𝔂ᥲzzіᥱ

“stop trying to sweet talk me and get to packing up,” you replied, yet the butterflies that fluttered wildly in your belly contradicted the words you spoke. he chuckled and went back to packing his clothes into a bag, not before sneaking another glance at you though.

after a second that felt like an age, he paused mid-fold, a half-packed hoodie dangling from his grip like he’d already forgotten what he was doing.

you crossed your arms tighter over your chest, trying to appear annoyed instead of affected. “i said pack. what’s wrong now?”

his mouth curved slow, into that dangerous, beautiful smile you knew all too well, the smile that perfectly melted your resolve and brought you to his feet. and still did. fuck him.

“baby,” he murmured, voice low, syrupy, “you keep saying that like you actually want me to leave. we both know you don’t, hm?”

he dropped the hoodie into the duffel without looking, then took a deliberate step toward you. then another. the air between you was electric, pulsing and thick.

you opened your mouth to snap back something sly, but the words caught when his palm found your jaw, slowly tilting you upwards to face him, while his other found the outside of your thigh — light at first, just fingertips grazing the hem of your silk shorts.

“hm?” he purred.

instead of a scolding, your breath hitched, heat pooling at your core. traitorous body.

“see?” he whispered. “this happens when you wear things like that and tell me to hurry up.”

your back met the edge of the dresser with a soft thud. you hadn’t even realized you’d been backing up.

“don’t—” you started, but it came out breathy, weak, more plea than protest of anything.

his hand slid upwards to your waist, caressing gently, steadying you against him—while his other made a slow, torturous journey down, towards where you needed him most. he leaned in till his lips hovered right next to your ear, kissing the lobe.

“tell me to stop, princess,” he hummed, voice velvet-soft, “and i’ll stop right now. mhm?”

silence stretched. further. your heart hammered so loudly, violently, that you were sure he could hear it. you didn’t say stop.

instead your thighs parted the tiniest fraction — invitation, surrender, whatever you wanted to call it. he hummed in approval, low in his throat. then his fingers finally slipped beneath the silk, finding warm skin, finding you already slick and wanting despite all your scowling earlier.

a shaky breath left you when he traced you through the thin fabric first — teasing, feather-light. then he nudged it aside and slid one finger inside, slow, deliberate, curling just right.

your head tipped back against the dresser mirror. “fuck—”

“there she is, that’s the pretty slut i know,” he breathed against your throat, adding a second finger, pumping lazily while his thumb circled your clit in lazy, perfect strokes. “knew you missed this.”

your hips jerked into his hand before you could stop yourself, chasing the pressure, the stretch, the way only he could unravel you, every time.

he kissed the corner of your jaw, then lower, sucking softly at your pulse, closing his eyes blissfully while his fingers worked you open, faster, deeper now.

the room filled with the slick, obscene sounds of your cunt and your broken, little whimpers — your every attempt at words turning futile. he gazed at your dissolving state, smirking, then pressing his forehead to yours. “still want me to pack and leave, sweetheart?”

you could barely manage a head shake, fingers digging into his shoulder.

“didn’t think so.”

his pace picked up, relentless, curling against that spot that made your thighs tremble. your stomach clenched, heat coiling tight and fast.

“gonna come for me, baby?” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “come all over my fingers pretty girl.”

you shattered with a choked cry, clenching around his fingers, thighs shaking as relentless waves swept through you.

he worked you through it, his pace slowly becoming gentle, slowing till you were boneless against him, panting.

only then did his fingers ease free, glistening, then brought to his mouth and were sucked clean while he held your dazed gaze.

you stared at him, chest heaving, cheeks burning.

“what? does my pretty girl miss my cock too? hm?” he teased, while throbbing in his sweats.

you gulped, rolling your eyes at him, yet pulled him in for a searing kiss.

he smirked, soft and smug and infuriatingly fond.

peptobismol ◟ yn

the one and only, incheon’s icon, yn. soon to be college drop out too. her dark humour, biting sarcasm, with a burning energy that separates her from the crowd. shes impulsive, but hey, aren’t we all? yeah her room’s a mess, and so is her desk, and her head and so on… sure, she’s morally grey but shes hot so that makes it okay! most known for never being in class and having an almost failing grade in everything. #yncollegedropout and of course, her hair is just as messy as her life—tousled in that perfect ‘i woke up like this’ kind of way, signature scent trailing behind her, piercing eyes that stare right through you, a beauty mark under her left eye and a half-heart on her right cheek… basically, you can’t not notice her. her fingers are always tapping to a rhythm, like shes permanently lost in her head, her vape taut in her grip and ocd routines that only make sense to her… her lip ALWAYS caught in her teeth. basically, chaos in motion, but hot chaos. look, she’s messy—she’s chaotic—she’s hyperactive, she’s morally grey but damn, with hair that looks like that everyday, eyes that piece anyone’s soul, she can get away with it.

