sandals clunking against the hardwood floor. “Yunho!”

He turned, confusion laced with worry in his brow. “What?”

Reaching his side, you grabbed onto his arm, hands wrapping around his bicep, the two of you wobbling together. “She said, don’t let him leave.”

“Me? Him as in me?” he asked, eyes going wide.

You sighed, a sarcastic laugh paired with it. “Who else, Yo?”

He took a breath and glanced about the party, his face not knowing what to do, what to feel. Shaking his head, his lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he froze. “Tori,” he whispered, and you shook his arm.

“What?”

Squishing his lips together, he gave you the tiniest shake of his head, his eyes locked elsewhere. Whipping yourself around, frantically searching through the sea of people, you found him. He wasn’t that hard to miss, especially from where he stood halfway down the stairs. He stared at you, he stared at Yunho, the way he held onto him, and you guarantee just by the look on his face that he saw the way you spoke to one another. Like you’ve done this already before this moment.

Gulping, voice tiny, you dropped your hands and whispered, “Mingi.”

read it on ao3 | talk to me | my masterlist

“How much was it?” Aurora mumbled, glancing at Yuna and her natural chocolate waves flowing down her back. “Did he tell you? I guess he didn’t, right? That’s not a thing.” Shouts flooded out of the doorway of the gameroom, all of the boys but one holed up in there, crinkling cans and busting each other's asses over the simplest of losses.

Yuna shook her head blinking her round eyes toward both of you, though you weren’t paying attention. “He didn’t, but Ryujin and I tried to look it up, ‘cause it’s an Olivietta, and it must be custom or something, because we can’t find it anywhere, but all of Olivietta’s shit like this is like five thousand dollars.” 

Aurora’s jaw dropped further than before, her entire being in shock. “You’re lying,” she whispered, her voice still audible over the music playing. Yuna, proud as ever, smiled and shook her head. Your best friend whirled herself around to look at you, Yuna’s hand still in hers, but you were focused on your phone, typing away, a mile a minute. “Are you seeing this, Tor? Jongho bought her this.” You hummed in response, not lifting your eyes from your screen. “For an end of year gift.”

“It’s so pretty,” you muttered, hitting send on a message, missing the way your friends' faces fell before they turned back to speak to one another.

“What have you guys been doing, you’ve got three days on us now, how’s the beach?” Yuna’s smile met her eyes, her and Aurora sitting backward on the couch, falling into a conversation that seemed to exclude you. 

It didn’t matter, you were busy.

For three days this number hasn’t left you alone. The messages came in at random, at random times, there wasn’t a strategy to the way this person moved making it increasingly impossible to figure out who they could be, where they could be, and what their motive was. For three days you’ve ignored Jongseob, whether it be at the beach while him and his friends hung out with yours, sat close by, drank with them- You ignored him.

He did very little to get your attention much to your surprise, he didn’t act like he did if he were within the walls of ATZ. You did have more freedom around the frat, around your own sorority, without Mingi, that is. Oftentimes Jongseob nagged you when he wasn’t around, and ultimately while lying on a beach beside him, he didn’t have the means to get under your skin. At least not while your boyfriend lounged next you, knowing that little leech would swoop in if he left you alone.

But, that could be why he’s texting you like this. Secretively. So he could talk to you around the boyfriend, like one of his messages had said.

If it was him. The person wouldn’t give it up.

[you]: but you still won’t give me a name.

You’ve gotten sneaky. The day after the notification settings were changed, you added a name to the contact, one that would go unnoticed by Mingi if he were to glance over while you were texting. It would protect you from anyone questioning actually, you felt like a proper genius.

[ITZ]: its more fun this way

[ITZ]: wyd right now

[you]: sitting around with my girls. 

[ITZ]: oooooh. which girls

[ITZ]: told them abt me yet?

[you]: why the fuck would i tell anyone about you???

“Hwa!” 

Both Yuna and Aurora cheered aloud, their voices echoing up into the stretch of a ceiling pulling you away from your screen. He was tipping sideways, Seonghwa was, with a bottle in his hand. Baggy jeans hung low on his hips and the cropped t-shirt he wore exposed a strip of golden skin above the Calvin Klein strap around his waist. Drunk, eyes glazed over, a silly smile on his perfectly full lips, your friends gushed over him to make him blush, and he did.

Cheeks going pink, he squatted down in front of the table in the center of the couches, wobbling as he did, and he poured liquor into stray shot glasses littering the wooden table top. His hair laid naturally over his head, messy, wavy, longer than ever. Dragging his slender, knobby fingers through it, as if to flash you all a delicious look of his face, he gave you all a lazy smile. 

“How are the games?” Yuna asked, animating her voice to make him laugh. She leaned forward over her lap, and Seonghwa beamed.

Slapping his hands to the table, he said, “So much fun.”

She tossed her hair around as she spoke. “Enjoy them,” she grinned.

“Thank you,” Seonghwa’s cheeks grew squishy as his smile deepened.

“No, Hwa,” Aurora cooed, holding up one of the shot glasses, “Thank you.”

The three of them took their shots together, Seonghwa and Aurora watching one another as they did. He stood after smacking the glass onto the table and left her with a wink, Yuna gasping the moment he was out of earshot. 

She jumped in her place, grabbing onto Aurora any way she could. “You know what I constantly think about?”

You leaned forward and grabbed the glass Seonghwa poured for you.

Aurora groaned with a grin, tipping her head backward, letting Yuna shake her around. “Please, don’t.”

“Actually, it’s what I think about whenever I see you two interact,” she said, lowering her voice, bringing her nose close to Aurora’s cheek. Your best friend gave her a look. “You guys lowkey have chemistry, Ror.”

You pressed the glass to your lips and took your shot.

“It’ll never happen again,” Aurora widened her eyes, “We’ve said it. We’re friends. Besides, I'm with Wooyoung.” 

Sliding the empty glass onto the table, you reached for another that Seonghwa had filled. All the glasses on the table got filled actually, the boy was entirely too drunk he couldn’t put together who was sitting around here and who wasn’t. 

“With Wooyoung,” you mumbled with a smirk, knocking the shot back. That was awfully rich. Words such as those hadn’t been spoken… ever. Placing the glass down you glanced to your right and found them both looking at you, their eyes unreadable. 

Yuna slid her hand over Aurora’s, taking her attention back. “Where’s Soul?” she asked with a tilt of her head, nonchalant, calm, collected. Like she didn’t know.

“Ah,” Aurora sighed, “He’s upstairs, in his room. He needed a minute, he’ll be back down though, he was excited you guys were coming.”

Soul went up to his bedroom when you all came back from the beach. He and Aurora spent a lot of time sitting on the sand, many feet away from the group, whispering to one another. They weren’t whispering, they were talking, but it felt like whispering, like they were keeping something a secret. Wooyoung didn’t care, just like he didn’t care that first beach day, letting the two of them spend that kind of time together.

The twenty year old went up to his room, and he didn’t come back.

“Is he okay?” Yuna flipped her brows over.

