Synopsis for this chapter: The Eclipse Garden is a special hotel—it’s for the dead, ruled by a sharp-tongued, ghost diva with a taste for the finer things and zero patience for nonsense. But her mundane 'life' takes a sharp turn when Sunghoon—a mortal—walks in like he belongs.
Unbothered by talk of ghosts, strangely calm in a place no living soul should ever find, Sunghoon’s presence stirs something sacred.
The tree that’s been dead for over a century? It blooms. The goddess who cursed her? She reappears. And the hotel's queen—once hardened by betrayal and punishment—finds herself faced with the one thing she’s never allowed- a second chance. But fate doesn’t hand out miracles for free- Sunghoon is in danger, and the gods are watching.
Genres: inspired by my favourite k-dramas, Hotel Del Luna. Slow burn, a lot of angst, reader has a heavy backstory, mortal x immortal (sort of). Sunghoon is implied to be a recently turned doctor. Overachiever, burnt-out sunghoon. In short, the reader is cold, loves being rich, sarcastic and gets a kick out of scaring everyone
READ CHAPTER 1 HERE
Word count: 3.5k for this chapter
credits to @uzmacchiato for the dividers
A Curse or a Savior ?
The moonlight that spilled across the velvet carpets of The Eclipse Garden was always silver- sharp, never soft. Just like you.
You were reclined on a plush antique chaise in your suite— a lavish room on the top floor, draped in gold silk curtains and decorated with wine racks that could shame royal cellars. A chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon sat beside you, a pretty sparkling crystal glass half full of that equally enchanting shade of the yellow beverage, like a jewelry in your hand.
You sipped slowly, swirling the glass with a languid hand, watching the bubbles rise like the souls you sent off to the bridge daily- to the afterlife. Your nails, glossed a deep blue colour, resembling your newest obsession- a fancy yacht, tapped against the rim. It had been an ordinary night— if sending three ghosts to a guest's cheating ex on her request and screaming at the housekeepers for placing your Prada perfumes too close to the cheap knockoffs could be called 'ordinary.'
You liked expensive things, simple as that. Loved them. Hoarded them, even. Your walk-in closet was adorned with fashion trends of the past and present. You weren't just the owner of The Eclipse Garden. You were its queen, ghost, prisoner, and diva.
Your days were mostly spent in the same way- with your staff shuffling in one by one to bow, with that familiar look of utter fear for their lives which you couldn't help but find cute; and report whatever nonsense that particular day had decided to toss your way.
Some guests were peculiar though with intriguing stories that wouldn't leave your head at night when you were all alone- A ghost stuck in the elevator. A demon haunting the bridal suite bathtub.
And some were just laughable, testing your patience as if more than a century of this 'life' wasn't punishment enough- An 1800s aristocrat who refused to check out until he received an apology from modern Korea.
But nothing, nothing, was as interesting as that boy.
Sunghoon.
Alive. Breathing. Mortal.
And yet, when you had told him—straight-faced and shimmering in that deep purple gown —that your hotel was a resting place for the dead, that your hotel was full of ghosts, he hadn’t flinched. Not even a blink. Just that quiet stare. A little sad and empty, burnt-out perhaps, you assumed from living an overwhelmingly successful life… until it wasn't- you had witnessed that kind of story countless times as the owner of this hotel. He was detached yet observant.
Dangerously curious.
And infuriatingly pretty with those brown eyes, long lashes and those pretty moles of his.
“What kind of a freak, who looks like a runway model, walks into a haunted hotel and doesn't run screaming at the chandelier?” you muttered now, resting your cheek on your palm as you stared at the city through your floor-to-ceiling windows. "This is a first, even for me… and that says a lot," you added thoughtfully.
He had walked into The Eclipse Garden like a moth to a flame. A hotel that had remained unseen from the human eye for a century. Yes, the building existed in the mortal world but it was never noticed by the people walking around- it was the hotel's magic.
No matter how much you thought about it, Sunghoon's unexplained appearance was as if someone had called him… as if he was dragged by fate’s fingers.
Mago’s fingers.
Your eyes narrowed at the thought.
Goddess Mago had seven sisters, each could be thought of as her different faces. The two prominent ones, at least in your life were- the kind and forgiving one, who was the oldest sister, wanted to see that dead tree bloom beautifully. You weren't really sure what would happen if the tree did bloom but you had your assumptions.
The tree that bound you to this hotel. It was a representation of you- of your heart, which was now and had been for over a century- bitter and full of resentment for humans, for life in general and one particular person from back when you were still alive. The person that haunted you to this day.
And the other sister was ruthless, cruel and fair, who dreamed of you making a mistake, a terrible and drastic one- of you harming a living human just so she could have the excuse of making you perish. In that case, there would be no next life. No reincarnation. No second chances for you. You would only roam the earth as ashes.
The oldest sister was definitely behind this. You could smell her scheming, the same way you could smell vintage champagne from across the lobby.
Just then a knock. Polite. Sharp.
“Enter,” you said, not turning around to face the door.
The door creaked open and in stepped Jiwon, your longest-serving staff member and the hotel’s manager. Calm, practical and definitely the smartest out of your staff. She was probably the closest out of everyone to what you could call a good friend of yours.
“There’s something you should see in the conservatory, Miss,” Jiwon said, voice unusually tense.
You sigh softly in response and put down the glass of wine. You had a long day just going about the hotel, dealing with the different tasks and in addition to that, Sunghoon showing up just a few hours ago had worn you out more than usual.
“If it’s another ghost couple kissing under the dead tree again, I swear I’m setting up CCTV and billing them hourly,” You muttered, exasperated and annoyed. Massaging the back of your neck with one hand and wincing slightly at the strain and the tense muscles.
Jiwon had to suppress a chuckle at your response and you hear her clear her throat lightly before continuing “It’s not that,” she replied. “It’s… blooming.”
That got your attention.
You pause your massage at that and arch a brow. “What is?” you ask cluelessly.
"The dead tree, Miss. The tree that we thought was dead… it's blooming," she replies, the confusion and uncertainty apparent in her tone.
A second passed. Two.
Then you stood, your midnight blue dress shimmering like spilled ink as you moved.
A set of tall glass doors led into the conservatory and the tree stood just inside. The bark cracked and dry. Leafless and skeletal, unmoved for centuries.
Nothing grew on it. Nothing dared.
Until now.
You moved past the conservatory, throwing the doors open with more force than necessary as you walked with purpose. Then you stood right in front of the tree, your eyes fixed on a single, delicate petal. Blue. Just a shade lighter than your nail polish. Barely bigger than your thumbnail.
You stared at it like it was the most abominable sight you had ever witnessed.
“It’s never happened before,” Jiwon said softly, her eyes tracing the petal as well.
You didn’t answer but your eyes darkened.
You moved away from the tree, towards the patch of bright blossoms that bloomed a few feet off— those were for Mago. The goddess always came to collect them when they were ready, for her second sister that ran an apothecary.
Not this one. This tree was dead. Or it had been. And yet, all it took was Sunghoon’s arrival and in a mere few hours…
“He’s the reason,” Jiwon said, following your gaze and stepping closer to you.
You let out a sharp chuckle at that and cross your arms. Clearly ticked off by the current circumstances you found yourself in. “Oh, brilliant deduction Jiwon,” you said in mock surprise. “Shall I knight you for this wonderful wit of yours?” your voice dripping in sarcasm, already feeling a nasty headache coming on.
You couldn't even relish in not being fully alive. The burden of your duties and the never ending troubles thrown your way, made you vulnerable to things such as headaches and you were convinced yours were far worse than what humans experienced.
She gives you a sympathetic smile in return, used to your sharp tongue and your often cruel humour. She knew your annoyance wasn't directed towards her, rather at the turn of events.
You let out a long exhale and massage your temples as you ask, "Where is Sunghoon right now?"
"I gave him the room 207 for the time being, Miss. He's probably sleeping. He looked too exhausted and not just physically. I almost felt bad for him." Jiwon informs, her voice softening with sympathy.
You notice the look in her eyes and your gaze softens too. Jiwon was surely too empathetic for a ghost and she struck the perfect balance between logic and emotions. A quality you found yourself envying a lot. Against everyone's assumptions, your problem was that you were too emotional- dangerously, even. It was the very thing that had gotten you punished, in this mess, in the first place.
You place a gentle hand on her shoulder "Keep an eye on him, Jiwon. Make sure he doesn't cause trouble… or get into trouble. He looks clueless about everything himself and he looks trusting too. Make sure he stays away from the dangerous guests," your voice was softer than usual. Not exactly an order but rather a request.
She gives you a grateful smile at the small but sweet gesture of comfort and nod, giving your hand that was on her shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Yes of course, Miss, I will," she promises with a small bow of her head and offers further "Should we just kick him out?"
You sigh wearily at that and shake your head, your hand coming to rest on your hip. "I wish it were that simple. If Mago is involved in this, which I'm sure she is, there's nothing we can do about it. She doesn't send humans in by mistake. It's all a part of her big scheme, I guess," you explain, your gaze once again drifting to the tiny petal on the supposedly dead tree.
"All of this just to see it bloom." you muttered under your breath now. Your mind racing despite the exhaustion.
Just what would happen if that damn tree bloomed?
Silence followed your response. Jiwon's head, apparently, hard at work too.
“I can talk to the Grim Reaper,” she offered again. “Set up a meeting with Mago—”
“No need.” you cut her off, though without any malice. A small smirk spreads across your face- sharp and glinting. “See those flowers?” you pointed to the glowing white blossoms in the moonlight, untouched near the benches. “They're in full bloom. You know how this works. She'll be here to collect them soon,” you crossed your arms and turned fully towards Jiwon. "And when she does, I'll get my answers," you added, your usual smirk now back- confident and smug.
Jiwon has to suppress the urge to fidget with her uniform from the whiplash of your change in demeanour. She offers a small, uncertain smile in response.
It's early next morning. Precisely at the break of dawn when she arrived.
Mago’s presence didn’t come with any theatrics or grandiose. Just a sudden hush in the wind. A subtle shift in the air. A stillness.
She stepped out from between two rosebushes, barefoot, dressed in a cheap and an ordinary hanbok. If you didn't know any better, you would think she was just a normal old lady. One of those sweet and wise grandmothers who always blessed kids and prayed for them.
You didn't bow. Instead, your posture became more hostile. Your shoulders squared up as if anticipating a battle- a battle of wits quite literally against a deity. An unpleasant scowl gracing your face and your arms crossed aggressively.
“Crazy old witch,” you muttered. “What game are you playing now?”
Mago gave you a look of disapproval. “It's too early to be this bitter, dear," she tsked. Then with a kind smile, she added "I brought you flowers too. Thought it had been a while since I visited the Guest House of the Moon.”
You scoffed at that and stepped closer, your eyes blazing. "Save the flowers for those souls leaving for the afterlife. I still have a lot of unfinished business here," you hissed but take the flower from her basket regardless. "And please, it's been thirty years since the name changed. It's The Eclipse Garden now," you added with a dramatic gesture of your hand. The pride in your tone evident.
Mago let out a soft sigh and nodded in resignation. "Alright fine, The Eclipse Garden. You and your ever changing taste in names," she remarked in amusement but her voice was laced with something fonder. Something that made your hostility falter and you clear your throat, trying to focus on the matter at hand.
“I need explanations, Mago. Sunghoon… who is he? Why is he here when he's still alive? Is he a part of your twisted scheme?” you asked one after another, pausing for a moment before continuing more seriously "Is he the reason the tree is blooming? And what happens after it blooms completely?" you finish your barrage of questions.
Mago's gaze drifts to the tree at that and she moves closer, admiring the fragile petal with awe in her eyes, a satisfied smile on her lips.
"How pretty. The sight I'd been waiting to see… it took more than a century but it was worth the wait. It will be even more beautiful once it's in full bloom" she mutters under her breath, examining the petal for a moment longer before turning to face you once again.
"Child, I understand you must be confused. Anxious even, but you'll figure it all out in due time," she answers softly and gently as if she could truly feel the numerous emotions you'd been battling with- since Sunghoon showed up, since you found out the tree had bloomed.
You stayed silent for a moment. The battle inside you appeased for a moment by her kind words. You let out a small huff at that but Mago beats you to it. "I'll give you a choice, dear. You can get rid of him now- Sunghoon is in danger. Just don't intervene. Don't save him," she said calmly.
Your brows fly to the roof at that and your eyes widen in shock… and in disgust at how easily the goddess had said that. "W-What? He's in danger? But he is in his room. Jiwon would be looking after him…" you muttered to yourself then a small gasp escaping you as you realized.
It was morning. Right when the hotel staff would retire to their rooms to take a short break.
You swallow hard at the numerous possibilities running through your head. You see the goddess slowly and almost peacefully plucking off the flowers and neatly tucking them into her basket and the sight makes you chuckle bitterly. "Mago, it's one thing to play around with me but involving an innocent person in this… it's cruel, even for you," you remarked bitterly.
Mago spares you a glance before going back to her work. "You've come really far, child. From resenting humans, killing so many of them back when you were still alive, as if they were worth nothing… to this. I guess your century long punishment has softened the sharp edges of your heart," she mutters softly, more to herself but unbothered that you heard her anyways.
Your expression darkened at her words, your stomach twisting at her observation and the implications but instead, "So what? You want me to watch? To sit in this cursed hotel, drink my wine, watch a human get torn apart? A human that has nothing to do with this nonsense? A human that you sent to help me somehow?" you seethed, your hands falling to your sides, your fists clenching, your knuckles turning white.
A long pause.
Then finally, after having collected all the flowers she needed, Mago walked back to you "I'm giving you a choice, dear. No matter how much I scheme, whoever I involve into this. It can only work if you want it to. If you want the help. If you're brave enough to not run from this. If you've truly come far from the person you used to be," she paused, her tired, wrinkly eyes studying your face for a moment before continuing more softly "If you want Sunghoon by your side."
The blaze in your eyes softened, replaced by an empty and defeated look instead. Because you understood what she was getting at and there was nothing more to say or listen. Spinning around on your heels, you walked briskly back inside the hotel.
She was right. The years had softened you and no matter how much you would try to delude yourself, you couldn't just sit still in your suite as Sunghoon would get torn apart by some evil ghost.
His soft face, his sad but captivating eyes had already made an impression on you. Besides, you had questions that needed to be answered.
Sunghoon couldn't die, not yet.
You had just reached the third floor when you felt it.
The cold ripple of something evil surfacing in your territory. Something dark. Hungry.
You sped up at that. Running frantically across the hallways, the sound of your heels clicking rapidly against the marbles, echoing in the chambers. Your heart thundering in your chest. So much for being 'dead'.
Finally.
You found him near the old staff hallway, pressed against a wall, struggling to breathe. His eyes were wide— not with fear, but with confusion— as the shadow in front of him twisted and hissed. A ghost, long-decayed.
It lashed at him— and in an instant, you stepped between.
Your hand reached up for the pretty yet sharp hairpin on your head. Your hair falling down in waves as you removed it and stabbed the ghost right into its center, sending it scattering into dust.
You let out a breath that you didn't realize were holding and turned around, helping Sunghoon to his feet. “What part of ‘stay in your room’ did your tiny, overworked brain not process?” you muttered, giving him a half heated glare as you dusted off his hoodie. Even though he could've done it himself. Weird.
He clutches his chest as tries to catch his breath, “What… was that?”
You sigh softly and shrug in response, wiping off the hairpin with your finger before tucking it back into your hair, "An evil ghost. Every now and then, some ghosts that have wandered around for too long, enter into the hotel and cause havoc, " you explain before adding more seriously,
"You really need to steer clear away from those. They can even hurt other ghosts. That would have been the end for you, if not for me," you explained, glancing at the mess of broken furniture on the floor.
Oh your poor pretty marble floors and the carefully chosen decor!
"T-thank you so much, for saving me. I-I'll pay for those."
You let out a small chuckle at that. This one not exactly mocking or carrying any malice. You meet his gaze, the look of shock and genuine regret in his eyes tugging at your heartstrings,
"Don't worry about it. This is not a normal hotel. Running this hotel doesn't cost any money," you say with a small dismissive wave of your hand.
"And don't be mistaken, I only saved you because I need some answers and sadly you being alive is a requirement," you joke. "Plus, my staff are overworked already. I didn't want them to clean up your corpse too," you joked again, this time earning a small glare from Sunghoon, who had now recovered from... whatever that was.
He dusted off his clothes once again and said dryly, "Right, right, I wouldn't want to cause your staff any inconvenience. They're already dealing with a handful of an owner," he hit back with a stupid grin, making you scoff in response. But you couldn't stop a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips at the ridiculous but… surprisingly nice banter.
You moved a few strands of your hair away from your eyes as you advised, "You were just attacked by an evil energy. You should get cleansed, just in case."
Sunghoon sighed at that and ran a hand through his own messy hair "Cleanse myself? I guess I do need some of that. My chest hurts a bit," his other hand going to his chest.
You turned serious at that and extended a hand towards him "Let's go to my suite. I have some salt and it will be more effective if I do it for you."
He hesitates for a moment but takes your hand anyways. His heart skipping a beat at how soft your hands felt.
He had not realized earlier just how small you actually were in comparison to him- you were quite a few inches shorter than him but those flashy heels of yours hid that, just like how your soft features were covered under all that makeup you put on.
His heart skipped another beat as his gaze fell to how small and delicate your hands looked in comparison to his own.
Whatever, it's just because I was shocked. Because I was attacked. Nothing like that. Just… heart palpitations. He tried to reason.
"Stay close to me, Sunghoon," you muttered as you two walked hand in hand across the hallways, towards your suite. Keeping a watchful eye for any lingering guests out of their rooms.
Heart palpitations? Maybe. But that had nothing to do with the warmth spreading through him at the sound of his name on your lips. Had my name always sounded that sweet?
"Gosh, you really need to get cleansed. Your face is turning red," you mutter seriously as you spare him another glance. All you get in response is Sunghoon choking on his spit.
Author's note: There we have it, a chapter giving more insight into reader's life and personality. The next chapter will be focusing more on sunghoon, giving him more depth and their connection growing. Honestly, i had a lot of fun writing this and i was very satisfied with the outcome. Let me know what you guys thought, if anyone wants to be added to the taglist and feel free to send asks. Thanks for reading!
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⚠️ㅤㅤ·ㅤㅤminors dni, explicit sexual content, edging, overstimulation, unprotected sex (pls don’t), nipple play, dirty talk, rough handling / mild domination, crying, depictions of character death and mutual suicide (joseon era), hospital/coma trauma, sunghoon being a jerk, jay is a hot grim reaper:), giselle is a tarot expert, yunjin is the ultimate hype-girl...
ivy ♡ : HAPPY READING EVERYONE!!! finally 😭😭 there's still one more part because i ended up writing way too much 😭😭 also, i'll be update the jay smau too lol. this is literally my second time writing something like this, so if it flops... i'm deleting it LMAOO 😭✌🏻 reblogs are greatly appreciated and the taglist is still open as always! thank you so much ♡__♡
EVERYONE ON CAMPUS KNEW PARK SUNGHOON. IT WAS HONESTLY EXHAUSTING HOW PREDICTABLE IT WAS
the guy walked into a lecture hall and half the girls in the room suddenly forgot how to breathe. he carried himself with this effortless, arrogant tilt of the head, completely aware of the eyes tracking his every move, his ego fed daily by whispered compliments and lingering stares. he was the university’s golden boy, untouchable, sharp, and brutally handsome
but to everyone's collective heartbreak, he belonged to you
and god, you loved him so much it made your chest ache. you were the textbook definition of "girlier than most" you loved soft pastel cardigans, spent too long matching your ribbons to your tote bags. you were smart, a straight-A student doing a grueling dual-degree track, but you wore your emotions completely on your sleeve. a total crybaby, sunghoon used to tease, back when he used to press kisses into your hair to dry your tears
you’ve been together for two years. two whole years of being that couple. he had chased you first, pursuing you with a fierce, quiet intensity until you finally gave in. for twenty-four months, you were his world, and he was yours
except, lately, the air between you had gone cold
it started out small, a text left on read for six hours. the way he didn’t hold your hand in the car anymore because his fingers were glued to his screen, smiling at notifications he’d quickly lock away if you leaned in too close. you tried to tell yourself you were just being paranoid, that engineering was just getting stressful for him. but you weren't stupid, you could feel the space widening between you, a silent chasm growing larger with every passing day
which brought you here. a chilly tuesday night, walking side by side through the campus park
the streetlamps threw long, warped shadows across the concrete. you shivered slightly, pulling your knit cardigan tighter around your shoulders, waiting for him to notice. usually, he’d grumble about you not wearing a proper coat and drape his oversized leather jacket over you. tonight, sunghoon just stared straight ahead, his hands shoved deep into his own pockets, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek
"sunghoon," you said softly, your voice barely a breath in the cool night air. "are you okay? you've been really quiet tonight."
he didn't stop walking, he didn't even look at you. "i'm fine, y/n. just thinking."
you reached out, your fingers lightly brushing the sleeve of his jacket, desperate for any shred of the warmth you used to take for granted. "thinking about what?" you whispered
finally, he stopped. they were right under the dim, buzzing glow of a streetlamp. when he turned to face you, there was no affection in his eyes. just a chilling, detached emptiness that made you want to turn around and run
"we need to stop doing this," sunghoon said, his voice didn’t even shake. it was completely steady, cutting through the quiet night air like a blade
you froze, your hand dropping from his sleeve. the cold air hit your bare skin instantly, but it was nothing compared to the ice suddenly flooding your veins. "stop doing what?" you asked
sunghoon let out a short, sighing breath, tilting his head back to look at the dark sky before bringing his gaze right back to you. there wasn't a hint of hesitation in his eyes. "this, us. i’m tired of pretending, y/n."
"pretending?" your voice cracked
"i like someone else," he said flatly. the world felt like it tilted on its axis
you stared at him, your chest heaving as the first tear spilled over, tracking down your cheek. "what... what do you mean? who?"
"her name is sooha," he said, and for the first time all night, his expression shifted but it wasn't out of guilt. a tiny, almost imperceptible soften occurred around his eyes when he muttered her name, and it felt like a physical slap to your face. "we've been seeing each other for about two months now."
two months, eight weeks and sixty days of him coming over to your apartment, kissing your forehead, letting you cook for him, all while he was coming from or going to someone else. the betrayal hit you like a physical blow, leaving you completely breathless. your knees felt weak, you couldn't stand straight
you were sobbing now, big, quiet, trembling tears that shook your entire frame. you looked up at him through a wet blur, expecting to see a flicker of the boy who used to panic whenever you cried
sunghoon just stood there, looking down at you and as he watched you fall apart, his posture actually straightened. seeing you completely wrecked over him didn't make him feel guilty, it fed his monstrous ego. he looked at your tears as proof of his power, a testament to how deeply he could affect someone
"so that's it," he said, crossing his arms. "i'm not gonna lie to you anymore, it's over."
"no," you gasped out, the word slipping past your trembling lips before you could stop it. you hated how desperate you sounded, but you were desperate. "no, sunghoon, please. just... give me one month."
he frowned, his eyebrows snapping together in annoyance. "are you serious right now? y/n, i literally just told you i don't love you anymore. i’m with sooha."
"i know!" you cried, burying your face in your hands for a second before looking back up, your eyes red and pleading. "i know. just... one month. don't break up with me until next month, please. after that, you can leave. you can do whatever you want, just give me thirty days."
sunghoon scoffed, turning his face away in disgust. "this is pathetic. why would i do that? i want to be with her openly."
"please, sunghoon," you begged, taking a step closer, your hands trembling by your sides
you didn't tell him why, you didn't tell him that in exactly thirty days, your flight out of the country was booked. you didn't remind him about the dual-degree program in Europe you'd gotten into. the one you'd excitedly babbled about two years ago when you first met, back when he actually listened to you. he obviously didn't remember it now
he stared at you for a long, agonizing moment, weighing his options. "fine," he finally spat out, a harsh, arrogant smirk pulling at the corner of his lips
"one month. but let's get something straight, y/n. don't go demanding my time, don't text me asking where i am, and don't expect me to act like your perfect boyfriend. my affection is split now, and honestly? most of it is going to her. you don't get to protest, and you don't get to complain. take it or leave it."
you swallowed the lump in your throat, wiped your wet cheeks with the sleeve of your pastel cardigan, and nodded. "okay," you whispered. "okay."
by the third day of the first week, any lingering hope you had left was completely dead
the reality of the one month deal was so much uglier than you had anticipated. sunghoon didn't just split his affection, he completely turned it off. you were treated like an annoying ghost he couldn't wait to exorcise from his life
it was a thursday afternoon when you saw a post on your feed about that new bakery cafe that just opened near the arts building, the one with the pastel blue storefront and the fluffy cloud pastries you’d been talking about wanting to try for months
normally, if you showed sunghoon a place like that, he’d roll his eyes, call it "too pink," but then immediately grab his car keys and pull his shoes on because he secretly loved indulging you. so, swallowing your pride, you typed out a quick message
you: hey, do you want to check out that new cafe today? my classes finish at three
hoon 🤍: can't. sooha wanted to go to that new pasta place downtown
your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, a hot, familiar wave of frustration rushing up your throat. you wanted to throw your phone. you wanted to scream at him, to scream that you were still his girlfriend, that he promised you thirty days, that it wasn't fair
but then you caught your reflection in the dark screen of your laptop. you saw your own tired eyes, and you remembered. thirty days. you only had to endure this for twenty-seven more days, and then you’d be on a flight across the world, leaving him behind forever. you couldn't ruin the plan
the next day: day four, started out weirdly different. you were sitting in your afternoon lecture, staring blankly at a slide about international trade laws, when your phone buzzed against your thigh. you figured it was yunjin asking what they should get for dinner, but when you unlocked it, your heart did a stupid, pathetic little flip
hoon 🤍: i'll pick you up after your class. meet me by the outdoor basketball courts at 4:30
it was the first time in a week he had texted you first. you hadn't even had to double-text him. a tiny, foolish part of you wondered if maybe he missed you, if maybe spending time with sooha made him realize what he was throwing away
the only issue was the location. the outdoor basketball courts were on the complete opposite side of the campus, a massive trek from the humanities building. you’d have to walk down three long, winding corridors, and cut straight through the open park
by the time the professor dismissed the class, it wasn't just raining it was pouring, a heavy, aggressive downpour that blurred the campus windows into gray sheets. you stood at the exit of the building, looking down at your canvas tote bag and your thin cardigan. you didn't have an umbrella. you’d forgotten it in the dorm
but sunghoon was waiting, he was actually coming to get you
so, taking a deep breath, you tucked your phone securely into the inner pocket of your cardigan and ran out into the rain
the walk was brutal. within seconds, the freezing water soaked through your pastel clothes, making the fabric stick heavily to your skin. the wind was sharp, cutting right through you as you hurried down the empty walkways, the cold rain stinging your face and blurring your eyes. by the time you finally reached the outdoor basketball courts, you were completely drenched. your hair was matted to your neck, and your sneakers squelched miserably with every step
the courts were completely empty, looking bleak and miserable under the heavy gray sky. there was a small metal bench under a half-broken plastic awning that barely did anything to block the wind
you sat down, shivering violently, your teeth literally chattering as you pulled your knees to your chest to keep warm. you checked your phone. 4:35 PM
you: i'm here!
you texted, your fingers shaking so badly you could barely hit the right letters. you waited,ten minutes became thirty. thirty minutes became an hour. the sky started to turn a dark, bruised purple as the sun went down, the campus streetlamps flickering to life
the rain didn't slow down it just got colder, the damp chill seeping straight into your bones until you couldn't even feel your toes anymore
by 6:00 PM, you had been sitting on that freezing metal bench for almost two full hours. your skin was pale, your lips felt blue, and a sharp, throbbing ache had started to form right behind your eyes. the tears that finally slipped down your face were warm against your freezing cheeks, but they were quickly washed away by the relentless rain
you finally stood up, your legs shaking so badly you almost tripped over your own feet, and began the long, agonizing walk back to the dorms alone in the dark
the minute you walked through the door, giselle gasped, immediately dropping her laptop and rushing to the closet to pull out the thickest, most oversized blankets she could find. yunjin steered you straight into the bathroom, turning the shower on to a steaming, scalding hot temperature
"get in there right now," yunjin ordered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. "don't come out until you can feel your skin again."
it took an hour under the hot water just to stop shaking. when you finally crawled out, dressed in yunjin’s thickest sweatpants and wrapped in three blankets, your phone buzzed on the nightstand
your throat felt raw, a harsh cough tearing through your chest as you reached out a trembling hand to pick it up
hoon 🤍: shit, y/n, i forgot. sooha called me right after i texted you
hoon 🤍: she needed someone to drive her to that nail art place across town because it was raining
hoon 🤍: sorry, hope you didn't wait too long
a harsh, bitter laugh escaped your lips, turning immediately into another painful cough. hope you didn't wait too long. two hours in the freezing rain, while he was sitting in a warm car, waiting for another girl to get her nails done
by the second day of the second week, your fever had finally broken, leaving you with nothing but a lingering cough and an incredibly heavy heart. you were sitting at the edge of your desk, mindlessly staring at the rain-streaked window, when your phone buzzed
hoon 🤍: i’m outside, let’s go to campus together
you stared at the screen for a full minute. your ego told you to ignore it, to walk to class in the damp air just to prove a point. but the truth was, you were just so tired. the anger from the basketball court had faded into a dull, numb acceptance. you missed him. you missed the routine of him. so, swallowing down the bitter taste of pride, you grabbed your tote bag and headed downstairs
his sleek, expensive car was idling by the curb, the engine a low, wealthy hum against the morning quiet. you walked up to the passenger door, a tiny, fragile sense of normalcy settling into your chest. you reached for the handle, pulling it open with a soft, practiced smile
"hey—"
"don't sit there." the words were cold, cutting you off before you could even fully open the door. sunghoon didn't look at you. his hands were resting casually on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed forward
you froze, the door halfway open, the cool morning breeze hitting your face. "what?" you whispered, your voice catching in your throat
"go sit in the back," he said, his tone entirely casual, like he was asking you to pass the salt. "sooha’s joining us. she’s getting picked up down the street, and she likes the front seat."
it felt like a physical punch to the stomach. the sheer humiliation of it settled deep under your skin, hot and prickly. you stood there on the pavement, the door handle still in your hand, your eyes stinging instantly
with a trembling lip and a heavy, robotic movement, you gently clicked the passenger door shut. you walked to the rear, opened the back door, and slid onto the leather seat. sitting in the back of your own boyfriend's car felt like the ultimate demotion
two minutes later, the car pulled up to the corner of the humanities building and there she was
sooha looked perfect. her hair was done in soft, effortless waves, her lip gloss catching the gray morning light as she practically bounced toward the car. she pulled open the passenger door and slid in, completely filling the vehicle with the sweet, suffocating scent of a floral perfume that wasn't yours
"hi, baby," she purred, leaning over the center console
and right there, right in front of you in the rearview mirror, sunghoon did something he hadn't done for you in months. a soft, genuine smile broke across his face, the kind of smile that used to belong entirely to you. he leaned in, meeting her halfway, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss right against her lips. it was so natural, so domestic, that it looked like they had been doing it for years
you choked on your own breath, quickly turning your face toward the side window, staring blindly at the passing campus buildings. your chest was heaving, a tight, suffocating sob building up in your throat, but you forced it down until your throat literally burned
for the entire fifteen-minute drive, you didn't exist. they talked about their weekend plans, laughed at inside jokes you didn't understand, and sunghoon’s left hand rested firmly on her thigh the entire time. you just stared out at the gray concrete, a ghost trapped in the backseat of your own life
by the sixth day of that same week, the silence was driving you crazy. you needed to know if there was even a single piece of the old sunghoon left inside that arrogant shell. so, you decided to push
you: can we do dinner tonight? just to talk
you expected a rejection, or worse, to be completely ignored. but to your utter surprise, his bubble popped up almost instantly
hoon 🤍: fine, i made a reservation at that Italian place near the square. 7:30 PM. don't be late
a reservation, he actually made a reservation. for a split second, your naive, bleeding heart let out a breath of relief. maybe he wanted to apologize properly. maybe the guilt had finally caught up to him
you spent two hours getting ready. you wore a soft, cream-colored dress he used to love, painstakingly styled your hair, and did your makeup with extra care to hide the dark circles under your eyes from all the sleepless nights. you wanted him to see you
you arrived at the restaurant at 7:15 PM. the place was beautiful, dimly lit, warm, filled with the soft clink of wine glasses and the murmur of couples laughing. the hostess led you to a small, intimate booth in the corner
"just waiting on one more," you told her with a small, hopeful smile.