ynnleftovers ◟ yn

even the perfect girl has her cracks. yn keeps her true self hidden away, only those close to her know of why she hates talking about “home”. home? that’s not a home to her. that’s a house filled with toxicity and a beat down waiting to happen. her mom, verbally abusive and a stupid drunk, is always yelling and hurling insults at her, so much so that yn’d rather sleep in the street that have to endure another second of her. her father? her father. a piece of shit that doesn’t deserve that title, the only thing they share is a last name, an abusive figure that’s been to jail twice on charges of domestic violence, yet her mom fell for his manipulative lies each time, the falsifications pouring from his lips each second. but you’d never realise that about her—she hides everything too well. her hair is still perfect, her eyes pooling with beauty, her endearing scent lingering, but, does any of that even matter to her?

gyuuue ◟ choi beomgyu

choi beomgyu, the sadist freak of the friendgroup that is always hitting people when he laughs, dude stop punching people??? though, his nerd side can easily be whipped out in private when he needs to lock in on a project (he’d never admit it, but he thinks studying is fun), always up late and a frustrated perfectionist when things don’t go as he envisioned. his toned arms that somehow manage to look hot even when he’s flailing them at people, wavy hair that blows smoothly in the wind and falls sloppily, but cutely, to frame his face. his lashes make any girl jealous of him and his huuuuge boba eyes have everyone swooning even when he’s just zoning out, yet his intimidating charm can scare many away. he’s like a loser in a hot person’s body; he fiddles awkwardly, he sneaks glances at people, he holds the most intense eye contact and will blush like an idiot anyway with the loudest laugh heard this century.

xinnieeyy ◟ xinyu

xinyu, the friendgroup’s baby as long as her food stays hers—deadass, you will lose a finger. though the youngest, she remains calm and collected more often than others (beomgyu we’re looking at you) always hyper aware of her surroundings and the kind of girl that clocks every micro expression before you realise you did one, always analysing facial expressions. social cues? it’s like she scripted them herself, shes that good. as if she holds a crystal ball for every conversation she’s in. but god forbid you actually take her to a social setting—her introverted soul disappears at the mere mention of small talk with new people. even with how shy she is, she adds value, sentimental value, to every conversation she participates in and will be soft in the most random moments. her effortless style just draws people to her further. she’s always focused, not even noticing her beautiful hair enveloping the page she attentively wrote on—don’t even get started on her gorgeous hands, no matter her nails, long, short, styled, half broken off, her hands are a display of elegance, they move with grace and represent her aura.

yunyun 🌚 ◟ huh yunjin

huh yunjin. suitable since ‘huh?’ seems to be her favourite word when she forgets to do homework, zones out or just in general struggles to comprehend her existence. shes thrives under pressure and feeds off of the tension that deadlines give her and only locks in when its 22:59 and the paper is due at 23:59. hyperfixation who? she hates being ignored with her whole soul and will stop speaking to anyone that teases her with it. her dark ass humour either has people forming abs or deciding whether to let it slide or call somebody….? she’s impulsive, she’s brutally honest, strategically manipulative, always to have the one up on people. but somehow managing to be one of the funniest bitches in the room (aside from yn, theres no competing with yn.) say the word “responsibility” and she fades away like her ex did after she gaslighted him. her soft lips and sharp nose are the main features that draw people in and let them linger, she has a gorgeous face. and subtle dimples that can flutter any person’s heart, her relaxed posture influences others and calms any heartbeat and makes people melt into comfort with her. her nail polish is always chipped, smudged or fully missing—but somehow just adds to her character. oh god, her habits. she steals clothes like its second nature, has secret hobbies only the night will ever know, sneaky hugs that make you feel like she’s subtly apologising for a mistake, like gift giving after cheating, but emotionally. she mimics people’s gestures without comprehending it—a cute thing she does that she’ll take to the GRAVE.

yunaaa 😛 ◟ shin yuna

shin yuna, the icon we all wish we were (the icon that still wishes she was yn, tho.) our playful, fun loving queen that knows how to take a joke and make one feel like she was being serious. a huge attention seeker but, no one will ever know that. a chaos causing, emotionally troublesome and manipulative wreck that causes problems everywhere she goes. its like she walks, and drama erupts behind her. physically? she’s the kind of girl who could walk into a room wearing pyjamas and still somehow look like the most put-together bitch there (as long as yn isn’t there, i have to emphasise once again, THERE ISN’T ANY COMPETING WITH YN). subtle freckles dusted across her cheeks like god got bored and made her prettier for fun, soft features that flip between “innocent angel” and “homewrecker in training” depending on the lighting. her movements are always graceful — annoyingly so — like she’s floating instead of walking, even when she’s stomping around creating chaos. even with this, she’s an avid man hater and refuses to go near any, with the exception of beomgyu and gunwook—they’re barely men anyway. she has permanent heart eyes for her one and only, ryujin. its peak cinema everytime they’re together and you could cut the sexual tension with a knife. her expressions are pure cinema. she can raise one eyebrow and suddenly you’re questioning all your life decisions. her smile is sweet but has that tiny twitch that says, “i’m about to ruin someone’s day and enjoy it.” she flips her hair like it’s punctuation, like every sentence needs a dramatic exclamation mark. and her habits? lord help us. she steals food like a raccoon with daddy issues, but does it cute enough that you don’t get mad. she does sudden cuddles when she wants attention, then pretends she didn’t do it. she’s clingy in the way that feels like a trap but you walk into it anyway. she steals clothes like she’s building her own personal museum of other people’s belongings. and the hair flips… constant. weaponised. illegal, honestly. she’s the friend who says “i didn’t start the drama, i just escalated it,”… even when she definitely started it.