“Totally, sometimes he just-”

“Then let’s go get him,” you said, pushing yourself off of the couch. Aurora let go of Yuna and turned toward you, both of her hands planting to the cushions beneath her as she looked up at you with worry in her eyes.

“No, he’ll come back when-”

“If you go get him certainly he’ll come down, right?” you questioned, throwing a hand toward Aurora. Shifting your eyes over to Yuna, she reacted as every other being had when you shoved them in the middle of this situation. Unmoving. She watched you with a discomfort bleeding onto her perfect complexion. 

“I mean, yeah,” Aurora breathed. “But, he’ll come down when he’s ready, Tor, leave him alone.”

You propped a hand on your hip. “I don’t understand.”

Her brows screwed up above her eyes, squishing into the center of her forehead. “Tori, he literally said he wanted to sleep. It’s been four days of us going, going, going- let him rest. What don’t you understand?”

Amidst her words you tipped your head backward and groaned. “The babying, the way you treat him,” you shook your hands about to emphasize what she’d just said to you, “I mean, we all see it.”

She froze. For a few seconds, her face wiped of all feeling, her body straightened out, and she didn’t move an inch. Then, she looked at Yuna, only turning her head to find her staring down at her lap, her nimble fingers twisting the bracelet around on her wrist. When she looked back up at you her eyes felt like daggers.

She grit her teeth. “I can’t believe you right now.”

Leaping from the couch, barely catching herself on her feet as she fumbled over Yuna without a care if she bumped into her or not, she stormed off, straight into the gameroom where the guys were still shouting, laughing, and having fun. In minutes you knew she’d be shouting, laughing, and having fun, too. 

Flopping back down on the cushions, you exchanged a look with Yuna and rolled your eyes. She scooted closer to you.

“I’m not supposed to know anything, am I?” she asked.

Letting your eyes shift down to the gorgeous bracelet she wore around her dainty wrist, you took a breath. “No,” you grumbled.

She studied you. Her lashes fluttered as she took you in, and grabbed onto your hand. “Come on,” she said, tugging you off the couch. Pulling you out of the living room and into the kitchen. Passing by the doorway to the game room, the noise amplifying, you caught a glimpse of Aurora beneath Wooyoung’s arm, her head on his shoulder.

Yuna posted you up at the island counter and slid shot glasses toward you, four of them.

“What are we doing?” you asked, watching her search for a bottle she was happy with.

“What we’d do at ATZ to forget about shit,” she smiled as she spun around, vodka in hand.

“More shots,” you said, and she gleamed, screwing the top off the liquor. Moving back to your side, wanting to crawl under your arm in true Yuna fashion, the stage five clinger, she filled all of the glasses.

“Duh,” she said in response to you, then lifted a glass for you to take. “Here.”

It burned, but it went down easily. Just as the second one did.

“Hell yeah!” Yuna cheered, filling the glasses up again. “You know, I was thinking about Isla.”

Sliding your phone out of your pocket, you shot her a look. “What? Why? I was thinking about her the other day, too.”

Taking a shot, Yuna shrugged, popping her brows. “Just how things happen for a reason, I guess.”

Laying your phone on the counter you swiped open to your messages and found one waiting for you. You took a shot and opened the thread. “You mean her not being here, don’t you.” Picking up the second glass at the same time she did, you looked at one another, paused a second, then clinked them together. 

“It wouldn’t be good,” Yuna muttered, taking the shot as fast as she could, making a face as it burned through her. 

The thought of her not coming, not being here with everyone else almost hurt as much as thinking about Mingi being here without Yunho. Though Isla not being here was a good thing, and much better for her, it was another major difference, another point on the list telling you what’s changed, and what is not the same.

“She belongs where she is,” Yuna said, refilling the glasses again. Waiting for you to pick one up, to clink them together again, she whispered, “Everything happens for a reason.” Flashing you a smile, her words echoed in your ears. Even as she turned away from you to take her last shot, it took you a couple seconds to follow suit, to let the liquor push you further into a state you weren’t sure you should be in at the moment.

Blurry, wobbly, lighter, like you could start laughing and never stop.

Before you know it, whether it’d been ten minutes or an hour, you weren’t sure, you and Yuna ventured into the gameroom with the rest of the party. Just as gone as you, you and Yuna attempted the pool sticks, missing every single hit that Mingi or Jongho tried to school you on. Laughter rang in the room, hanging in the air above everyone, even Wooyoung and Aurora who’d taken up space together on a leather chair in one of the corners lost in one another. The only time they’d come up for air or give attention to anyone else is if their name was thrown out with a sarcastic insult, or a comment made by someone else just as drunk.

Jongho let his hands live on Yuna’s waist all night, the two still within those months of ooey gooey goodness, testing waters, figuring each other out. They seemed to be going about it the right way, unlike the pair in the corner, a traditionalness about them. No one expected anything less from Jongho, that’s why his bracelet didn’t come as much of a surprise to you. The boy was classy, he went about relationships with a purpose, playing the long game that wasn’t much of a game at all.

Soul came back at some point, you didn’t even realize his blonde head was in the room until you brushed by him to get to Mingi’s side. The boy stood by Seonghwa, following his lead, shadowing him, asking him questions, letting him tell him what to do when it came to the game. He gave you a sideways smile as you passed him, one you tried your hardest to return. 

“Hi,” Mingi said to you as you bumped into his shoulder. Looking down at you through his glasses, a thin rimmed pair you adored, he settled his smile and watched you wrap yourself around his arm. “Thought you forgot I was here. Having fun with Yuna?”

“You thought I forgot you were here?” you asked, raising a brow. Stepping back from him, one hand holding onto his bicep, you looked him up and down and scoffed. His shirt quite literally stuck to him, everything beneath it entirely visible. Tucked into his jeans that laid low on his hips, his form was on display, for you, for everyone else. The slight arch in his back as he stood, the broad stretch of his wide shoulders, how could you not want to drink up every bit of him?

Mingi tipped his chin backward. “Tori,” he said with every care in the world, with caution. 

“Mingi,” you sang back, closing the space between your bodies, letting one of your hands sweep over his torso. Shaking his head his smirk grew as you whined. “Why? It’s been three days.” He was content watching you. You pulled at his shirt, you tried to kiss his jaw but had to settle for his collarbone, you threw yourself against him. “Please?” He blinked, and you groaned. “Please, please, please.”

“I dunno,” he said. “Have you kept your promise?”

“I did,” you said, hushed and rushed, keeping your eyes locked on his that grew darker by the second. “I really did.”

“You’re so drunk,” he mumbled.

You tapped a hand to his chest, your brows furrowing. “So are you.”

He cracked a laugh. “I am.”

“Then let’s go,” you whined, bouncing on your knees. “Please, I miss you, I need you.”

Something washed over him. It looked like shock, yet excitement, but ultimately looked like complete shock.

“You do?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Of course I do, Mingi, I haven’t had you in three days, I miss you,” you whispered.