7:30 PM. you texted him
you: i'm here! table 14.
8:00 PM. the waiter came by for the third time, offering a polite but pitying smile. "can I get you a starter while you wait, miss?"
"no, thank you," you murmured, your fingers tightly gripping your glass of water. "he should be here soon. he’s probably just caught in traffic."
9:30 PM. the restaurant was starting to empty out. the warm, romantic atmosphere now felt like a mocking theater stage, and you were the main joke. your phone sat on the white tablecloth, dark and completely silent. you hadn't even gotten a read receipt
by 11:15 PM, the staff was starting to flip the chairs onto the neighboring tables. the waiter came back, his expression entirely sympathetic. "i'm sorry, miss, but we're closing up the kitchen."
you paid for the untouched bottle of water, stood up on trembling legs, and walked out into the cool night air. but this time, the sadness didn't come. for the first time in two weeks, the crushing weight in your chest didn't turn into soft, pitiful tears. it turned into hot, blinding, volatile rage
you didn't go back to your dorm. instead, your feet marched blindly toward the boys' upperclassmen residence. toward sunghoon’s apartment
you didn't even knock. you knew the keycode, he’d never bothered to change it. you punched the numbers in with an aggressive, shaking hand and yanked the heavy wooden door open
the living room was quiet, lit only by a single desk lamp. sitting at the kitchen island was jake, sunghoon’s roommate. he was the textbook definition of a quiet genius, glasses perched on his nose, surrounded by thick textbooks, always a bit stiff and awkward around people, though he’d always been perfectly polite to you
the second the door slammed against the wall, jake jumped, his pen slipping from his hand. his eyes went wide behind his lenses as he took in your appearance, the fancy dress, the smudged makeup, the absolute aura of fury radiating off you
"y/n?" jake stammered, half-rising from his stool. "hey... what's going on? are you okay?"
you didn't even answer him. you didn't have the breath for it. without a word, you stormed right past him, your heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor as you marched straight toward the closed door of sunghoon’s bedroom.
"y/n, wait—" jake called out, his voice sharp with warning, but it was too late. you threw the bedroom door open
the sight inside made the blood in your veins instantly boil. sunghoon was sitting on his bed, his laptop open on his lap, and curled up right next to him, her head resting lazily on his shoulder, was sooha. they were watching a movie, a bag of popcorn sitting between them, looking like the picture-perfect image of a cozy, happy couple
both of them snapped their heads up. sooha gasped, instantly pulling away from him, her eyes wide with manufactured innocence
sunghoon’s expression didn't even soften into guilt. instead, his eyebrows snapped together, his arrogant features hardening into pure, unadulterated annoyance. "what the hell do you think you're doing, y/n? do you know how to knock?"
"four hours," you choked out, your voice shaking violently, the rage finally cracking to let the agony leak through. "i sat in that restaurant for four hours, sunghoon! you made the reservation! you told me to be there!"
sunghoon let out a harsh, mocking scoff, closing his laptop with a loud snap. he stood up from the bed, towering over you, his ego flaring up at the confrontation. "and? something came up. sooha needed help with her study guide. are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?"
"something came up?!" you screamed, the tears finally bursting past your eyelids, hot and furious. "you left me there! you didn't even text me! i looked like a fucking idiot in front of the entire restaurant!"
"then don't look like an idiot!" sunghoon shot back, his voice rising, completely unapologetic. he took a step closer, looking down at you with total disdain. "this is exactly what i told you, y/n. this is the risk you chose to take. you’re the one who begged for this stupid month. you’re the one who wouldn't just let me go! no one is forcing you to stay with me, if you can't handle how things are now, then leave! you look completely ridiculous right now."
the cruelty of his words felt like a physical slap. he was standing there, defending his cheating, turning the blame entirely on you because you had loved him enough to ask for time
you stared at him through your wet blur of vision. you looked at sooha, who was sitting quietly on the bed, watching the drama unfold with a tiny, satisfied smirk hidden behind her fingers
"i hate you," you whispered, your voice cracking into a broken, jagged sound. "i actually hate you."
you turned on your heel and bolted out of the room. jake was standing there, looking incredibly uncomfortable but deeply concerned. he stepped into your path, his hands slightly raised. "hey... y/n, wait. it's really late, let me drive you back to your dorm you shouldn't walk alone like this."
"no!" you sobbed out, pushing past his shoulder, completely unable to accept kindness from anyone associated with sunghoon right now
ever since that massive fight between you and sunghoon, his phone has been a ghost town. you used to be the first person he texted when he woke up, the one he’d spam with random memes or complain to about his day. now? absolute silence not a single typing bubble, no read receipts
because sunghoon completely checked out. he packed up all his attention, his time, and his energy, and handed it over to sooha
today isn't any different. it’s a random afternoon, and his lock screen lights up with a message from her
sooha: hey, can we go out today? i really want to clear my mind
and just like that, sunghoon is already grabbing his keys. there’s no hesitation, no second thoughts about how he left things completely broken with you. he’s entirely focused on being sooha's knight in shining armor
the air in his car smells faintly of his expensive cologne mixed with the stale warmth of the afternoon sun. he turns the ignition, the engine humming to life as he hooks his phone to the dashboard and sets the GPS for sooha’s apartment
at first, everything is fine. it’s just a typical, mundane drive. the radio is playing some low, ambient indie track that he isn't really listening to
then, the traffic slows to a painful, agonizing crawl. sunghoon sighs, drumming his fingers against the leather wheel. he glances at the clock on the dashboard. rolling down the window a crack, he lets the humid city air fill the car, hoping it’ll snap him out of his annoyed mood
finally, the lane moves. the car in front of him advances, and sunghoon presses his foot onto the gas pedal, moving forward into the intersection
he doesn't even have time to blink
from the peripheral vision of his right eye, a blinding flash of silver streaks through the intersection. a car is speeding way too fast, completely ignoring the red light, barreling straight toward him from the side street
the sound of tires screeching violently against asphalt echoes for a split second, tearing through the quiet afternoon. sunghoon’s instincts kick in too late. his hands jerk the steering wheel to the left, his heart dropping into his stomach, a cold wave of pure terror freezing the blood in his veins
CRASH
the impact is deafening. it’s a sickening, metallic crunch that shatters the windows instantly, raining thousands of tiny glass diamonds into the air. the sheer force of the collision sends sunghoon's car flying, spinning like a useless toy through the air before it slams violently onto the hard pavement, flipping onto its side
inside the wreckage, everything happens in horrifying slow motion. sunghoon’s body is thrown violently against the door, his head cracking hard against the frame. the airbag deploys with a loud pop, but it does little to stop the devastating momentum
and then, silence
sunghoon is slumped over the shattered steering wheel, completely covered in dark, warm blood that drips down his forehead, matting his dark hair and pooling on the cracked dashboard. his breathing is shallow, ragged, and weak. within seconds, the overwhelming pain numbs into nothingness as his vision fades to pitch black. he loses consciousness entirely
outside, the world erupts into absolute chaos
"oh my god! someone call 911!"
"is he alive?! look at the car!"
"hey, can you hear me?! stay with us!"
bystanders run over in a panic, shouting, waving their arms, hands trembling as they dial emergency numbers. the scene is a total nightmare smoke rising from the crushed hood, the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline filling the air
then, a weird sensation washes over him. sunghoon opens his eyes. the blinding headache is gone, the agonizing pressure in his chest vanished. he blinks, looking around, feeling strangely light. he looks down at his hands, they’re completely clean, no blood, no scratches
"ugh... what the hell happened?" he mutters, groaning in sheer annoyance as he pushes himself up from the ground. he ruffles his hair, thoroughly pissed off that his drive got interrupted by some idiot driver
he looks around to see a crowd of people huddled around a overturned, wrecked car
"hey!" sunghoon calls out, stepping toward a guy who is frantically talking on his phone. "hey, man, did someone hit me? what’s going on?"
the man doesn't even blink. he keeps talking into his phone, his voice shaking. "yes, an ambulance, quickly! there's a guy trapped inside, he's bleeding out really bad!"
sunghoon frowns, confusion clouding his features. "dude? i'm right here, walkie-talkie guy, look at me!" he steps right into the man's line of sight, waving a hand directly in front of his eyes
nothing. the man walks straight through sunghoon's shoulder to get a better look at the wreck
sunghoon freezes. a cold shiver runs down his spine. he turns around slowly, his chest heaving with a panic he can’t quite explain. he approaches a woman who is crying, stepping right up to her face, mere inches away. "excuse me? can you hear me? look at me, please!"
she looks right through him, her eyes fixed on the car. sunghoon slowly follows her gaze. he looks through the shattered windshield of the flipped vehicle
and his heart stops
there, trapped in the driver's seat, covered in blood and looking completely lifeless, is him, his own body
"no... no, no, no, this is a joke," sunghoon whispers, stumbling backward. his hands grip his own hair, his breathing turns erratic. his soul, his actual spirit had completely detached from his physical body. he's dead or dying. he’s a ghost. "this can't be happening, this is insane!"
"wow, now that was an absolute cinema-level crash. pure epicness." a sharp, drippingly sarcastic voice cuts through sunghoon's spiraling panic
sunghoon snaps his head around. a guy is leaning against a nearby lamppost, completely unfazed by the horrific scene. he looks around sunghoon’s age, rocking a look that screams effortless arrogance. his skin has a flawless, warm honey glow, and his jawline is so sharp it could genuinely cut glass. he’s wearing an outfit that feels a bit too sharp for a casual tuesday, and his lips are curled into a highly amused, thoroughly punchable smirk
sunghoon stares at him, dumbfounded. "you... you're talking to me?"
"obviously. unless you see another floating soul having a mid-life crisis right now," the guy scoffs, rolling his eyes
"who the hell are you?" sunghoon demands, his temper flaring despite the terrifying situation. "and why can you see me when nobody else can?"
the guy stands up straight, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off his jacket. he walks over to sunghoon with a slow, swaggering gait that matches sunghoon’s own usual arrogance. "i'm jongseong but you can call me jay and as for why i can see you..." jay flashes a sharp, knowing grin, his eyes gleaming with something ancient and dark. "i'm a grim reaper."
sunghoon lets out a loud, mocking laugh, though it sounds a bit hollow. "a grim reaper? are you out of your mind? you're freaking delusional, dude. stop watching so many dramas."
"oh, a skeptic. love to see it," jay chuckles, completely unbothered
"i'm not dead," sunghoon snaps, turning his back on jay. "i just need to... i just need to get back in there. it’s a glitch, i'm going back."
sunghoon charges toward the wrecked car, determined to shove his spirit back into his bloody body. he lunges forward, trying to force himself through the shattered window, trying to merge back with his flesh and bones
but he just passes right through it like smoke, stumbling out the other side of the car, landing awkwardly on the pavement. he tries again, more aggressively this time, grabbing at his own bloody shoulder, but his ghostly hands slide through his own skin like water
from behind him, a loud, echoing burst of laughter breaks the air. jay is literally clutching his stomach, laughing so hard his eyes crinkle. "oh my god, please keep doing that. that is hilarious, you look like a bird flying straight into a glass window over and over again."
"shut up!" sunghoon yells, spinning around, his face flushed with embarrassment and rage. "how do i get back in?! tell me!"
jay wipes a tear of laughter from his eye, his expression suddenly shifting into something more professional, though the smug aura never truly leaves him. "look, buddy, here’s the deal. if that ambulance over there doesn't show up in time? i'm officially cutting your soul's silver cord and taking you upstairs or downstairs wherever you're headed."
sunghoon’s face goes pale. "you're going to kill me?"
"hey, don't blame the messenger," jay says, raising his hands in defense. "but lucky for you, your official death notice hasn't popped up on my phone yet. meaning, you're technically not scheduled to die today"
sunghoon lets out a breath he doesn't even need to take, feeling a tiny sliver of hope. "okay, fine. then let me back in i need to go back to my life. i have things to do, i have to see sooha. i have to..." his voice trails off, his mind suddenly flashing to a memory of you, standing in the rain, crying during your fight
"i want to go back," sunghoon insists, stepping closer to jay, his eyes dead serious. "make it happen."
jay stops smirking. his eyes narrow into a sharp, piercing stare that makes sunghoon feel completely naked under his gaze. jay steps closer, tilted his head slightly, his tone dropping into something incredibly chilling
"make it happen? wow, you really are an arrogant piece of work, aren't you?" jay whispers, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, but it’s entirely devoid of warmth. "you want to go back so badly... but you're conveniently forgetting something pretty major, park sunghoon."
sunghoon blinks, a sudden wave of confusion washing over him. "forgetting what?"
jay takes one more step forward, his shadow casting over sunghoon's spiritual form. "did you seriously forget? you forgot about the promise you made, didn't you?"
sunghoon stands completely frozen, his mind racing as he stares into jay’s intense, unreadable eyes. a promise? what promise? he tries to rack his brain, searching through every memory, every corner of his mind, but nothing comes up. yet, looking at jay’s deadly serious face, a creeping sense of dread whispers that whatever he forgot. it was going to cost him everything
meanwhile, on the exact opposite side of the city,
BANG
the violent sound of your bedroom door slamming against the wall forcefully yanks you out of your deep slumber. your heart instantly leaps into your throat, your eyes flying open as you gasp for air, completely disoriented.
"Y/N! WAKE UP! y/n, please, get up right now!" yunjin bursts into the room like a hurricane, her face completely pale, eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated panic
right behind her is giselle, who isn't even looking at you, she’s frantically scanning your room, grabbing your black denim jacket from the chair and throwing your wallet and phone into a canvas tote bag
"w-what... what's happening?" you stammer, your voice thick and raspy from sleep. you try to sit up, but your brain is still foggy, sluggishly trying to process why your roommates look like the world is ending. "yunjin, you're scaring me, what—"
"y/n, look at me. focus on me," yunjin interrupts, her voice trembling violently. she lunges onto the bed, her hands coming up to pat your cheeks with frantic, stinging slaps to force the sleep out of your system. "wake up, seriously, we need to go now."
"yunjin, stop! why are you slapping me?!" you yell, pulling your head back, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird
"it's sunghoon," yunjin says, the words tearing out of her throat in a broken sob. "he was in a car accident, y/n. a really, really bad one. he’s at the city hospital right now, we have to go."
it feels like all the oxygen is suddenly sucked out of the room. the name sunghoon echoes in your mind, followed by accident, but your brain flat-out refuses to connect the two words. sunghoon? your sunghoon?
"no," you whisper, your voice suddenly sounding miles away. "no, he’s... he’s fine. he’s with sooha. he—"
"y/n, please, just put the jacket on!" giselle begs from the doorway, her voice cracking as she shoves the denim sleeves into your trembling hands
the panic hits you all at once, a brutal, freezing wave that completely shatters your numbness
the hospital smell hits you first, your sneakers squeak loudly against the polished white floors as you, yunjin, and giselle sprint toward the emergency waiting room. your eyes wild, scanning the rows of plastic chairs until you spot two familiar figures standing near the glass doors of the ICU
it’s jake and heeseung. sunghoon's best friends look completely unrecognizable. jake is pacing a small strip of the floor, his skin a sickly, translucent white. his hands are shoved deep into his pockets, but you can see his entire frame shaking. he’s chewing on his bottom lip so hard it’s practically bleeding, his eyes staring blankly at the floor as he fights a losing battle against his own tears
next to him, heeseung is leaning heavily against the wall, his head tilted back, eyes tightly shut. his jaw is clenched so hard the muscles are jumping, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together
the moment jake hears your frantic footsteps, he looks up. the absolute, raw devastation in his eyes tells you everything you never wanted to know.
"y/n," jake chokes out, his voice dropping an octave, completely broken
the tears you’ve been holding back for three weeks. the tears you swore you wouldn't cry today come crashing down like a collapsed dam. a loud, pathetic sob tears out of your throat, and your knees instantly give out. if it weren't for giselle catching you by your armpits, you would have collapsed right there on the dirty hospital floor
"hey, hey, i’ve got you. breathe, y/n, please just breathe," giselle whispers frantically, wrapping her arms tightly around your shaking shoulders, pulling you into a plastic chair
but you can’t breathe. your chest is heaving, your vision completely blurred by a endless stream of hot, burning tears. you bury your face in your hands, your whole body convulsing with agonizing grief
and then, through the blur of your tears, you see her. sooha is sitting just a few chairs down
she’s completely neat, not a single hair out of place. her face is pale, and yeah, she looks kind of sad, maybe a little stressed by the sterile atmosphere but there isn't a single tear on her face. her eyes are completely dry. she’s just sitting there, hands neatly folded in her lap, watching the chaos
yunjin marches straight up to sooha, her eyes blazing with pure fury. "what the hell are you even doing here?" she spits, her voice a lethal, venomous whisper that cuts through the waiting room. "he was on his way to you, this is your fault! get the hell out of here, you don't belong here."
sooha shrinks back slightly, her bottom lip quivering in a perfectly practiced display of innocence. "i... i just wanted to make sure he was—"
"i said leave!" yunjin barks, stepping closer, her hands curling into fists
"yunjin, stop! don't do this here," giselle hissed, quickly letting go of you for a second to grab yunjin’s arm, physically pulling her back before a full-blown fistfight could break out in front of the nurses' station. "not right now."
what none of them know is that they aren't alone
standing literally three inches away from jake, staring frantically into his pale face, is the spirit of park sunghoon
"jake! jake, look at me, bro, i'm right here!" sunghoon yells, waving his hands wildly in front of his best friend’s face. "stop pacing, you're making me nervous! i'm fine! look at me!"
jake just walks straight through sunghoon's chest to grab a paper cup of water from heeseung. sunghoon shudders as the cold sensation of jake’s physical body passes through his soul, leaving him feeling emptier than before
he spins around, looking at heeseung. "heeseung! please, tell me you can hear me. i'm not dead, okay? the doctors are tripping."
heeseung just sighs, rubbing his tired eyes, completely ignoring the ghost screaming in his face
"whew, rough crowd," jay's smooth, mocking voice floats from the corner of the room. the grim reaper is currently sitting casually on top of a vending machine, swinging his legs back and forth, holding a glowing digital ledger that looks like a sleek black smartphone. "told you, buddy. you're a radio station with no frequency right now they can't hear your broadcast."
"shut up, jay!" sunghoon snaps, his frustration peaking
just then, yunjin starts screaming at sooha. sunghoon’s eyes widen as he sees yunjin invading sooha’s personal space. a protective surge of anger flares in his chest. he charges over, throwing himself between them, trying to shove yunjin away
"hey! back off her, you psycho!" sunghoon roars at yunjin, his face contorted with rage. "don't you dare touch her! she didn't do anything wrong! yunjin, i swear to god, if you don't get your hands off her—" his ghostly hands pass harmlessly through yunjin’s shoulders, leaving him panting with useless fury
he turns to sooha, his voice softening into frantic desperation. "sooha, look at me. i'm right here. don't listen to her, okay? i'm fine." but sooha’s blank, tearless eyes are fixed entirely on the floor, not even glancing in his direction
and then, sunghoon's gaze shifts. he looks over at the plastic chairs. he hears your broken, jagged breaths, sees the way your fingers are clutching your jacket like it’s a lifeline
sunghoon lets out a heavy, irritated scoff, rolling his eyes so hard it looks painful.
"oh, for god's sake, y/n," sunghoon grumbles, his voice dripping with an incredibly harsh, dismissive edge. "stop overreacting. seriously, you're making a whole scene for absolutely no reason. we aren't even speaking, why are you crying like someone died? it’s so dramatic, just go home."
up on the vending machine, jay’s amused expression instantly vanishes. his eyebrows furrow as he looks down at sunghoon, slowly shaking his head in utter disbelief
"wow," jay mutters under his breath, his sharp jaw tightening. "you really are a piece of work, aren't you? a complete and utter idiot."
hours bleed into one another. the sky outside the hospital windows turns from a hazy twilight to a deep, pitch-black night
the red surgery light finally clicks off, and a tired doctor steps out, informing the group that sunghoon is stable. the impact was severe, but he managed to survive the worst of it. they’ve moved his physical body into a regular, private recovery room to monitor his comatose state
the relief in the hallway is palpable, but the exhaustion is heavier. one by one, the group starts to thin out. sooha leaves first, offering a quiet, polite excuse about her ride being outside, which yunjin handles with a lethal glare
heeseung and jake stay for another hour, staring at sunghoon’s pale, machine-hooked body through the window before heeseung gently pats jake's shoulder, whispering that they need to get some rest and come back in the morning
finally, it’s just you, yunjin, and giselle standing outside the quiet room.
"y/n, come on. let’s go home," yunjin says softly, her voice completely spent from the day's anger. she places a gentle hand on your arm. "the doctor said he’s stable. he’s not going to wake up tonight. you need to sleep, you’re pale as a ghost."
"yeah, let us take you back," giselle chimes in, her eyes pleading. "you've been crying for six hours straight, y/n. your body can't take this."
you look through the glass pane of the door. sunghoon looks so small in that massive hospital bed, surrounded by beeping monitors and clear plastic tubes. the sight of him like that makes a fresh wave of quiet ache bloom in your chest
you slowly pull your arm away from yunjin's grip, shaking your head. "no," you whisper, your voice barely audible, but completely unyielding. "i'm not leaving."
"y/n, please don't be stubborn—" yunjin starts, but you cut her off, looking up with raw, sleep-deprived, swollen eyes
"i'm staying, yunjin. please," you beg, your lower lip trembling. "just... let me stay with him, i can't leave him alone."
yunjin and giselle exchange a long, heartbroken look. they know that tone. there is absolutely no changing your mind. with a heavy sigh, giselle hands you the tote bag with your wallet and phone
"we'll come back first thing in the morning, okay? call us if anything changes. literally anything," giselle whispers, giving your shoulder a tight squeeze. yunjin gives you a sad, lingering look before the two of them turn around, their footsteps echoing down the long, empty corridor until the double doors click shut
days melt into each other until they completely lose all meaning
you’ve basically moved into this sterile, cramped hospital room, transforming the hard plastic chair next to sunghoon’s bed into your temporary home. the heavy scent of antiseptic and bleach doesn't even make you gag anymore
most of the time, you just sit there. you stare at his pale, unmoving face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the soft curve of his eyelids with your eyes, wishing with everything inside you that they would just flutter open. and then, without even realizing it, the hot tears start spilling over again, blurring your vision until you have to look away, wiping your face with the damp sleeve of your oversized hoodie
when the guilt and the ache get too heavy to carry, you try to distract yourself. you pull out your laptop, spreading your college textbooks across the tiny rolling tray table, attempting to type out essays for classes you haven't attended in days. but your brain is completely fried. you’ll read the same sentence five times, blink, and realize you haven't absorbed a single word. eventually, exhaustion wins. your head drops onto the hard edge of his mattress, your fingers loosely curling near his cold, unmoving hand, and you drift into a light, uncomfortable sleep, woken up every hour by the rhythmic, taunting beep of the heart monitor
and the entire time, sunghoon’s spirit is right there. he stands on the other side of the bed, crossing his arms, watching you throw your life away for him. it completely bewilders him
he watches you type, watches you cry, watches you slump over in deep exhaustion. why is she still here? he thinks, his chest tightening with a weird, suffocating mixture of irritation and something he refuses to acknowledge as guilt
we literally ended things on the worst possible terms. she should hate me, she should be at home, sleeping in her own bed, totally glad that i’m out of her hair. why doesn’t she just get bored and leave?
by the time the fourth day rolls around, something shifts in you. the crying spells have finally run dry, leaving you with a strange, hollow sort of energy
you pull your chair closer to his bed, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. you look at his quiet face, and for the first time in days, a tiny, sad smile touches your lips
"you're missing so much, you know," you whisper, your voice a little raspy from the dry hospital air
and then, you just start yapping. you talk because the silence in the room is too loud, and if you don't fill it with the sound of your own voice, you feel like you'll lose your mind
"class was honestly so miserable today, sunghoon. professor lee was going on and on about the midterm, and honestly, i think even he was bored of his own lecture. yunjin literally fell asleep right next to me and started snoring. it was so embarrassing, i had to keep coughing to cover it up."
you let out a soft, breathy chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the memory. sunghoon’s ghost stands right beside you, his head tilted as he stares down at you, completely transfixed by the sound of your voice.
"oh, and after class, i went to that little cafe down the street," you continue, your fingers absentmindedly smoothing out a crease in his hospital blanket. "the one with the really good iced americanos? yeah, i went there by myself. it felt super weird ordering just one cup. the barista asked where my 'tall, grumpy shadow' was, and i didn't even know what to say. i just told her you were taking a very long nap."
sunghoon's breath hitches. a tall, grumpy shadow. that's what the cafe staff used to call him because he'd always stand right behind you, looking thoroughly annoyed with the world until you handed him his drink
"afterward, me and giselle found this super sketchy tarot reading app," you say, a genuine smile breaking through your exhausted face. "we played around with it for hours, doing all these ridiculous future predictions. it told giselle she was going to marry a billionaire, which, honestly? totally tracks for her. it was so fun, sunghoon. we laughed so much."
your voice suddenly drops, the playful energy evaporating into thin air as you look at his closed eyes. your fingers twitch, desperately wanting to hold his hand, but you keep them to yourself
"but... the entire time, i just kept thinking about you," you whisper, your throat tightening up again. "the app said my future was full of 'waiting.' and it's right, i'm just waiting for you. please, sunghoon. just wake up already."
your eyelids grow incredibly heavy, the weight of the four-day burnout finally catching up to you. within minutes, your voice peters out, your head dropping onto your arms beside his hip, your breathing evening out into a deep, heavy slumber
sunghoon stares down at your sleeping form. his physical ears couldn't hear a single syllable, but his soul heard every single word, every little shift in your tone, every quiet breath. his chest aches. it’s a phantom pain, but it hurts so bad he has to take a step back
unable to handle the suffocating atmosphere of the room anymore, and still entirely too stubborn to let himself soften up, sunghoon turns around and walks straight through the hospital wall
he wanders out into the empty, moonlit courtyard of the hospital, the cold night air doing nothing to his ghostly body. he storms over to a stone bench and stands there, thoroughly frustrated
"jay!" sunghoon shouts into the dark, empty air. "hey! grim reaper guy! get out here right now!"
with a soft, shimmering ripple in the air, jay materializes, sitting cross-legged on the top of the courtyard brick wall. he’s holding an apple, tossing it casually in the air and catching it. "jeez, turn down the volume, will you? i was in the middle of a really good nap. what’s burning your soul today, kid?"
"the promise," sunghoon demands, stepping closer, his knuckles white as he fisted his hands. "you said i forgot a promise. what promise? who did i make it to? tell me!"
jay stops tossing the apple. he looks down at sunghoon, his dark eyes entirely unreadable, a cool, indifferent expression on his handsome face. he bites into the fruit with a crisp, loud crunch. "can't do that, buddy. cosmic rules and all that. if i just hand you the cheat sheet, it defeats the whole purpose of your little soul-searching journey."
"i don't care about the cosmic rules!" sunghoon roars, his anger flaring. "i’m trapped in a body that won't wake up, my friends think i'm dying, and i'm losing my mind! just tell me!"
jay doesn't say a word. he just chews slowly, giving sunghoon a look full of pity and mild annoyance
frustrated beyond belief, sunghoon kicks a loose pebble on the ground, his foot passing straight through it. "fine, whatever. you’re useless," he grumbles, turning his back on the reaper. "i need to get out of here. i need a change of scenery before i go completely insane."
"oh? going for a stroll?" jay asks, hopping down from the wall with effortless grace, landing silently on his feet. "where to?"
"i want to see sooha," sunghoon says, his voice tightening. the thought of her suddenly blooms in his mind. "she hasn't been back to the hospital since the first day. she’s probably a total wreck, she's probably crying her eyes out at home, waiting for news. i need to check on her."
jay lets out a low, amused hum, a dangerous smirk slowly creeping back onto his sharp lips. "sooha, huh? well, you can certainly try to go see her. you're technically tethered to the city right now, basically anywhere within the radius of your accident or where your physical body is. sooha's apartment is well within the boundary. lead the way, lover boy."
"sooha? i'm here," he calls out automatically, even though he knows she can't hear him. he doesn't even bother knocking, he just steel himself and walks straight through the heavy wooden door
the words freeze completely in his throat. his entire ghostly form goes rigid, a cold, sickening shock rippling through his soul
there, on the plush velvet sofa, is sooha. but she isn't crying, she isn't a wreck. she isn't looking through old photos of them or praying for his recovery. she’s wrapped tightly in the arms of some random guy sunghoon has never seen before in his life
the guy’s jacket is thrown carelessly on the floor, and sooha’s hands are buried deep in his hair, her lips pressed against his in a deep, frantic, incredibly enthusiastic make-out session. she giggles between kisses, a soft, breathy sound that sunghoon recognizes all too well, except it was never meant for someone else
"mnh, stop," sooha whispers playfully, pulling back just an inch, a flush on her cheeks. "what if someone calls from the hospital?"
"who cares?" the guy scoffs, leaning back in, tracing his hands down her waist. "the guy’s in a literal coma, sooha. he's not checking his phone anytime soon. let’s just enjoy the quiet."
sooha hums in agreement, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him back down into another breathless kiss
sunghoon feels like he’s been hit by a semi-truck all over again. his breath hitches, his eyes wide with horror and absolute betrayal. his chest feels like it’s being ripped open by bare hands
"no... no, this isn't real," sunghoon whispers, stepping backward, his hands trembling violently. "sooha... how could you?"
from the doorway, a loud, roaring burst of laughter shatters the heavy silence. jay is literally leaning against the doorframe, clutching his stomach, laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking violently. "oh my god! an absolute classic! 'he's in a literal coma, sooha!' whew, that is cold-blooded! pure cinema!"
"shut up! shut the hell up!" sunghoon screams, spinning around, his face completely distorted with a mixture of raw heartbreak and humiliating fury. he can't stand to look at the couch for even another second. the sight of them makes him want to vomit
without another word, sunghoon flees. he sprints out of the apartment, tearing through the walls, running as fast as his spiritual form can carry him, desperate to erase the image of sooha's betrayal from his mind
he doesn't stop running until he’s back in the quiet, dark hospital courtyard, collapsing onto the grass, panting heavily even though his lungs don't need air. his chest is heaving, his heart or where his heart used to be throbbing with a brutal, burning frustration
jay materializes beside him, finally wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, though his expression tones down into something a bit more mocking. "well, that was educational, wasn't it? turns out your little princess didn't even need a tissue."