rrryu ◟ shin ryujin

the girl that gives EVERYONE gender envy. you either wanna date her or…. yeah, you wanna date her. a sexy sarcastic with a foul mouth that can be used on her one and only yuna. she looks at her with a possession that can only be described as feral, something that speaks beyond words. she can be controlling, not just with yuna but all of her loved ones. hair pulling is common when she wants you to stay with her, sometimes it can cause… other problems. she’s attentive in a way that’ll make you feel like she sees you different. from everyone else. she listens like you’re the only person in the room, and then turns around and makes out with yuna against the wall. physically? ryujin is a walking glitch in the matrix. sexy tousled hair that somehow always looks freshly ruined in the best way, toned arms that basically beg to be touched (don’t. unless you want to be stared down), smudged eyeliner that gives her that “i didn’t sleep but i still look better than you” look (unless its yn, yn is just always better.), and lips always puffy when she’s around yuna… hm. she always has a faint sheen of sweat on her—enough to make her look like she’s glowing, not enough to make it gross. she’s that girl who looks like she just left a fight or a makeout session. sometimes both. her habits are equally dangerous. the “accidental” thigh touches that are never accidental. the sneaky downward glances at someone’s collar that make them forget how to breathe. she has a stare that can melt metal and a dark chuckle that she uses like a weapon—especially when she wants someone to crumble. ryujin is the type of girl who doesn’t walk into your life—she breaks the door down and dares you to do something about it.

Ricky ◟ ricky

shen ricky, every girls dream boy to a slightly concerning degree… flawless grades, that stupidly unreal face carved like someone put “angelic but slutty” into a character generator, absolutely blown out of the park fucking gorgeous face and a personality that could make a girl swoon and heat pool at her core simultaneously. type of guy that makes hallways stop and whisper, girls squealing if he so much as looks their way—people swear the air pressure changes around him. he acts like he doesn’t know the effect he has but we can tell my that tiny smug smirk he revels in it. he goes from a cold, stern professor-like scholar to a needy, horny mess in seconds for the right girl. so stubborn and obsessive over the most random things he cares about like limerence, or sonder or any random thing he found out through ten seconds of internet scrolling. “did you know,” he’ll say out of nowhere, pushing his hair back, acting like he’s read a full dissertation, “that people only exist in your perception until proven otherwise?” (one of his loserish tendencies) and he’ll keep yapping on, completely unaware that any and every girl listening is only thinking about how kissable his lips look and how good they’d feel on her neck. but the attentive girls notice, the small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips when he catches onto them staring, mindlessly and his ego rises a tiny bit higher. his hair is so beautifully messy, a bedhead chic, i would say, and his gorgeous, veiny hands running through it only make it hotter. a jawline that could cut metal and biceps bigger than someone’s calf having girls drooling and mentally begging him to put them in a headlock. his gorgeous glasses perfectly matching his smart casual outfit and long fingers typing an essay while any girl would focus on how good his fingers’d feel trailing down her thighs and teasing her fo—. oh. maybe not… his broad shoulders making him look even taller and take up more space than need be (along with his manspreading, as if an invitation to sit in his lap). his loser, clingy personality only pulling girls in further, his impulse to steal snacks cutely and apologise by batting his pretty eyes and getting his way and always starting a play fight to end in cuddling, a clingy mess without explicitly saying it. loud ass exaggerated sighs that turn into yells when he wants attention and no one gives him it. always pinning his crushes down “playfully” and teasing them, we know you aren’t joking ricky. no one jokes by pinning someone’s hands above their head and whispering that “you’re gonna teach them the art of sensuality.” ??? no one escapes ricky unscathed.