The magic words apparently. In no time, with his hands on you, he ushered you out of the room, bid his friends goodnight, hurried you up two flights of stairs and nudged you into your bedroom so he could close the door behind you. His hands slid around your neck in an instant, his large frame pushing you backward towards the bed, stopping just before you could fall onto it. Rising to your tiptoes you brushed your lips over his before parting them for a kiss, one so deep you could feel it in your chest.

He seemed to take his time, reveling in this moment, one you haven’t shared in a period of time too long for either of you. He’d withheld it, kept it from you, it’s not like you didn’t try, how could you not when you crawled into bed beside him every night? Lips working against your own, his tongue slipping between them gently, ever so slightly, like he’d scare you away, he took his hands down your body, over your hips, letting a soft groan spill into your mouth. 

“You’re so hot,” he whispered, undressing you faster than he let himself kiss you. Designer pants to the floor, he unhooked the half corset top you struggled to get into and threw it behind him, taking his hands to your shoulders to push you backward onto the mattress.

Falling over top of you his lips took to your neck, one of his hands hooking beneath your jaw to keep it lifted for him to mark your skin as he pleased. With a whine you pulled your knees back, wrapping your legs around his waist, somehow wiggling your hands between your bodies to work at his jeans, pushing them off of him with your feet. Teeth pressing into your neck, he reached a hand backward to grab onto his form fitting shirt, but you were quick to snatch his wrist away. Pulling back to look down at you and smirk, eyes glassy and hooded, you smirked up at him.

“Shirt and glasses,” you said breathlessly, “Stay on.”

“Mm,” he hummed, brushing his lips over your skin, taking his teeth to your earlobe, giving it a harsh tug to make you squirm. “You like them, huh?”

“Yes,” you sighed, sliding your arms around his back, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling it tighter around his chest. “So sexy.”

“You want me when you’re drinking,” he whispered, trailing kisses down your jaw to your chin. Slipping a hand down your body, his fingers dancing over your belly, making you giggle, he slipped only his middle finger between your legs, teasing your clit before he pushed it into you. He smiled while you gasped. “So sensitive, baby, you need me that bad?” He pulled out his finger and watched as disappointment clouded over you. “You little slut. What, you can’t wait this long?” He pushed two of his fingers into you and relished in how you sang for him, how tight you squeezed him.

“Move,” you managed to choke out, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown backward into the sheets. Wiggling your hips for any friction, Mingi let out a single laugh and lowered his body weight over top of you.

“Sit fucking still, Torilynn,” he spat. Shifting over top of you, his other hand moving back to your neck, fingers gripping the sides, he pushed down and smiled as you whined. “Listen for once, and do as you’re fucking told.”

Heat coursed through you, rushed through your veins. You were trapped beneath him, and for the first time in a long time, you couldn’t think about anything else. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even try to move, and it brought you right to the edge. Mingi hadn’t even moved his fingers, hadn’t teased you anymore, and you clenched around him like he’s had you up here for hours.

Panting, chest heaving, you looked up at him and his glare through his frames, one mixed with frustration, pleasure, and all the more satisfied. Jaw clenched, he studied you, brows pointed, angry eyes focused. Scissoring his fingers within you, feeling you tremble, watching your face screw up and your moans grow louder, he pumped into you twice, brushed his thumb over your clit at the same time, and just as he felt the muscles in your stomach tighten, he stopped.

He stopped.

He pushed himself off of the bed and staggered backward a few times, dragging a hand through his hair, pushing it off of his dewey forehead. Sitting up to your elbows in disbelief, eyes wide, you took him in and shook your head, catching your breath. He was hard, he wanted you, he needed you, but he stopped.

“Wh- What?” you stammered. There weren’t any words you could throw together to make any sense. “Mingi,” you whispered, “I was gonna…”

Eyes dragging down your body, your spread legs, he palmed himself and tilted his head. Looking up at you, he narrowed his eyes and asked, “You sure you were about to?”

Your body stripped itself of its heat, your blood running ice cold. He could read it all over your face no matter if you tried to hide it from him or not. He knew what you did.

He knew you faked it.

That’s why it’s taken him three days to accept you.

“Mingi,” you breathed, sitting up. He snickered to himself and stepped toward you. “Babe, I just-”

His hands took to your shoulders again. Cutting you off with no time to explain yourself, he spread your knees with his own and held you like he did before, one hand beneath your jaw, the other between your legs. 

“Shut up, Tori,” he growled, and pushed into you without warning, the stretch equally delicious as it was uncomfortable. He gave you little time to adjust, but your body knew him, even as he pistoled into you, having to hold you down because he pushed you away with every thrust. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you,” he seethed behind his teeth, pressing his nose to your cheek. Clinging to him, useless beneath him, all you could do was thank god there was still music playing downstairs. “Don’t you ever fucking lie to me again.”

It happened twice.

And you both knew it happened twice because he pulled out every trick, every stunt to ensure you weren’t lying, or pretending. 

He kept you on your back, his eyes locked in on yours, not stopping until you were shaking, legs trembling, body tensing, nearly screaming for him. After the first, seeing stars, you weren’t quite sure he’d be able to pull out another, but oh, sweet Jesus, did he surprise you.

You couldn’t shower on your own, couldn’t stand without his help, that’s just how much he wrecked you. Even now, laying over the white blankets neatly made like they weren’t thrown to the floor last night, you were sore, you could still feel him folding you in half. 

He wandered the bedroom, back and forth from suitcases to drawers to the bathroom. The smell of his cologne hung in the air, a comfort to you and your subconscious, though unanswered questions sat between the two of you, taunting you, nagging you. With his hair styled backward off of his face, he opted for contacts tonight instead of his glasses, all of his sharp, striking features on display. Dark denim baggy jeans and a loose fitted button down hung off of his frame and little golden accessories accented his wrists, his lobes, his neck.

Stunning, you wanted to tell him, but he hadn’t spoken a word to you since he helped you shower last night.

Everyone would be meeting at a bar tonight, the rest of your friends arriving shortly, more people to deal with. To slip up around. Cheers was supposed to be fun, it had a pretty good reputation, and they were the only ones on that street that didn’t kick anybody out, no matter what went down.

“You should get dressed,” Mingi muttered, breaking the silence. Sitting up to your elbows you gave him a look and he met it for only a second. “What are you thinking about?” 

“You.” A sigh fell out of you without meaning to. 

Straightening up his mess, pushing drawers shut, folding clothes he tried on but decided not to wear, his face was stone cold. “What, did I fix you last night?”

Sitting up completely, your hips roaring with soreness, you pouted after he shot you a glare. “Mingi,” you whispered, face softening.

“Did I do something right finally?” he asked, slipping into a pair of custom sneakers Vernon gifted to him when he got his first brand deal. “You’ve got, like, brand new buttons to push or something, Tori?”

Moving on the bed, closer to the edge toward him, you shook your head. “Mingi, listen, I-”

“Nah,” he said definitively, looking at you. Adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, he pulled his lips together. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Tor. Don’t need you to try to prove other things you’ve been faking with me.”