"i said shut up!" sunghoon yells, grabbing his own hair, his ego completely shattered into a million sharp, painful pieces
he was such a fool. a complete, arrogant idiot. he had pushed everyone away, he had pushed you away for a girl who didn't even care if he lived or died
while sooha was making out with another guy, you were sitting in a cramped, sterile room, starving yourself, crying until your eyes swelled shut, yapping about your day just to keep his lifeless body company. you were the one who stayed
a sudden, violent surge of desperation hits sunghoon’s core. the frustration boils over, turning into a frantic, burning need. he doesn't want to be a ghost anymore, he doesn't want to watch from the sidelines. he wants his life back, he wants to fix the absolute mess he made
"i need to wake up," sunghoon whispers, his voice cracking as he looks up at jay, his eyes wide with a manic, unyielding determination. "jay, i don't care what it takes. i don't care about the promise right now. i need to get back into my body. i have to wake up, now!"
before you know it, day 28 hits. it’s a heavy, suffocating number because it means you and sunghoon only have exactly two days left as a couple. twenty-eight days ago, before the shouting matches and the radio silence, you guys had made a stupid, desperate thirty-day agreement
you haven’t abandoned him once, you’ve practically lived in this tiny, sterile hospital room. the only times you ever leave are when you absolutely have to run to a morning lecture or dash back to your apartment to grab a fresh change of clothes. the rest of your life, your studying, your meals, your quiet breakdowns happens right here in the plastic chair by his bedside
tonight feels different, though. the air in the room is thick, almost grieving. sunghoon’s spirit is leaning against the wall, his eyes tracking you as you move around the space. he freezes when he notices the corner of the room
your heavy backpack is fully zipped. your favorite oversized hoodie, the one you usually leave draped over the sofa, is neatly folded on top of a canvas tote bag. everything you own is packed up
wait, what is she doing? sunghoon thinks, panic instantly flaring in his ghostly chest. why is she packing? is she leaving me? is she finally giving up because i’m not waking up?
you walk over to his bed, your sneakers squeaking softly on the linoleum floors. you sit down, dragging the chair closer until your knees are brushing the edge of his mattress. you look so small, so entirely spent, with dark circles bruising the skin under your eyes
"hey," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly before you clear your throat. you try to force a casual, effortless smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes
and then, you just start yapping again. you talk about random stuff at first, trying to keep the mood light, but sunghoon can hear the underlying tremor in your words. his soul stands right over you, desperately listening, his heart dropping lower and lower with every sentence
"so, um... i'm actually leaving in two days, sunghoon," you say softly, staring down at your own intertwined fingers. "i’m flying out to europe to finish my degree."
"do you... do you even remember?" you let out a dry, bittersweet little chuckle, finally looking up at his pale, unconscious face. "back when we first met, during our very first coffee date, i told you about the dual degree program i applied for. i was so nervous, and you told me i’d be stupid not to take it if i got in. well... the paperwork finally went through, i have to go."
"no," sunghoon blurts out, his voice echoing uselessly in the empty spaces of the room. "no, no, no. y/n, look at me! you can’t go to europe. you can’t leave me here like this!"
he lunges forward, completely throwing his pride out the window. he drops to his knees right next to your chair, his transparent hands flying out to grab your shoulders. "y/n! look at me, please!" he roars, trying to shake you, trying to force your eyes to meet his but his hands just glide straight through your denim jacket, feeling nothing but a freezing, empty void.
he doesn't stop. he gets frantic, his chest heaving with a manic desperation. he starts tapping your shoulders, waving his hands violently in front of your face, screaming your name until his throat burns. "i’m right here! i’m right next to you! don’t go, y/n, please, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—"
but you don't look up. you can't feel the ghost who is begging for your forgiveness on his knees. instead, you take a deep, shaky breath, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over
you lean forward, your shadow falling over his pale face. slowly, gently, you press a soft, lingering kiss right onto sunghoon’s cold forehead
sunghoon freezes, his spiritual form trembling as a phantom warmth blooms where your lips touch his skin. you pull back just an inch, your hands carefully resting on his unmoving chest
"thank you," you whisper, a single, stray tear finally escaping and tracking down your cheek. "thank you for everything, sunghoon. even the messy parts, our thirty days are basically up anyway... so, you're free now. you're completely free from me, you don't have to feel guilty anymore."
you wipe your face quickly with the back of your hand, swallowing down the massive lump in your throat. "i hope you wake up soon, really. the world is way too quiet without you."
you stand up, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. you give his peaceful, comatose body one last, long, heartbreaking look, engraving every detail of his face into your memory. then, you turn around, grab your packed bags, and walk out the door, shutting it softly behind you
the moment the door clicks shut, sunghoon snaps
"JAY!" he screams, spinning around in the empty, silent room, his face twisted in pure, unadulterated rage. "JAY, GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
with a lazy, irritated sigh, jay materializes near the window, his arms crossed over his chest. he looks completely annoyed, his sharp jaw tight. "dude, turn it down! seriously, you are the loudest, most obnoxious soul i have ever had to babysit. what is your problem?"
"she's leaving!" sunghoon yells, marching straight up to the grim reaper, his eyes wild. "she's going to europe in two days! i need to get back into my body right now, jay! push me in, do whatever magic grim reaper stuff you do! i don't care anymore, just let me wake up!"
jay doesn't even blink. he just pulls out his glowing digital ledger, completely ignoring sunghoon’s screaming, acting like he’s checking his schedule
"are you listening to me?!" sunghoon roars, trying to grab jay’s jacket, but his hands pass through. "fine, you know what? whatever, ignore me."
suddenly, a manic, hysterical laugh bubbles up in sunghoon’s chest. he stops pacing, a twisted, relieved smile spreading across his face. "wait. why am i even panicking? i’m a spirit, i don’t need a plane ticket, i don’t need a visa, i can just follow her. i’ll get on that plane with y/n, go to europe, and stay right by her side until my body wakes up. yeah... yeah, that works perfectly." sunghoon starts chuckling, feeling incredibly smug about his genius loophole
jay stops scrolling on his device. he slowly lowers his hand, looking at sunghoon, and then, a dark, mocking laugh tears out of the reaper’s throat. it’s a cold, echoing sound that makes the hairs on sunghoon’s arms stand up
"you? go to europe?" jay scoffs, shaking his head with an expression full of dark amusement. "oh, man. you really don't get how any of this works, do you?"
sunghoon's laughter dies out. "what do you mean?"
"you're a tethered spirit, sunghoon. and a incredibly weak one at that," jay explains, his voice dropping into a chillingly serious tone as he steps closer. "you can barely handle walking across the city without feeling exhausted. you think you can cross an entire ocean? the moment you try to follow her past the city limits, especially over open water, your soul will start to fray. it’ll literally dissolve, particle by particle, into nothingness."
sunghoon’s face drains of what little color it has. "dissolve...?"
"yeah," jay says, his eyes boring into sunghoon's. "and if your soul dissolves? you don't get a neat little funeral. you don't get to go to the afterlife. your consciousness is just wiped out completely and that physical body lying on the bed over there? its heart will just stop beating. total, permanent brain death. you’ll be gone forever, park sunghoon. you can't follow her."
the reality of the situation hits sunghoon like a concrete wall. the sheer, brutal weight of his helplessness crushes his remaining ego into dust. he can't leave, he can't follow you, and he can't wake up. he’s completely, utterly stuck
frustration, grief, and a massive wave of bitter regret boil up inside him. his shoulders slump, his head dropping into his hands as a shaky breath hitches in his throat
jay watches him, the mocking smirk finally fading from his face, replaced by a quiet, grounded sigh
"there you go," jay says softly, crossing his arms as he leans against the bed frame. "let it set in, drown in that regret for a little bit. you need to actually feel the weight of what you threw away."
sunghoon looks up through phantom, blurry eyes, his voice completely broken. "please, jay... just tell me what to do. tell me how to fix this."
jay looks down at his glowing device one last time, a small, mysterious glint in his eyes. "fine. look at me, sunghoon. you want to know how to fix this? then it’s time you finally remember that promise you made."
another whole week drags by like molasses, and the hospital room feels completely hollow now
you’re gone. you actually left for europe. the space where your plastic chair used to be is empty, now, the only people taking turns sitting in that cramped room are jake and heeseung. they split the shifts evenly, looking exhausted but refusing to let sunghoon be entirely alone. as for sooha? she hasn't shown her face a single time since that first afternoon
sunghoon’s spirit has spent the last seven days throwing a massive, pathetic tantrum. he’s been totally sulking, refusing to even look at jay. mostly, he just mopes around the edges of his hospital room, occasionally throwing himself at his comatose physical body in a desperate, angry attempt to force his way back in. but every single time, he just slips straight through the mattress, landing on the floor like smoke
finally, on the seventh night, the frustration gets too heavy to carry. sunghoon swallows his pride and drifts back out to the moonlit hospital park, looking for the only person who can actually hear him
he finds jay sitting cross-legged on a concrete picnic table, glaring intently at his glowing smartphone screen. a tiny, tinny engine roar echoes from the speakers
"go on, pass him! inside line, you idiot!" jay mutters aggressively to the screen, completely locked in
sunghoon blinks, staring at him. "are you... are you watching formula 1 right now?"
"shh! it’s the final lap of the monaco gp, do not ruin this for me," jay snaps, not even looking up. he’s easily the most bizarre, chronically online grim reaper to ever exist. he’s wearing a modern streetwear hoodie, tapping his foot to the rhythm of the race car engines
sunghoon doesn't care about the race. his soul feels like it's literally fraying at the edges from pure desperation. he walks right up to the edge of the table, his shoulders dropping, all the usual arrogance completely drained from his posture
"jay, please," sunghoon whispers, his voice cracking
jay sighs heavily, hitting pause on his phone and locking it with a click. he looks up, his sharp eyes narrowing at the pathetic sight of sunghoon. "jeez. what happened to the arrogant prince? you look like a drowned cat."
"i'm begging you," sunghoon says, and he actually means it. he drops his head, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "i will do literally anything. i'll go to whatever afterlife you want. i'll accept any punishment just... please tell me what the promise was, i need to know how to get back to her. i can't let her leave like this."
jay looks genuinely grossed out by the sudden display of vulnerability. he makes a face, shuddering dramatically. "ew, stop. the begging is honestly giving me the ick. it’s so weird seeing you act like a decent human being. stand up straight, you're embarrassing both of us."
sunghoon doesn't move. he just stares at jay with wild, pleading eyes
jay groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose in sheer defeat. "fine. alright! stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes, it’s ruining my vibe. you want to remember so badly? fine. blink twice."
sunghoon doesn't hesitate. he closes his eyes, opens them, and snaps them shut a second time
the world doesn't just shift, it completely dissolves. the sterile scent of hospital bleach and the distant hum of city traffic vanish in a split second
instead, the sharp, metallic tang of copper and rust hits sunghoon’s nose, mixed with the damp, earthy smell of a dense, ancient forest. the air is thick and freezing cold
sunghoon opens his eyes and gasps. they aren't in the park anymore. giant, ancient oak trees tower over them, their thick canopy blocking out most of the gray, overcast sky. everything looks muted, heavy, and old
"where... where are we?" sunghoon stammers, his voice sounding entirely different in this strange air
"keep your eyes open and follow me," jay says coldly
as sunghoon steps past a thick patch of brambles, his breath catches in his throat. the forest floor is absolute chaos. swords, shattered wooden shields, and broken arrows are scattered across the mud. and worse, there are bodies. men clad in heavy, blood-stained iron armor are strewn everywhere, lifeless eyes staring blankly up at the gray sky
"is this... the middle ages?" sunghoon whispers, a cold sweat breaking out across his spiritual form
"look over there," jay instructs, pointing a gloved finger toward a massive, moss-covered boulder near a clearing
sunghoon slowly walks closer, his heart hammering against his ribs. leaning heavily against the stone is a young man. his face is completely caked in dirt, grime, and dark, sticky blood. he’s clutching his stomach, his fingers desperately trying to hold together a massive, jagged sword wound that is leaking crimson onto the grass. his breathing is a ragged, wet wheeze
sunghoon takes a sharp breath. the dying man has his exact face
standing right in front of the dying soldier is another figure. it’s jay, but this version of jay looks entirely ancient, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, absolute authority, holding a long, dark scythe that seems to absorb the very light around it
"this is where we first met," the modern jay whispers, standing right next to sunghoon’s spirit as they both watch the past unfold. "you were a captain in a war that didn't even matter and your time was up."
the dying sunghoon looks up at the medieval reaper, his vision clearly failing, but his grip on jay’s coat is fierce.
"my girl... y/n. where... where is she going?" the dying soldier gasps out, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips
"y/n? you mean the girl they fed to the flames?" the past jay asks, his voice echoing with an eerie, detached calm. "not your concern anymore, she’s got her own destination. you go to your afterlife, she goes to hers. that’s how the system works."
"no... wait," the soldier begs, his voice cracking with an intense, agonizing passion. "listen to me, reaper. whatever you are. i don't care about my soul... i don't care about heaven. in the next life... and the life after that... in every single universe... please, let me be with her. let me find y/n again. we only had a few years in this wretched life, but i love her... i love her more than my own breath."
the past jay tilts his head, intrigued. "you would bargain with a reaper? what are you willing to pay for a loop of fate like that?"
"anything," the dying sunghoon chokes out, tears cutting clean tracks through the blood on his cheeks. "take my soul to the deepest pits of hell when it's over... erase my existence entirely. let me dissolve into nothingness, i don't care... just give me another chance to love her. i promise i'll hold onto her next time... i promise."
the past jay stares at him for a long, heavy moment before lowering his dark blade. "a promise of eternal devotion, sealed with the threat of absolute erasure. very well, captain. your next life will be tied to hers. but remember... if you break her heart, if you fail to hold onto her, the contract voids and your soul belongs to the void."
with a swift, clean motion, the past jay touches the soldier’s forehead. the dying sunghoon’s eyes roll back, his head slumping forward as his final breath leaves his body.
"blink twice, kid." sunghoon snaps his eyes shut, his entire soul shaking violently as the memory burns itself into the very fabric of his consciousness. he blinks again
snap
the cold forest air is gone. the smell of blood vanishes. sunghoon is back in the hospital park, the neon city lights reflecting off the wet pavement
he stands there, completely frozen, his chest heaving as the sheer weight of his own forgotten words crashes down on him
“i promise i’ll hold onto her next time... i promise.”
he had bartered his entire eternal existence just for a chance to stand next to you again. he had loved you across lifetimes and in this life, he had completely forgotten. he had taken your presence for granted, treated you like an annoyance, fought with you, and let you walk away for a girl who didn't even care enough to visit him in the hospital. he had literally signed his own soul's death warrant because of his own stupid, blinding ego
sunghoon slowly looks up.
jay is standing on the picnic table, looking down at him with that same familiar, incredibly arrogant, and smug smirk playing on his lips. he twirls his phone in his hand, his eyes gleaming with a sharp, knowing satisfaction
"so," jay says, his tone dripping with a cool, mocking confidence. "now you remember. i get to collect your soul for the void. any last words before the clock runs out?"
sunghoon drops straight to his knees on the damp grass, the cold from the ground cutting right through his spiritual form, though he barely even registers it. his mind is a complete, chaotic mess of your tear-stained face, a bloody medieval battlefield, and the terrifying realization that he has voluntarily walked himself right to the edge of eternal erasure
"jay, please," sunghoon chokes out, staring at the polished leather boots of the grim reaper standing on the picnic table above him. all the pride, all the high and mighty attitude he carried like armor for the past three weeks completely gone. shashed into pieces. "one more chance, just give me one single shot to fix this. i can't let it end like this, i can't let her leave."
jay lets out a long, theatrical groan, looking up at the night sky like he’s asking the universe why he got stuck with the dramatic ones. "dude, seriously? i just told you the contract is practically voided. you messed up, you broke the terms. i don't do extensions."
"i'll do anything," sunghoon insists, his voice desperate, trembling as he reaches up to grasp at the hem of jay’s jacket, his fingers passing right through the dark fabric like mist. "i don't care what it is. i’ll be whatever you want. a servant, a ghost, a punching bag, literally anything. just give me a chance to bridge the gap before the thirty days run out completely."
jay pauses. he lowers his gaze, staring down at sunghoon with a sharp, calculating glint in his dark eyes. the silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant, muffled sounds of the city
"anything, huh?" jay murmurs, a slow, dangerous smile creeping back onto his face. it isn't the playful, sarcastic smirk from before, this one is calculating. "well... it just so happens i've been drowning in paperwork lately, and the higher ups are breathing down my neck about efficiency. you want a chance? fine. you’re going to work for it. congratulations, kid. you're my new intern."
sunghoon blinks, completely caught off guard. "your... what?"
"my assistant," jay says, hopping down from the table and dusting off his jeans. "you're going to help me harvest. let's see if you actually have what it takes to appreciate a soul, since you threw yours around like trash."
every time jay tosses a casual, heartless comment over his shoulder, sunghoon feels a sick twist in his chest, realizing oh my god that was me. he is forced to swallow a bitter dose of his own medicine every single hour of the day, watching his own worst personality traits play out through an all powerful deity who loves to make his life miserable
the first time sunghoon accompanies jay on a call, the casual, rock listening, formula 1 watching reaper completely vanishes. the air in the room drops down to a freezing, bone-chilling temperature. sunghoon watches from the corner of a dimly lit hospital room as an elderly man takes his final, rattling breath
suddenly, a massive, terrifying energy fills the space. out of thin air, a colossal scythe materializes in jay’s hands. the blade is made of a dark, obsidian metal that seems to actively swallow the light around it, looking impossibly sharp and heavy. jay’s eyes completely change, they turn cold, ancient, and completely devoid of human emotion. with one swift, silent swing, jay cuts the silver thread of life, his expression completely blank, like an executioner doing a routine job
sunghoon’s soul shivers violently, terror pinning him to the spot. this isn't the funny guy from the park, this is death itself
"don't just stand there gaping like an idiot, park," jay’s voice cuts through the freezing room, snapping sunghoon out of his trance. jay’s tone is sharp, commanding, and totally professional. "log it, now."
sunghoon’s hands shake as he pulls out jay’s glowing digital ledger. his official duty as an assistant is incredibly grim. he has to type in the exact timestamp of the death, verify the soul’s legal identity, and press the glowing "confirm departure to afterlife" button to officially close out the case
for two excruciating weeks, this is sunghoon’s reality. two weeks of watching families scream in agony, two weeks of witnessing the abrupt end of human lives, and two weeks of logging souls into a cold, black screen. it feels like his own personal hell
every single confirmation he hits feels like a weight being added to his own soul, dragging him closer to the realization of just how fragile existence really is and every night, he thinks of you, wondering if his own name is about to pop up on that screen next
by the fourteenth day, sunghoon is completely broken down, his spiritual form feeling heavy and exhausted from the emotional toll of the job
their final call of the night takes them to a quiet, winding suburban street where a terrible car crash has just occurred. it’s a horrific echo of sunghoon's own accident. an elderly husband and wife are trapped inside the vehicle, their pulses fading rapidly as the sirens wail in the distance
jay steps forward, the massive scythe appearing in his grip with a terrifying, familiar hum. sunghoon prepares himself, pulling out the ledger, his eyes fixed on the couple
but as jay steps closer, sunghoon notices something he hasn't seen on any other soul before
stretching between the husband and the wife, glowing with a soft, ethereal light, is a thick silver thread. it doesn't look like the fragile, thin life cords jay cuts. this one is intricately woven, pulsing with a gentle, warm energy, binding their two chests together so tightly that even as their breathing slows, the light between them remains completely solid
jay raises his scythe, cutting their life threads with two clean strokes. the couple’s spirits gently rise from their bodies, immediately reaching out to hold each other’s hands, their expressions peaceful, completely unfazed by the death around them because they are still together. the silver thread between them remains perfectly intact, pulling them closer as they float upward
sunghoon stares at it, completely mesmerized. "jay... what is that? why didn't that thread break when you cut their life?"
jay lets the scythe dissolve into smoke, his expression softening back into his usual, casual demeanor as he shoves his hands into his pockets. he watches the elderly couple fade into the night sky
"that’s a soul bond, sunghoon," jay says softly, his tone completely lacking its usual sarcastic edge. "it’s a connection born from lifetime after lifetime of choosing each other. it’s the strongest magic in the universe. it ensures that no matter where they go, or what life they live, they will always find their way back to each other."
sunghoon’s chest tightens with a sudden, suffocating ache. "do... do me and y/n have that?"
jay turns around slowly, his sharp eyes fixed on sunghoon’s face. the pity is back, heavy and unyielding
"you did," jay whispers. "in fact, yours was one of the thickest, brightest silver bonds i’ve ever seen. you two have been weaving it since the middle ages, sunghoon. it survived wars, plagues, and centuries of separation."
sunghoon feels a spark of hope flare up in his chest, but jay’s next words completely douse it in ice water.
"but a soul bond isn't indestructible," jay continues, his voice dropping into a chillingly serious register. "it requires both sides to feed it. and for the past month, you’ve been actively hacking away at it with your ego. when you broke your promise, when you chose someone else.. you started fraying the cord."
jay steps closer, pointing directly at sunghoon’s chest. sunghoon looks down, and his heart stops
there, protruding from his chest, is a tiny, pathetic wisp of silver light. it’s incredibly thin, practically translucent, and the edges are fraying violently, looking like a piece of thread that is about to snap under the slightest bit of tension
"it’s almost gone," jay says bluntly. "and let me make one thing completely clear to you, park sunghoon. if that final strand snaps... it’s over, completely over. you won't just lose her in this life. you will never cross paths with y/n again. not in the next life, not in the afterlife, not in any universe. you will become complete strangers across eternity."
sunghoon stares at the fraying thread, a cold, suffocating wave of pure panic crashing over him. three weeks have passed, you’re in europe. the thirty days are officially over. the bond is snapping right in front of his eyes, and he is still trapped as a ghost, totally helpless
the loud, frantic roar of racing engines echoes from jay’s phone screen, cutting through the heavy midnight air of the park
sunghoon is sitting on the edge of the stone bench right next to him, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes completely glassy. jay is totally locked in, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, occasionally shouting at the tiny cars on the screen
sunghoon doesn't understand a single thing about formula 1. the bright flashes of red and silver cars taking tight corners mean absolutely nothing to him right now. to him, it’s just background noise to the absolute chaos screaming inside his own head
his mind is entirely stuck on that fraying, pathetic silver thread in his chest. it’s a constant, phantom itch, a terrifying visual reminder that he is actively slipping out of your universe
after what feels like hours of agonizing silence, sunghoon clears his raspy throat. "i want to fix it," he says, his voice barely a whisper, completely catching jay off guard
jay doesn't hit pause this time, but he slowly lowers the phone, his sharp eyes cutting over to sunghoon through the dark. "fix what?"
"the thread. my bond with y/n," sunghoon says, turning his head to look directly into the reaper's eyes
all the fake bravado, the stubborn pride, the ego, it’s all been completely burned away. there’s only raw, desperate determination left. "i want to make it whole again, i don't care what it takes."
jay lets out a low, breathy sigh, locking his phone and shoving it into his hoodie pocket. the playful demeanor is gone instantly. "it's not that simple, sunghoon. fixing a broken soul bond isn't like taping a ripped piece of paper back together. it’s incredibly hard. it takes an agonizing amount of time, and honestly? the mental toll is brutal."
"i don't care," sunghoon snaps instantly, his voice cracking but firm. "i genuinely don't care if it takes a hundred years, jay. as long as i get to come back to her. as long as that thread is perfect again. i'll do whatever you tell me to do."
jay stares at him for a long, heavy moment, trying to see if the kid is bluffing. but sunghoon’s gaze doesn't waver once.
"you're really serious about this, huh?" jay murmurs, a faint, almost respectful glint appearing in his dark eyes. he leans back against the picnic table, crossing his arms. "alright, let me lay out the actual reality for you. you and y/n? you guys aren't just a casual, one-time thing. you’ve actually managed to successfully end up together in five different lifetimes before this one. five times you found each other, loved each other, and closed the loop perfectly."
sunghoon’s breath hitches. five lifetimes.
"but because you completely wrecked the contract in this life," jay continues, pointing a sharp finger at sunghoon’s chest, "saving that thread is going to take a long time. half a year, to be exact. six months in human time."
sunghoon frowns, his mind instantly racing back to his physical body. "wait... six months? but what about my body in the hospital? am i just going to be a vegetable for half a year?"
jay lets out a dry, slightly mocking chuckle. "honestly, your physical injuries from the crash weren't even that bad. you should’ve woken up from that coma like, two weeks ago. the doctors are completely baffled because medically, your brain is fine. but the catch is... you’re currently tied up in grim reaper business. because your soul is entangled with me and the ledger, your spirit is physically locked out of your own body. you can't go back until this contract is either fulfilled or permanently cancelled."
sunghoon looks down at his transparent hands, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him. six months of making his friends worry, six months of being a ghost, six months of you being all the way across the world in europe, thinking he’s either dead or completely moved on
"it's fine," sunghoon whispers, closing his eyes tightly before looking back up at jay. "if half a year is what it takes to make sure i don't lose her forever, then i'll take it just tell me how to fix the thread."
"well, since you’re so eager to sign your life away again... let me tell you a little secret. that medieval battlefield i showed you? that wasn't even the beginning. you and y/n actually started weaving your very first connection all the way back in ancient greece."
sunghoon’s eyes widen. "ancient greece?"
"yeah. you guys were just kids back then, standing inside this beautiful, crumbling stone temple," jay says, his voice drifting off like he’s reading a historical text from his mind. "you didn't make an official contract with a reaper back then, so there was no magic binding you but the sheer weight of your feelings for each other in that temple was so intense that it planted the seed for every single life that followed. you’ve literally been running after her for thousands of years."
the image of a sun-drenched stone temple flashes faintly in sunghoon’s mind, giving him a strange, warm sensation in his chest but the warmth is immediately crushed by the reality of his current situation
"so... how do i fix it now?" sunghoon asks frantically. "what do i have to do with those past lives?"
jay straightens up, his tone turning completely serious, the weight of a deity settling over his shoulders. "to repair a frayed bond, you have to heal the roots. i’m going to send your spirit back through time. you’re going to visit every single one of those past lives where you two existed. and your only job? you have to find her in each era, look her in the eyes, and genuinely ask for her forgiveness. you have to apologize for the arrogance, the broken promises, and the pain you caused her in this current life. every time you successfully heal a past version of your connection, a piece of that silver thread will knit itself back together."
jay steps closer, his shadow looming over sunghoon. "but let me warn you, park sunghoon. it is not going to be an easy walk in the park. you’re going to experience the pain, the heartbreak, and the tragedies of those eras all over again. if you fail to make amends in even one of those timelines, the thread snaps instantly, and you’re gone. the risks are absolute."
sunghoon stands up slowly, his spiritual form suddenly glowing a little brighter with pure, unyielding resolve. he looks at jay, his jaw clenched, his eyes completely steady
"i don't care about the risks," sunghoon says, his voice echoing with absolute certainty. "send me back, jay. i'll bear every single consequence, just let me fix what i broke."
instead of the whole double-blink routine, jay just casually reaches out and slaps a hand onto sunghoon’s shoulder
thud
the sound doesn't even make sense because they’re both spirits, but the moment jay's palm connects, the world violently glitches. the modern glass buildings of the hospital, the plastic benches, and the soft neon glow of the city streets completely unravel like loose threads on a sweater
right before sunghoon’s eyes, giant, towering white marble pillars shoot up into a sky so blindingly blue it actually hurts to look at. the air instantly transitions from the heavy, damp smell of car exhaust and city rain to something incredibly crisp salty sea breeze, blooming jasmine, and the faint, earthy scent of sun baked stone
they’re still ghosts, completely invisible to the world, but sunghoon is entirely paralyzed by the sheer gravity of what just happened. his jaw drops as he looks around the bustling, sun-drenched center of an ancient greek city. people are walking past them dressed in flowing linen tunics, carrying clay pots and shouting out prices for fresh olives and figs at a nearby market
"holy crap," sunghoon breathes, his eyes wide as he looks down at his own outfit. he and jay are literally the only people wearing modern streetwear, sticking out like neon signs in a black-and-white movie. "jay, this is... you did this with a single tap? your powers are actually insane."
jay just lets out a bored, dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he grabs the back of sunghoon’s hoodie and yanks him forward. "yeah, yeah, i'm a god, we get it. stop gaping like a tourist and move your legs, park. we aren't here to sightsee."
jay drags him through the narrow, stone-paved alleys, steering him away from the busy market square until they stop in front of a modest, whitewashed courtyard house. sunghoon is about to ask what they're waiting for when the heavy wooden door bursts open
a little boy, probably around seven years old, comes barreling out into the street, giggling like a maniac. he’s wearing a simple white tunic, his dark hair a messy, windblown nest. close behind him, an older woman steps into the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron as she yells exasperatedly down the street, calling out his name
sunghoon's heart does a violent flip in his chest. that's me
"he looks so quiet and calm, but man, that kid was a menace," sunghoon mutters, watching his past self dodge a stray cart with effortless agility
the little boy sprints all the way down to a quiet, grassy cliffside park overlooking the deep blue sea. sitting on a smooth stone near the edge is a little girl, her small feet swinging back and forth. the moment she hears his footsteps, she turns around, a massive, bright smile breaking across her face
sunghoon feels a sharp, emotional ache bloom right in the center of his chest. you look so familiar, even as a child, with those same bright, expressive eyes. the two kids immediately dive into a game of tag, laughing hysterically as they run around the ancient trees, completely oblivious to the two time traveling ghosts watching them from the shadows
"see? told you," jay says quietly, his voice unusually soft as he leans against a stone wall, arms crossed. "you two have been joined at the hip since the very beginning. you didn't just meet in a college lecture hall, sunghoon. you've been practicing loving her for centuries."
before sunghoon can even fully process the sight of their childhood, jay grabs his shoulder again, pulling him backward into the shadow of a grand marble building
the world blurs into a dizzying streak of light and shadow. sunghoon watches the stones beneath his feet weather and crack, while the pillars of the nearby temple grow more solid, majestic, and weathered by time. jay is fast forwarding through the years like a video clip
when the spinning finally stops, the sun is setting, casting a warm, golden-purple hue over the cliffside. standing right under the grand archway of the temple are two teenagers. they look about eighteen now
sunghoon completely loses his breath. you are standing there, dressed in a soft, elegant palla that drapes beautifully over your shoulders. your hair is pinned back, and you look so breathtakingly beautiful that the modern sunghoon can’t even take his eyes off you. your past self is holding hands with the eighteen year old version of sunghoon, your fingers tightly laced together
the young couple walks into the quiet, candle lit temple. they kneel together before a smooth marble altar, their heads bowed
"please," your past voice echoes softly through the sacred space, sweet and filled with an intense, desperate sincerity. "if our time in this life is ever cut short... please let us find each other again. in the next life, in the world after that. don't let me forget him."
the teenage sunghoon presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes filled with a fierce, unwavering devotion. "i won't ever forget you, y/n. i'll find you, i swear it."
watching this, the ghostly sunghoon feels a burning wave of shame wash over him. he broke that oath. he forgot, he treated that sacred, centuries old devotion like a minor inconvenience in the modern world
"no time to cry yet, captain," jay’s voice cuts through his spiral
with another quick flick of jay’s wrist, the scenery shifts one last time, the atmosphere instantly turning incredibly heavy, tense, and suffocating. the peaceful sunset is replaced by a gloomy, gray afternoon
they are standing outside the barracks. the eighteen year old sunghoon is now wearing heavy bronze armor, a polished helmet resting under his arm. his face is hardened, but his eyes are breaking as he stares down at you
you are crying. your shoulders are shaking violently as you clutch the edges of his bronze chestplate, your tears dripping onto the cold metal. you’re an absolute crybaby in this life too, your heart completely on your sleeve
"you have to come back," you sob, your voice cracking with an agonizing fear. "please, you promised me. you can't leave me here alone."