zhao ◟ zhang hao

hao, everyone’s favourite cutie. but keep your guard up he will shade you if you don’t bring him food on the meet. he’s sweet, he’s soft, but he’s also a menace in disguise. he watches everything like it’s free entertainment, sipping his drink like someone’s grandmother who lives for neighbourhood drama. he doesn’t start fights, but he absolutely enables them with one quiet comment. physically? hao looks like someone sculpted the phrase “gentle but secretly terrifying.” his cute smile could convince someone to commit crimes for him, and his eyes have that spark — the one that says he’s about to roast you and you won’t even realise until an hour later. gorgeous fluffy hair that bounces when he walks, small pouty lips, sharp jawline that pops out when he’s doing basically anything, and those delicate hands that always hold chopsticks like he was born in a palace. every expression he makes is unintentionally iconic. habit-wise, he’s a walking contradiction. he’s clingy but pretends he’s not, always sitting closer than necessary but acting like you’re imagining it. he fake gasps dramatically when someone says something dumb. he giggles when he’s about to insult you. he will steal a fry from your plate but glare at you if you try to take one from his.

gyuvinnie ◟ gyuvin

vinnie, our ball of energy that just doesn’t stop… ever. but will make you start forming abs and double over laughing if you so much as hint at having a bad day before being with him. always up to do something you probably shouldn’t, a chaotic, havoc searcher. his head is always cocked to the side, in a cocky manner, aware of how fine he is and how easily he makes people fold under his gaze. always creating or instigating playful tension and leaving people wanting more, literally trailing wet, open mouthed kisses down your neck and whispering “you can take it, right?” then going right back to studying like he just went to grab a water or something. hes always ragebaiting people and will bring up anything embarrassing he remembers you doing to clown you for it and it will never stop till the day he enters his own grave!! his hair will stay permanently messy and he’ll fall to his knees and beg you to play with it. no joke, his gorgeous eyes speaking before his words come out and melting any person to butter. his toned figure always drawing necessary stares at his arms AND his beautiful, distracting smile; pair that with a wink and he’ll have any girl soaking her panties, but watch out he will randomly mega knight you for some cuddles.

boimatty ◟ matthew

forced to make a twt acc btw. matthew 🥹 the chaotic perfectionist: obsessed with notes but spills coffee on them anyway. hes charmingly scatterbrained, forgets deadlines but somehow aces exams, hopelessly flirty in subtle ways; blushes if caught noticing someone too much, dramatic over little inconveniences, like someone touching his pen the wrong way, secretly a romantic, emotionally transparent; laughs and cries just as easily and will take any opportunity to cry on your shoulder. he loves teasing people to make them smile, but sometimes it backfires spectacularly messy and ends with him having his hair pulled and whimpering into her neck. his almost baby-soft hair that always falls in adorable waves, big warm eyes that seem innocent but see everything, slightly crooked but charming smile, lean build that looks casual but subtly strong, soft, expressive hands—always fidgeting with pens, jewelry, or stray hair, slight dimples that show every time he laughs nervously, just an endless charm that constantly captivates people.

wok ◟ gunwook

gunwook, if the word slut was a person, he’d embody it perfectly, then wink back at you seconds later. a charismatic, confident man that will have his hands in your pants quicker than you can think, he may be a little manipulative but, that’s not the point now is it? he’s shamelessly playful and will use any play fight as an excuse to feel you up and WILL tease you about any sort of reaction you have. whine? he’ll mock whine back. whimper? he’ll comment on it. gasp? he’ll do it even harder next time. he loves attention from everyone and eats it up when everyone is looking at him and focused solely on him but he’ll never say it, that makes him look needy. he’s emotionally volatile from an unstable past so you have to be careful and step on eggshells with him sometimes, he’s a bitchy self centered guy and will talk about himself for a whole hour and make sure you catch every detail. he’s always pushing your boundaries, reaching under your shirt during “just cuddles” and his hand slipping awfully close to your clit while watching a movie…

wonni 🤍 ◟ jungwon

the calm eye in the chaos. cool, calculated, always observing from the sidelines, he can make people spill their deepest secrets without them ever realizing it. his dark humor is sharp and selective; laugh with him and you might feel the thrill of danger tickling your spine. flirty in ways almost invisible, a single glance from him can feel like a dare, a challenge. competitive only when intellectually provoked, he remains calm and collected, though tiny cracks of unpredictability peek through when annoyed, giving a hint of his slightly sadistic streak. he teases mercilessly, always keeping people on edge. his sleek, slightly wet-look hair frames sharp, cinematic features — a jawline that could cut glass, cheekbones carved like statues, subtle shadowing that hints at stories untold. piercing eyes seem to read your thoughts before you even think them, and long fingers constantly tap, twist, or trace along surfaces, teasing in the smallest, most deliberate ways. casual but perfectly styled clothing makes him look effortlessly intimidating, while faint scars hint at hidden depths. lips curl into an unreadable, mischievous smirk, always hinting at a plan, a secret, or a dare. his teasing is subtle but precise — shoulder brushes, nudges, whispered comments, delicate bites or tugs of the lower lip while scheming, dark chuckles that unsettle or entice — he sees everything, remembers everything, and uses it all to knock you off balance.