“Mingi,” you said for the third time, moving onto your knees, barely matching his height, but he didn’t wait around to hear what you had to say. If you had anything to say. He had known since you’d done it, and he didn’t say anything about it. Worse, you didn’t say anything about it. And now, you didn’t even have the chance to.

Falling backward, landing on the duvet with a humph, you reached for your phone and swiped it open. Retreating to your messages, you took a breath, hesitating your thumb over the green app, then decided to bite the bullet and just do it.

[you]: you’re a guy right?

[ITZ]: texting me first now what a surprise

[you]: answer the question.

[ITZ]: yes i’m a guy

[you]: can i ask you something guy related

[ITZ]: sure

[you]: before i do… will you tell me who you are

[ITZ]: still can’t figure it out?

[you]: ugh whatever.

[ITZ]: whts going on? trouble in paradise?

[you]: i guess so.

[ITZ]: ask me.

[you]: have you ever had a girl fake it before?

[ITZ]: fake it? as in like an orgasm?

[you]: yeah…

[ITZ]: that would make me feel like utter dog shit, tori.

[you]: of course it would

[ITZ]: tori, are you faking it with the boyfriend?

[you]: you don’t need to know that.

[ITZ]: tell me :)

[you]: once. recently.

[ITZ]: did he suck or what

[ITZ]: what was it

[you]: no, he didn’t. he’s always good i just…

[you]: it was me. i didn’t feel right

[ITZ]: you didn’t want to have sex with him that night? did you feel pressured to do so?

[you]: omg no, never, it’s not like that

[ITZ]: okay good.

[ITZ]: wdym u didnt feel right

[you]: i don’t know but i wanna figure it out

[ITZ]: what else bothers you?

[you]: everything.

[ITZ]: yeah i can sense that.

Sighing, sucking in a deep breath, letting it out within another sigh, you waited patiently for him to say anything else. Gulping, you started typing, and you couldn’t stop.

[you]: i just wish she could be here with yunho. i know she’s happy now, and i know yunho sucks, but we had it so good for so long. everything has changed and everybody was able to move on, but i can’t. i don’t want to. ryujin and yeosang have left, isla’s gone, i have a big ass job to do, half of these motherfuckers destroyed aurora, but also destroyed me. i was on the outside of it all, and does anyone care that i was blindsided too????!

Minutes pass. Long, ticking minutes.

And then, a reply. One that sends a glimmer through your chest.

[ITZ]: i care, tori. that’s not fair to you.

[ITZ]: you can tell me more, to get it off your chest.

There was nothing left to say. At least for now.

Locking your phone you tossed it aside and sat up, eyeing your suitcases. Feeling oddly lighter, like spewing out those words got rid of them within your brain, you leapt to your feet and got yourself ready to party at Cheers.

“Isla landed!” Ryujin shouted over the music and people chatter, crashing in between you and Yuna where you sat at the bar. Showing off her phone screen and the messages from her best friend, a selfie was sent from across the country, both Isla and Vernon in hoodies and sunglasses throwing up a middle finger for the camera. “She’s good, no one worry.”

Laughing with Yuna, watching Ryujin tap away at her screen to send a message back, she opened the camera and threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. Yuna laid her head over her shoulder, all three of your heads fitting in the frame. Pouting your lips, Ryujin winked, and Yuna smiled.

“You were the only one worried, Ryujin,” Yuna said, watching her send the picture. The eldest of you all shot her a glare, one that didn’t pack much of a punch.

“You need another drink,” she sneered sarcastically, stepping up onto the ledge beneath the bar to lean over it. Waving the bartender down, she ordered three drinks and jumped onto her feet. “When that comes, find me.” And her and her shaggy hair was gone in a flash, disappearing into the crowd packing the dance floor. 

Air hot and sweaty, the energy in the place riled everyone up the moment the door was pulled open. Walking here, the six of you, Jongho and Yuna were already waiting inside, the crowds growing tenfold after your first round of drinks, and it only seemed to grow as the night wore on. Ryujin and her girlfriend, Jeongyeon, showed face after an hour, the two of them staying in a hotel nearby. Showing up half drunk, Ryujin squeezed you all like she hadn’t seen you a few days ago, Jeongyeon, sober, watching over her from behind where she wobbled off to.

“Is she okay?” Yuna asked you, turning back to the bar after she vanished.

With a frown, you shook your head. “She misses Isla. Her last semester was hell for her.”

“Seems like it was hell for a lot of us,” Yuna said. Gaping at her and her side eye, you fell into a groan and rolled your head backward. “Tori, you already know what I’m going to say, ‘cause I know Ror has already tried.” The bartender slid drinks in front of you. Grabbing onto it you sucked it down, half listening to Yuna. “She tells me you’re worrying her.”

“Who?” you snapped, eyebrows plummeting above your fresh lashes.

Yuna rolled her eyes. “Aurora,” she breathed.

“I’m worrying her,” you laughed, “Hysterical. She can come say that to my face, why is she talking to you about me?”

“Because you aren’t talking to her about you.” The way she looked at you made you feel funny. “She doesn’t know what to do.”

Tilting your head after a gulp of your drink, you twirled on the stool toward the dance floor and propped an elbow up on the bar. “Seems no one does.”

Yuna scoffed. “See, and then you say shit like that, like you don’t have anyone looking out for you.”

“Who is?” you said, glaring at her. 

Her glossed lips popped open. “We’re all trying, Tori.”

Laughing, you sipped from your glass. “Funny, doesn’t feel like it.”

The song on the speakers swiftly changed into one that’s been blared within the walls of the fraternity, and possibly many others, half of the dance floor threw their hands in the air with a shout. People of all ages filled the space, but your generation reigned majority.

Yuna stared you down, giving you time and the chance to backtrack on what you’ve said, because even you know it isn’t true. They’ve all tried, it’s you.

“I’m gonna go dance and give this to Rio,” she said with all of the patience in the world. Jumping from the stool, adjusting her mini skirt, she tried to smile at you, reaching for the glass on the bar behind you. “We’ll listen to you. You know we will. No matter what it is. She will listen to you. After what they put her through, put us through… Don’t do this.”

She walked off, her and her beautiful waves and stretch of toned legs accented by her chunky platform sandals. 

Damn, where’d she get those.

You’d ask her later when she wasn’t pissed at you, maybe after she’s forgotten what she just said to you.

Sipping your fruity drink you let your gaze fall on the crowd, kids like you dancing too close to one another, drinking the night away, singing along to the music. That should be you. It could be you. Everyone had a dance partner though, and you knew yours was in a corner with his friends somewhere. Last time you saw him he was wedged between Seonghwa and Wooyoung, the three of them waiting for Yeosang to step in the building.

Your phone buzzed in the baby purse slung over your shoulder, enough room in there for the block, a tube of lipgloss, and your credit card. Digging it out reluctantly, the song changed and another roar rolled throughout the room making you smile. Just as you tapped on your screen, your eyes locked with another’s, he and his friends shoved into a booth on the other side of the room, the three of them with a few others who were new to ATZ last year.