"i will come back to you, y/n. i swear on my life, i will return," the young soldier promises, though his own voice is trembling with the terrifying knowledge that he might be marching straight to his death
"alright, intern, this is your cue," jay says, his sharp voice dropping all the sarcastic weight. he steps up right behind sunghoon, pushing him forward toward the armored soldier. "go on. step into his skin, you have exactly one minute to make amends before the timeline locks. do not mess this up."
sunghoon swallows the massive lump in his throat. his hands are shaking as he takes a hesitant step forward, aligning his spiritual form with the back of the young captain. with a strange, magnetic pull, his consciousness is violently slammed into the physical weight of the bronze armor.
suddenly, he can feel everything. the heavy, suffocating weight of the breastplate, the cold sweat dripping down his neck, and the raw, heartbreaking warmth of your small hands clutching his chest
he looks down. you are looking up at him through a thick veil of tears, your eyes full of a desperate, terrifying love. seeing you look at him like that without the anger, without the bitterness of their modern thirty day breakup completely shatters him. he misses you so deeply it physically hurts his chest
without a second thought, sunghoon lunges forward, throwing his armored arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of your hair
"sunghoon...?" you gasp softly, caught off guard by the sheer, sudden desperation in his hold
"i'm sorry," sunghoon chokes out, his voice thick with raw emotion. he doesn't mention the modern world, he doesn't mention the grim reaper, or the fact that he’s from a future where he completely broke your heart. he just grips you tighter, as if he could physically hold your souls together. "y/n, i am so, so sorry for everything, for every time i'm going to make you cry, for being an arrogant idiot, for taking you for granted. please... please forgive me. i’m so sorry."
you blink through your tears, completely confused by his strange, overwhelming apology, but the pure sincerity in his voice melts any fear away. you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder
"i forgive you," you whisper softly against his skin, a tear rolling down onto his armor. "i will always forgive you, sunghoon. just come back to me."
the moment the words i forgive you leave your lips, a sudden, blinding jolt of electricity shoots straight through sunghoon's chest. he feels a strange warmth ignite in his core, and with a violent gasp, his spirit is forcibly ejected from the physical body, flying backward through the air
gasp
sunghoon’s eyes fly open
the ancient marble temples are gone. the heavy bronze armor is gone. he’s sitting flat on his ass on the damp grass of the modern hospital park, the familiar, annoying hum of city traffic filling his ears
he touches his chest frantically. there, glowing just a tiny bit brighter than before, the frayed silver thread has knit a tiny section of itself back together. it’s still incredibly thin and fragile, but it’s no longer unraveling
but instead of feeling happy, an overwhelming wave of pure sadness and grief crashes over him. his eyes burn, and a heavy, painful breath hitches in his throat as he stares blankly at the grass. he feels so entirely spent, his chest aching with the residual heartbreak of a lifetime that wasn't even his own.
"jeez. look at you, already sulking," jay’s smooth, mocking voice floats down from above
sunghoon looks up through blurry eyes. jay is standing on the stone picnic table, hands shoved casually in his hoodie pockets, staring down at him with an incredibly arrogant, unbothered smirk
"that was... that was so heavy, jay," sunghoon whispers, his voice trembling. "she was crying so hard... i hate seeing her cry like that."
jay let out a dry, clicking sound with his tongue, slowly shaking his head as his smirk turns a bit colder. "man, you really are weak, aren't you? you’re crying over that? let me tell you something, assistant... that era was a walk in the park. you guys actually loved each other there. the real tragedies haven't even started yet. get your act together, because the next timeline is going to absolutely destroy you."
sunghoon takes a deep, ragged breath, trying to blink away the residual warmth of that ancient greek sunset. he forces himself to stand up on his shaky, translucent legs, wiping a hand across his face. his chest still feels bruised from the sheer emotional weight of your past self's tears, but looking at the glowing silver thread just a fraction more secure than it was five minutes ago he knows he can’t stop
"i'm ready," sunghoon says, his jaw tightening as he looks up at the grim reaper. "take me to the next one, jay. whatever it is, let's just get it over with."
jay doesn't say a word this time. the teasing smirk is entirely gone, replaced by a cool, unreadable expression. he raises his hand, his thumb and middle finger aligning perfectly
click
the sharp sound echoes through the quiet hospital park, and the world folds in on itself instantly. the concrete pavement beneath sunghoon’s feet melts into highly polished, deep mahogany wood. the cool night breeze is instantly replaced by the heavy, suffocating scent of burning beeswax candles, aged parchment, and expensive lavender oil
sunghoon blinks, completely disoriented. he isn't outside anymore. he’s standing in the middle of a massive, breathtaking corridor. towering arched windows stretch up toward a ceiling covered in intricate, gold leaf frescoes depicting mythical creatures and royal battles. huge, velvet drapes in royal navy hang from the walls, catching the soft, flickering light of a dozen iron chandeliers
"woah," sunghoon mutters, completely losing his train of thought as he turns around in a circle, staring blankly at the sheer luxury of the place. "this is... insane. what kind of palace is this?"
smack
"ow!" sunghoon yelps, rubbing the back of his shoulder where jay had just hard palmed him.
"stop daydreaming, tourist," jay groans, rolling his eyes as he starts walking down the long hallway, his boots making absolutely no sound on the pristine floor. "we aren't architectural critics. keep your eyes open. we’re looking for you, remember?"
sunghoon quickly scrambles to catch up, his modern sweatpants and hoodie looking hilariously out of place against the medieval luxury. they wander through a maze of winding corridors, passing silent guards standing at attention who don't even blink as the two ghosts glide right past them
finally, at the end of a secluded wing of the castle, they spot a tall figure walking with a heavy, commanding stride
sunghoon freezes. the man is wearing a structured, deep charcoal uniform trimmed with silver embroidery, a heavy steel sword sheathed at his hip. his hair is pushed back neatly, exposing a sharp, unyielding jawline. he carries himself with an terrifying amount of authority. the kind of presence that makes people move out of the way without him saying a single word
"the grand commander of the royal guard," jay whispers from behind sunghoon, his tone casual but informative. "rumored to be the strongest, most ruthless warrior of this entire kingdom. nobody dared to cross his path. well... nobody except one person."
the past sunghoon stops in front of a pair of massive, towering oak doors. he pushes them open quietly, stepping inside what looks like a grand, multi level royal library. sunghoon and jay follow closely behind, slipping through the closing doors like smoke
the library is warm, lit by the golden glow of a massive fireplace. and there, sitting at a long wooden table buried under a literal mountain of thick leather-bound books and scrolls, is you
the moment your past self hears the heavy click of his boots, you look up. a brilliant, radiant smile breaks across your face, erasing all the stress of your studying. you slide out of your chair so fast you almost knock over an inkwell, running straight into the past sunghoon’s arms. you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his silver trimmed collar
he catches you effortlessly, his arms winding around your waist, pulling you so close there’s absolutely no space left between you. the ruthless commander completely melts, his face softening into an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration
"i missed you," your past self murmurs, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "you were gone for three whole days, my love."
"i know, princess. i’m sorry. the northern border took longer than expected," the past sunghoon whispers back, his voice dropping into a deep, gentle register that the modern sunghoon recognizes all too well
standing in the shadows, the modern sunghoon’s spirit flinches. they were already together. they were deeply, hopelessly in love
"she was the daughter of one of the castle's kitchen maids," jay explains quietly, watching the couple sway slightly in the firelight. "grew up in the servants' quarters, but she had a brilliant mind. she practically lived in this library, teaching herself languages, history, and science. she was easily the smartest girl in the entire kingdom. that’s why you fell for her."
sunghoon stares at your past self, a bittersweet ache tightening his chest. she's exactly the same, he thinks. even in the modern world, y/n was always the smart one. you were always the one staying up late to study for midterms, the one who tried to help him with his essays, the one whose brain he always admired, even when his stubborn ego refused to admit it out loud. some things never change across lifetimes
"alright, dynamic duo, time to move," jay says, breaking the spell.
he grabs sunghoon’s wrist, dragging him backward through the solid stone wall of the library. the scenery violently blurs again, the golden firelight stretching into long lines of light before snapping into total darkness
when the world solidifies, the heavy castle walls are gone. instead, the air smells like woodsmoke, pine trees, and fresh dew. the sky above is a brilliant canvas of thousands of stars, completely unpolluted by city lights
they are in the middle of a secluded forest clearing. a small, crackling campfire throws dancing orange shadows over a small canvas tent. sitting on a thick woolen blanket right by the fire are the past sunghoon and you. he’s wrapped a heavy fur cloak around your shoulders, and you’re leaning back against his chest, animatedly talking about a passage in a book you had just finished reading, your hands gesturing wildly in the air
the past sunghoon isn't even looking at the fire. he’s just staring down at your face, completely transfixed by the way your eyes light up when you're passionate about something. he reaches up, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear
"i mean it, sunghoon," your past self says softly, turning your head slightly to look up at him, your expression turning serious under the starlight. "no matter what happens... promise me we stay together. promise me you won't let the court politics pull you away."
"i promise, my love," the commander says fiercely, pressing a firm, desperate kiss to the crown of your head. "i will never leave your side. i’d burn the whole kingdom to the ground before i let them take you from me."
the modern sunghoon lets out a shaky breath, covering his mouth with his hand. another promise. another sacred oath he ended up breaking in the future
"turn around," jay’s voice drops all the warmth, turning completely flat and freezing cold. "the fast forward is over."
sunghoon turns around slowly, his heart sinking into his stomach. the beautiful forest clearing dissolves into a dark, damp, terrifying space. the smell of pine is replaced by the sickening, suffocating stench of rotting straw, mold, and rusted iron
they are standing in the subterranean dungeons beneath the palace. and there, locked inside a cramped, filthy iron cage, is you
sunghoon’s soul violently shudders. your beautiful dress is torn and stained with dirt. your hair is a matted mess, and your eyes are completely swollen and bloodshot from hours of crying. you look so incredibly frail, shivering against the cold stone floor, curling yourself into a tight ball
outside the cell, the past version of sunghoon is standing there, his hands gripping the iron bars so tightly his knuckles are completely white, bleeding from where the rusted metal cuts into his skin. tears are streaming openly down his face, his ruthless commander facade completely shattered
"why?" the ghost of sunghoon whispers, his voice trembling with a terrifying panic. "jay, what happened? what did they do to her?!"
"the royal council," jay says bluntly, his eyes fixed on the heartbreaking scene. "they found out about her intelligence. a servant girl who knew more about science and medicine than the court doctors? they called it heresy. they accused her of practicing witchcraft, claiming she used dark magic to bewitch the grand commander. they’re going to execute her, sunghoon."
"no... no, she was just studying books! she didn't do anything wrong!" sunghoon roars, trying to lunge toward the cell, but jay grabs his shoulder, his grip tightening like a vise
"the guards are coming down the corridor in exactly two minutes to take her to the gallows," jay barks, his tone dead serious as he shoves sunghoon toward the crying commander. "this is your only shot, get in there and make it right before she dies."
sunghoon doesn't even hesitate. he throws his spirit forward, slamming violently into the physical body of his past self
the transition is agonizing. suddenly, the phantom pain in his chest turns into a real, suffocating heartbreak. his throat burns with the metallic taste of his own tears, and the cold iron bars feel freezing against his palms
he looks through the bars. you look up at the sound of his ragged breathing, your swollen eyes filling with a fresh wave of tears when you see him
"sunghoon..." you sob, crawling toward the bars on your hands and knees, your weak fingers reaching through the gaps. "i'm scared. please... i didn't do anything. i swear i didn't use black magic. i just wanted to learn..."
the modern sunghoon feels his soul literally breaking into a million pieces. he has never felt so utterly powerless in his entire existence. he’s the strongest commander in the kingdom, but he can't even unlock a stupid iron door to save the girl he loves
he reaches his large, calloused hands through the iron bars, gently cupping your dirty, tear-stained face. his thumbs softly wipe away the fresh tears spilling over your cheeks, ignoring the way the cold iron bruises his wrists.
"i know, i know, princess," sunghoon chokes out, his voice a broken, desperate sob as he leans his forehead against the freezing bars, staring into your eyes. "i’m so sorry. y/n, i am so incredibly sorry. i couldn't protect you... i failed you. please... please forgive me for being so useless. for every piece of pain i’ve ever caused you, in this life and every life after... i'm sorry."
you lean into the warmth of his palms, closing your eyes as more tears spill over his fingers. even in the face of your own execution, you don't hold a single ounce of bitterness toward him
"i forgive you," you whisper, your voice a fragile, beautiful thread in the dark dungeon. "i will always forgive you, sunghoon. don't look at me with such sad eyes... we promised, remember? under the stars. we will find each other again. i'll wait for you in the next life."
"i'll find you," sunghoon promises, his heart breaking entirely as the loud, echoing sound of guards' boots starts to rumble down the stone corridor. "i swear on my soul, y/n, i will find you and i will hold onto you next time."
the violent jolt of electricity rips through his entire being, but strangely, this time sunghoon’s spirit doesn't get violently ejected from the body. he doesn't fly backward into a vortex of comfortable darkness
he is still firmly locked inside the heavy, suffocating skin of the grandcommander
the heavy iron latch of the dungeon doors rattles open, the sound echoing ominously down the damp stone corridor. sunghoon’s past body stands there, frozen, his hands still gripping the cold bars of your cell. a younger soldier, pale faced and trembling under the weight of his armor, steps into the dim torchlight, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor
"commander," the soldier whispers, his voice shaking. "everything... everything is ready. the king and queen have ordered the procession. it’s time."
sunghoon’s mind is spinning in pure, unadulterated panic. why am i still in here? jay! jay, get me out of here! he screams internally, trying to force his consciousness to detach, but nothing happens. his physical mouth, acting on a lifetime of rigid military discipline, simply lets out a low, hollow sound. "understood."
the cell doors are unlocked, and two heavy handed guards drag your past self out into the corridor. you don't fight them, you're too weak, your frail frame shivering as the dirty linen of your white dress drags across the filthy stone floor. but as they pull you past him, your swollen, tear-filled eyes lock onto his face one last time
the transition from the dark, quiet bowels of the castle to the blinding light of the palace square happens too fast
the air is thick, suffocatingly hot, and vibrating with the deafening, monstrous roar of a bloodthirsty crowd. hundreds of angry citizens are packed into the stone plaza, throwing rotten vegetables and rocks, their faces contorted into ugly, twisted masks of hatred. up on the high royal balcony, the king and queen sit on their lavish velvet thrones, looking down with cold, indifferent eyes
"burn the witch!"
"she brought the plague upon our cattle!"
"spawn of the devil!"
the screams tear through sunghoon’s ears like physical knives. his past body is forced to march forward, taking its place at the very front of the royal guard, directly facing the massive wooden stake constructed in the center of the square
he watches in absolute, paralyzed horror as the guards roughly lift your small body up, binding your wrists and ankles to the heavy timber frames. you look so incredibly small against the massive wood. you look out into the crowd, your terrified gaze desperately searching until you find him standing there in his silver trimmed armor
and then, a torch is dropped into the dry straw at your feet
whoosh
the flames erupt instantly, a roaring wall of bright orange and choking black smoke devouring the wooden stake
sunghoon feels a physical sensation like a massive, clawed hand wrapping around his actual heart and squeezing it until it bursts. the sheer, unyielding agony of watching you, the girl he loved across centuries, the girl who just wanted to read books and hold his hand under the stars being consumed by fire is too much for his mind to handle. a silent, broken scream tears through his throat, but his past body remains frozen at attention, forced to watch the execution
his knees buckle. the armor feels like it weighs a million pounds. his vision starts to fray at the edges, spinning into a dizzying kaleidoscope of fire and smoke until the entire world finally collapses into pitch blackness
gasp
sunghoon’s eyes fly open, his chest heaving violently as he sucks in a massive breath of modern, humid city air
the smell of burning wood and smoke is gone, instantly replaced by the familiar, synthetic scent of hospital bleach. he’s back. he’s sitting flat on his ass on the damp grass of the modern park, his hands trembling so violently he can barely press them against the ground to keep himself steady
hot, heavy tears are streaming openly down his face, dripping off his sharp jawline and soaking into his modern black hoodie. he doesn't even care about his pride anymore. he buries his face in his hands, letting out a jagged, pathetic sob that echoes through the quiet midnight park
"man, you really are a total crybaby," a smooth, completely unbothered voice floats down from above
sunghoon pulls his hands away from his face, his vision blurry with tears. jay is sitting casually on top of the concrete picnic table, his legs swinging back and forth. he’s holding a little strawberry milk carton, sipping lazily from a tiny plastic straw while watching sunghoon like he’s an entertaining movie
"she... they burned her, jay," sunghoon chokes out, aggressively wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, though the tears just keep coming. "i had to watch it, i had to feel it. i couldn't do anything, i was the grand commander and i couldn't even save her."
jay takes a slow sip of his milk, letting out a soft, clicking sound with his tongue as he shakes his head. "yeah, well, history is messy like that. and honestly? you’re being completely dramatic. that was just lifetime number two. human history isn't a fairy tale, kid."
sunghoon stands up on shaky legs, his head spinning from the residual emotional trauma of the dungeon. "i can't," he whispers, his voice cracking entirely as he stares at the glowing silver thread in his chest, which has only knit itself a tiny bit more. "jay, i don't think i can handle seeing her die again. i don't want to see her hurt it’s ripping my soul apart. i want to stop, let me just end it."
jay stops swinging his legs. he lowers the milk carton, his sharp, dark eyes narrowing as a cold, dangerous aura instantly replaces his casual demeanor. the mocking smirk vanishes
"you want to quit?" jay asks, his voice dropping into a lethal, low whisper that makes the air around them freeze. "sure, go ahead. the portal to your body is right there. i’ll just cancel the contract right now but let’s be entirely clear about what that means, park sunghoon."
jay hops down from the table, landing silently in front of sunghoon, his shadow swallowing him whole
"the second i delete this file, that wisp of silver thread in your chest snaps permanently. you will never see y/n again. she will finish her degree in europe, she will meet someone else, she will live her life, and when you both die, your souls will pass each other in the ether like complete strangers. you will erase thousands of years of devotion because you can't handle a little bit of pain. so go ahead, walk away."
sunghoon stands frozen, the words hitting him like physical blows
strangers across eternity
the thought of you forgetting him, the thought of never seeing your smile, never hearing your voice, never having the right to hold your hand in any universe ever again hurts infinitely worse than the fire in the palace square. it’s a cold, hollow, terrifying kind of pain that shakes him to his very core
he looks down at his hands, then closes them into tight fists. the frustration, the grief, and the fear melt down into a hard, unyielding desperation. he took you for granted in this life. he broke your heart for a girl who didn't even care about him. he deserved this torment. he needed to pay the price
sunghoon raises his head, looking directly into the grim reaper’s ancient eyes. the tears are still wet on his cheeks, but his gaze is completely steady
"no," sunghoon says, his voice losing its tremor, hardening with pure resolve. "i'm not giving up."
jay tilts his head, a faint, slow smirk creeping back onto his lips. "oh? changed your mind already?"
"send me to the next one," sunghoon demands, stepping closer, his ghostly form radiating a frantic, manic energy. "i don't care if it’s worse, i don't care if it destroys me. i'll watch whatever i have to watch, and i'll take whatever punishment you have. just send me back i'm going to fix our thread."
jay lets out a low, amused chuckle, throwing the empty milk carton into a nearby trash can with perfect accuracy.
"the next one is going to be way more interesting, honestly," jay says, a little glint of amusement in his eyes as he plays with the stray strings of his hoodie. "not quite as terrifying as getting torched in a public square. well... maybe. depends on how you look at it."
sunghoon just lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh, dropping his chin to his chest. his whole body feels drained, the phantom smell of smoke still clinging to the edges of his mind. he shuts his eyes tight, trying to brace himself for the impact of another world, another heartbreak
when he tilts his head back up, the humid night air of the hospital park is completely gone
there’s no violent jolt this time. the transition is smooth, almost elegant, like a watercolor painting bleeding into a new canvas. sunghoon blinks, realizing he’s standing inside a massive, sun-drenched bedroom. the architecture screams the height of the renaissance era. intricate wooden carvings on a giant four poster bed, thick velvet curtains in rich burgundy blocking out the midday sun, and beautiful, fresh oil paintings drying on easels in the corner. everything feels deeply tied to art and beauty, the whole atmosphere dripping with wealth and culture
"looks like we spawned in your old room," jay murmurs, casually leaning his back against a massive marble fireplace, looking completely unbothered by the sudden shift in centuries. "not a bad setup, honestly. you were loaded."
before sunghoon can even take a step to examine the room, the heavy muffled sound of angry shouting drifts up through the floorboards. it’s coming from the grand parlor downstairs
jay tilts his head toward the door, a faint smirk returning to his face. "sounds like a family meeting. let’s go eavesdrop."
the two spirits glide through the solid wooden door and descend the sweeping marble staircase. down in the parlor, a young version of sunghoon is standing stiffly in the center of the room, dressed in tailored, expensive renaissance garments. his expression is completely frozen, his jaw clenched as an older, aristocratic man and a woman draped in silk pace around him, their voices dripping with absolute fury
sunghoon and jay stand in the corner, blending into the shadows as they listen to the argument
"you have a duty to this family, sunghoon!" his past father roars, slamming a heavy ringed hand onto a mahogany table. "she is the daughter of a duke! the alliance is perfect! you cannot keep turning these offers down!"
"i don't care about the alliance," the past sunghoon says, his voice quiet but incredibly stubborn, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. "i will not marry someone i do not love."
standing in the shadows, the ghostly sunghoon watches his past self with a strange mix of pride and frustration. jay lets out a soft, mocking chuckle right next to his ear, crossing his arms. "man, the you in this life was kind of an idiot, wasn't he? that’s literally the third arrangement he’s turned down. total hopeless romantic. he was actively ruining his family name for a girl he hadn't even met properly yet."
before the argument downstairs can escalate any further, jay casually claps his hands together once
crack
the sound echoes like a gunshot through the room, and the angry voices of his parents instantly melt away. the dark parlor expands, exploding into a blinding sea of golden light, classical violin music, and the low, elegant chatter of hundreds of wealthy guests
they are suddenly standing right in the middle of a lavish, decadent wedding reception. crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, and tables are overflowing with expensive wine and exotic fruits
and right in front of them, standing at the center of the ballroom, are the past sunghoon and y/n
sunghoon completely loses his breath, his eyes locking onto you. you are wearing a breathtaking, cream colored satin gown embroidered with delicate silver threads that catch the candlelight every time you move. your hair is intricately braided, and you look so completely radiant, so stunningly beautiful, that the ghostly sunghoon entirely freezes in his tracks. his mind goes totally blank. he just stares, his chest aching with a sudden, overwhelming surge of love and longing
he’s completely stuck, entirely hypnotized by the sight of you laughing at something his past self whispered in your ear
"hey, space cadet, stop drooling," jay grunts, reaching out and roughly yanking sunghoon backward by the arm before he can try to touch you. "we don't have time for you to stare. let's move it."
with that harsh tug, the bustling wedding ballroom blurs into a streak of gold and white. the loud music fades, replaced by the gentle chirping of cicadas and the soft, cool breeze of a late evening
when the world settles, they are standing in a manicured, private garden attached to a massive villa. the past sunghoon and you are sitting together on a stone bench under a canopy of blooming white roses. you’re leaning your head against his shoulder, your fingers intertwined with his. the atmosphere is peaceful, dripping with an domestic warmth that sunghoon hasn't felt in a very long time
"i still can't believe your father finally gave in," you murmur softly, a gentle smile playing on your lips as you look out over the dark garden
"he didn't have a choice," the past sunghoon replies, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "i told him i’d leave the estate completely if i couldn't have you. i just want a quiet life, y/n. a happy, harmonious family with you. that’s all i’ve ever wanted."
watching them, the ghostly sunghoon feels a sudden ray of hope flare up in his chest. a huge, relieved smile spreads across his face. there's no tragedy here, he thinks frantically, his heart beating fast. we actually made it. we got married, we’re happy, there are no executioners or wars.
"jay, look!" sunghoon whispers excitedly, turning to the reaper. "there's no test here! we're actually fine in this one!"
jay just lets out a low, dark chuckle, a look of profound pity crossing his sharp features. "man, you really are naive, aren't you?" jay raises a single finger, pointing toward a smaller, dark structure at the edge of the estate. "you forgot who i am, assistant. death always collects."
jay flicks his wrist, and the beautiful, moonlit rose garden instantly rots away. the sweet smell of flowers transitions into the sharp, sickeningly familiar scent of herbal medicines, damp sheets, and cold sweat
they are back in the massive bedroom from before, but the sun is completely gone, replaced by a single, flickering candle on the nightstand
lying in the center of the giant bed is the past sunghoon but he looks completely unrecognizable. the broad-shouldered, strong young man from the garden has shrunk, his body frail, gaunt, and completely drained of life. his skin is a sickly, pale gray, his breathing coming out in shallow, rattling gasps. an epidemic had swept through the city, and his wealth couldn't save him
kneeling right by the bedside, clutching his cold, trembling hand against her cheek, is you. you are sobbing uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as your tears soak into the linen sheets
"you can't leave me," you weep, your voice a broken, desperate mess. "sunghoon, please... we were supposed to grow old here. you promised me a quiet life, please don't go."
"i'll... i'll find you again," the dying sunghoon gasps out, his voice incredibly weak, his eyes struggling to stay open as he stares at your face. "i promise... i'll look for you in the next world..."
"he’s flatlining, intern," jay’s voice cuts through the heartbreaking room, sharp and urgent. "get in there before his soul detaches, you have less than a minute."
sunghoon doesn't even think. the pure agony of seeing you cry over his dying body pushes him forward, and he throws his spirit straight into the frail, cold physical form on the bed
the moment his consciousness hooks into the body, a suffocating, crushing weight slams into his chest. he can barely breathe. every single gasp feels like inhaling liquid fire, his lungs completely failing him. his throat feels tight, dry, and absolutely paralyzed
but looking at you kneeling there, your face completely ruined by grief, he forces his weak, trembling fingers to squeeze yours back
"y/n..." sunghoon chokes out, his voice a raspy, breathless whisper
you gasp, looking up through your thick veil of tears, locking eyes with him. "sunghoon? oh my god, sunghoon, stay with me, please—"
"i'm sorry," he interrupts, his voice breaking as the suffocating pressure in his chest tightens, stealing his oxygen. he can feel his life slipping away by the second, the coldness creeping up his limbs. "y/n... i am so sorry for everything... for breaking my promises... for leaving you alone like this. please... please forgive me."
you shake your head frantically, pressing his weak hand against your lips, kissing his knuckles as your tears stream down his skin. "there's nothing to forgive! i love you, i will always love you! please just don't close your eyes!"
"i'm sorry..." sunghoon whispers one last time, a tear finally escaping his own eye, rolling down his pale cheek.
with that final apology, the last bit of air leaves his lungs. his heart gives one final, weak shudder before completely stopping.
the moment his physical eyes glaze over, you let out a blood-curdling, agonizing scream of pure grief, a sound so loud and full of despair that it vibrates through the entire room
boom
the sheer force of your heartbreak, combined with the sudden death of the body, violently rejects sunghoon’s spirit. he is forcibly slammed backward, ripped right out of the physical flesh with a terrifying velocity. the bedroom, the candles, and your heartbreaking screams instantly dissolve into a roaring vortex of wind, spinning him around in total darkness until his feet violently connect with something solid
gasp
sunghoon hits the ground hard, tumbling onto the damp grass of the modern hospital park. his chest is heaving as he frantically sucks in the clean night air, his hands clutching at his shirt right over his heart. the agonizing suffocation of the sickness is gone, but his soul feels completely shattered, his mind still echoing with that final, devastating scream you let out over his corpse
"the next one is officially the worst," jay says, his voice losing every single ounce of its usual sarcastic bite. he lets out a low, heavy breath, looking at sunghoon with a level of dead seriousness that makes the cold air in the park feel even more suffocating. "it's the most tragic out of all of them, honestly. you need to actually pull yourself together for this one, park. if your mental state fractures, we're done."
sunghoon takes a ragged breath, pressing the palms of his hands against his knees to stop the violent shaking. his soul still feels entirely bruised from hearing that final, echoing scream in the renaissance bedroom, but he forces his jaw to clench. "i'm fine. i can handle it, just send me."
jay stares at him for a long, quiet beat, checking for any signs of bluffing. finally, he sighs and gestures to the empty space on the concrete bench right next to him. "just calm down for a second. relax your shoulders. sit down."
sunghoon reluctantly slides onto the cold stone bench, his chest heaving. "now what?"
"now, close your eyes," jay instructs softly.
the second sunghoon’s eyelids flutter shut, the distant sound of city traffic completely dies out
when he opens his eyes a fraction of a second later, the transition is incredibly jarring. the hard concrete bench is gone. instead, he’s sitting on a rough, weathered wooden bench right at the edge of a bustling, dusty dirt road. the air instantly hits his nose, the sharp, pungent scent of fermented radishes, dried fish, fresh straw, and the smoky haze of wood burning stoves
everywhere he looks, people are moving around in traditional, vibrant hanboks. heavy wooden carts pulled by oxen are rattling past, and merchants are loudly shouting out their prices for silk fabrics and clay pots
"joseon era," sunghoon mutters, blinking rapidly as his modern sneakers rest in the dirt. he looks down at his own casual clothes, then looks around the busy marketplace. "wait... am i like, a poor peasant or something in this life? why are we spawning near a crowded market?"
jay, who is casually leaning against a nearby wooden pillar with his arms crossed, lets out a dry, mocking laugh. "peasant? you wish. look over there across the square. see that incredibly annoying guy surrounded by a literal horde of women?"
sunghoon blinks, shifting his gaze toward a large silk merchant's stall
standing in the center of a giggling, blushing crowd of young noblewomen is a young man dressed in an incredibly expensive, pristine royal blue banyongpo. he’s holding a hand painted paper fan, tilting his head with an effortlessly smooth, devastatingly handsome smirk as he delivers a smooth comment to a girl who looks like she’s about to faint
sunghoon’s jaw drops. it’s him
and just like that, despite the absolute trauma of the last three timelines, sunghoon’s massive, modern day ego instantly flares back to life. a smug, satisfied smirk crawls onto his face. "well... can you really blame them? i mean, look at me. even in ancient history, the face card never declines. i was a total visual."
jay looks like he wants to violently throw himself into the nearest river. he rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful, letting out a heavy, disgusted groan. "oh my god, shut up. this is exactly why the universe punished you. you were famously known for being breathtakingly handsome in this era, yes, but you were also a certified, arrogant prick. you walked around like you owned the entire peninsula."
jay grabs sunghoon’s shoulder, dragging his spirit away from the crowded market square and leading him down a quieter, winding alleyway lined with beautiful, weeping willow trees. they stop right in front of a grand, multi-storied building decorated with bright silk lanterns and beautiful wooden screens. the faint, elegant sound of a gayageum plucking a slow melody drifts through the air
"a courtesan house?" sunghoon asks, raising an eyebrow
"just watch," jay murmurs, pointing through the open wooden shatters of a private upper room
sitting on a silk cushion, pouring hot tea into a delicate porcelain cup, is a woman. her back is turned to them, her long, glossy dark hair braided perfectly down her back with a rich crimson ribbon. even just from the silhouette of her shoulders and the elegant, graceful slope of her neck, she looks stunning
then, she turns her head slightly to order a servant away
sunghoon’s heart stops
you look absolutely ethereal in a pale pink chima and a white jeogori, your sharp, expressive eyes piercing right through the room
"she was the most famous woman in the district," jay explains quietly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "incredibly beautiful, but notoriously fierce and sharp-tongued. she absolutely detested arrogant, smooth-talking noblemen, and she had zero patience for men who lacked substance. basically... she was your worst nightmare, which made you completely obsessed with her."
sunghoon feels a sudden, intense wave of curiosity washing over him. "how did we even start talking? jay, fast forward it. i want to see how i managed to win her over if she hated me so much."