taeyie ◟ taerae

the soft heart in the storm, the friend everyone can’t help but adore. sweet, gentle, and endlessly playful, his soft energy naturally draws people in, making them want to linger just a little longer. he flirts in the most subtle, teasingly cute ways, blushes easily, and lights up whenever he’s given attention. shy around strangers but bubbly with friends, every little flop, exaggerated sigh, or playful pout only adds to his charm. deeply loyal and affectionate, he gives hugs, small touches, and cuddles with a natural ease that makes everyone feel safe, cared for, and adored. emotionally intelligent and intuitive, he notices feelings before anyone else, quietly helping, fussing, or offering comfort. competitive, but only shyly, whether in games or studies, and loves being spoiled in the softest ways. physically, he’s a vision of delicate charm — soft, silky hair often styled adorably (or deliberately messy), warm, expressive eyes brimming with innocence and mischief, small, delicate hands always fidgeting with cute accessories or twirling a friend’s hair. lean but soft physique, approachable posture, faint dimples, a naturally flushed smile that makes you want to protect him. his gestures are spontaneous and enchanting — sudden soft hugs or snuggles, playful hair flips, gentle twirls, shy bites of the lip when embarrassed or teased — every movement radiates warmth, endearing chaos, and an irresistible “please notice me” energy.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝑖𝐒𝐓 ୨୧ @dearjiwon @corpsegrime @cyberstephzz @f4loveex

"Dude," Bangchan spoke, throwing up his hands in exasperation, "it has been six fucking months of this shit." He was tired of this conversation—they'd had a multitude of times too many. "Yeah, six months and I'm still an obsessed loser for her," he murmured, scratching the back of his neck with a sigh.

Bangchan huffed, glancing over at his friend—messy hair, dark circles, shoulders slumped like it was all weighing him down. "Look, man. You can't control her actions. You," he replied, hesitantly. "You just need to let it go."

Changbin let the words hang, his head heavy with memories he couldn't shake—the butterflies, the warmth, how your laugh would brighten any room you were in.. He wanted to argue, scream that Chan didn't understand. But the truth gnawed at him like a dull ache in his chest. "I know," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Knowing doesn't make it easier."

The silence pressed in, heavy, filled only by the growing hum of silence. With a sigh, Bangchan draped a comforting arm around Changbin, pulling him in. "I get it, man" he whispered softly, laying his eyes on his friend's devastating condition. "I really do. But obsessing like this? It's only gonna eat you up, Bin,"

Changbin hardly registered the weight of the arm around him, or Chan's roaming eyes. His fingers moved on autopilot, unlocking his phone for what felt like the hundredth time in one day, typing your name into Instagram like it was muscle memory. Stalking you, again.

With every scroll, he felt his chest tightening, his lungs refusing to expand. The glow of the screen painted his glossy face as he swallowed hard, each picture hitting harder than the last. You were smiling—radiant, just as beautiful as he'd remembered it— while he sat here, unraveling. Every new photo screamed the same truth that he refused to accept. You'd moved on, while he was rotting in the dirt you kicked behind you.

His fingers froze on a photo—your smile wide, titled from the day you two had gotten caught in the rain, when you'd kissed him breathless in the studio. The memory hit like a punch to the gut, his chest caved, his fingers shook but he still gripped tighter. The room felt smaller, tighter, his breath catching in his throat as he scrolled anyway, as if punishing himself with proof you were fine, actually amazing, without him. His eyes glossed over with tears as his brain finally registered that you were gone; and not coming back.

Chan finally snapped, pulling him out of it.

"Bin," Chan's voice cut sharply through the silence, his hand darting out to snatch the phone. "Enough," his rough tone didn't leave room for any arguments, though Bin's fingers twitched, desperate to cling to the one place a memory of your time together still existed for him. His chest still heaved, eyes glassy and throat raw from words he never said out loud. For a long while, the only sound was his breathing, shallow and uneven, as if his body didn’t know how to exist without you.

He told himself that night it had to be the last time. No more searching your name. No more tearing himself apart. Tomorrow would be different. It had to be.

The next morning, the campus buzzed with new beginnings. Students laughed, strangers introduced themselves, and Changbin tried forcing himself to breathe as if nothing in him was broken, but it was obvious. He was in a sour mood since he'd stepped on campus, everything was just too much. The sun was too bright, Chan talked too much, the professors were annoying the shit out of him and drowned them in homework on the first day. First day of university—fresh start for everything, or so he told himself.

"Hey," the boy next to him whispered sharply, Hyunjin, if Bin remembered right. "You... okay? You look," his eyes scanned Bin's face with a faint but clear grimace, taking in his dark under eyes and puffy lids. "Sick," Hyunjin finished, before turning his attention back to the whiteboard, at which stood their chemistry professor, droning on about some chemicals joining.