He simply watched you, eyes not prying.

You opened the message.

[ITZ]: having fun?

Looking up at Jongseob, only after meeting his eyes for the second time did his smile grow. You spun around to face the bar.

[you]: so it’s you then. you’re here. you know i’m here. it’s you.

[ITZ]: figured it out?

[ITZ]: come get me then

That electricity shot through you. The excited one, the one that felt like it shouldn’t do this, but ultimately needed to do this. Slipping your phone back into your bag, you swapped it for the gloss and laid it on thick. Zipping your purse shut, you stepped off the stool and started across the floor, pushing through people, throwing your perfectly flipped hair over your shoulder. His gaze followed you the entire time, soft eyes locked on yours, dropping lower to admire the curve of your hips and how the dress you wore hugged you in all the right places.

You wore it to entice your boyfriend, but, this would do.

Warm blonde hair and smooth honey colored skin smiled up at you, moving over on the bench to make some room for you to sit. Heart pounding in your chest, you could smell him, the right amount of musk mixed with anxiety. Normally you’d be putting him in his place, telling him off, yelling at him to leave you alone. In the halls of ATZ, in dark corners of that house, you’d done it many times, as had Mingi, and eventually Jongseob did leave you alone.

But it was evident he still didn’t give a fuck.

“Well,” you said, breathlessly, “Here I am.”

Sitting backward, head resting on the cushion behind him, his smile grew. “Here you are,” he repeated, his voice deep, gravelly, so unique, one that took you by surprise each time you heard it. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to sit next to you again, Tori.” The way his gaze traveled about your face, it warmed your cheeks, you were lucky it was too dim for him to notice. “What brings you over here?”

Glancing at Jiung and Intak, both boys looking out at the dance floor but so obviously listening in, you smiled at Jongseob. You were playing the secret game.

“How long have you been here?” you asked.

“As long as you,” he nodded once, keeping his chin tipped up in the same way Mingi would. Cocky. An attempt to seem bigger than he was, older. “Having a good time?”

“Totes,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Where are you guys staying?”

“A few houses down from you, actually,” he said, his lips settling into a smirk.

“Interesting,” you said just above a whisper. Jongseob bobbed his head, his eyes dropping lower for a few seconds. You’re reminded of the M necklace you’ve been wearing. “We’ll have to have you guys come by one of these nights, how long are you staying?”

“As long as we want, my parents own the house,” he said, popping his tongue out his lips to wet them. He didn’t miss how you watched. “We’d love to party. Our boy has VIP access, we’re very curious.”

Soul.

“Mm, he does, doesn’t he,” you said, tone going flat as you glanced down to the table and the boys across from you still acting as if they weren’t paying attention. Jongseob reached a hand underneath the table, his fingers grazing your knee for a moment, forcing your focus back over to him.

“That bothers you,” he said, brows lowering over his golden brown eyes. You kept your faces to yourself. “If you want, we’ll take him back,” he shrugged. “He’s spent summers at this house with us before, it’s not like it’s a big deal. If he’s bothering you, just tell him. He’ll disappear before you know he’s gone.”

It was that easy. Just literally say the words, and the weird, annoying thing between your best friend and Soul, gone.

“Won’t that upset him?” you asked, voice going quiet. “If I say that to him, that seems kind of mean.”

Jongseob twisted his brows, then he laughed. “It’s not that deep, Tori, he’s infiltrating your vacation.”

You looked at your lap, at Jongseobs hand on the cushion of the booth, inches from your thigh. “I dunno, Aurora gets worried about him.” Intak’s head turned at the mention of her name. “She like… watches over him, or something, I don’t know, I don’t get it.”

He shared a look with his friends, his smile growing into one that stirred your stomach. “How adorable,” he sighed, facing you, “Funny how Soul was the one to get in there, right? After what he did? It’s like she’s got Stockholm Syndrome or something.”

That was a funny way to think about it.

For all of them.

Even more funny how she could drop Yunho in a second, someone who didn’t have the in, but someone who tried to look out for her. Sure, he hurt her in other ways, but he didn’t want to ruin her life. Wooyoung, Soul, hell, even Seonghwa… She held the three of them as close as she could, in the obvious, most Aurora way possible.

Was she even happy about that?

Was she doing this on purpose?

Or, was he fucking with you.

“What do you want with me, Jongseob?” you asked. Jiung broke his neck to look at you, him and Intak in utmost shock.

The twenty year old lowered his brows, but his smile refused to fade away. “Heavy question, Tori.”

“Answer it,” you said through grit teeth. He deflected like the messages earlier in the day.

“Honestly, or in a way that your boyfriend wouldn’t want to kill me if he overheard?”

Clenching your jaw, you twisted to face him, and said, “Honestly.”

“I want you everywhere,” he said without hesitation. Looking you up and down, he huffed. “Naked, preferably. I’d make a mess out of you, and I want that lip gloss leftover on my dick when I’m finished with you.” He never broke eye contact, but he didn’t miss the way you pressed your legs together. “You think I haven’t ever thought about how you’d look bent over every surface in every room I’ve seen you in?” The way his eyes narrowed, the way he stifled his laughter, it spurred you on. He leaned into you, inches between your bodies. “You think I’ve never heard what you sound like when he’s fucking you? I live in that house with him, Tori.”

Gulping, you took a breath to ease your racing heart, but nothing would calm it.

“I like this game,” he said, smug as ever. “We’ve never played this before. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” you whispered. “I think I need another drink.” 

Sliding from the booth, he gave you a wink before you ventured back over to the bar, posting up beside a being that appeared to stretch taller than your boyfriend. Bumping into his shoulder on accident, you adjusted your purse and shot him a smile, just as he gave one to you. Focusing back on the bar, both of you, at once you snapped your necks to gawk at one another.

“Tori.”

“Yunho.” Scrambling for something to say after ordering another drink from the woman behind the bar, you shook your head and asked, “What are you doing here?”

He looked everywhere but directly at you. “Uh, I’m with Yeosang and Keni, we, uh, just got here. Like, ten minutes ago.”

“Right,” you said, glancing around for the other two, Yeosang and his girlfriend, but they must’ve been in the corner with everyone else. Somewhere Yunho was most definitely not welcome. Just standing next to him felt wrong, even if it happened by accident. “Uh, how have you been?” you asked, unsure of how to continue on talking to him. This bartender was taking her sweet, sweet time.

“I’ve been alright,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders, but his tone told you he has not been alright. “You?” he asked, hitting with the subtlest of side eyes.

You answered him reluctantly. “I’ve… been alright.”

He laughed, you couldn’t hear it, but you could see it in his shoulders. “You too, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Looking up at him, he looked back, his dusty colored hair overgrown over his eyes, his ears. Grabbing the beer from in front of him, the bartender having slid his and yours down at the same time, he sipped it and shrugged.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

You sipped your drink, feeling your stomach lurch.