"fine, but don't blink," jay says.
suddenly, a sharp gust of wind sweeps through the courtyard, sending a stray, crisp green willow leaf flying straight toward sunghoon’s face. he instinctively raises his hand, brushing the leaf away from his eyes
by the time his hand drops, the scenery has completely shifted. the bright daylight has faded into a deep, hazy twilight
they are now inside a secluded, private pavilion surrounded by blooming lotus ponds. and right there, leaning against the wooden railing, are the past sunghoon and you but you aren't fighting. in fact, the past sunghoon is leaning in incredibly close, his fingers gently brushing against your jawline, his eyes dripping with a smooth, heavy flirtatiousness
you’re smirking back, your eyes locked onto his lips, delivering a sharp, witty comeback that makes him let out a low, breathy laugh. and before the modern sunghoon can even process the dialogue, his past self lunges forward, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his lips into yours in a deep, intensely passionate kiss. your hands instantly tangle into the fabric of his expensive robes, pulling him closer
standing a few feet away, jay’s face immediately contorts into total disgust. "okay, nope. we are moving past this. i am not watching this."
"wait, wait! jay, don't!" sunghoon yells frantically, his eyes wide as he tries to swat jay's hand away from the portal. "don't fast-forward yet! let me watch for a second! i haven't seen her like this, let me just look at her—"
smack
"ow!" sunghoon yelps, clutching the back of his head where jay had just delivered a firm, unbothered slap
"you are a literal pervert, park," jay groans, his expression completely judging him. "we are here to save your soul bond, not watch your past self's romance tape. move your head."
when sunghoon looks back up, rubbing his sore skull, the lotus pond is gone
now, they are standing in a hidden, quiet courtyard behind a massive estate. the sun is shining brightly, and the air is filled with the sharp, rhythmic clack-clack of wooden practice swords hitting each other
the past sunghoon is standing right behind you, his large hands wrapped securely over yours as he guides your grip on a wooden sword. he’s adjusting your stance, his chest pressed against your back, a massive, soft, genuinely happy smile on his face
you’re laughing hysterically every time you mess up a form, turning around to playfully poke him in the ribs with the blunt tip of the weapon. they look so incredibly light. so completely, hopelessly happy
"enjoy it while it lasts," jay’s voice suddenly drops into that freezing, dark tone, cutting through the beautiful laughter like ice water. "because the tragedy is officially here."
"no, wait, can't we just stay here for a minute?" sunghoon begs, his chest instantly tightening with an anxious, suffocating panic. "just let me watch us be happy for a little bit longer, jay, please—"
smack
jay slaps the back of his head one more time, completely ignoring his pleas. "open your eyes, assistant. look at what you actually did."
the beautiful, sunny courtyard instantly dissolves into a suffocating, heavy gloom. the happy laughter is cut short, replaced by the sound of raw, agonizing, breathless sobbing
sunghoon looks around, his heart sinking right into his stomach. they are inside a dark, secluded library room. standing in the corner, clutching you tightly against his chest like he’s trying to merge your bodies together, is the past sunghoon
you are crying so hard you can barely draw a full breath, your small hands tightly bunching up the blue silk of his robes, your face buried in his shoulder as your whole body shivers with grief
"i'm sorry... y/n, i am so sorry," the past sunghoon whispers, his own voice cracking completely, tears tracking down his handsome face. "the king... my father... he officially announced it to the court today. the royal decree has been signed. i am being forced into an arranged marriage with the princess of the neighboring province. the wedding is next week."
standing in the shadows, the modern sunghoon’s spirit instantly erupts into pure, frantic rage. he turns around to jay, his face red, his fists clenched tight as he storms up to the reaper
"are you kidding me?!" sunghoon roars, gesturing wildly at the crying couple. "why does this keep happening?! a princess?! how beautiful could this stupid princess even be that my parents are completely ruining our lives for her?! i don't want to marry her! why am i doing this?!"
jay just stands there, completely bewildered, raising his eyebrows at sunghoon’s sudden outburst. "bro, why the hell are you yelling at me? i didn't arrange the marriage. blame your ancient joseon parents, not the grim reaper. also, she's a princess, it’s about land and power, not a beauty pageant. stop shouting."
sunghoon’s chest is heaving with anger and heartbreak, his eyes darting back to your sobbing form. the reality of the tragedy is setting in, and he can feel the heavy, magnetic pull of the timeline demanding him to step into the body
"this is where it gets really ugly," jay says, his voice losing every single ounce of its usual detached composure. he actually sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at the dusty floorboards of the library. "even for a grim reaper... this part of your history is hard to watch. you need to brace yourself, park. seriously."
sunghoon’s anger evaporates instantly, replaced by a cold, sickening dread that pools right in his stomach. he looks at your past self, still clinging to his robes, sobbing like her world is ending. he just nods numbly, swallowing the dry lump in his throat. "i told you. i'm not backing down."
jay doesn't waste another second. he raises his hand
click
the dark, quiet library fractures instantly. the smooth smell of old books and your sweet floral scent are violently ripped away, replaced by the suffocating, metallic stench of fresh copper, wet mud, and the terrifying, heavy atmosphere of an execution ground
sunghoon’s spirit stumbles as the world solidifies. they are standing in the massive stone courtyard of the royal palace under a dark, weeping gray sky. hundreds of soldiers in heavy iron armor form a tight, impenetrable wall around the perimeter, their spears held high. at the far end, sitting on elevated wooden thrones, the king and queen look down with expressions of absolute, chilling disgust
and right there, in the dead center of the cold stone floor, you are on your knees
sunghoon’s soul goes into a frantic, chaotic panic. your hands are tied tightly behind your back with thick hemp rope, your beautiful pink chima torn, dragged through the mud, and stained with dark crimson streaks. you look so fragile, so completely stripped of your usual fierce, sharp tongued energy
"jay! what is this?! what happened?!" sunghoon screams, his voice cracking as he tries to lunge toward you, but his ghostly hands pass right through the air. "we were just in the library! why is she on the floor?!"
jay steps up beside him, his sharp eyes dark and unusually heavy with grim pity. "you two tried to run," he explains quietly, the wind whipping his modern black hoodie around his frame. "the night before the royal wedding, you abandoned your title, stole two horses, and tried to smuggle her out of the province. but the king’s scouts tracked you down at the border. and because you’re the beloved prince, the royal court couldn't execute you. so they put the entire blame on her. they claimed she was a seductress who bewitched the royal bloodline."
before sunghoon can even digest the horror of jay's words, the booming, heartless voice of the king echoes across the courtyard, cutting through the heavy silence
"prove your loyalty to this kingdom, prince sunghoon," the king commands, pointing a cold finger down at your kneeling form. "dispel the witch’s curse. do it now."
sunghoon’s ghostly head whips around. walking slowly out from the ranks of the soldiers is his past self. the handsome face that sunghoon had been bragging about five minutes ago is completely dead, pale as a corpse, his eyes entirely blank and hollow. in his right hand, he is dragging a long, heavy steel sword, the tip of the blade scraping against the stone floor with a horrific, screeching sound
screeech
"no... no, no, no," sunghoon whispers, the past sunghoon closes the distance, his heavy boots thudding against the stone tiles. but instead of standing behind you like a heartless executioner, he suddenly drops his weight, his knees hitting the damp earth with a loud, desperate thud right in front of you
you gasp, your eyes flying open as you look up through your tangled hair
the past sunghoon is looking right into your eyes, his face completely pale and breaking into a million pieces. he’s crying, thick, heavy tears cutting through the grime on his cheeks. he repositions his hands on the hilt of the heavy steel sword, reverse-gripping it so the sharp tip is pointed directly at your chest, while the pommel aligns perfectly with his own abdomen
the entire crowd of citizens and soldiers gasps in collective, paralyzed shock. the king stands up from his throne, screaming in fury
blood instantly floods the stone floor, pouring from both of their bodies. his past self had chosen a double suicide. if the kingdom wouldn't let them live together, he was going to make sure they died together
"intern, go! now!" jay’s voice barks like thunder, shattering the shock. "enter the body before her consciousness fades! do it!"
sunghoon doesn't even feel the transition. he just hurls his spirit forward, slamming directly into the physical flesh of his past self
gasp
the absolute, unimaginable agony hits him like a physical tidal wave. sunghoon’s vision violently flashes red. it feels like a white-hot iron rod has been driven directly through his gut, his nerve endings screaming in pure, unadulterated torture. the taste of warm, thick copper immediately floods his mouth, choking him
the long steel sword drives forward, piercing straight through the center of your chest, tearing through your heart, and bursting out from your back. but the momentum doesn't stop there. because he’s holding you so close, the remaining length of the steel blade drives straight backward, ripping through the past sunghoon's own stomach, skewering you both together in a brutal, tragic embrace
your foreheads rest against each other, your blood mixing on the cold metal between you as the life rapidly drains from both of your eyes. they are face-to-face, locked together in death, refusing to let the timeline separate them
his past self’s arms are losing strength rapidly, but with the very last ounce of his fading life, he leans forward. he presses his bloody lips against yours in a soft, desperate, lingering final kiss
"i love you," the past sunghoon’s voice whispers inside his mind, a final, fading thought before the modern sunghoon takes full control of the vocal cords
"y/n..." sunghoon chokes out, his voice a wet, ragged wheeze as blood spills over his lower lip. he tightens his grip on you, his tears mixing with the blood on your shoulder. "i'm sorry... i am so, so sorry. i couldn't get us out... i caused this. please... forgive me..."
and through the absolute agony of death, a soft, incredibly sweet smile breaks across your bloody lips. it looks so beautiful it completely shatters his soul. you look as if you don't even feel the pain, as if being in his arms makes the execution entirely irrelevant
"i forgive you..." you whisper, your voice a fragile, breathy sigh that fades into the howling wind. "always... sunghoon..."
your eyes gently flutter shut, the moment your soul leaves, the final, crushing weight of the sword wound takes him too. his vision goes entirely black, his heart giving one final, agonizing thud against the steel blade before his spirit is violently repelled from the flesh
gasp
sunghoon’s eyes snap open
the dark gray sky of joseon is gone. the smell of mud and blood is gone. he’s lying flat on his back on the damp grass of the modern hospital park, the bright neon lights of the city blurring into long, dizzying streaks above him
he immediately rolls onto his side, curling into a tight, defensive fetal position, his hands clutching his stomach frantically. the physical wound isn't there, but the phantom pain of that steel blade feels completely real, a lingering, burning ache in his gut that makes him choke on his own breath
sunghoon buries his face directly into the grass, letting out a loud, raw, unhinged sob. he cries so hard his entire body shakes violently, his fingers clawing at the dirt. the image of your sweet, bloody smile right before you died is burned into the back of his eyelids, torturing his mind
"i told you it was going to be bad," jay’s quiet, serious voice floats down
sunghoon pushes himself up onto his knees, his face entirely ruined by tears, his chest heaving in absolute desperation. he looks up at jay, who is standing quietly by the bench, his usual arrogant demeanor completely replaced by a solemn silence
"jay, please," sunghoon begs, his voice cracking into a pathetic, broken whisper as he reaches out toward the reaper. "i can't do this anymore without seeing her. i need to see her, the real her. the modern y/n. please, just let me see her for one second, i'm begging you. i can't keep watching her die over and over again, it's killing me."
jay lets out a long, slow breath, looking down at the glowing silver thread in sunghoon’s chest. it has knit itself together significantly now, pulsing with a much stronger, brighter light, though it's still missing the final pieces
"dude, seriously, calm down and be patient," jay says, his tone softening just a fraction, a hint of his casual peer voice returning as he steps closer. "we are actively working on it right now. every single time you survive one of these timelines and get her forgiveness, you're literally stitching her back into your destiny. you think i’m doing this to torture you? we're halfway there, park. if you break down now, that sword through the chest was for absolutely nothing. so take a breath, we still have one more to fix."
"you want to keep going or what?" jay asks, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. he watches sunghoon drag himself up from the damp grass, looking like an absolute shell of a human being
sunghoon crosses his arms, letting out a sharp, petulant huff as he fixes the reaper with a heavy glare. "no. i'm sick of this, jay. i don't want to see another tragedy. i just want to see her, the real her. let me just go to europe, let me look at her from a distance, literally anything but this."
jay rolls his eyes, entirely unbothered by the little tantrum. "dude, trust me on this one. if you go to the next lifetime, you're definitely not gonna regret it. it's a change of pace, i promise."
"yeah, right," sunghoon mutters, giving jay a massive, dramatic eye roll
he shuts his eyes tight for a fraction of a second, expecting the usual dizzying vortex or the violent pull of time travel. but when his eyelids flutter open a moment later, there's no wind, there's no crash
instead, he’s instantly hit by the overwhelming warmth of a crackling fireplace and the rich, expensive scent of polished mahogany, old money, and sweet vanilla. sunghoon blinks, looking down at his hands. they aren't see-through. he isn't a floating spirit this time, he’s completely locked into his past body from the get-go, feeling the physical weight of his own limbs. but when he glances toward the heavy velvet curtains by the window, jay is sitting right there on a leather armchair, blending into the shadows like a total creep
sunghoon looks around the room, his jaw dropping a little. the house is absolutely massive, dripping in pure, unadulterated luxury. high ceilings, intricate gold molding, and plush patterned rugs that swallow his footsteps
before he can even ask jay what era this is, two soft arms suddenly wrap securely around his waist from behind
a tiny, contented sigh presses right into the middle of his back, the warmth of another body radiating straight through his clothes. sunghoon completely freezes, his heart doing a violent, chaotic flip in his chest. he slowly turns around in the embrace, and the breath is completely knocked right out of his lungs
it’s you
you are standing right there in a flowing, silk and lace nightgown that hits the floor perfectly. an absolute, breathtakingly beautiful sin of a sight. your hair is soft, cascading over your shoulders, and your skin glows under the warm candlelight. seeing you like this, looking so domestic and ethereal, hits sunghoon like a physical truck. it makes his soul ache with a desperate, burning longing for the modern y/n, the girl he left crying in a hospital room
he glances down at himself, realizing he's wearing a perfectly tailored, incredibly expensive three piece suit. his coat is slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened just a fraction. he feels exhausted, his shoulders heavy, like he just walked through the front door after a brutal, fourteen-hour workday
"you're home late," you murmur softly, your sweet voice cutting through his internal monologue as you look up at him with pure affection. "have you eaten yet? i can have the servants warm up some dinner for you."
sunghoon swallows hard, his eyes completely locked onto your face, trying to commit every single detail to his memory. "no... no, i don't want to eat. i just... i want to rest."
"okay," you say gently, giving him a knowing, sympathetic smile as your hands slip from his waist. "you've been working so hard lately."
sunghoon instinctively reaches out, his arms longing to pull you back into his chest, to just hold you and never let you go but he stops dead in his tracks
waaaah
the sudden, loud sound of a baby crying echoes sharply through the heavy wooden doors down the hall. your head instantly whips toward the noise, your motherly instincts kicking in immediately
"oh, she's crying," you say quickly, a tiny hint of exhaustion bleeding into your beautiful features. "i'll be right back, honey. let me go check on her."
you turn and quickly hurry out of the room, leaving sunghoon completely frozen in the middle of the massive parlor, his hands still hovering uselessly in the empty air.
"welcome to the victorian era, intern," jay’s smooth voice floats over from the dark corner. the reaper stands up, brushing invisible dust off his jeans. "you're currently one of the most successful, filthy rich shipping magnates in the entire country. and if i remember the file correctly, you fell for her the absolute second you saw her. textbook love at first sight."
jay walks over to a grand mahogany side table, pointing his pale finger at a heavy silver picture frame. sunghoon steps closer, his heart pounding against his ribs
inside the frame is a beautiful wedding portrait of the two of them, looking unbelievably happy. right next to it is a painted family portrait. there's past sunghoon, you looking radiant in velvet, a little boy about four years old sitting proudly on a stool, and a tiny baby girl wrapped in lace blankets
children. they had a family. a real, whole, beautiful life together
before jay can even finish explaining the family tree, the heavy door clicks open again. you walk back into the room, smoothing down your silk nightgown, but you stop when you notice sunghoon staring intensely at the empty space next to the table.
you blink, looking around the quiet room. "sunghoon? who were you just talking to?"
sunghoon quickly glances to the side, but jay has already dissolved into thin air, leaving no trace behind. sunghoon clears his raspy throat, trying to play it cool. "oh... no one, darling. i just... i thought the telephone rang."
he can't take the distance anymore. the sheer sight of you after three timelines of absolute horror is making his head spin. sunghoon takes two large steps forward, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against him before dropping heavily onto the plush velvet sofa. he yanks you right down into his lap, winding his arms around you so tightly it’s like he’s trying to anchor his entire existence to your skin
you let out a soft, surprised giggle, but you don't fight it. you just settle comfortably against his chest, looping one arm around his neck as you start casually yapping about your day. you talk about how the nanny struggled with the kids, how your son managed to paint all over the library floor, and how much you missed him while he was at the office
sunghoon doesn't interrupt you once. he just listens to the sweet, rhythmic cadence of your voice, closing his eyes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. he leans up, pressing his lips against yours in a deep, lingering, and completely desperate kiss. it feels so real. the warmth, the softness, the electric sparks shooting straight to his core. it feels exactly like kissing the modern y/n in his own timeline
"alright, lovebirds, wrap it up," jay’s annoyed, disembodied voice groans loudly right next to his ear. "i'm literally gonna throw up. stop enjoying yourself and hit your cue, park. i'm sick of watching this."
sunghoon flinches slightly, pulling back from the kiss just enough to look into your beautiful, clear eyes. the overwhelming guilt from his modern life rushes back into his chest, choking him
"my love," sunghoon whispers, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy wave of emotion. "i'm sorry."
you blink, a amused, slightly confused smile breaking across your lips. "sorry? for what, sunghoon? for coming home late? it's fine, you were at a business meeting—"
"no, for everything," he cuts you off, his grip tightening around your waist as he stares at you with pure, raw sincerity. "for every single thing i've ever done wrong. for taking you for granted, for making you feel lonely, for every promise i ever messed up. i am so, so sorry. please forgive me."
you let out a soft, airy laugh, reaching up to gently run your fingers through his dark hair, entirely amused by his sudden, random burst of dramatic emotion. "you're so silly tonight. of course i forgive you, even though you haven't done anything wrong. you're the best husband and the most wonderful father in the world, sunghoon. there's absolutely nothing to forgive."
hearing those words, hearing that he was actually a good man to you in this life makes a warm, brilliant light explode right inside his chest. the relief is so intense he can barely breathe. he lets out a shaky laugh, wrapping his arms around you even tighter, burying his face in your hair as he shuts his eyes tight, wanting to just stay in this perfect, warm moment forever
"dude, get the hell off me! what is wrong with you?!"
flick!
a sharp, painful sting zaps right across sunghoon’s forehead, instantly shattering the beautiful victorian parlor
sunghoon’s eyes snap open, and his stomach instantly drops. the velvet sofa is gone, the warm fireplace is gone. he is currently sitting on the grass in the modern hospital park, but his arms are wrapped completely around jay’s waist, his face pressed directly into the side of the reaper's black hoodie
jay looks absolutely disgusted, using two fingers to aggressively push sunghoon’s head away as he dusts off his jacket like he just touched a biohazard. "get off! that is literally so foul. i don't do hugs, especially not from my interns."
sunghoon scrambles backward into the dirt, rubbing his throbbing forehead, totally embarrassed but still buzzing from the sheer joy of the last life. a massive, desperate grin breaks across his face. "jay! did you see that?! we had kids! we were happy! please, just send me back to that one. let me do it again, i want to go back right now!"
jay lets out a long, deeply exhausted groan, sliding off the concrete picnic table and rubbing his templates. "absolutely not. i am completely wiped out. do you even have any idea what time it is, park?"
sunghoon blinks, looking around the dark park, then down at his hands. "what do you mean? it's still midnight, isn't it?"
"human time? yeah, it's midnight," jay says, holding up his glowing digital ledger. "your little history tour just took a solid six months, assistant. we’ve been jumping through centuries for half a year."
"six months?!" sunghoon screams, his jaw dropping in pure shock. six months. his body had been laying in that hospital bed for half a year. you had been in europe for half a year, thinking he was a lost cause. the realization hits him like a bucket of ice water
"relax," jay says, a small, highly arrogant smirk creeping back onto his sharp face as he flips the screen of the ledger toward sunghoon. "look at the upside."
sunghoon lowers his gaze to his own chest, and his breath instantly hitches
the tiny, frayed, pathetic little wisp of silver thread is completely gone. in its place, a thick, beautifully woven, and brilliantly radiant silver cord is pulsing right over his heart. the light is incredibly blinding, solid, and perfectly knit together, humming with a powerful, ancient energy. the bond is completely restored
"it's perfect," sunghoon whispers, his eyes tearing up again, but this time out of pure, unadulterated relief. "it's completely fixed."
"yeah, yeah, congratulations, you're not single across eternity anymore," jay rolls his eyes, though there’s a faint hint of pride in his dark eyes. "your destiny with y/n is officially locked back in but don't celebrate just yet... because now comes the hardest part of the entire contract."
୨ৎ Summary : Dr. Sim thought surviving trauma surgery would be the hardest part of his new job. Until he met Dr. Y/N. Cold, terrifying, and impossibly competent, the trauma surgeon quickly becomes the center of every exhausting shift and every thought he can’t seem to turn off. Somewhere between overnight surgeries, coffee runs, and years of working side by side, Jake realizes falling in love with her is the easiest thing he’s ever done. The problem? Dr. Y/N doesn’t believe in making space for people in her life. Especially not someone as persistent as him.
୨ৎ Pairing : anesthesiologist! Jake x traumasurgeon! reader
୨ৎ Wordcount : 9.4K
୨ৎ Song : Crush - Ego
୨ৎ Warning : STILL A SLOW BURN!! Jake highkey down-bad, FLUFF!!, a bit angst, comedic (if you squint), co-worker to.... (idk) but there's a progress chat!, a lot of banter (please bear with me).
part I
Jake spent a solid fifteen minutes staring at the vending machine. A deep sigh escaped him as he leaned his forehead against the glass. His reflection stared back, looking significantly less charming than usual. Tragic.
First day as an attending anesthesiologist, he already got yelled at in front of an entire operating room.
Jake still couldn’t fully process it.
Not during med school. Not during residency. Not even by Professor Kwon, who once made a grown orthopedic resident cry over improper intubation positioning.
But you?
You had looked up from an actively bleeding patient with the coldest expression he had ever seen and said—
“Dr. Sim, are you planning to keep up, or should I ask for someone faster?”
The room had gone silent. Even the cardiac monitor suddenly sounded awkward. Jake winced at the memory and rubbed a hand down his face.
Okay.
In his defense, trauma surgery was insane. Things moved at approximately the speed of light in your operating room. Instruments flew into your waiting hand before people even registered that you asked for them. Residents looked second away from cardiac arrest. Nurses communicated through eye contact alone.
And you?
You were terrifying.
Not loud, not emotional, just brutally efficient. Which somehow made it worse.
Jake grabbed an Americano from the vending machine and muttered under his breath.
“One rough induction and suddenly my career flashed before my eyes,”
“You were slow.”
He nearly fumbled the drink. Turning around, he found you standing there in navy scrubs, arms crossed loosely over your chest.
No warning. No footsteps. Psychotic behavior, honestly.
“You always stand there like a disappointed ghost?”
“You always complain this much?”
“Only after public humiliation.”
You grabbed your drink from the vending machine. “Then get used to it.”
Jake stared at you in disbelief as you started walking away.
“Wow,” he called after you. “That was kinda mean.”
Jake watched you walk down the hallway without looking back once.
Sure, you were dragging your steps like each one weighed at least fifty pounds after a brutal shift, but somehow you still moved through the hospital corridor with the intensity of someone seconds away from giving a TED Talk titled Why Med School Was The Worst Decision Of My Life.
Jake took a sip of his coffee.
“…I kinda respect her, actually.”
“Don’t let her hear that.”
"Jesus!"
Jake's heart almost evaporates. A nurse stood beside him now, casually punching numbers into the vending machine. Slowly, and trying to make things more embarrassing, he calmed himself down.
“Why?” he asked.
“Compliments make her violent.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “That explains a lot.”
“You’re new, huh?”
“That obvious?”
The nurse grabbed her drink with a hum. “You’re still smiling after getting yelled at.”
Ouch.
Jake leaned back against the vending machine. “Does she hate everyone equally, or should I feel honored?”
“Oh, Dr. Y/N definitely hates incompetence more.”
“…That somehow feels personal.”
“You’ll survive,” the nurse said. “Probably.”
Probably?
Before Jake could question that deeply concerning choice of words, his pager suddenly buzzed against his waist.
OR TWO — TRAUMA ACTIVATION.
“Well,” he muttered, pushing himself off the vending machine, “time to go disappoint a woman again.”
“Good luck,” the nurse called out, already laughing.
He took one last sip of his americano before tossing the empty can neatly into the trash bin.
Missed.
Jake stared at the can lying sadly on the floor.
“…That feels symbolic somehow.”
Then, with what remained of his dignity, he picked it up and headed toward OR Two. Straight into the beginning of his problems.
.
.
.
.
Six months later, Jake learned three important things.
First, trauma surgeons operated entirely on caffeine, spite, and unresolved psychological issues. Second, the emergency department smelled permanently like stress and antiseptic. And third, you still hated him. Maybe hate was a strong word. Strongly disliked him? Yeah, probably that.
“Dr. Sim.”
Jake didn’t even look up from the patient chart anymore. “That tone usually means I’m about to get criticized.”
“Because you’re leaning on the sterile table.”
He immediately stepped away. “See, this is why morale in this hospital is terrible.”
“Morale is not my department.”
“Neither is emotional damage, yet somehow you excel at both.”
Around the operating room, two residents immediately looked down to hide their laughter.
Six months ago, they would’ve been terrified to witness conversations like this. Now the trauma team had simply accepted that Dr. Y/N and Dr. Sim existed in their own strange ecosystem. Jake adjusted his gloves before glancing sideways at you. Same cold expression. Same sharp eyes. Same terrifyingly competent hands are currently preparing for surgery.
Still terrifying. Still brutally honest. Still the prettiest person he’d ever seen in an operating room.
Which honestly felt medically unprofessional at this point.
“You’re staring again,” you said flatly.
Jake blinked once. “See, now you’re just making things awkward.”
“Focus on the patient.”
“I am.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly. Jake grinned behind his mask. Ah. There it was. Progress. Six months ago, you would’ve ignored him completely. Now you looked mildly homicidal instead.
Relationship development.
.
.
.
.
A year later, Jake still couldn’t decide whether meeting you had improved his life or permanently damaged it.
Probably both.
You were still terrifying. The difference was that he had unfortunately started finding it attractive. Deeply attractive. Catastrophically attractive, even.
Somewhere between his third overnight trauma call and the time you silently handed him half your sandwich during a fourteen-hour shift, Jake realized he was in serious trouble. Not crush trouble. Real trouble.
The kind where he automatically searched for you first every time he walked into the trauma department. The kind where hearing your voice over the intercom somehow made his shifts less unbearable. The kind where your approval started mattering more than it should.
Which was ridiculous, considering you still criticized him like it was a professional obligation.
“BP’s dropping.”
“I know.”
“Well, that response feels unnecessarily hostile.”
You didn’t even look up from the patient. “Clamp.”
The scrub nurse immediately placed the instrument into your hand.
“Pressure’s at eighty over fifty,” Jake continued, eyes moving across the monitor. “She’s bleeding faster than you’re closing.”
“That sounds judgmental coming from someone sitting down.”
Jake gasped softly behind his mask. “See? This is why people fear trauma surgeons.”
“People fear incompetence.”
“And yet you continue allowing residents into your OR.”
One of the residents nearly choked. You held your hand out wordlessly.
“Suction.”
Jake watched you work for a second.
Fast hands. Steady movements. Zero hesitation. Honestly, it was getting hard to focus professionally when you looked like that during surgery.
“Dr. Sim.”
He blinked. “Hm?”
“Focus.”
Jake stared. “You sensed me being distracted?”
“Your monitor alarm has been going off for seven seconds.”
“…Right.”
He silenced it quickly while muttering under his breath, “This is psychological warfare.”
“Heart rate stabilizing,” he said a moment later. “You’ve got a better window now.”
“How much time?”
Jake glanced at the monitor again. “If you want the patient alive? Ten minutes.”
“I only need seven.”
“That confidence is either very attractive or deeply concerning.”
Silence. Then the scrub nurse quietly turned away to hide her laughter. Your eyes narrowed above your mask.
“Are you always this annoying?”
“Only in rooms where I feel emotionally safe.”
“Then feel unsafe.”
Jake grinned immediately.
Ah. There it was. His favorite thing in the world: the tiny look of irritation you got whenever he made you this close to losing composure.
.
.
.
.
Three years later, Jake could read your moods purely based on how aggressively you tied your surgical gown.
Today?
Dangerous.
Not angry enough to kill someone, but definitely irritated enough to emotionally damage a resident.
“Why is everyone breathing so loudly today?”
Ah.
Definitely dangerous.
Around the operating room, three residents immediately lowered their heads like civilians avoiding eye contact with a predator. Jake, meanwhile, didn’t even look up from the anesthesia monitor anymore.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”
“I’ve been awake for twenty-two hours.”
“And yet somehow your personality still finds ways to worsen.”
“Scalpel.”
The instrument landed perfectly into your waiting hand before the scrub nurse could react. Your eyes flicked toward Jake briefly. Not surprised. Just accustomed. Three years working together had turned your operating rhythm into something almost automatic.
Jake adjusted medications before you asked. You anticipated his timing without looking. The entire trauma surgeries passed with conversations made up of half-sentences because neither of you needed explanations anymore. Honestly, it was a little insane.
“BP stable,” Jake said.
“Mm.”
“Heart rate’s improving.”
“Good.”
“You know,” he continued casually, “most surgeons say thank you.”
“Most anesthesiologists don’t complain during active hemorrhages.”
Ouch.
The surgery continued smoothly after that.
Three years working together had turned both of you into something almost terrifyingly synchronized. You moved. Jake adjusted. He spoke. You already anticipated the problem before he finished the sentence.
Somewhere along the way, working together stopped feeling difficult and started feeling natural. Which was honestly dangerous for Jake emotionally.
Nearly an hour later, you finally stepped away from the operating table with a tired exhale.
“Closing complete.”
Jake glanced at the monitor one last time before nodding. “Vitals stable.”
“Good.”
The residents visibly relaxed like prisoners being granted freedom.
You peeled off your gloves with the same exhausted irritation you carried through most shifts nowadays. Twenty-two hours awake. Midnight surgery. Terrifying attitude is somehow still fully operational. Jake watched you walk toward the scrub room sink before following behind casually.
“So,” he started, washing his hands beside you, “coffee?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Jake sighed. “You reject me concerning efficiency.”
“Practice.”
“Cruel.”
“Accurate.”
Water ran quietly between both of you for a moment. Your shoulders looked tense. Heavy. The kind of exhaustion that sleep alone probably couldn’t fix. Jake leaned slightly against the sink.
“Okay,” he tried again, “then lunch tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“No.”
“Breakfast?”
“I’d rather intubate myself.”
Jake stared at you in disbelief. “See, comments like that are exactly why HR avoids our department.”
Finally, finally, the corner of your mouth twitched upward slightly. Barely there. Tiny.