Bin clenched his pen tighter, almost piercing his page of notes. Sick? Yeah, maybe he was sick. Sick of pretending. Sick of missing a ghost. Sick of being stuck while everyone around him moved on so easily. Before he could think of a reply, a voice abruptly cut through his gloomy daydream.

"You? In the corner, nearest the door? Yes, you. Could you please answer?" the teacher rasped, her eyes staring daggers into Changbin, completely oblivious to how lost he was in the depths of his mind. He couldn't focus at all, let alone answer any questions. He stared blankly at the board before shrugging his shoulders and going back to staring at his page, not before hearing an exasperated sigh from the teacher in frustration before she began lecturing the rest of the class on paying attention.

The lecture dragged on, every word blurring into static. Changbin's notes were a mess of scribbles and half finished sentences that weren't gonna see being done any time soon, his mind anywhere but at his desk. By the time the bell hoarsely rang, he was already shoving his notebook into his bag, desperate to disappear before anyone noticed how hazy he'd been the whole day.

"Man," Hyunjin groaned in annoyance beside him, stretching his long arms above his head. "If every chem class is gonna be like that, I'm dropping the fuck out." He laughed, at his own joke. Slinging his bag over one shoulder.

Bin barely managed out a hum of agreement, following him toward the door. Head pounding, body heavy, weighing him down like it wanted to sink into the ground. The hallway was loud with chatter, students spilling out in clusters, their voices bouncing against the walls. Bin kept his head down, letting Hyunjin talk enough for both of them, every step dragging like his shoes were made of lead.

And then—

"Hyunjin!"

The sound froze him mid-step. The voice was light, familiar. Too familiar. Carving through the haze that weighed him down all morning. His pulse stuttered, his stomach dropped like he'd just been shoved off of a ledge. His feet rooted to the floor before he even turned. He didn't have to. His body knew. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, his chest tightened till breathing felt near impossible.

Bin didn’t turn right away. He couldn’t. But when he finally did, when his eyes dragged up against his will, there you were—real, impossibly real, with that same easy smile that had been eating him alive from the scroll of his phone screen just last night.

Hyunjin perked up instantly hearing you, spinning on his heel with a grin. "Hey baby, missed you," he chatted, before landing a peck on your cheek lovingly, earning an endearing giggle from your lips. The same giggle Changbin used to hear for him, when he kissed you.

Bin’s throat went dry. He forced a swallow that scraped like sandpaper, eyes flicking anywhere but at you—at the lockers, at the ceiling, at Hyunjin’s stupid wide smile pressed so close to yours. His fists curled tight inside his sleeves, nails carving crescents into his palms.

He told himself to move. To keep walking. To disappear before you noticed. But he didn’t.

Your laugh quieted, trailing into a question as your gaze shifted past Hyunjin’s shoulder. The smile on your face faltered the second it landed on him.

Bin met your eyes at last. And for a moment, the hallway disappeared.

He wanted to hate you. He really, really wanted to. But instead, all he felt was the sickening lurch of recognition, like his heart remembered you before his brain even caught up.

Hyunjin, oblivious, glanced between the two of you, grin faltering at the tension sparking in the air.

“Uh… do you two know each other?” he questioned, lighthearted, his arm still slung around your waist.

The hallway noise seemed to vanish, swallowed by the tension coiling. Neither you or Bin spoke. Changbin's chest felt like it was trying to escape his ribcage, his hands still balled tightly in his sleeves, even drawing blood. He couldn't look away, couldn't speak, couldn't even move.

You blinked slowly, slightly startled by the whole situation, as if trying to convince yourself he wasn't really there, that he wasn't about to cause hell on your mental health. But the truth was unavoidable, right there in front of you.

Hyunjin's grin faltered even further, his carefree attitude deflating like a punctured balloon. He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. "So... you guys.... know eachother?" he tried again, his voice smaller this time, unsure.

Changbin's heart hammered so loudly it was almost a distraction when someone else spoke, though it didn't help the way the pit in his stomach twisted even further at the sight of your presence, standing there, so effortlessly beautiful. Glowing, just as you did 6 months ago.

You finally spoke, your voice small, hesitant like you're testing the waters.

"Well... yeah, I guess. Something like that," you said, shrugging lightly, avoiding his eyes.

Bin's stomach twisted at how casual your attitude was, you made it seem like nothing had ever happened between you. The pit in his chest only grew heavier.

Hyunjin, still standing with an awkward grin frozen on his face, shifted awkwardly. "Oh... cool, cool," he said, glancing between the two of you, noticing the palpable tension.

Changbin awkwardly cleared his throat to relieve tension in the air, and made up some random excuse to leave the situation, his ears burning from embarrassment. He panted, walking as fast as he could while still looking calm and collected to his car and sat, gripping the steering wheel, poking deep holes into the leather. Bin exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead onto the steering wheel for a brief moment. Hyunjin's grin, your smile— they all burned behind his eyes, like a broken record. "God, I can't—" he muttered under his breath.