Yunho sighed, sitting down on a stool, shrinking down to your height. “Makes you feel like… utter dog shit,” he mumbled, giving you a glance before he drank from his beer.

Utter dog shit.

that would make me feel like utter dog shit, tori.

Looking over your shoulder to Jongseob and his friends, not one of them paid any attention to you, they talked amongst themselves, shoved over the table like a bunch of high schoolers keeping a secret. Without thinking, you sat down next to him. In the tipsy blurriness it was easy to forget things for the time being, like you could rewind the months, go back to when he was still one of your best friends and he hadn’t broken your sister's heart. 

There never was a proper goodbye with Yunho, proper closure. A part of you didn’t need it, your loyalty was to Aurora, to Mingi, and Yunho had hurt them both. As one of your friends, he hurt you too. After that night though, when Aurora spilled it all to him, and Mina dished shit back, the respect you held for this adorable human being had been sucked out of you.

“I never got to say anything to you,” you said gently, making him look at you, his eyes on alert. “You were a real jackass, you know that?”

He sighed. “Yes, I know that. I have to live with that.”

“She loved you.”

He shook his head, letting it hang. “I loved her.”

“No, you didn’t,” you snapped.

He whipped his head toward you. “Yes, I did. Don’t tell me how I felt. I know what I did was fucked, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love her.”

Sipping your drink, you rolled your shoulders backward to try to sit taller than him. “How’s Mina?”

The laugh he cracked told you plenty. “There’s no Mina.”

“No?”

“No,” he sneered, cringing. “Do you know how bad I regret letting it get that far? There never should’ve been a Mina, I should’ve been honest with Rory from the start, but I know you know how hard that is to do.”

“How hard what is, Yo?” you asked, voice hushed.

“Please, Tor, you’re dating my best friend,” he said. “You and I were friends for a long time, too. You learn about people. You and I, we’re the same, we don’t speak, and then things go to shit.”

“Like, if you say something, they won’t get it. Or, they’ll take it and run with it, turning it into something it never was.”

Yunho shrugged. “Not really, but also… yes.” He tapped his glass with a single finger. “Rory, she was getting over Wooyoung, if I said anything back then, I’d be the jackass, and she wouldn’t be about it. I’d ruin whatever we had before it even started.”

“Weren’t you involved with Mina then?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, Rory had me first.”

“Damn,” you breathed, and he gave you a look.

“Damn,” he repeated, smiling with you. He looked down at his beer, took a breath, then blinked over at you. “How’s Mingi?”

Those words falling from his lips drove a knife straight into your heart. 

Starting with a hesitance, you barely got two words out before something flashed in his eyes. “He’s, uh… He’s good. We’re good.”

He tilted his head. “Is he,” he muttered, looking at you like he knew something. “That’s good,” he tried to smile, grabbing onto his beer, taking a swig.

You could tell him how Mingi and Wooyoung have grown closer, how the four of you were turning into a proper foursome- if you’d ever allow it. You could tell him that Mingi says Wooyoung is a good friend, that the two talk more than they ever have, that they share things with one another, things that Mingi and Yunho would share with each other. You could rub it in, that his spot was being filled, that he was being replaced with each passing second, but you couldn’t.

Because you knew at the end of the day, no matter who’s shit went where, that Mingi would choose Yunho.

He could come back to him after months, years, asking him to hide a fucking body, and Mingi would, without question. 

“I know things have gone wrong,” Yunho said, nodding. “I know I’ve done things that are so messed up.” He turned to face you, his knees nearly bumping into your own. “But, I still care, Tori.” Your blood ran cold, like it had the night before. “What we all had, it’s not just something I can forget, or pretend like it didn’t happen.”

Sucking in a deep breath, you turned to face the bar and resisted the urge to ask him if he was the one you were texting, which sounded absolutely ridiculous when you said it to yourself. You had his goddamn number, why would it be him?

“How long have you been here?” you asked, sipping your now empty drink. “In Haos?”

“We came down right after you guys,” he said, and you froze. “Me, Yeosang and Keni. San and Hongjoong are staying with us, but they won’t be here till tomorrow. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t know that?” You shook your head. “Right, who would wanna keep tabs on me anymore,” he muttered with a laugh.

“Tori?”

The voice from behind you sent a chill down your spine, and you know it happened to the boy beside you as well. Spinning around in time with him, both wide eyed and nervous, you faced Aurora who couldn’t bring herself to even look at Yunho. She stood before you in strappy sandals and a dress that almost matched the one you wore.

“Ror,” you forced from your lips, giving Yunho one last glance before you abandoned him at the bar. The look on his face as he stared at her pained you. Taking your hands to her shoulders you walked her backwards onto the dance floor, hoping to get lost in the midst of the crowd to explain yourself before she caught Wooyoung’s ear.

“Why were you talking to him?” she asked you, pulling her hands over her middle.

Digging your fingers into her shoulders, you shook your head fast. “I found him by total accident, Aurora, I didn’t mean to end up there.”

“You could’ve walked away,” she said. She was the face of patience, no emotion other than calm coming out of her.

“I know,” you breathed, taking your hands down her arms. “I just… had to get my Yunho closure.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you need Yunho closure? No one else has Yunho closure.”

“I guess… I dunno,” you said, fumbling over your words, “Maybe it wasn’t closure, I just… I could’ve walked away.” 

“That was weird,” she said.

Dropping your hands, taking all but a step backward, you questioned, “But, was it?”

“What does that mean?” she asked, confusion washing over her. The way she looked at you, the same way Yuna looked at you earlier, like they didn’t know you. 

Pressing your hands to your cheeks, you clenched your jaw and shook your head. “I don’t know… Aurora, I don’t… I don’t know.” 

She moved around as tipsy dancers bumped into her back. Holding out a hand, she gripped one of your wrists. “That’s okay,” she said. “Should we go talk to Mingi?”

Mingi.

“No,” you answered fast, making her brows raise. “I mean, not yet,” you corrected, “I’ll talk to him later, can we just dance, Tor and Ror, come on.” Tugging at her hands, trying to spin her around, you got nothing but half a smile from her.

“I don’t… No,” she said, shaking her head, pulling her hands away from you. “I need a minute after… After that,” she mumbled, gesturing toward the bar, toward Yunho, where you were just sitting with him. “I’ll tell Ryujin you wanna dance, she’ll come out here, so will Seonghwa.”

She left you in the middle of the dance floor, weaving herself through the crowd to get back to your friends, probably doing shots in the corner, talking about who knows what. In your purse, your phone went off.

Pressing your lips together, ignoring the lump in your throat, you opened up the message and felt a tear slide down your cheek.

[ITZ]: do what feels right, pretty girl

read it on ao3 | talk to me | my masterlist

It was a house your parents dreamed of their entire lives but had never been able to make happen, all of their beach house money going to your sister and the dreams she was chasing across the country, auditioning for movie after movie, show after show. At least they handed you enough to make this month happen, and then some. Your father was a sucker. As much as their attention was on your sister and her dreams, your father made up for it in cash, depositing wild amounts of it into your accounts monthly. This vacation had been mentioned once and within minutes of clinking martini glasses with him, a large deposit hit your savings and you booked this house that everyone fell in love with upon one glance. 