But Jake noticed immediately anyway. And there it was. The reason he kept trying. Because every once in a while, after long shifts and impossible surgeries, you let tiny cracks show through the armor. Never for long. Never intentionally. But enough. Just enough to completely ruin him. You grabbed a towel, drying your hands before speaking flatly again.
“Go home, Dr. Sim.”
Jake smiled lazily. “Worried about me?”
“I’m worried your face will still be here when my next shift starts.”
“That’s the meanest possible version of concern.”
You turned to leave the scrub room. Then paused briefly near the doorway.
“…There’s coffee in the residents’ lounge.”
Jake blinked once.
“Wait.”
You kept walking.
“Was that an invitation?”
Silence.
Jake grinned slowly to himself before following you anyway.
.
.
.
.
Jake realized he was in love with you at 3:17 in the morning.
Which was deeply unfair, honestly.
Not because the timing was inconvenient— although falling in love during a trauma activation probably counted as psychological damage— but because the realization happened over something incredibly stupid.
You were eating crackers.
That was it.
Just you sitting on the counter in the residents’ lounge after eighteen straight hours awake, still wearing navy scrubs while quietly eating stale crackers like they personally offended you. Jake stood frozen near the coffee machine.
Yet somehow, while watching you silently eat crackers at an ungodly hour in a fluorescent hospital lounge, that was the only thought Jake had left.
Oh, this was bad.
Because suddenly every annoying thing about you became weirdly endearing. The permanent frown. The exhaustion in your eyes. The way you looked homicidal before caffeine. Even your silence felt familiar now instead of intimidating.
You noticed him staring almost immediately. Of course you did. You looked unimpressed already. Comforting, somehow. Jake grabbed two coffees automatically before setting one beside you. You glanced at the cup.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“You also haven’t gone home in twenty hours. I’m taking creative liberties.”
You stared at the coffee for a few quiet seconds before taking it anyway. No, thank you, just acceptance. Jake smiled before he could stop himself. And there it was again. That horrible feeling in his chest. Warm. Heavy. Stupidly soft.
God.
He was genuinely done for.
You frowned slightly at him over the coffee cup.
“…Why are you smiling like that?”
Jake leaned against the counter beside you.
“Nothing.”
Suspicious silence.
“You’re being weird again.”
He laughed quietly. Again. Like this was normal now. And maybe that was the exact moment Jake realized the problem wasn’t that you were difficult to love. It was that loving you had become the easiest thing he’d done in years.
.
.
.
.
“Fine,” you said flatly. “Lunch.”
Jake blinked. For the first time since you’d known him, he looked genuinely caught off guard. Then his entire face changed. Not smug satisfaction. Not teasing triumph. He looked happy.
Ridiculously, openly happy.
“Seriously?” he asked.
You immediately regretted everything. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird, you just said yes.”
“To lunch.”
“With me.”
“To food.”
He laughed under his breath, then straightened so quickly it was almost embarrassing. “Right. Yes. Of course. Food.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you look like you won something?”
“Because I did.”
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
That exact moment had permanently altered his brain chemistry.
But Jake couldn’t help it. Because for everyone else, lunch was just lunch.
For you?
Saying yes to anything personal felt nearly impossible. Which meant Jake remembered every tiny detail of that day with horrifying clarity. The way you sighed before agreeing. The way you rolled your eyes when he smiled too much. The fact that you stayed even after finishing your food.
Tiny things. Meaningless things. Things Jake treasured anyway, like a complete idiot.
“Dr. Sim.”
He looked up instantly. And there you were at the end of the hallway, already dressed in scrubs for the next surgery. Same exhausted expression.
Same terrifying aura.
The same woman is currently ruining his emotional stability.
“Are you coming to OR Three,” you asked flatly, “or are you planning to stand there looking emotionally compromised all afternoon?”
Jake blinked once.
“See, comments like that are exactly why I’m obsessed with you.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
“It is.”
You stared at him for a long second before turning around toward the operating rooms again.
“Five minutes.”
Jake immediately pushed himself off the counter to follow after you.
Of course he did.
The hallway lights reflected against the polished floors as both of you walked side by side in familiar silence.
“Why are you smiling again?”
Jake looked over innocently. “You notice me a lot.”
“You’re visibly weird.”
“That’s hurtful.”
God. Even your insults sounded fond lately. Or maybe Jake was just deeply delusional at this point. Honestly hard to tell anymore.
“You know,” he said casually as both of you stopped outside the OR doors, “we should do lunch again sometime.”
“No.”
Immediate. Jake sighed dramatically toward the ceiling.
“And yet you already said yes once.”
“Temporary lapse in judgment.”
“One of the best days of my life, actually.”
Your hand paused briefly against the OR door handle. Tiny. Almost invisible. But Jake noticed anyway. He always noticed. You glanced sideways at him with narrowed eyes.
Silence.
“Dr. Sim.”
“Yeah?”
“Go monitor your patient.”
Ah.
Deflection again. Interesting.
.
.
.
.
The problem with Jake openly liking you was that nobody in the hospital found it surprising anymore.
Not the nurses. Not the residents. Not even the janitors at this point. After three years, Dr. Sim orbiting around Dr. Y/N had simply become part of the hospital ecosystem. Jake brought you coffee. You rejected him. Jake flirted during surgeries. You threatened violence.
Nature healed.
“You know that our hospital scrubs look good on you, right?”
“Move.”
Jake sighed, stepping aside so you could reach the patient's chart behind him.
“See, this is what I mean. You never take me seriously.”
“Because you say things like that while blocking the hallway.”
“That’s not related.”
“It’s extremely related.”
You flipped through the chart with your usual flat expression while Jake leaned beside you like a man with absolutely no survival instincts.
“I’m serious, by the way.”
“Mm.”
“That response feels disrespectful.”
“That’s because I don’t respect this conversation.”
Brutal.
Jake watched you scribble notes onto the chart, completely unaffected. Which honestly felt offensive at this point. Most people got nervous when they confessed to. You looked mildly inconvenienced.
“Three years,” Jake continued. “Three years of emotional dedication.”
“Three years of workplace harassment.”
“Wow.”
“You asked.”
Fair enough.
A resident passing by suddenly changed direction immediately after spotting both of you together.
Coward.
Jake narrowed his eyes at your profile. “Do you genuinely not believe me?”
“No.”
Immediate.
“That’s crazy, actually.”
“You flirt with everyone.”
Ouch.
Jake straightened slightly.
“Not like this.”
Finally, your pen paused. Just briefly. Tiny enough that nobody else would notice. But Jake noticed everything about you. Your eyes lifted toward him slowly.
“Dr. Sim.”
“Yeah?”
“You tell nurses they look pretty at least twice a day.”
“That’s basic workplace morale.”
“You winked at a pharmaceutical representative yesterday.”
“In my defense, she gave us free pens.”
Your expression flattened further somehow.
“Exactly my point.”
Jake stared at you for a second before laughing quietly under his breath.
God.
This was the issue. You genuinely thought this was just how he was. That he was naturally charming, affectionate, and absolutely naturally unserious.
You finally closed the chart and handed it to him. Your fingers brushed his glove briefly. Accidental. Meaningless. Yet Jake still felt like an idiot.
“Trauma consult in ten,” you said.
Then, just before walking away—
“…And stop flirting in hallways. You’re disturbing the residents.”
Jake blinked. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.
Not stop flirting.
Just—not in hallways. Oh. Interesting.
.
.
.
.
The next morning, you looked terrible.
Not visually terrible. Objectively, annoyingly, you still looked good. But Jake had worked with you for three years. He knew your normal expressions, your normal silences, your normal levels of hostility.
Today? Something was off. You were quieter. Not calmer. Just exhausted in a way that sat too heavily on your shoulders.
You adjusted your gloves with visible irritation before looking over the trauma scans clipped beside the monitor.
“Patient’s unstable. We don’t have time.”
Jake kept watching you carefully.
Pale.
“Dr. Y/N.”
“What.”
“You have a fever.”
“You diagnosed that from across the room?”
“I diagnosed it from your personality, somehow getting worse.”
No response. Which, honestly, worried him more. Usually, you’d insult him by now.
“Pressure dropping,” Jake said sharply.
“I know.”
“You’re too slow.”
“I said I know!”
Your voice cracked harshly through the operating room. Everyone froze instantly. Not because you yelled. You yelled all the time. But because your hands trembled afterward. Barely noticeable. Barely there.
Jake’s stomach dropped immediately.
“Dr. Y/N.”
“Focus on your side.”
“Dr. Sim,” you said flatly, though your voice sounded weaker now, “either help me keep this patient alive or stop staring at me.”
Jake looked at the monitor again before adjusting the medications quickly.
“BP stabilizing.”
“Good.”
Your shoulders lowered slightly in relief.
The surgery ended nearly four hours later.
Successful. Technically. But the entire day had gone horribly for you. Two emergency traumas back-to-back. One difficult family consult. Three residents are asking questions at the exact wrong time. No proper meal since yesterday afternoon.
And now this surgery.
By the time you stepped out of the operating room, your face looked noticeably pale beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. Jake noticed immediately. Of course he did.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
Automatic. Flat. You didn’t even look at him while stripping off your gloves. The second the operation ended, you scrubbed out quickly and walked straight out of the hallway without your usual post-op lecture to the residents. Jake frowned immediately. That wasn’t normal. The residents looked confused, too. You never skipped the chart review. Never disappeared first.
Jake watched you push through the heavy emergency stairwell door before it shut behind you. For a moment, he stayed where he was. Then, without really thinking about it, he followed quietly down the hallway.
The stairwell door didn’t close completely. Just enough of a gap remained for him to see through the narrow opening.
And there you were.
Sitting halfway down the stairs with your elbows resting against your knees, eyes closed briefly as your head leaned against the wall. Still wearing your scrubs. Still carrying exhaustion in every inch of your posture. Silent.
Jake froze near the doorway. Something unpleasant tightened in his chest immediately.
Because he’d spent three years watching you survive impossible shifts without slowing down once. Three years watching you carry entire trauma rooms on your shoulders like it was normal. Yet right now, sitting alone in a quiet emergency stairwell, you looked tired in a way he’d never seen before.
Not the kind fixed by sleep. The deeper kind of doctors ignored themselves constantly.
Jake’s hand rested lightly against the stairwell door. He could go inside. You’d probably insult him for following you. Tell him to leave. Tell him you were fine.
But for once, he didn’t think you wanted someone talking to you. You just wanted silence. So Jake stayed where he was. Quiet. Hidden behind the door like an idiot. Watching long enough to make sure your breathing evened out slightly. Watching until some of the tension slowly left your shoulders.
The exhausted one sitting alone on emergency stairs because the hospital never stopped needing pieces of you. Jake lowered his eyes briefly before exhaling quietly to himself.
Hopeless. Completely hopeless.
Then, careful not to make noise, he stepped away from the stairwell door and walked back toward the hallway—leaving you your five minutes alone.
.
.
.
.
The emergency department immediately dissolved into organized chaos the second the paramedics pushed the gurney through the trauma bay doors.
“Male, thirty-eight,” one of the paramedics reported quickly. “Blunt abdominal trauma, hypotensive en route, possible internal bleeding—”
You were already moving before they finished speaking.
“Prep OR Two,” you ordered sharply. “Get blood ready. FAST ultrasound now.”
Jake watched you take over the room instantly. Like always. Fast hands. Fast decisions. No hesitation. The exhaustion from earlier disappeared beneath pure instinct the second a patient’s life landed in your hands.
That was the terrifying thing about you.
No matter how exhausted you were, trauma mode always came first. The patient groaned sharply as nurses transferred him onto the trauma bed. Disoriented. Agitated. In pain.
“Sir, stay still,” you said firmly while checking the abdominal tenderness.
“Don’t touch me,” he snapped immediately, trying to shove your hand away.
Jake frowned slightly from beside the monitors. Pain response. Confusion. Not unusual. But the patient kept going.
“Where’s the real doctor?” he barked harshly.
Silence flickered briefly across the trauma bay. One of the residents visibly stiffened. You didn’t react. Didn’t even blink. Just continued checking his injuries calmly.
“I am the trauma surgeon,” you replied evenly.
The patient laughed bitterly through clenched teeth. “Yeah? Then why do you look about sixteen?”
Bad move.
Jake saw several nurses immediately avoid eye contact. Because everyone in the trauma department knew one thing very clearly: You hated incompetent men. But you hated disrespectful ones even more.
Still, your expression never changed.
“You have internal bleeding,” you said flatly. “You can either cooperate with treatment or continue arguing while your blood pressure drops.”
“Unbelievable,” the patient snapped loudly. “You people always act like you’re smarter than everyone else.”
Jake’s jaw tightened slightly.
Because normally? Normally, you’d shut this down immediately with one terrifying sentence and move on. But today you just looked tired. Not offended. Not angry. Just tired.
“OR is ready,” a nurse interrupted carefully.
You nodded once. “Move him.”
.
.
.
.
The silence between you stretched quietly beneath the fluorescent lights.
Cold water still ran over your hands. The steady sound echoed softly through the scrub room while the rest of the hospital continued moving somewhere beyond the walls—pages overhead, hurried footsteps, distant monitor alarms.
Jake stayed near the doorway. Not leaving. Not speaking. Just there.
You finally shut the water off with a tired exhale before reaching for a paper towel. “You’re hovering.”
Jake leaned lightly against the doorframe. “You look like you’re about to commit aggravated assault on the next resident that breathes wrong.”
“That’s not unusual.”
“…Fair.”
The corner of your mouth almost twitched upward. Almost. Jake noticed immediately anyway. Three years later, and he still reacted to every microscopic change in your expression like a man discovering religion. You tossed the paper towel into the trash before finally looking at him properly for the first time since surgery.
“What?”
Jake shrugged slightly. “Nothing.”
“You’re staring again.”
“You got yelled at by an idiot patient and still saved his life thirty minutes later. I think I’m allowed to stare a little.”
Your expression flattened automatically at that. Deflection. Distance. Armor back up.
“It’s part of the job.”
“I know.”
“And I’m fine.”
Jake looked at you quietly for a second too long. Because that word again.
Fine.
Your favorite lie.
The thing was—you probably believed it too. You’d spent so many years surviving impossible shifts and impossible expectations that exhaustion became normal. Hurt became background noise. You kept functioning, so technically nothing was wrong.
Jake hated that.
Not because he thought you were fragile.
God, no.
You were probably the strongest person he’d ever met. But strong people still deserved someone noticing when things got heavy.
“You know,” he said softly, “being good at handling something doesn’t automatically mean it doesn’t suck.”
For the first time that night, you looked caught off guard.
Tiny reaction. Brief. But real. Your eyes lowered for a second before you shook your head lightly, almost annoyed at yourself for reacting at all.
“Since when did anesthesiologists become therapists?”
Jake grinned faintly. “Since trauma surgeons became emotionally constipated.”
“Watch your tone.”
“There she is.”
That finally earned him a quiet scoff from you. Small. Tired. But genuine. And somehow that felt like victory.
It wasn’t the first time a patient had looked at you and questioned your abilities. Wasn’t the first time someone assumed you were too young, too cold, too arrogant to be good at your job. And it definitely wasn’t the first time a man raised his voice at you because you refused to soften your tone for his comfort. None of it was new. You learned years ago that being a trauma surgeon meant growing thick skin fast, so you did. You became sharper. Colder. Harder to offend. Most days, it worked. Today just wasn’t most days.
The trauma patient was eventually stabilized after agreeing to surgery at the last possible second. The operation itself went smoothly—efficient, controlled, another life saved. Everyone in the OR moved on quickly afterward. Residents talked about the procedure, nurses cleaned up, and another trauma page already echoed somewhere down the hallway. The hospital kept moving. It always did. You stripped off your gloves quietly before stepping out of the operating room without saying much to anyone.
Jake noticed immediately. Of course he did. He watched you stop near the scrub room sink, hands braced lightly against the counter while cold water ran over your fingers. Just breathing. Just existing for one second without somebody needing something from you. Jake stood near the doorway quietly, not interrupting this time. No flirting. No teasing. Because he knew. Not exactly what it felt like, but enough. Enough to understand that being hurt by something didn’t mean you were weak for it. You could hear the same insult a hundred times and still feel it on the hundred-and-first. Especially on days when you were already running on nothing.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then quietly, without looking at him, you muttered, “…He’s alive.”
Like that was the only part that mattered. Jake’s chest tightened painfully.
Because even after getting screamed at, doubted, and disrespected, your first concern was still whether the patient survived. Not your pride. Not your feelings. The patient. And standing there beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, exhausted down to the bone yet still worrying about somebody who had insulted you to your face, Jake felt himself fall in love with you all over again.
A few weeks after that night, the hospital didn’t get any quieter.
It never did.
But something between you and Jake had shifted in a way neither of you said out loud. He still trailed after you through corridors, still made unnecessary comments during surgeries, still acted like your personal irritation in human form. And you still told him to move, still rolled your eyes, still treated him like he was one bad joke away from getting kicked out of your OR.
But it wasn’t just that anymore. It had started to feel consistent. Familiar in a way that didn’t belong to colleagues.
That night, another trauma page came in just after midnight. Jake was already in OR Two when you arrived, tying your gown with sharp, efficient movements that didn’t quite hide how exhausted you were.
“Male, forty-two, MVC,” Jake said as you stepped in. “BP unstable en route but responding to fluids.”
“Start transfusion protocol,” you replied immediately.
No hesitation. No wasted movement. Just instinct and control.
The patient came in fast. Too fast. The room snapped into controlled chaos the moment the gurney crossed the threshold.
And Jake noticed it again. You were tired. Not obvious to anyone else—but obvious to him. A fraction slower between movements. A tighter set to your jaw. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t show up in posture, only in timing.
“Dr. Y/N,” Jake said quietly while adjusting anesthesia, “you slept at all this week?”
“I sleep.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one you’re getting.”
He sighed under his breath, but didn’t push further. He’d learned that pushing didn’t help with you. Not like that. The surgery progressed. Bleeding controlled. Vitals stabilizing. Everything is technically going right.
Until a resident hesitated at a critical step. A second too long. You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t need to.
“Step aside,” you said flatly.
The resident froze.
“I said step aside!”
They moved immediately. The room went tense for half a second before stabilizing again. Jake watched it happen, not with judgment—but recognition. Because he knew that silence. That tone. It wasn’t anger for the sake of control. It was exhaustion protecting something fragile underneath it: the patient not dying on your table.
The surgery finished cleanly after that.
“Vitals stable,” Jake said.
“Close,” you replied.
And just like that, it was over.
You moved to the sink afterward, stripping off gloves with slightly slower hands than usual. The kind of tired that had started to settle into your bones lately instead of passing with the shift.
Jake stayed with you this time. Not behind. Not beside like a passing colleague. Just there. Close enough that it was intentional. The water ran quietly between you for a moment before he spoke.
“You’re not fine.”
Your hands paused under the stream.
Not startled. Just… aware. He didn’t continue immediately. Didn’t push. His voice stayed steady, lower than usual.
“I’m not saying that as your anesthesiologist,” he added. “I’m saying it as someone who actually cares about you.”
Silence. That landed differently. You slowly turned off the water and reached for a paper towel.
“…That’s not your job,” you said flatly.
Jake gave a quiet, humorless exhale. “Yeah. I know.”
You finally looked at him then. Properly. Tired eyes. Controlled expression. Walls still up, but thinner than they used to be.
He didn’t look away. Because he meant it. Not as a colleague. Not as a coworker orbiting your OR schedule. As someone who had spent too many nights noticing when you stopped being okay before you ever admitted it.
“I don’t care about this job boundary thing,” Jake said more softly.
That made your expression tighten slightly. Not anger. Something more complicated.
“…You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
He just stayed there beside you in the harsh fluorescent light, like leaving you alone wasn’t something he was willing to do anymore.
“You should stop,” you said.
“Stop what?”
“This.”
A beat.
You gestured vaguely between the two of you, like it explained everything and nothing at once. Jake’s expression tightened slightly, but he didn’t back off.
“No,” he said simply.
That one word landed harder than expected. Because Jake didn’t usually refuse you like that. Not seriously. Not like he had decided something.
You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I am deciding it,” he corrected, voice calm but firm. “Because you’re not actually asking me to stop. You’re telling me to leave you alone so you don’t have to deal with it.”
Your jaw tightened.
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” he said quietly. “And I get it.”
That stopped you for a second. Not because you agreed. Because he wasn’t arguing your competence. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t pushing your patience just to get a reaction.
He was just seeing it. Like he had been paying attention longer than you realized.
Jake stepped slightly closer—not invading, not cornering, just closing the distance enough that you couldn’t ignore him without effort.
“I’ve watched you for three years,” he said. “Not just in the OR. Everywhere.”
Your eyes flicked to his face briefly, guarded. He continued anyway.
“You don’t slow down. Not when you’re exhausted. Not when people are disrespectful. Not when you’re clearly running on nothing.”
A pause.
“And I used to think that was just who you are.”
His voice softened slightly, but didn’t lose its edge.
“But it’s not strength when it’s constant depletion.”
The word hit differently. You hated that it did. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the sink.
“I’m fine,” you repeated automatically.
Jake shook his head once.
“No,” he said again, quieter this time. “You’re functional. There’s a difference.”
Silence stretched. The hum of the hospital overhead felt louder now. You looked away first, which annoyed you more than anything else.
“…You’re overstepping,” you muttered.
“Yeah,” Jake admitted immediately.
That made you look back at him. He didn’t apologize. Just nodded slightly as he accepted it.
“I am,” he said. “But I’d rather be annoying than watch you keep pretending you don’t need anything from anyone.”
Your throat tightened slightly—something you refused to name. Jake exhaled slowly, then added, softer but steadier:
“And I’m not doing this because you’re my colleague anymore.”
That part landed differently. He held your gaze. No grin. No flirting. No easy exit. Just honesty, stripped down.
“I care about you,” he said. “More than I should for someone I work with.”
A pause. Then, more firmly.
“And I’m not going to pretend I don’t anymore.”
The space between you felt too quiet after that. Not empty. Just full in a way neither of you had labeled yet.
.
.
.
.
You didn’t hate people.
Jake had stopped believing that version of you a long time ago. What you hated was the aftermath—the chaos left behind when someone else made a mistake, and you were the one expected to turn it into something survivable again. The delay. The preventable damage. The clean-up that always landed in your hands. Inconvenience disguised as responsibility. That was what irritated you, not humanity itself.
Because if it had truly been hatred, you wouldn’t pause the way you did when a patient’s voice cracked in fear. You wouldn’t adjust your tone when someone was too scared to understand instructions. You wouldn’t stay late when there was nothing in it for you except making sure things didn’t fall apart after you left. Jake had seen it too many times now for it to be an accident.
You had always told yourself engagement with people was complicated—that it meant getting pulled into problems you never agreed to take on, responsibilities that didn’t belong to you, emotions that would slow you down. So you built distance. Sharpness. Efficiency. Cold professionalism that made everything easier to manage and harder to reach. A system that worked, most of the time.
But life didn’t let you stay detached. Not here. Not in trauma. Because here you were anyway—standing in the middle of chaos, cleaning up what other people broke, making impossible decisions in seconds while others hesitated. Everything you said you didn’t want, you were already doing. Jake watched you for a moment longer and thought, quietly, that maybe it was never about hating people at all. Maybe it was just that you cared too much and never permitted yourself to call it that.
So when others called you cold, Jake no longer agreed. Because to him, you weren’t the coldest person in the hospital. You were the one who cared the most. Just in a way that didn’t ask for credit, didn’t ask to be seen, and definitely didn’t ask to be understood. And somehow, that made you the warmest person he had ever known.
.
.
.
.
The trauma page came in just after midnight.
MVC. High speed. Multiple casualties.
By the time you reached the ER, the chaos was already organized into sharp, practiced motion. Gurneys rolling in, voices overlapping, monitors beeping in a frantic rhythm.
“Male, early thirties,” one paramedic reported quickly. “Severe chest trauma, hypotensive, possible internal bleeding. Passenger vehicle. Wife is also incoming—pregnant, third trimester, conscious.”
That made your steps pause for half a second. Then you kept moving.
“Bring him to OR One. Prep blood now,” you ordered immediately. “Call OB for standby.”
The husband was already fading when they transferred him. Too much damage. Too fast. Internal bleeding, you couldn’t fully stop, even as you worked. Jake was there, but he didn’t speak much, just watched the numbers, adjusted what he needed to adjust, stayed exactly where he was needed.
And you?
You didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t break rhythm. Didn’t allow anything to slow your hands. But even before the final moment, you knew. That quiet, awful certainty that sometimes came in trauma. When effort stopped being about saving and started being about not losing control of the room.
“BP dropping,” Jake said softly.
“I know,” you replied.
You pushed harder anyway. Longer than most would have. Longer than was reasonable. Long enough that everyone in the OR understood what was happening without saying it.
Finally—
silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The final kind.
Jake’s hand slowed on the monitor. No dramatic announcement. No unnecessary words. Just a small pause before he looked at you.
“…Time of death,” he said quietly.
You didn’t respond immediately.
For a second, your hands stayed where they were, still in position, still doing the job your body refused to stop doing. Then slowly, you stepped back.
“Stop,” you said flatly to the team. “Call it.”
Your voice didn’t shake. Not outwardly. The room moved again after that—procedures, documentation, cleanup—but everything felt muted now because the patient wasn’t just a case. Not this one.
When the OR finally cleared, you stood at the sink longer than usual. Washing your hands even after they were already clean. Jake didn’t say anything. Just stayed nearby.
And then the wife was brought in.
She was still in pain. Still in shock. Heavy pregnant, barely able to sit up properly, one hand gripping her abdomen while the other reached for the space beside her.
“Where is he?” she asked immediately.
No one answered right away. Not the nurses. Not the resident. Not Jake. Your name was the only one that mattered now. So you stepped forward. The hallway suddenly felt too small.
“I’m your trauma surgeon,” you said calmly.
Her eyes locked onto yours instantly.
“Where is my husband?” she asked again, sharper now, fear breaking through.
A pause. One that stretched too long. Jake watched your posture carefully. Saw it before you even spoke. That moment where you were still composed—but only just.
“He didn’t survive the surgery,” you said.
Simple. Direct. No decoration. The words hit her like an impact.
“No,” she whispered immediately, shaking her head. “No, that’s not—he was fine. He was talking to me. He said he was going to see the baby—”
Her voice broke. And you stood there, still. Holding it together in the only way you knew how. stillness, control, distance. But then she started crying properly. Not quietly. Not politely. The kind of grief that filled the space.
“He promised,” she said, voice cracking. “He promised he would be there. We waited so long—this baby—he—he can’t just—”
Her hand tightened over her stomach like she was trying to hold everything together physically. And something in you shifted. Not visibly. But deeply. Because it wasn’t just grief. It was love. It was a future that had already existed in her head, being taken away mid-sentence.
Jake saw it immediately. The way your expression didn’t change, but your silence did. He stepped slightly closer, not to intervene, but to stand near you. A quiet presence. Because he knew you. And he knew what moments like this did.
The wife reached forward suddenly, grabbing your sleeve with shaking hands.
“Please,” she cried. “Please, you have to do something. You’re the doctor. You’re supposed to fix it. You can’t just—he can’t be gone—he can’t—”
Your breath stopped for a fraction of a second. Just one. Barely noticeable. But Jake saw it. And so did you. Your hand lifted slightly, then paused mid-air, unsure whether to hold her wrist or let her hold on. For the first time all night, your voice didn’t come immediately.
And when it did, it was quieter. Not clinical. Not sharp. Just human.
“…I’m sorry,” you said.
The wife broke completely then.
And you stood there while she cried into the reality you had just given her, your composure holding like something inside you had taken a hit it couldn’t cleanly repair.
Jake stayed beside you. Not touching. Not speaking. Just there. Because for once, there was nothing to fix.
The hospital kept moving as if nothing had happened. Paperwork was completed, the OR was reset, and another trauma page already echoed somewhere down the hall. But you didn’t go back. You didn’t speak. You just walked until you reached the emergency stairwell, the one place in the hospital where the noise couldn’t follow you. The door shut behind you with a soft click, and suddenly everything went quiet.
You sat down slowly on the steps, as your body had finally decided it couldn’t stay upright anymore. At first, there was only silence. Then your breath broke. Small, uneven, almost imperceptible. You pressed a hand over your mouth like you could contain it, like control was still something you could choose. But it wasn’t. The grief came anyway, quiet and heavy, slipping through every restraint you’d built over years of training and survival. Tears fell without sound as you stared at the floor, unable to look away from the memory of a wife holding onto hope that had just been taken from her.
The stairwell door opened softly behind you, but you didn’t turn immediately. Jake didn’t speak when he stepped in. He didn’t rush toward you or try to fix anything. He just closed the door carefully and sat one step above you, close enough that the space didn’t feel empty, far enough that you didn’t feel cornered. For once, there were no jokes, no teasing, no words at all—just him staying there with you in the quiet, so you didn’t have to break alone.
“Hey.”
Your shoulders tensed slightly, but you didn’t look up.
Jake shifted down one step, slower this time, closer without invading. “You don’t have to stop,” he said gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That did something worse than comfort, it loosened the last bit of control you were still holding onto. Your breath hitched again, shorter this time, and you turned your face away instinctively as you could still hide it. But Jake had already seen enough. He lowered himself fully in front of you now, careful, steady, not rushing. “Look at me,” he said softly.
You didn’t at first. So he waited. No impatience. No teasing. No pushing. Just him, there. Eventually, your eyes flickered toward him, tired, wet, unguarded in a way you never allowed anyone to see. Jake’s expression softened immediately.
“There you are,” he murmured.
That was it. Something in you broke properly then. Jake didn’t hesitate. He reached forward and pulled you into him. Arms around you, firm and steady, like he was catching something he refused to let fall further. One hand came up to the back of your head, holding you gently against him. The other stayed at your upper back, grounding you with quiet pressure.
“It’s okay,” he said softly, close enough that you could feel his voice more than hear it. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it right now.”
Your hands froze for a second in the air, uncertain, before finally gripping his scrubs like you needed something real to anchor yourself to. Enough that you knew you weren’t alone in it.
“I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “Just breathe.”
And for the first time since the hospital had swallowed the night whole, you let yourself fall apart without standing back up immediately afterward.
.
.
.
.
A few months after the stairwell incident, things between you and Jake felt strangely normal again. At least on the surface.
You were back in the OR. Back to correcting residents before they make mistakes. Back to moving through trauma consults like exhaustion had never touched you at all. And Jake? Jake was back to orbiting around you like usual. Except now there was something quieter underneath it.
Something harder to joke away.
It happened late at night after a long surgery. The residents had already left, the nurses were finishing cleanup, and the hospital had finally slowed into that eerie post-midnight stillness.
You stood at the scrub sink washing your hands while Jake leaned against the counter nearby. For once, neither of you spoke immediately. Then Jake sighed softly.
“You know,” he said, “I don’t think you understand how I see you.”
You glanced at him briefly. “Unfortunately, I hear enough from you already.”
Usually, that would’ve made him laugh harder. This time, he only smiled faintly.
“I’m serious.”
That made you pause slightly. Not because he’d never said things like this before—he had, constantly. But lately, he sounded different when he did. Less playful. More certain.
You shut off the water slowly. “Jake.”
“No, listen to me for a second.”
His voice stayed calm. Steady. Not forcing, but not backing away either.
“You think I like you because I enjoy bothering you.” A small exhale left him. “And yeah, okay, I do enjoy that a little.”
“A lot.”
“A lot,” he corrected easily. “But that’s not why.”
Silence settled briefly between you. Jake straightened slightly, eyes fixed on you now with an honesty that immediately made you uncomfortable. Not because it was unpleasant. Because it was real.