By the time he arrived home, the quiet was deafening. He paced around his room like a caged animal, the anger, longing and disbelief swirling into a messy storm inside his head.

“Dude…” Bangchan’s voice broke through before Bin could even breathe out a coherent word, and his friend leaned against the doorway with an expression that screamed please tell me you haven’t lost it completely.

“I… I saw her,” Bin said in a rough, strangled voice, pacing like he might explode if he stayed still. “Chan, I—God, she’s here, she’s real, she’s… she’s perfect! And Hyunjin… I swear he’s—! He’s—she’s—ugh!”

Bangchan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, Bin. Slow down. Breath. Inhale through the nose. Out the mouth.”

“I can’t, Chan! I can’t just—she’s standing there, laughing like everything’s fine, like she’s fine, like I’m invisible. And he’s there—grinning—and I…” Bin slammed his fist into the wall, the impact vibrating up his arm. “I almost—I just…” His voice broke, and he sank onto the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands.

“Yeah,” Bangchan said quietly, sitting beside him. “Yeah, I get it. But losing it over her in your room isn’t going to solve anything. You’re spiraling, Bin.”

“I know,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “I know! But I… I can’t stop thinking about her.”

The next day—or maybe the next week, he didn't even wanna think about the time—it happened. The universe cruelly, deliberately; placed them together.

“Project groups are in three and randomly assigned,” the professor had said, clicking through the slides as though nothing about group dynamics could ever be dramatic. Bin had expected chaos—some names crossed off, some students grumbling—but nothing could have prepared him for this.

When the list was finally announced, he froze, eyes scanning the words written as if he misread what was clearly written.

Changbin + Y/n + Hyunjin

His stomach dropped. No, more than that—it flipped violently, somersaulted, twisted into knots that stretched down to his toes. He stared at it, dumbfounded, trying to convince himself it was a mistake, a joke, a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep.

Bin didn’t even need to breathe. The hallway around him blurred, the noise of students chattering, lockers slamming, footsteps echoing—it all fell away. The campus shrank, the walls contracting until there was nothing but him and his running thoughts.

You leaned against the far table, arms crossed, a faint frown tugging at the corner of her mouth, like you were already preparing yourself for the storm. You didn’t look impressed. Not a bit. If anything, your entire demeanor screamed: I do not want to deal with this.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. That quiet, exasperated tone—it stung more than any shout could have.

Bin’s smirk tugged at his lips, like he couldn’t help it. Yesterday, the hallway, seeing you laugh with someone else—it all hit him at once. “Guess the universe finally got tired of waiting for you to notice me,” he said, leaning on the desk like he wasn’t about to melt inside.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start,” you muttered, voice tight, trying to act like it didn’t matter. But he saw it—the little twitch at the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, I already did,” he said low, teasing. “You just haven’t noticed.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Every glance, every inch of space felt too close and too far at the same time. Bin’s fingers itched to touch you—your shoulder, your cheek, anything—but he froze, caught between wanting and holding back.

You shifted, adjusting your bag strap, eyes flicking away. He noticed anyway: the brush of your fingers on the notebook, the faint sigh when you realized he was staring, the tension in your jaw. And just like that, it was clear: this project wasn’t about chemistry. It was about you two.

"So, are you coming tonight?" Changbin asked, in a relaxed manner contradicting the burning heat on his ears and how his heart raced anticipating your reply. You sighed and thought deeply, wincing at the thought of having an awkward study session at his house, with your boyfriend and Changbin third wheeling. Yikes. You probably shouldn't sa—

"Yeah, I'll be there," you murmured, your eyes glued to the table, avoiding his gaze while your cheeks heated. But it didn't matter where you looked. He saw. He always saw. And the way he looked at you— like he would devour every inch of you if you gave him the chance, like no one else existed— made your stomach flutter.

Bin’s smirk softened, just barely, but the heat behind his gaze didn’t. He caught the little twitch in your fingers, the way your lips pressed together, how you were trying not to look at him. It was enough. Risky enough.

And suddenly, the entire room—the desk, the scattered papers, the quiet hum of the air conditioner—felt like it had shrunk down to just the two of you.

"Watch your step," Bin muttered, though his words were casual, his hand brushed yours— not enough to be intentional but enough to leave the skin of your neck heating up; burning in fact, while your stomach twisted.

You pulled back from his touch subtly, pretending to adjust your strap, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. He gave a small smirk, hardly noticeable, leaning closer than necessary as he unlocked the door awkwardly.

Inside, his apartment smelled faintly of coffee and worn books. You set your bag down cautiously, avoiding any unnecessary contact with Changbin. Each accidental touch—his elbow brushing yours while grabbing a notebook, your knee knocking his—a spark, a vivid reminder of how close you used to be, how much he used to matter to you.