An open floor plan on the first floor, a generous kitchen, a cozy living room adjacent to a gaming space, full of old arcade games, a ping pong table, air hockey and more. Everything lightly colored screamed you’re at the beach! and it brought pure joy. The almost white wood of the floor, the pastel blue of the furniture, the pale finishes of the furniture, the make up was stunning, chic, and fed your soul more than you thought it would.

Just stepping inside filled you with ease. A calmness washing over you, almost like the atmosphere had reached into your head and turned everything off.

Two bedrooms on the second floor, one for Seonghwa and the other for Soul, were positioned on either end of the house with a bar space between them, low hanging dim lit chandeliers living over the bar and the lounge chairs strategically placed throughout it. Three bedrooms were on the third floor, the space primarily for them alone, tightly spaced together. Wooyoung and Aurora took the one on the far end of the hall while you and Mingi took the one closest to the stairs and farthest from their room. The one in between stayed empty, and for good reason.

The boys brought in your luggage for you, carrying it up the stairs while you and Aurora wandered around the home in awe. What was beautiful and perfectly on brand for you was completely new to her, a detail you never let go untouched, unnoticed. She got to experience these things with you, with her sisters in ITZ. Her family didn’t take vacations every summer, they didn’t visit places like Haos or stay in homes like this one. She was lucky to even be able to go to Nasara. It’s why you didn’t mind letting her stay here without chipping in, though you knew she’d be throwing down her credit card as much as she possibly could when you’d go out.

Before she ventured to bed she hugged you, one long and tight, with a billion whispered thank you’s before the two of you never spoke of it again. It wasn’t something she dwelled on, it was something that made her clam up, so you allowed her to mention it once, and didn’t beg her for more.

Joining Mingi upstairs, following him up with the last of your bags after wandering around a while longer with everyone, buzzing about what a month you were going to have, you watched Aurora follow Soul into his room, Wooyoung not thinking twice about it. He simply followed you and Mingi up to the third floor, bidding you goodnight before disappearing behind his door. Seonghwa didn’t even spare an extra glance toward the scene, making you wonder if he noticed, or if he hadn’t any clue at all. He hadn’t been around for the moment at the party, where you let everyone know that the three of them were sleeping together. 

You’d discuss tomorrow.

Or, you wouldn’t… And would let the situation go on without tampering with it again.

Shutting the door to your room, pressing your back up against it, you watched Mingi push the luggage into a corner and get himself ready for bed, flopping onto the king sized mattress with a groan, rolling onto his back, extending an arm out at his side for you to fall into.

Raising a brow, you stayed where you were at the door. “What did Wooyoung want to talk to you about?”

Mingi tilted his head and sighed. “Yunho.”

Eyes bugging out of your head you hurried for the bed and leapt onto it, falling into his open arm. He smiled, holding you close. “What about Yunho? Aurora? You?”

“Everything in general,” he said. “He was just checking in. He really is a good friend.”

That was something you should be doing with your own boyfriend. That was something you should be doing with everybody actually, but you couldn’t stomach it.

“Right,” you whispered, eyes falling to the white bedspread beneath you and Mingi’s outstretched legs nearly reaching the edge of the mattress. “He is, I guess.”

“You guess?” 

Giving him a look and a shrug, you said, “I haven’t really talked to him, he’s preoccupied.”

Lowering his brows, he gave you a smile. “Right,” he breathed through a laugh. “He definitely doesn’t have time for anything else outside of his relationship, ‘cause he’s the type of guy to do that.” Scoffing, you pushed yourself off of him and rolled off the bed onto your feet. “Tor, come back,” he groaned.

“No,” you said, starting for the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. “I need to get ready for bed. Go to sleep.”

Pulling off his glasses, laying his phone on the bed beside him, Mingi watched you until the door was shut. Inside, you flicked on the light and rested your elbows on the edge of the porcelain of the sink. Rubbing your fingers over your eyes, colors appearing as you vigorously brushed over your lashes, you dropped your hands, staring at yourself in the mirror. Sleepy hooded eyes stared back.

You moved to the bags Mingi had laid over the shelves on the wall, just below a long bay window who’s curtains were drawn for the time being. Tomorrow morning you’d pull them open and let the sunshine in, but for now they stayed closed. The neighbors didn’t need a show.

Pulling out a bottle of micellar water, cotton pads, various face washes, everything you needed to brush your teeth, and face masks, you moved through your routine swiftly, letting the muscle memory take over and your active brain take a rest. It was something you were typically good at, not letting the little shit get to you, linger with you. In moments like this one, moments just for you, when you were alone, it came easy. No show or act to uphold, no one to perform for, no need to be on.

Somehow it made everything much heavier.

Every little thing grew tenfold- has been growing tenfold. All the tiny moments of saying the wrong thing, letting your feelings get the best of you, not thinking before you spoke on something. It all haunted you, stood over your shoulder, clung to your back, gum on the bottom of your shoe you couldn’t get rid of.

You made it to your moisturizer before you realized you were crying, tears welling up and blurring your vision until you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror any longer. 

Aurora was here, in the house, you could go find her, talk to her.

Mingi laid right outside in bed, you could go to him, talk to him.

But, none of it made sense.

If you couldn’t even put into words what you were feeling, how was anyone else supposed to help? Or even understand?

Wiping beneath your eyes, steadying your breath before you let out a cry that Mingi could hear, you calmed yourself. The last thing you needed was him questioning you.

From the counter beside the sink your phone vibrated. Grabbing it with a sniffle and an internal groan, you unlocked it with a few taps and craned your neck to take a peek. Knowing who was awake at this hour, you weren’t looking forward to this.

[Unknown Number]: u in haos

Scrunching your nose, your entire face scrunching with it, you picked up your phone and typed back.

[you]: who the hell is this

They answered back instantly.

[Unknown Number]: dont worry abt it

[Unknown Number]: little birdie told me u were here. so am i

[you]: how’d you get my number. who are you.

[Unknown Number]: u will find out soon enough tori

[Unknown Number]: see u soon ;)

[you]: tell me who u are or i’m blocking this number, fucking creep

[Unknown Number]: hm no i dont think u would do that

[Unknown Number]: ur curiosity overwhelms u

[Unknown Number]: i always see it in ur eyes

[Unknown Number]: the what if

[you]: maximum fucking creep, ur blocked, bye

[Unknown Number]: but then how will i talk to u around the boyfriend

What the fuck?! You typed back, then deleted it. You typed again, then deleted it. You couldn’t do anything but stare at the screen, and you did, for many minutes, rereading the conversation.