“I like the way you care about people even when you pretend you don’t,” he said quietly. “I like that you keep showing up for everyone, no matter how exhausted you are. I like that you’re honest even when it makes people dislike you.” His mouth softened slightly. “I like that you’re strong without making it everyone else’s problem.”
Your chest tightened faintly. You hated conversations like this. Not because they were insincere. Because you never knew what to do with sincerity once someone handed it to you directly.
Jake continued before you could interrupt.
“And I know you think I flirt with everyone.” He smiled a little, tired this time. “But what I feel for you stopped being casual a long time ago.”
The room suddenly felt too quiet. You crossed your arms instinctively. Defensive.
“That sounds like a bad idea.”
Jake’s expression barely changed. “Because you don’t feel the same?”
Your jaw tightened immediately.
“That’s not what I said.”
Something flickered across his face, then small, hopeful enough to annoy you. You looked away first.
“I don’t…” You exhaled slowly. “I don’t think about relationships.”
“That’s a lie.”
You frowned. “Excuse me?”
“You think about everything.” Jake’s voice softened slightly. “You just avoid things that feel complicated.”
You hated how accurate that sounded. He stepped closer, careful, measured.
“And I know this is complicated,” he admitted. “We work together. We spend almost every day together. If things go wrong, it could affect everything.”
“Exactly.”
“But I still want you anyway.”
Your throat tightened slightly at the directness of it. Jake looked at you for a long moment before speaking again, quieter this time.
“I’m not asking you to decide anything right now,” he said. “I just need you to understand that I mean it.”
A pause.
“That this isn’t a joke to me anymore.”
The honesty in his voice made something shift uncomfortably in your chest. Because the problem wasn’t that you thought Jake was lying. The problem was that you were starting to believe him.
The problem wasn’t Jake.
That was what made this difficult. If he had been careless, immature, or insincere, you could’ve dismissed this easily. You could’ve rolled your eyes, told him to stop being dramatic, and continued your life the same way as before. But Jake meant it. You knew he did now.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
The hospital had taught you how to manage almost everything—pressure, exhaustion, grief, and responsibility. You knew how to function in chaos. You knew how to make impossible decisions without freezing.
This felt uncertain in a way trauma never did.
Because surgeries had protocols. Complications had procedures. Even death had steps you could follow after it happened. Relationships didn’t. Especially not with someone who worked beside you every day.
You sat alone in the attending lounge long after your shift ended, staring blankly at the untouched coffee in your hands. Jake’s words kept replaying, whether you wanted them to or not.
I still want you anyway.
Your jaw tightened faintly. You hated complicated things. And relationships felt like the most complicated thing possible. Not because you thought love was impossible. You saw it all the time. Families crying in waiting rooms, spouses refusing to leave hospital bedsides, people holding onto each other through impossible situations.
You knew it existed. You just never imagined it fitting into your life. Your life was sharp corners and unpredictable hours. Trauma calls at three in the morning. Twenty-hour shifts. Emotional exhaustion, you barely knew how to process yourself.
Jake already knew this life, too. Which meant if things went wrong, there would be no clean escape from it. You would still see each other in the OR. Still work trauma cases together. Still stand across operating tables pretending nothing happened while everyone around you noticed the tension anyway. The idea alone sounded exhausting.
You exhaled quietly and leaned your head back against the chair. The worst part was that you still didn’t know what you felt. Not fully.
Jake mattered to you. That much was obvious now in ways you couldn’t comfortably deny anymore. His presence had become something familiar. Important. He irritated you constantly, yet somehow made the hospital feel less unbearable at the same time.
But caring about someone and wanting a relationship weren’t automatically the same thing.
Were they?
You genuinely didn’t know. And that uncertainty unsettled you more than anything else. Because for the first time in years, this wasn’t a situation you could solve by being competent enough.
.
.
.
.
Jake, unfortunately, did not know how to quit.
After that conversation, any normal person probably would’ve backed off a little. Given you space. Allowed you time to process your feelings without constantly hovering around your existence like an emotionally persistent golden retriever in surgical scrubs.
Jake did none of those things.
“You know I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked, right?”
You didn’t even look up from the patient file. “I’d rather induce my own coma.”
“That’s not a no.”
“That is absolutely a no.”
Yet somehow, he never made it feel like pressure.
Jake didn’t confess because he expected something from you immediately. He confessed because he wanted you to know the feeling still existed. Constant. Unchanged. Certain.
And every time you dismissed him, he just smiled like someone who already understood your language better than you realized.
“Morning,” he greeted one day, falling into step beside you while you speed-walked toward trauma rounds. “You ignored three of my messages.”
“They weren’t messages. You sent me photos of hospital cats.”
“They reminded me of you.”
You stopped walking immediately. “Explain that statement carefully.”
“Mean eyes. Doesn’t trust people. Hisses when approached.”
“You’re brave today.”
“Love makes people fearless.”
“You need a psychological evaluation.”
Jake grinned like that was a compliment. That was the issue with him. Every rejection somehow fueled him, rather than discouraging him.
A week later, he cornered you at the vending machine at two in the morning while you aggressively tried to choose caffeine.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “if we dated, I’d let you steal my fries.”
You stared at him flatly. “I can already do that.”
“Yeah, but romantically.”
“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Not true. Remember when I said epidurals were easy?”
Your expression darkened immediately. “I almost reported you to HR for that.”
“Yet here we are. Stronger than ever.”
You genuinely couldn’t tell if Jake was flirting or simply surviving on a level of confidence normal people didn’t possess. The worst part? He somehow adapted to your personality instead of fighting it. When you ignored him, he kept talking anyway. When you insulted him, he looked entertained instead of offended. And when you got exhausted enough to stop responding entirely, he just walked beside you quietly until you recovered enough to threaten him again.
It was deeply inconvenient.
One afternoon after a brutal trauma surgery, you dropped heavily into a chair in the staff lounge while reviewing scans. Jake appeared two minutes later like a curse.
“You look terrible,” he said sympathetically, handing you coffee.
You accepted it automatically before narrowing your eyes. “Why are you here?”
“I sensed emotional distress.”
He sat across from you casually, watching while you drank the coffee in exhausted silence.
“You know I’m still trying to date you, right?”
You closed your eyes briefly.
“Jake.”
“I’m just making sure we maintain clear communication.”
“You confessed to me yesterday.”
“And today.”
“You’re proving my point.”
“That I’m consistent?”
“That you’re insane.”
Jake leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered.
“Okay, but statistically speaking, eventually you’re gonna accidentally fall in love with me.”
You looked at him over the coffee cup.
“…That’s not how statistics work.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Then I’ll simply have to increase exposure.”
You stared at him for a long moment before muttering, “I actually understand why residents avoid you now.”
Jake looked delighted.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then Jake shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head slightly.
“So?” he asked lightly. “Any progress on accidentally falling in love with me?”
You stared at him. Jake stared back hopefully. And despite everything, the exhaustion, the complicated feelings, the fact that relationships still sounded terrifying and inconvenient and deeply impractical, you felt your mouth twitch slightly.
Small. Real. Jake immediately pointed at you.
“That’s improvement.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“Too late. I’m celebrating internally.”
You shook your head under your breath.
Still no answer. Still uncertain. Still not ready to call whatever this was by its real name. But this time, when Jake called after you—
“See you tomorrow, Dr. Y/N. I’ll continue loving you then too.”
You didn’t tell him to stop..
Jake watched you disappear down the hallway until the automatic doors closed behind you with a soft hiss. Around him, the hospital kept moving the same way it always did—pages overhead, hurried footsteps, another resident sprinting toward a consult somewhere down the corridor. Nothing had changed. And yet somehow, everything had. Because for the first time since falling in love with you, Jake realized he no longer needed an immediate answer just to keep going.
And honestly?
For now, that was enough.
tag list : @en-chantedtomeetyou, @ni-kiswife, @sunsetgenie, @jaeunaria0-0, @asa-is-acinggg, @mydearestdongwook, @mrs-r1zzimura, @chxrlz-mxr, @nlylilac, @coatedlily, @d3adaf, @lightyagamigooner, @woninlove, @imsimjaeyunswife, @maishee
SYNOPSIS ➤ despite all that went down, you're quite settled on letting lee heeseung be 'the one that got away', and you swear you aren't the type to break no-contact but when the ground starts shaking, you realize your pride isn't worth not letting him know how you really feel.
CONTAINS ➤ 6.5k words. non-idol!heeseung. mild enemies to lovers. lovers to exes. exes to ?. (they be going thru all of the tropes.) angst-adjacent? breakup. profanity. fluff. flashbacks in between narration. slightly toxic relationship dynamics. descriptions of an earthquake. usage of Y/N. kissing. pet names. (baby, princess, love, etc.) not proofread. ✮ mentions of enhypen's sunghoon, lsrfm's yunjin, and txt's beomgyu.
NOW PLAYING ➤ when the world stopped moving — lizzy mcalpine ; feel something — clairo ; heavenly — cigarettes after sex. ; i love you, i'm sorry — gracie abrams ; like it tends to do — lizzie mcalpine ; kung wala ka — hale (this is 4 my filo girlies.) ; always, i'll care — jeremy zucker.
𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 ♡
"i'm fine, mom—yes, i'm eating very well. no, i'm not staying up late. i—"
you sucked in a deep breath. listening to your mother's worried voice barrage your with one question after the other was heartwarming, yes. but it does get to a point.
she claimed it was just a wellness check. that she just wanted to catch up and know how you're doing.
"can't i check up on my daughter?" she asked one time, offended when you pointed out the unsual amount of call logs that have been piling up, all labelled "mom 💖".
you knew this would be her reaction, and it was exactly why you dreaded having to admit the break up to her in the first place. maybe that, or the fact that doing so would make it real. it would make the separation permanent.
so you put it off for a week, and then another, and another one. and when your heart learned how to form itself around the knife lodged deep in your chest, when you got used to its existence there, you figured it was time to break her the news.
you phoned your mom who, in turn, told the rest of your family.
it was no question all of them loved heeseung to bits. it was hard not to. the first christmas you brought him home, your dad immediately gave you an approving nod as if to acknowledge the good choice you made. and the moment you let your little brother know heeseung played video games too? oh, he was a goner for your then-boyfriend too.
it's now been a month since that awkward facetime call with your family and your mother still wouldn't let up.
she called regularly to make small talk. she asked about your day, about the going ons in university, about the puppy you've been eyeing to foster. call it a daughter's instinct, but you knew what she was really doing. with each question, she was gauging how you were coping with the loss of the man you once claimed was the love of your life.
"i'm sorry, Y/N-ah. i'm just… worried. it must be tough being alone there." you heard her say through the crackle of your phone's speaker, the sound of the dishwasher running accompanying her careful tone. you didn't miss the way she paused a little before the word 'alone', like she was scared the implication might be a little too straightforward.
you chuckled mirthfully. if she saw your state right now, her worries would be validated instantly.
you were alone. in day old pajamas, hair a mess, eyes partially swollen from the sad k-drama you watched just to feel sadness that wasn't yours. all that while curled up in your bed in a fetal position as if to protect your body from any more hurt that could come.
she had every reason to be worried, but you couldn't let her know that.
"and i'm telling you you don't have to be! i'm okay, i swear. i've been okay," you forced a smile that she wouldn't see like it would make your words more honest. "i'm actually going to go out with yunjin and the girls so i'll call you back in a bit, okay?"
lies, one on top of another.
"i love you too.." your mom trailed off, voice unsure. "have fun. and i love you."
"love you too, mom!" you mustered in the most cheerful voice you could before hanging up.
a deep-seated sigh erupted from your chest. it's a friday night after exams, for gods' sake. your peers were out drinking themselves stupid, engaging in situations they're bound to forget the next day and yet here you were in bed, tapping through their instagram stories like you could vicariously live through each fifteen second clips.
the phone casted harsh shadows on your face as you tapped, and tapped, and tapped away.
then, you held your thumb to it, putting the screen on pause.
beomgyu uploaded a story just half an hour ago. a bright smiling face of him with the rest of your friends, shot glasses full of clear liquor in their hands. on the back, you could clearly see a familiar smile—the lazy kind that he always used whenever he got forced into taking a group photo.
you believed that, with time, you'd gotten accustomed to the worn down ache in your chest. you forced your heart to rebuild itself, after all. muscles and tissue formed around the sharp blade with nothing else pride and tenacity to protect it.
but seeing him again, even just through a screen, felt like someone had just pulled the knife out only to stab it in again and twisting it for good measure.
it was the first time you'd seen him after the breakup. you barely crossed paths in university anymore, and with all the responsibilities and extra-curriculars you had going on, you didn't really have time to camp on the app just for a quick peek of him through your mutuals' stories or posts.
and you're glad you didn't, because seeing him be so carefree, so… normal brought you so much physical pain you had to let go of your phone to press on your chest with a pained whimper.
you and heeseung initially didn't like each other.
when your high school acquaintance, sunghoon, introduced you to heeseung and the rest of his friends at at a house gathering, you thought of him as nothing more than a sleazy nobody. just someone you'd need to put a polite mask on for whenever your friends were around simply because he was their friend too.
and heeseung, immediately seeing through it, smirked.
a pretentious snob who rode the highest horse she saw all while pretending it didn't kill her having to interact with lowly frat boys? it was nothing new to him. you were an eyecandy though—yeah, he'd give you that. but like most eyecandies, you were better experienced from afar. especially when his friends constantly gushed to him about you, too dumb to see all the bitterness you had in your heart below your sweet facade.
so for that party and the following months, you avoided each other. you both intentionally turned down invitation to parties when you knew the other would be there, or simply act like the other didn't exist if your friends were annoying enough to gather the whole group in an outing.
that was the norm until a chance meeting on a late friday evening.
heeseung slipped on a tall bar chair, chuckling when the owner remarked something about his consistent attendance. his usual glass got served and just as he was about to call on the him for a chaser, his eyes fell on you.
seated at a booth. alone.
you were dressed to impress with your short maroon dress, hair curled and flowing to one side of your exposed decollatage save for the ones hanging over your face—the ones that failed to cover your empty eyes as it burned through your half-empty glass of wine.
you looked small and frail clutching on your purse. nothing like the pompuous bitch who refused to even acknowledge his presence whenever he raised a hand to wave at you in the hallways.
every now and then, you'd tap on your phone to check the time. people would pass by and you'd fix your posture, disappointed creases on your forehead smoothening out as you forced yourself to look composed, to look like you sat there in your lonesome with intention.
every bone in his body told him it would be a terrible idea to engage, but his feet carried him before his frontal lobe could fully conlude the decision.
heeseung slumped across you on the other end of the booth, the velvet lining of the couch rustling against his denim jacket. "you ought to turn that frown upside down, missy. they might think your date ditched you or something."
you looked up, expecting it to be the guy your friend recommended. you were ready to lay it on him, profanities lined up from your chest all the way to the tip of your tongue, but the words got caught in your throat when you saw heeseung wearing that usual, ever-annoying cocky grin of his.
he only grinned wider at the shock you wore, snorting when it quickly turned into an irritated glare. "huh. so you did get ditched. didn't think i'd see the day someone would stand up the Y/N."
"it's none of your business."
"it kind of is. i was ready to have a good time with my whiskey but your loner ass is dampening up the mood of the place. you could have at least ordered fries or salad or something, make your self-date look a little more convincing and a little less… pathetic."
you clutched on your purse a little tighter. "are you so used to having someone hanging on your arm that you can't stand the sight of someone being happily being alone? and for the record, i was going to order. until you interrupted me, that is."
"happily alone? really now?" heeseung raised an eyebrow. "is that why you've been anxiously checking the time? why you've been staring at the entrance like your fairytale prince's finally going to be the one the step in next?"
he could tell you wanted nothing more than to leave, but leaving alone meant admitting that you, in fact, got ditched. and getting ditched meant someone had the audacity to turn you down. and that, other than terribly bruising your pride, meant heeseung would see you in the same light as the other girls he probably ditches himself.
and you'd rather get run over by a fourteen wheeler, because that would be less embarrassing than him equating you to his silly little flings.
so you sat there, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield against his presence. "shut up and go be annoying somewhere else, heeseung."
he put his interlocked hands on top of the table, leaning forward with a smile. "tell you what, princess. let's make a deal."
your eye twitched at the nickname. but you apparently had all the time in the world, and your mood was too fucked up to even fight him more, so you shrugged. "i might entertain it as long as it's not stupid, so shoot."
"let me be your date tonight."
you raised your eyebrow and heeseung stared back, clearing his throat when you refused to reply. "you pay for the food, i pay with my presence."
you snorted. "you really are a piece of work, lee. do you really think your presence is anything worth paying for?"
heeseung just hummed. "i'm just saying… i can get my stomach filled with food, and you'll walk out of here with your reputation still spotless."
"sounds like a losing deal."
"think about it, Y/N. no snark, no sarcasm. just you, and me, and food, and pretending you weren't waiting for a man for nearly an hour—and if he hits you up after this then you can say you didn't even remember him because you spent the night with a tall, handsome guy who's so much better giving you a good time."
you hate the fact that his idea was actually not as dumb as you thought it'd be. you hate that it made you giggle. you hate that he took kindly to your laughter, like he just unlocked some sort of hidden achievement in those dumb video games he loved playing so much.
the deal was sealed with a warm handshake.
the mostly empty table quickly got crowded with different snacks, various shaped glasses of cocktails and beers. as agreed upon, you didn't glare at heeseung, not even once. it was hard to when he kept making you laugh every other minute because he heard it once and wanted to keep hearing it.
you tried to keep the date prim and proper by poking at your wings with a fork and knife but he urged that you had no one to impress—certainly not him.
"eat wings with our natural tools, just as god intended." heeseung said, nudging your heels under the table. you chuckled and ate it with your fingers. he smiled, a soft one, eyes lingering on your buffalo-sauce stained lips while pushing the napkins towards you just in case.
you talked about the classes you had, got a giggle out of discovering your shared dislike of a certain professor and laughed. you nudged each other's feet under the wide table, tried each other's drinks, talked of your first impressions of each other and laughed some more.
he made it clear he wasn't the player you thought he was, though you argued he was still far too flirtatious. that, he couldn't deny.
not when he played the part of your date all too well. not when he spoke up whenever you wanted to order another, carried conversation to another interesting topic when the current one's beginning to die out, and even let you borrow his jacket when he noticed you rubbing your arms for warmth.
you dreaded imagining how bland this night would have been if the original date went as planned.
when it was your turn to uphold your end of the deal, heeseung smacked his credit card right on top of yours, brows furrowed like he was offended. you scoffed, pulled it out and smacked yours over his again in retaliation. "you did your part, let me do mine."
heeseung just squinted his eyes at you, a weak attempt to look intimidating, before slipping his card to the waiter who quickly processed the payment and handed him the receipt before walking off.
you huffed. "heeseung—you just broke the deal."
"you're dumb if you think i'm gonna give you a reason to tell our friends i let a girl pay for a date."
"so why did you offer then?" you grumbled, slipping the card in your bag.
"truth be told, i didn't think it through. you seemed lonely and i just wanted some assurance you wouldn't be a bitch to me all night. and you can say what you want to say but it worked," he hummed, popping a piece of cold fry in his mouth. "you've never been the type to just let people be nice to you."
"well i'm not going to give you a reason to hold something over my head—"
"and if you shut up and stop complaining, then no one—not even our friends—will ever know you got stood up." he sighed. "i'm not asking for anything in return, Y/N. not your money, not a second date, not pretend niceties—but i enjoyed tonight and i want us to be able to exist around each other from now on. not just for our friends but for us."
you pursed your lips, unable to deal with the upfront honesty he's giving you. you just stared at his face, fidgeting with the zipper of your purse. "are you offering a truce?"
"i'm offering friendship. a proper one. like this, or something less intimate if the reputation i have in your mind still precedes me."
as it turned out, he wasn't offering just friendship.
it wasn't supposed to go further than that. but between the way heeseung's eyes kept lingering on the smooth skin of your upper thigh and the flirtatious jokes he kept cracking throughout the drive to your apartment, it was hard to ignore the growing tension in his car.
"so… we're here." you muttered as he pulled to the sidewalk in front of your apartment.
"guess we are." he smiled weakly. "don't tell me you want me to open the door for you too?"
"fuck off." you replied, lacking the usual venom the words usually came with. "thank you for the night, hee. i had a great time."
"i did, too. you be safe, 'kay?"
you stared at each other for a beat before you finally broke it off by stepping out of the door. you took a few steps before you heard the quiet whirring of the passenger window rolling down.
"you can just give my jacket back on monday, by the way." heeseung hollered with a smug smile on his pretty face.
you gasped softly, realizing the only thing that was keeping you from shivering all night was still wrapped around your shoulders. "o–oh. um.." you bit your lower lip, mentally chastising yourself from the decision you were about to do. "actually—it's still quite cold. do you want to warm up inside for a few minutes? have some water… or something."
heeseung's impulsiveness has brought him to many places, but for it to bring him in front of your doorstep was the last thing he expected. he'd be a liar to say he didn't feel the suffocating electricity in the bar, and even more so when he got you alone in his car, but he was dead set on staying true to his words.
however, the moment he got you alone in your apartment, his hand immediately cupped your cheek. he pulled you in for a kiss filled with need and urgency and every emotion pent up from the months where you pretended like he was invisible—one so slow, yet so deep that it left you in a daze after.
"sorry. i… got carried away, i think." he muttered, quietly gulping. his forehead was still pressed on yours, doe-like eyes looking for assurance in your half-lidded ones. instead of giving him a proper answer, you pulled him back in for another kiss.
and the rest was history.
all your friends—the same ones who were so insistent in making you guys exist in the same room—said it shouldn't have worked as well as it did. you came across as cold, composed and too structured, where heeseung was warm, exceptionally loud, and thrived on free-balling whatever problem life threw at his way. they said you were too different, but you balanced each other out, mellowing each other's strong traits and ugly habits through careful compromises.
if anything, the fact that you had fundamental differences was the reason why your relationship thrived so much. but the phrase "opposited attract" can only go so far.
you picked your phone up again, thumb hovering over heeseung's name in your messages. you tapped once, reading through the last conversation.
from: heeseung lee. — princess i'm coming over with ramen and my switch. can we play pokemon tgt pls
to: heeseung lee. — i'm still studying but the door's unlocked if u just want to hang babe
from: heeseung lee. — be there in 15. i love you < 3
that was the last text he ever sent.
the truth is, you don't remember the details of how you broke up. or why, for that matter. all you knew was that you were both on edge the night he came over, exhausted from a long day and already dreading the weight of what the next day would hold.
heeseung wanted to find solace in your presence but you were too absorbed in your responsibilities, not even bothering looking up from your meticulously organized notes. you had books, pastel highlighters, and sticky notes scattered on your desk when he barged into your room.
he nudged your shoulder, begging for scraps of your attention but you kept brushing him off, muttering an empty promise about only needing a few minutes more.
"baby… come on. that assignment can wait. it's like— fuck, do you even care about me? about us?"
"the world doesn't revolve around our relationship, heeseung. unlike you, i actually care about things bigger than just 'us'."
heeseung got offended and accused you of being too callous. you muttered something passive-aggressive about his childishness under your breath, telling at him to stop putting words in your mouth.
what started as a petty argument quickly escalated into a full-blown screaming match with you pushing at his chest and him saying shit just to be cruel and get you to back down. but much like him, you were stubborn. annoyingly competitive, too. so you fought back twice as hard, hurling remarks you didn't really mean but you said them anyway just for the sake of winning.
in the grand scheme of things, losing the argument was a much better option than losing heeseung entirely.
you didn't know it then, but you definitely knew it now that you were alone and reminiscing through the good and bad times of your relationship like a pathetic loser while he was on the other side of your small university town, drinking with the friends you used to share, probably having a great time now that he's severed himself from you.
you bit your lip as your thumb hovered over the keyboard on your screen.
hey. no, that sounds too casual considering how the both of you ended things.
still out drinking? one, you sound pathetic. two, he'd find out you were stalking.
i miss you. no—that's stupid and fucking desperate.
you bit on your lip, trying out different variations of what text to send when you felt your bed rocking slightly. you paused, glaring at the wall of your bedroom.
jesus christ. just how hard were your neighbors fucking?
you slipped on your fluffy slippers and stomped out of your bedroom, prepared to give them an earful when the floor moved underneath you again in gentle horizontal sways. you gripped on a shelf, eyes widening in realization.
panic swiftly overwhelmed your senses. you learned about this in a disaster management seminar. drop to the ground. find something sturdy for cover. hold until the shaking stops. but your body wasn't following suit no matter how loud your mind scrambled for you to act.
not until the ground shook again. stronger this time. violent enough to sway the hanging lamps and throw you off balance. so much of the dust that have accumulated on your shelves fell like fine grey snow while you crawled towards the questionable safety of your dining table that it turned the room slightly hazy. or maybe it was your tears. you didn't really know anymore.
you heard glassware—a collectible, probably—drop somewhere behind you, making a loud shatterring sound resonate across the moving room. it made you cry even louder.
the shaking made everything clatter. from the cultery in your shelves to the pen organizers rattling in your room. you heard the shuffling of feet outside your door, mixed with your neighbors' cries and shouts. you wanted to run with them, to leave for safety, but terror had your body paralyzed. you could only sob while you hugged your knees closer to your chest, one arm holding the dining table steady over your head.
this was it. this was the end of you.
through your terrified sobs, you unlocked your phone. and with trembling thumbs, you typed out a message—the words you truly wanted to say.
to: heeseung lee. — i love you.
heeseung was on the backseat of an taxi. he was tipsy, the apples of his cheeks and tips of his ears still blooming red from his inability to process the ungodly amount of alcohol he consumed tonight. he was never going to let beomgyu hold a bottle of patron ever again.
with a soft groan, he rested his head against the glass while staring at the view outside with heavy eyelids. it was odd how many people were out in the streets when it was already so late at night, but he wasn't one to judge considering how he spent his.
an ambulance passed by the car. a firetruck. then, another ambulance.
heeseung brushed off the shrill whirring sound they made, but the driver was quicker to pick up on what happened.
"did you feel it, sir?" the older man asked, shooting him a look through the rearview mirror as he weaved through the road easily.
"feel what?" heeseung replied, sitting up straighter.
"i think there was an earthquake. must be why traffic's so light. you never really feel it inside a moving metal can, can 'ya?" the driver joked then laughed softly.
unease settled in heeseung's chest. the new information sobered him up quickly, allowing him to scan the city outside with a clearer vision, clearer mind. people were huddling together.
a few were still in their work-attire, eyes glued to their phones. an elderly person getting tended to by the medic. a young couple who held each other with tears in their eyes.
his phone vibrated and he was quick to snatch it from his lap, dread stealing his breath as he read the three words.
from: one and only ♡ — i love you.
he stared at the message with tears welling in his eyes.
where are you? are you with your friends? are there aftershocks? are you inside? are you safe? god, he could only pray you are.
he gripped on his phone, voice shaky as he begged the driver. "sir—can we go to a different address? it's an emergency. i'll—i… i'll pay extra! a–anything! just—please."
the driver, clearly surprised, just nodded as heeseung stammered out your building's location which he knew by heart. the man's eyes flew back to the rearview mirror every now and then, feet pressing on the gas in sympathy for the boy who couldn't seem to sit still.
you weren't answering his calls nor his texts. he hit up your other friends but most of them were either asleep, ignored him, or had no clue where you were. but he was going to chance waiting for you in front of your apartment anyway.
the taxi came to a stop a few blocks away from your apartment. "this is as far as i can go—it looks like emergency services blocked the way in." the driver whispered in apology. heeseung only nodded and fished out a generous bill, whispering a quiet 'thank you' as he quickly exited the car.
his body moved on autopilot as he weaved through the familiar path to your building. his sneakers sounded percussive with each stomp his running feet made against the asphalt. he bumped into a few strangers but he couldn't be asked to look back or apologize. time was of the essence. each second was precious and he couldn't risk coming late. not when the consequence meant—no. he couldn't bear thinking of it.
you're so fucking unfair. even with your final message, you made sure you'd be able to come out on top of it winning. to be the good one. to be the one who came back. the one who forgave. the one that loved the other more.
but him… the last words he had for you—what were they?
he doesn't even remember. the adrenaline rush and the hurt that ensued after it blurred whatever memory he had of that night. he could only hope it wasn't something too harsh.
if his greatest fear did happen, he wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing that that fight was your last memory you had of him. of him screaming that he regrets being in love with you. of him concluding the beautiful thing you had with a slammed door.
"i love you. i love you too. please—fuck!" heeseung screamed. his lungs burned with each desperate inhale. the soles of his feet were pounding with hurt. salty tears naturally got swept away from his face by the wind as he ran with all his might.
the sound of sirens grew louder as his tired feet came to a stop. his calls for your name got drowned out by the cacophony of voices speaking all at once and the distorted, crackling sound of a personnel speaking through a megaphone rose above it all.
"—not panic. please calmly evacuate to the open parking lot across the building. medics will tend to those who need it shortly."
"Y/N! excuse me! have you seen the tenant from 418-A? ma'am, have you seen the tenant from 418-A? this girl?" he asked repeatedly, even fishing his phone out to show them a picture of you. the people either brushed him off and walked past him in search for their own safety. his eyes skimmed over the different faces, fear seeping deeper into his bones the longer it took to find you.
he stood on the tips of his toes with eyes squinted to fight against the blinking headlights of the parked cars. "Y/N! Y/N!" he shouted helplessly, his hair messily falling over his forehead after running his finger through it for the millionth time.
just then, he saw the security guard of your building. an old man in his mid-50s who's grown fond of the both of you. heeseung, more than you, if he could admit, especially after seeing him come over so often, once even carrying you like a sack of rice over one shoulder after you blacked out at jake's party.
"mr. woo—"
the guard's eyes widened. "heeseung-ah, you're here…"
he wasn't expecting to see heeseung tonight. especially not after he stormed away months ago and never reappeared with you again. though if the worried expression and the anxious twitching of his fingers were anything to go by, the old man already knew why he was here.
mr. woo pointed to the children's park nearby, patting his shoulder. "don't worry, son. she was the first tenant i looked for after the shaking stopped."
the relief he felt might have been able to bring him to his knees if only heeseung wasn't so determined to be reunited with you. he whispered a breathless 'thank you' before running to the direction the older man pointed at, weaving his way through the small crowd shoulder first.
there, he found you.
sitting on a rusty swing set. alone.
you were in mismatching pajamas, hair getting swept by the wind, clearly showing the quiet distress in your red-rimmed eyes. you looked even smaller and more frail now, shaking like a leaf as you clutched on your phone. nothing like the confident, reassured woman he'd grown to love.
your empty gaze was directed out in the distance, police lights bouncing pale hues of blue and red against your complexion. you looked beautiful, even with the awful situation you've been put into.
as if sensing his presence, your eyes turned to his direction.
heeseung met your eyes and he swore the world stopped moving. no sirens, no crying children, no brassy megaphone announcements. just your tearful eyes and the unstable whisper of his name.
heeseung was on you in an instant, one arm around your waist and the other guiding your head to the crook of his neck. "heeseung—h–hee…" you whispered in disbelief, eyes fluttering shut as you hugged him back and melted in the warmth of the embrace.
the rush of adrenaline from running had started wearing off, and the familiarity of your scent clouded heeseung's mind before he could remember the promise he made to himself not to break down if he ever saw you again.