You pulled out your phone, knee bouncing in impatience asking yourself where Hyunjin is, thumb hovering over the screen before scrolling. A message lit the screen

cant make tn sry

You rolled your eyes, a scoff escaping, despite yourself. Of course he couldn't make it, when has he ever been known to come through for plans? You knew exactly what he was doing—probably making out with some random girl at a frat party. Your fingers tapped the screen in irritation, before you shoved the device back into your pocket with a sigh.

Changbin noticed all of it, the flash of annoyance in your eyes, the way your jaw tightened looking at the screen. He leaned in a little closer, under the guise of grabbing a textbook, and your arms brushed again. You felt the jolt in your chest—hot and sharp, but you didn't pull away fast enough—maybe you didn't want to.

"So," Bin spoke, casually, flipping through piles of notes that you'd brought, "looks like it's only us tonight." His tone was smooth, teasing almost glad even, but you caught the undercurrent—the mischief in his voice, the glint in his eyes, the way he let the brush of his fingers against your linger longer that it had to.

You swallowed, glancing down and biting your lips nervously. "Yeah... just us," you muttered, through a mess of thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing. Hyunjin out cheating, Changbin too close, and your body reacting so much to every accidental touch, or brush against his skin, like your vessel remembered him, craved him.

Bin leaned over suddenly, reaching past you to grab his pen that'd rolled too far across the table. His chest brushed your shoulder, his arm grazed yours, and the warmth of his body pressed in all at once. It was like a hot jolt of electricity was zapped into your belly, your cheeks heating almost instantly. He lingered—just long enough for him to notice your breath catching—before pulling back slowly, a smirk tugging on his lips.

"Relax," he drawled, tossing his pen into the messy notebook. "I don't bite."

Your heart skipped several beats, you rolled your eyes in an attempt to mask the sudden rush in your chest. "You're just as annoying as before, you know?"

He chuckled, low and quiet, ignoring the burning heat on his ears realising you still remembered things about him, but there was something in the sound that made your stomach twist, like he wasn't just amused—like he was remembering, too.

The table you were working at wasn't big to begin with, but the tension in the air only made the room feel even more cramped and uncomfortable. Changbin's knee brushed yours once, twice, then rested so close you couldn't tell if it was accidental or not.

"Focus," you muttered to yourself, trying to write down the formula he'd just pointed out. But your pen slipped from your sweaty palm onto the page when he leaned in, close enough that you caught a faint trace of his perfume; sweet, vanilla, familiar.

"I'm focused, couldn't say the same for you though," he murmured back a knowing grin tugging the corner of his lips. "You keep zoning out."

Heat arose on your cheeks, you gripped your pen tighter, grounding yourself. "I am not zoning out. I'm literally writing."

"Mm, really? You've written the same formula twice." His voice was teasing, but soft, dipping into that tone he knew made your stomach flip. He tapped the page firmly, contrast to how gently his fingers brushed the back of your hand. "See?"

You snatched your hand away a little too quickly, shoving balled fists into your lap, hoping he wouldn't comment on how flustered you looked. "Shut up."

Minutes passed like that—him leaning in, you pretending not to notice, the air thick with everything unspoken. Your notes were starting to blur together. When you sighed in frustration, Changbin tilted his head toward you. “Need me to explain it again?”

“No, I get it.” You rubbed at your temples, but the truth was you didn’t remember half of what he’d just said, too aware of how close his lips were when he spoke.

“You don’t look like you get it.” He angled his face just slightly closer, eyebrows raised, the tease clear. “Should I quiz you?”

You groaned, tossing your pen onto the table. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said lightly, his voice dipping into something softer, “you’re still here.”

His face was so close to yours, you could feel his hot breath on your cheek, your eyes dropped down towards his lips and all of a sudden it felt as if the world had closed in on just this moment, just this frame of time. His lips looked just as kissable; maybe even more. Memories of the kisses you once shared invaded your mind as a heavy warmth rose to your cheeks and a dry swallow down your throat.

But you could say the same about Changbin, he was just as whipped as you, his gaze never left your lips for even a heartbeat. His eyes filled with a hunger—a need, to feel his lips against yours once more. His hand twitched on the table, as if he was constrained, wanting—craving, needing to reach out to grasp your jaw and crash his lips onto yours and be reminded of how sweet your kisses once were.

He took a deep inhale and raised his hand up to your face, cupping your cheek gently. His gaze wandering over your gorgeous, breathtaking features. His eyes filled with a sudden warmth, a love, and a smile curled his lips into a crescent shape. “Always been such a pretty girl,” he told, caressing your cheek gently, paying such attention to you, you felt slightly nervous, unable to hold eye contact, “Should’ve been my pretty girl, forever” he finished. A wave of sadness flashing in his piercing orbs, as if he was reliving his past mistakes. After refocusing on you, his gaze returned to your lips, a certain yearning in his demeanour that made your blood flow a little faster, a little warmer.

“Can I kiss you?”, he pleaded, as if his voice might break if he said it any louder.