Leaving the bathroom, locking your phone, you found Mingi absolutely knocked out, tucked onto his side of the bed. The lights were out, leaving you to shuffle through the darkness, changing into something you didn’t wear to the airport. Rolling onto the bed beside him, ample space between the two of you, you watched him sleep for a second. The rise and fall of his chest, the way his body laid completely still, a bit tense beneath the covers, the white sheets. He wasn’t asleep. When he slept he sprawled himself out over the mattress, his large frame taking up most of the space. He’d breathe heavily, and he’d be completely relaxed.

Tempted to reach over and turn him over, have him hold you while you moved beneath the covers, you decided to leave him be. You did snap at him before you left him here. In fact, you’d been snapping at him all day, aside from the half hour spent at his house. 

He was over it. At least for today. And you didn’t blame him.

Settling yourself over the pillows, laying backward, stretching out your legs under the softest sheets you’ve ever slept in, you took a deep breath and let your eyes close.

Tomorrow would be better.

The house was alive, because of course the fuck it was. Rolling over to an empty bed, tossed back sheets, you reached for your phone and tapped the screen.

2:55 pm.

Strange of Mingi to not wake you up when he did. Usually there’d be a kiss, or a head scratch, or he’d lay you out and take you half asleep knowing that you’d take him later whenever it pleased you. He left without any of it, not that it surprised you after how the two of you fell asleep last night. Countless times you woke up, tossing and turning without one of his arms wrapped around you to soothe you back to sleep. Even opening your eyes to you half wrapped around him had you retreating back to your side of the bed.

It took you back to the weeks you spent with him and his family over winter break, when Aurora was wrapped around two of them, you barely had your one on you.

You’d turned into one of those couples who seemed to tolerate one another, the honeymoon phase coming to a plummeting end faster than you’d expected it to.

Music thumped from the first floor. Voices carried up the stairwells and in through the cracks on the door, shouts from the boys and laughter from Aurora, someone’s deep voice trying to sing along to the words dancing between the steady beat. Seonghwa, without a doubt.

Kicking the sheets off you roll over the edge of the bed and catch yourself on your feet. Stepping about the room reluctantly, stripping yourself of the clothes you wore to bed, you rifled through a suitcase and pulled out a black bikini, one Mingi approved of last summer. He approved so hard you couldn’t wear it around him if you were with other people, and not because he didn’t want others to see you in it.

He should be up here to help you into it, maybe fall back into the sheets with you to pull it off of you, then help you back into it if he didn’t make a mess in it first. Like he made a mess in you yesterday. One you couldn’t reciprocate.

Biting down on your bottom lip to keep tears from slipping down your cheeks, you hurried to the bathroom, fixed your chestnut layers into a ponytail and washed your face. Glass hits the floor downstairs as you wash away bubbles and twist off the water.

“If everyone is drunk, I swear to God,” you muttered with a groan. Dabbing your face dry, you inspect your appearance, decide on no make up, twist your earrings around in your ears, and take yourself downstairs.

Bare foot, trying not to race down the stairs, the music called to you, pulled you in, like it would in the frat house. The music went on, drinks were handed out, and problems were forgotten. As much as it sucked to be the last one up, the last one to the party, a drink or three wouldn’t hurt. If anything, it would help.

Isla would slap you across the face if she were here.

Passing by closed bedroom doors and the untouched bar on the second floor, you contemplated taking a shot from a liquor bottle on a shelf, but kept moving. Sunshine leaked through the windows, you needed to be on a beach. The song changed to another you’ve heard before, one of the guys had on their party playlist. You didn’t have the sets memorized, the songs came out shuffled, but each one brought back such vivid memories it nearly cured everything you’d been feeling.

That was until you descended down the last flight of stairs and found the kitchen a mess, Seonghwa cooking something on the stove, opened empty cans littering every surface, Mingi leaning across a counter with a dopey smile on his face, Aurora straddling Wooyoung’s lap at the kitchen table, and Soul bouncing around with a broken bottle in his hand throwing away glass. Every boy was shirtless, except for Soul, and like you, everyone was ready for the beach.

“There she is,” Mingi cheered, the first to catch a glimpse of you. Turning around completely, flashing you his bare, sculpted chest, he met you halfway, throwing an arm around your shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“You didn’t wake me up,” you said, looking up at him.

Giving you a lazy smile he said, “You were out, and tired. We’re on vacation, why would I want to wake you up?”

“So we could spend time together,” you almost whispered, and his smile faltered. 

Pulling you into his chest, skin on skin, so he could kiss you for real, he took his hands to your cheeks and brushed his thumbs along your bottom lashes. “Okay,” he breathed. “From now on I’ll wake you up. No matter what.” His lips met the center of your forehead, and just before he let go of you, Aurora shouted for you.

“My turn,” she teased, leaning backward onto the kitchen table, her elbows on the edge. She almost matched you, except her bathing suit was a deep purple and almost hooked over her hips where yours lived as low as possible, something Mingi took note of before you walked away from him. One of his fingers hooked into the strap, snapping it against your tan skin with a smirk as you shot him a look over your shoulder. “Hi, Tor!”

“Hi Ror,” you said, sparing a glance at Wooyoung clearly several drinks deep with how he ogled Aurora and had his own fingers twisted around the ties on her hips. “I need to catch up,” you sighed, looking around for a bottle, or a shot glass, or anything. 

“Shots, let’s do ‘em,” Aurora said, attempting to slide off of Wooyoung’s lap. His arms wrapped around her waist faster than she could move, his devilish smile peeking out as the chair pushed further beneath the table forcing their bodies together.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled to her, drinking up her giggles. Grabbing onto her, hands pressed to her any which way he could have them, he laid sloppy kisses on her cheek and down her jaw, mumbling things to her amidst her giggles that you couldn’t make out.

Turning from them with an eye roll you bump into Soul, bright eyed and half smiling where he stood offering you a bottle of Soju and a little crystal shot glass. Adorable, really. Tousled, frizzy blonde hair that desperately needed to be cut, dark, shining eyes, pouty pink lips. Any moment caught face to face with him put everything into perspective, you got it. You understood why. Without even trying he most likely could have you on your knees, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why Aurora was doing what she was doing. 

He didn’t say a word, he wasn’t much of a chatter, only when provoked, or drunk, or if he was on Aurora’s hip like a toddler, or a shadow behind Wooyoung. Taking the shot glass from him, his soft fingers brushing over your own, his smile deepened as he looked down to the glass and filled it to the brim. Watching him, this kid who got wrapped up in the shitstorm that was your junior year, this boy who brought her pain and now resided in her sheets, though he was cute, you couldn’t help but wonder how Aurora allowed herself to get so deep in it with him.

Even Seonghwa. Standing at the stove, bouncing between counters, sleek black hair sweeping his shoulders and framing his cheekbones, slender, toned golden frame on display. He played his own game with her, for his own gain, his own reputation.

As did the man currently beneath her.

And she forgave them all. Treated them as normally as she did you and Mingi.

Soul waited patiently, stepping back some to give you space to knock back the glass, which you did, and fast, holding it out for another pour. With a snicker he obliged, filling the crystal with juice.

“Thanks,” you whispered.