"Y/N. you're here, you're safe—i kept looking for you. god, you scared me so much." the words tumbled out of his mouth, only muffled by the lips half-pressed to your temple as he shakily held you to himself while crying.
there was no pride anymore. no ego nor arrogance.
shock, fear, and longing—all of the emotions you set aside for the sake of survival came crashing down all at once. your own tears turned his sleeves damp while you spoke through your sobs. "h–heeseung. i was so scared. i was so fucking scared. it was so noisy and everything was breaking and shaking, and i thought i was going to—"
heeseung hushed you, his large palm rubbing soothing lines across your back all while tears of his own ran down at the horrible thought. "shhh, no no. don't think of that, baby. you're safe—i'm here. i'm here now, right? you're okay. you'll be safe here in my arms."
the night was much more calm now that the people left. one by one, the ambulances and firetrucks left, their sirens fading out along with the noise of the people who previously crowded the park. you overheard some choosing to settled in airbnbs, but most just opted to spend the night in a hotel.
you stayed behind, mind too muddled to even worry about what next steps you should be taking. you just watched them leave, and heeseung sat beside you on the sidewalk with a pinky finger linked to yours like a quiet promise of staying.
"the earthquake wasn't too strong—it wasn't even felt from the next city over. it barely reached a 3 point magnitude. thankfully didn't cause any casualties. at least that's what the articles said." heeseung whispered from beside you.
"oh, is the signal already back?" your words got cut off by the incessant ringing on your phone. multiple texts and notifcations flooded it back to back: a few of your friends checking up on you, a few missed calls from your family, a few from the man whose jacket was draped over your shoulders.
to: heeseung lee. — i love you.
from: heeseung lee. — Y/N? what is this?
from: heeseung lee. — is this because of the earthquake?
from: heeseung lee. — you're scaring me. please tell me you're okay.
from: heeseung lee. — [ you missed a call from the sender. ]
from: heeseung lee. — love. please answer the phone.
from: heeseung lee. — [ you missed 3 calls from the sender. ]
from: heeseung lee. — i love you too. i love you more.
from: heeseung lee. — i never stopped. you have to be there to tell me this again in person okay?
from: heeseung lee. — i love you, princess.
for the first time, a smile cracked on your lips, albeit a weak one.
"what're you smiling about?" heeseung asked from beside you, craning his head.
you tilted your screen towards him, nudging his shoulders jokingly. "talk about clingy."
heeseung blushed, but he didn't really feel shame in what he did. "you weren't replying. i was losing my mind in the taxi, you know."
"i'm sorry for texting you out of nowhere, hee." you said after a while, staring at the pebbles under your feet. "i was convinced i was going to die and…"
"and?"
"and you were the first person i thought of." you finally admitted, biting down on your lip. "i guess i didn't want to leave some things unsaid. is that selfish of me?"
heeseung just smiled, shaking his head. "nah, i don't think so."
silence enveloped the both of you again. the air suddenly turned heavy, as if it was telling you no jokes or casual conversation could gloss over the fact that the two of you still found yourselves sitting side by side despite the fact that you both wordlessly agreed not to cross paths anymore after that night.
"you don't have to apologize, you know."
"hm?"
"about texting me, i mean. because you were the first thing i thought of, too." heeseung sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "the driver said there was an earthquake, then i got the message, and i damn near lost my mind in that taxi because… all i could think of was you. because you hate noise, you hate unexpected things, because you freeze during times of emergencies. fuck—i was so worried about you, Y/N. did you know i was crying while i ran here?"
"like how you're crying now?" you pointed out.
heeseung paused, feeling his cheeks and grimaced when he felt the dampness of his tears sticking to the back of his hand. he wasn't even aware he'd been crying. again.
you tilted heeseung's face towards you and gently wiped them away with sorrowful smile. "i think the only thing i'm good at is making you cry. i'm sorry."
"why do you keep apologizing?" he laid a hand over yours to keep it on his cheeks with eyebrows furrowed, frustrated at the unrecognizable amount of guilt in your approach.
you smiled softly as you swipe your thumb back and forth against his cheekbones. "because i'm ashamed that it took a threat to my life to admit that i loved you—that i still love you. i was a coward who couldn't bring themselves to admit that when we were fighting because i thought it'd make me look weak and desperate—not even an hour, or a day, or a month after our breakup. and i feel like an asshole for doing this thing to you. you know... making you run all the way here, worrying about me and all."
heeseung removed your hand from his face and opted to hold it instead, long bony fingers intertwining with your own. he scooted closer to you and you rested your head on his shoulder. "i'd have done that whether you texted me or not."
you closed your eyes, tension growing in your jaw as your fingers dug into the back of his palm. "i know… but—"
"i meant what i said in those texts, Y/N." heeseung laid a hand over your interlocked hands, gently squeezing yours in between them. "every single part of them. i love you—a whole lot. i don't think i ever stopped. everyday since our break up, i gaslit myself into thinking i could survive without you…" he paused, then let out a soft sigh. "but considering how scared i was when i heard the news, i don't think i can. nor would i ever want to."
"i love you too, hee." you mumbled, smiling when you felt his lips press on the crown of your head. "you know… that night, i told you that there's a lot of things bigger than us. but whatever ambition, whatever stupid test i was studying for seemed so insignificant then. because when the ground started shaking… all i wanted under that dingy dining table was to be held by you."
and held you, he did. heeseung pulled you on top of him and wrapped his arms snug around you like he was afraid you'd disappear if he didn't hold on to you tight enough. your confession, the honest vulnerability behind them, gave him the courage to press his lips on yours.
the kiss drove home everything he needed you to know. a promise and an apology in the form of chapped lips meeting your own. his hands cupped your nape, an arm still securely wrapped around waist as heeseung poured everything out into the kiss.
it was passionate, full of eagerness, and bittersweet like the fear of almost losing you permanently mixed with the relief he felt because it was the same thing that brought you back into his arms. it seeped into the way he moved your lips against yours, languid and deep.
heeseung kept you close even as you pulled away for air. his hand carefully pressed on the small of your back, the other settling to warm your cheek as he pressed a final kiss on the corner of your mouth.
the world could end tomorrow for all you know. but in this specific time, and in this specific moment, the ground felt firm under your feet.
especially because heeseung was finally here to anchor you and keep your trembling figure steady.
YAN'S NOTES ➤ ending is a bit shite and rushed, but i had to post it now or else it might never see the light of day again. kinda got the rush to write this back when me and my friends were on a trip and a mild earthquake happened, but never got to the ending until today lmao. also, i miss my bambhee a lot, so.
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a/n: i just wrote this for myself and thought i’d share lol. i need someone like this ngl
The fight was stupid, like most of your fights with Sunghoon. A misunderstanding that snowballed into frustration and sharp words. You couldn’t even remember what had caused it, you just know that the both of you had gone to bed angry. With unspoke and built up frustration.
Now, hours later, the room was dark and quiet, save for the occasional rustle of sheets and the soft hum of the air conditioning.
Sunghoon lay on his side of the bed, his back facing you. He had barely looked at you as he climbed into bed, his jaw tight, his arms crossed before he pulled the blanket over himself. He hadn’t said goodnight, and you hadn’t, either.
Minutes transformed into hours before you managed to close your eyes and drift off to sleep.
It wasn’t long before the nightmares found you.
You didn’t remember how it started, only the suffocating sense of fear that wrapped around you like a vice.
They were almost a routine, but usually they were just work or university related.
Though, when you were stressed, those nightmares took the forms of your worst fears. Plane crashes, other tragedies that you couldn’t stop, the ocean.
You woke up to one, but fortunately, you were able to fall back to sleep a little later. It wasn’t that bad.
Not until another one found you, darker and creepier than the previous one. It made your heart pound, your breath uneven as anxiety pricked your skin.
You woke with a gasp, your chest heaving, the sheets damp with sweat. The room was still dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, and the shadows in the corners of the room suddenly felt alive.
Your hands trembled as you pulled the blanket closer, pressing your face into your knees to muffle the sobs that threatened to spill out. You couldn’t wake Sunghoon. Not tonight. Not after the fight.
But the harder you tried to stay quiet, the harder it became to hold back the tears.
He knew all about how troubled you were after your nightmares. Because in all efficiency, you loved sleeping. You loved the feeling of the warm sheets hugging your skin, the smell of fresh and safe.
Sunghoon had shifted through the night, he was wearing a sleeveless white shirt, the sheets covering until his stomach.
When he heard the muffled sound of your sobs, his brows furrowed, his heart squeezing in his chest.
“Y/n?” His voice was groggy but tinged with concern.
You froze, cursing yourself for not being quieter. You didn’t answer, hoping he’d think he imagined it and go back to sleep.
But then you felt the bed shift as he rolled over, the weight of his gaze heavy even in the dark.
“Are you crying?”
You shook your head quickly, your voice breaking as you croaked, “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” His voice softened, and a moment later, you felt his hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you back so he could see your face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” you whispered, wiping at your cheeks. “Just a bad dream.”
His jaw clenched, guilt flickering in his eyes as he noticed how your shoulders trembled. You were clearly shaken, your breaths uneven, and he hated that you were going through yet another panic.
Sunghoon sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair. The loose fabric of his sleeveless shirt shifted as he leaned closer, his arm brushing against yours. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
You hesitated, your voice small. “I didn’t want to bother you. You were already mad at me.”
His heart sank at your words. He could be stubborn, but hearing the tremor in your voice made him realize how much he’d let his pride get in the way.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I shouldn’t have gone to bed angry, we promised not to do it..”
You shook your head, biting your lip. “It wasn’t just you. I was being stubborn too.”
He sighed, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment before he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You hesitated but quickly melted into his warmth, the scent of him — clean and familiar — grounding you.
“You should have woken me up,” he said again, his tone gentle but firm. “I don’t care if we fight, I’d never want you to deal with this alone.”
Your tears spilled over again, this time not from fear but from the overwhelming comfort of his words. Sunghoon held you tighter, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your arm.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a while, his voice low.
You shook your head, burying your face in his chest. “No. I just… I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
“Ok,” he whispered. “Then we won’t.”
He shifted, lying back against the pillows and pulling you with him so your head rested against his shoulder. His other hand reached for yours, threading your fingers together.
He used the other one to gently caress your back, tracing different soothing patterns.
For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence between you no longer heavy with tension but filled with unspoken understanding.
Sunghoon tilted his head to press a kiss to your temple, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
You nodded, your grip on his hand tightening as your breathing finally evened out.
Safe in his arms, the shadows of your nightmare faded, replaced by the steady beat of his heart against your ear.
“I love you.” you whispered gently, and Sunghoon tightened his grip on you “I love you too, baby.”
And as you finally drifted back to sleep, you heard a faint “I’ll always protect you.”
synopsis: You always believed that Park Sunghoon will be a constant presence in your life. He's your childhood friend, your safe place and the one person who knew you better than anyone else. Until he left without a warning. Years later, after acheving your dream of becoming a lawyer, your world was flipped upside down when you find yourself working under him. Gone was the boy you once knew. Sunghoon is distant and unrecognizable, treating you nothing more than an employee. But as old memories resurface beneath your relationship, it became clear that some bonds and feelings were truly never left behind.
pairing: legal associate! park sunghoon x trainee solicitor! fem! reader.
content: childhood friends to lovers, lawyer au, office romance, resolved sexual tension, miscommunications, family issues, emotionally constipated +yearner sunghoon, jealousy, it gets hella worse before it gets slightly better, major angst with comfort, explicit mature content, belly bulge, mild breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), inappropriate usage of tie, hair-pulling, pussy eating+fingering.
word count: 26.4k.
from author: finally done with this bad boy. this is dedicated to my other twin, my other half and the yin to my yang @lolliloopsy for wanting lawyer sunghoon. this is by far my favorite fic to and it got me listening to sabrina claudio nonstop too. the smut is actually unreadable im so sorry.
mini playlist: freak - doja cat, truth is - sabrina claudio, did we lose our minds - sabrina claudio, tell me what you want - sasha keable, sex with me - rihanna.
You remembered that fateful, memorable day like it had just happened recently. It was summer and during the brief three months break before classes resumed. Looking back at it, you should have known things weren't as what they seemed on the surface. You should have seen the obvious signs. All because you didn't look properly, even though he was beside you.
You were eighteen back then while your childhood friend was already nineteen. He's no longer a child but rather, a freshly new, pure young adult. Something he wasn't afraid of shoving it into your face the moment it was midnight. Park Sunghoon was nothing but filled with arrogance that never failed to make you wished you could knocked him down a few pegs.
"There you are! I've been looking everywhere!"
You looked up to see Sunghoon stopping before you. His expression faltered at the sight of your red, swollen and watery eyes along with your loud sniffling sounds and how you're biting on your bottom lip to stifle your cries. He sighed, stepping closer to sit on your right on the bench you're seated on. The boy wasted no time in pulling you close to him, allowing you to bury your head in his chest.
He lets you cried and sobbed like a newborn baby, not caring how you're soaking and staining his shirt with your fresh, salty tears. Sunghoon remained silent the entire time, patting your back with one hand while whispering comforting words into your ear. It took you about thirty minutes or so to calm down. When you did, you awkwardly pulled back and he withdrew his hand, resting it on his lap with his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering sadness.
"What happened?" He asked.
You stubbornly shook your head, keeping your lips sealed shut. Sunghoon sighed, reaching out to rest his hand on your left shoulder to give it an reassuring squeeze. An action that spoke volume.
"Come on, you know you can tell me anything," he gently coaxed you.
You sniffled, raising your hands but the boy was faster. He placed his right hand over yours, gingerly wiping the tears threatening to slip from your eyes. The way he does it was so gentle, loving and caring, like he's afraid of harming you. It's not what friends will do but that's a topic for another time. Perhaps when both of you are fully-grown adults then the elephant in the room will be addressed.
"..Do you think I'm ugly?" You managed to croak out, not having the courage to look him in the eyes.
Silence.
At the stretched silence, you raised your head, ready to change the topic, only for you to pause. You made eye contact with Sunghoon but what caught your attention was the way he looked at you. There was a mixture of emotions—disbelief, pain and anger. Disbelief that you dared to utter those words out, right in front of him. Pain and anger because you chose to believe in someone's words.
Someone that's not him, who will do anything to turn that frown upside down.
"No, gods no," he quickly replied, now cupping your face in his hands.
His thumbs rested on the skin underneath your eyes. It took all of his self-restraint to not do something stupid that could potentially ruined your friendship. After all, Park Sunghoon is nothing but a hopeless fool who is head over heels for you. For a girl who had seen the worst and best of him. For a girl who had became a staple, permanent presence in his life.
He cleared his throat before speaking, features softening—a habit he does whenever he's with you without him knowing.
"I don't know who's been telling you these lies, but they are wrong. They don't know how kind you are to the people around you. They don't know how you're selfless, always putting other people first rather than your own needs. They don't know how strong, sweet and loving you are."
Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly as he starts to ramble, letting out the pent-up feelings that were locked deep in his chest, imprinted in the back of his mind for a long, long time. You stared at him, rendered speechless.
"Sunghoon, I…"
Your voice trailed off, ears and cheeks turning a light shade of red.
"I don't know what to say but thank you," you finished, flashing him a smile, a smile he returned without hesitation.
"Of course, angel. That's what friends are for."
You hummed. "We'll be friends forever, right?"
Sunghoon paused briefly, something unreadable flickered across his face but you didn't see it, too caught up in your own thoughts and the current moment. It was gone when he blinked and he smiled, pretending nothing happened while ignoring the lingering guilt residing in his stomach.
"Yeah, we'll be friends forever. You're my ride and die."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
◟‿୨୧‿◞
"Hello? Earth to (Name)? Anyone home?"
"Ow!"
You yelped when someone whacked your head, snapping you back to reality. You scowled when it's none other than your friend who's also your co-worker at the same time—Choi Beomgyu. He held a rolled-up document in his right hand, looking down at you with his signature, infuriating smug grin that stretches across his face. Your left eyelid twitched, resisting the urge to leap across the table and strangle him to death.
"Jeez, stop glaring at me like that, lover girl. Just because you're working under Sung—"
Beomgyu didn't get to finish his sentence, not when someone purposely and roughly bumped his shoulder against him. You snorted at how he let out a startled yelp, body tilting to the left with his limbs flailing about, like a wild, frantic chicken. Thankfully, he didn't fall and managed to regain his balance, spinning on the spot to throw a traitorous glare to the third person, who slipped in soundlessly.
"Hey! What was that for!? You could've hurt this gorgeous face of mine!" He exclaimed, pointing at his own face and you groaned, making a fake gagging noise in the background and Beomgyu flipped you off without looking at you.
Lee Heeseung—another close friend of yours, merely rolled his eyes and flashed the older man a flat, unimpressed look. "Shut up and get back to work, Gyu. Unless you want to work overtime again."
Both of you snickered in unison at the offended look Beomgyu threw at him, but he knew Heeseung was right. Which was why he turned, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he returned to his desk. Heeseung rolled his eyes before turning to you, with his signature smile now plastered on his face, the kind of smile used to impress his colleagues around him. Also the kind of smile used on simple-minded, hopeless women.
Not you though. Not when a certain someone had captured your heart a long time ago.
"Here's the documents you needed for your case," he said, raising his left hand over the wall of your cubicle, revealing a stack of papers, earning a groan from you.
"Ugh, shooting me with a gun would've hurt less," you complained, accepting them nonetheless as you placed it at the corner of your messy desk.
Heeseung clicked his tongue, shifting to rest both of his arms on the edge of the cubicle, looking down at you from where he stood. Amusement flickered across his doe-like eyes at your reaction. It's obvious he's having the time of his life watching you suffer, much to your annoyance. You would have said or do something, like to flip him off but you felt it before he even entered.
The temperature in the room dropped a notch. Even though the air conditioner was set at a tolerable twenty-four degrees, it felt like it was lowered to nineteen. The previous rounds of hushed murmurs and chatter vanished the moment he stepped into everyone's visions. To say he's a sight to behold would be the biggest understatement of the century.
Park Sunghoon walked in with measured steps, each one unhurried and controlled. His presence alone demanded for space and the room willingly gave it to him. It was either utter obedience or receiving his signature, cold and piercing gaze. A gaze that can sent even the most fearless man running with his invisible tail between his legs.
He's dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that fitted him well to the core, like it was made for no one else but just him alone. The sharp lines of his midnight blue blazer further accentuated his broad, firm and his oh so reliable shoulders. Shoulders that had been carrying the firm ever since his first day. The crisp white shirt beneath deeply contrasted against the dark tones. Not a single crease or a strand of hair seen or misplaced.
Everything was purely calculated and all according to plan.
His expression remained neutral. Either he was unaware or chose to ignore the effect he has on people. How conversations died mid-sentence. How the sound of fingers flying across keyboards came to an abrupt halt and how even the faint rustling of papers seemed to disappear into thin air. Everyone's eyes were immediately on him, whether they knew it or not.
Seeing him—your childhood friend, the very same boy who never failed to make you feel at ease, to bring a smile on your face, to make you laughed until you were shedding tears, now replaced with someone who you barely knew anymore, did something to you. You felt like you were stabbed in the chest.
He felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time and you didn't like that at all.
Sunghoon didn't stop walking, not sparing anyone his attention—not that any of them were worthy of his attention in the first place. Heeseung had long scrambled back to his own desk, like the true traitor he is as he left you alone to fend for yourself—
Until he stopped right in front of your desk.
It took all of you to not visibly flinched, to not show any ounce of reaction. Up close, he felt even colder and more unreachable, a feat you didn't think was possible in the first place. For a brief moment, he said nothing. His gaze settled on you, steady and unreadable, like he had became an expert in hiding his feelings.
"See me in my office."
His voice was low, even and authoritative. It's clear he didn't tell you to wait for your reaction. It's clear it wasn't a request. But rather, a demand. A command that you should obeyed, unless you're asking to get fired on the spot. Before you could processed it, he had turned away and walked off, like summoning you was nothing more than another mere, simple task on his to-do list.
It was only when his figure was out of sight was when everyone loosened up, heaving a sigh of relief in unison. Heeseung wasted no time in sliding his chair over to you. His cubicle was only situated on your right, allowing him to move over without any difficulties.
"Oh, you're definitely fucked," he muttered, clearly entertained with him absentmindedly spinning a pen with his left index and middle fingers.
You shot him a look. "Not helping."
"I wasn't trying to help though."
"Fuck you."
"No thank you. Bet you'd love to fuck Sung—"
"Heeseung!"
◟‿୨୧‿◞
After mentally preparing yourself for five minutes along with Heeseung being the helpful friend he is, by laughing at your predicament, you grabbed your trusty notebook that had been stained with tears and caffeine it's a miracle you were still able to use and your pen before leaving. You chose to ignore the "Good luck and don't die!" words Beomgyu shouted at your retreating figure.
Sunghoon's office was located on the other end of the thirty-fifth floor. Yes, the law firm you worked in has multiple floors with a total of seventy-five floors. You remembered you were stunned on your first day, openly gaping at everything around you as you entered, nearly making a fool of yourself by tripping over your feet more than three times in a single day.
You barely recalled nodding your head in acknowledgment at the series of greetings thrown your way from both men and women as they walked past you. You were too caught up in your own mind, many thoughts running through your mind at the speed of light until you sworn you were starting to feel light-headed.
Eventually, you arrived at a particular closed, opaque glass door with matte covering the bottom half and a sign hanging on it. The words stared back at you, like it was mocking you already, as if it knew the reason why you were summoned.
Park Sunghoon's Office.
"It'd be better if it's renamed as Satan's Hellhole instead," you muttered to yourself, wary enough to keep your voice down. You raised your right hand, now curled into a fist and knocked twice on it to announce your arrival.
Knock knock.
Sunghoon's eyes flicked up from his desktop screen, hands going stilled as he was in the middle of typing. One look at you made him nod his head and you entered once you were granted permission, gently closing the door behind him. It's pure instinct for you to clutch your notebook close to your chest in a vice-like grip until the edges crumped up due to your strength, like you want to blend into it, using it as a shield for whatever he had in store for you.
You chewed on your bottom lip, absentmindedly brushing your fingers against the edge of your notebook, unaware of how the man's eyes darkened a shade behind the rimless lenses of his rectangular-shaped glasses that rested perfectly on the bridge of his sharp, elegant nose. Gods, you never expected to see your childhood friend went from a easygoing, scrawny young teenager to… whatever he is now.
That's a man right there, your brain unhelpfully chimed in before adding another sentence, a very fine man, to be exact.
To make yourself feel better, you visualized yourself beating the living lights out of your superior. The very same superior who is seated in front of you, known for being the most cold-hearted, unforgivable and someone who doesn't have any tolerance for anything. When one says anything, they really meant it.
An prime example would be when a poor young woman used to be in your position, only to be fired on her first day when she failed to follow-up with one of Sunghoon's clients. You didn't know much of the details, other than the very obvious fact that he was pissed. One thing about him is that he never raised his voice, which proved to make him all the more intimidating than he already was. He would have lost the trial if he didn't come up with something on the spot but despite his success, he was still enraged and ended up firing the woman.
Nothing more and nothing less.
Ahem.
You snapped back to reality, dryly and loudly swallowing when you noticed Sunghoon had been staring at you the entire time while you were busy imagining punching him, treating him like a punching bag and an outlet to release your pent-up stress and frustrations.
"Are you done daydreaming? If you are, then sit down," he said, voice firm and cold.
Your left eyebrow twitched, resisting the urge to snap, to yell or even better, to throw something at his face as you obliged, sitting on the opposite chair and placed your notebook and hands on your lap, hiding it from his sharp, observant and piercing gaze that never fails to send shivers down your spine.
"Why did you summon me?" You asked, surprisingly able to keep your voice even and steady despite how your fingers were already trembling.
Sunghoon arched his signature thick left eyebrow, like he was impressed by your audacity or stupidity. Or maybe it was both. Whatever it was, it seemed like you had made a wrong approach, with the way he leaned back into his seat, his eyes never leaving your face, catching every micro-expression you made.
"Simple. Because you screwed up."
You flinched—a subtle motion that should go unnoticed by everyone. But not Sunghoon, not when it comes to you. You swallowed, clenching and unclenching your fingers, feeling your palms growing sweaty as every second passed. You didn't say anything and the man pressed on, using his words to push his knife deeper into your chest.
"Judging from the look on your face, you're clueless, aren't you? Fine, let me indulge you."
He paused, reaching for a file situated on the left corner of his desk. He flipped it opened with practiced ease before sliding it towards you. You leaned forward a little to get a clearer look, immediately finding the paragraphs familiar to you.
"Page twelve," he said.
Your hands moved before you knew it, your fingers brushing against the folder as you pulled it closer to you. You scanned the page, eyes darting over lines of text until they stopped. Your stomach dropped, feeling a pail of cold, freezing water being dumped over you from above.
"The clause is outdated. It contradicts the revised terms submitted last week. Terms you copied, if I recall correctly," he went on, observing you closely, like you're his prey that was hopelessly cornered with nowhere to run.
Your lips parted but you couldn't find your voice.
"I—" You startled, faltering for a split second before you forced yourself to speak. "I must've overlooked—"
"You must've?" He echoed, voice and eyes hardening and yet, that same infuriating calmness of his never left his face. "You must've overlooked a critical amendment in a case file I asked you to review?"
You tightened your grip on the paper, teeth grinding down on one another.
"It was a minor section," you protested, despite how you knew he was right. He always was. "The overall argument still stands and make sense. It's not enough to—"
"Not enough?" He cuts you off for the second time, voice cold and firm, just enough to make you and your words feel insignificant. "Are you even hearing yourself?"
Silence.
Sunghoon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze locked onto yours with terrifying, chilling precision.
"In this firm, there's no such thing as minor. All it takes to dismantle an entire case is one oversight. One mistake is enough to question credibility. Or, do you think you're an exception?"
You narrowed your eyes, borderline scrunching the piece of paper in your hands. Sunghoon's eyes flicked down to the paper before meeting you again, his expression unreadable as always.
"I don't. But it's not like I intentionally—"
"That doesn't matter," he interrupted.
As the saying goes, three times the charm. That was the third time he had cut you off and that too, was the final straw.
"I'm still new. Mistakes happen. It's not unreasonable to expect—"
"What? To be excused?" He smoothly finished for you.
You paused, unable to further defend yourself. Because that wasn't what you meant but in the end, it was exactly how it sounds like. Whether you liked it or not. Sunghoon lets his words lingered in the air, giving you both the chance and room to speak, to say something better, to fix the damage.
But you didn't. Or maybe, you simply couldn't.
"…No, but I can fix it," you finally said, in a quieter voice but there was still a hint of defiance.
Something flickered in his expression but it was gone when he blinked. Sunghoon eyed you before leaning back into his chair, removing his elbows from the desk in the process.
"You will. You'll revise the entire section, cross-check every document and have it back on my desk before the end of the day."
Your eyes widened. "That's—"
"(Name)."
The way he said your name, like it's a threat, a warning along with the utter firmness in his voice was enough to silence you. You clamped your lips shut, knowing there was no way for you to make him change his mind. You nodded, shoulders slumping and Sunghoon nodded, raising his hand to push his glasses up his nose.
"Good, you're dismissed. If I don't see it on my desk, you're fired," he finished, no longer giving you his attention as he returned to looking at his desktop.
You gritted your teeth, shooting up from your seat as you stomped out of his office. Manners and respect be dammed at this point. You needed to get out of there or you would've lost your temper, which could potentially cost you your job and the amount of blood, sweat and tears you've used to get to where you are today.
Baam!
You slammed his door shut with a loud, heavy force on the way out, not caring that it came off as rude or how you were gathering stares following you as you returned to your desk. You threw your notebook, pen and the folder onto the desk, not caring that the pen rolled off, falling onto the floor with a series of clattering sounds.
"Fuck," you cursed at the all-too familiar feeling of something warm and damp stinging your eyes, blurring your vision. The last thing you wanted was to have a breakdown at your desk, where anyone can walked in on you resisting the urge to cry right there and then.
You were so deep in your own thoughts that you didn't sense Heeseung's presence, who wheeled himself to your side, eyebrows furrowed with concern written all over his face.
"Hey, what happened?" He asked softly, reaching out to rest a hand on your left shoulder, watching as you shrink, avoiding looking at him.
You shook your head, teeth sinking into the meat of your bottom lip. "..Nothing, it's fine," you croaked out, your voice slightly hoarse and scratchy as you sniffled.
Your friend sighed, having known you long enough to be able to tell whether you're lying or not. "What did he say this time?"
You choked out a watery and broken laugh despite yourself, raising a hand to rub at your eyes, ignoring how you'd come to regret your decision later. "What did he not say this time? It's a miracle he didn't tell me off in front of everyone."
Heeseung frowned, lips pursed in a thin line. "(Name), maybe you should tell the management."
"And what? What do I tell them?" You retorted. "Tell them that oh hi, I want to make a report that working under Park Sunghoon, who was my childhood friend, is giving me lots of stress and because of him, I'm unable to perform well."
"Yes, but—"
"No, Heeseung. You don't get it, it's not as easy as you think. What do you think will happen after I tell them? You and I both know the management isn't gonna do shit. To them, Park Sunghoon is this fucking god and life savior for saving the firm when it was on the verges of collapsing," you continued, cutting him off.
The man stayed silent, mostly because of two things. Firstly, you are right and secondly, there wasn't much he can say to convince you. Not when you had made up your mind. But that doesn't mean he's not allowed to speak freely.
"Then just tell me this and I want you to answer me honestly: do you still like him?"
Silence.
"I don't," you started, the words coming out too quickly and too obvious. "I mean—why would I? After everything he did, after the way he—"
Your voice faltered. The knowing, pitiful look Heeseung gave only made you felt even worse. Because deep down, the both of you knew you were lying and you weren't telling the truth. A bitter, humorless laugh slipped from your lips, running a hand through your hair with your eyes turning glossy under the overhead lights.
"I hate him," you confessed, your gaze dropping to the floor or your shoes. "I hate the way he acts like I'm nothing. Like we're nothing. I hate how he left without a word, like I wasn't even worth a goodbye."
Your chest tightened, something sharp stabbing right through your heart, feeling the heavy weight settling on your shoulders the more you spoke.
"But most importantly, I hate how he looks at me now… like I'm just another person in the firm."
You paused for a few seconds, plucking up the remains of your non-existent courage, despite the fact both Heeseung and you already knew what you were planning to say. What kind of words that was ready to leave the tip of your tongue.
"But despite all of that, I still love him. I really do."
You let out a shaky exhale, shaking your head like you're able to deny it. If only it was that easy.
"I don't know why. It's been years. He's not the same person anymore. Anyone with eyes can see that. He's… not the Sunghoon I knew and maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm the problem, for wanting the old him to come back to me. And a part of me is still stuck in the past, still loving someone who doesn't exist anymore."
A pause.
Heeseung sighed, the sound itself speaks volume, speaking more than what his words could possibly carry.
"He doesn't deserve you, you know that? You're too good for him."
You weakly nodded, eyes getting unfocused. "I know, but I can't stop thinking about him."
◟‿୨୧‿◞
You chose to skip lunch—much to your two friends' disappointment as they wished you luck to which you waved it off but was internally grateful and spent the rest of the day slaving away on just one document. The one document that cost you your sanity and draining lifespan.
You pulled out the long list of references you used beforehand, cross-checking all of it more than three times. It's a miracle your eyes didn't get stuck in one place with how often you kept looking between two different pieces of papers. You type, delete, type and only for you to delete again. This cycle kept repeating itself as the hours dragged on.
You weren't even aware of your surroundings—of how more and more people were packing up as they get ready to leave, of how the lights of their desks were turned off, leaving yours still on and how the silence was getting louder and louder until it's loud enough to drown out your thoughts. You found yourself entering the zone, now able to rework on it with full confidence—a huge contrast to how you were a few hours ago.
When you were finally done, you leaned back into your chair and stretched your arms above your head, letting out a long, heavy groan as you cracked your fingers. The sound echoed loudly in the office and it was only when you bothered to check the time, was when you realized you had worked overtime.
Again. Not like it's anything new or shocking, considering the nature of your job.
You got up, groaning at your back pain—a sign of your old age, even though you're still in your twenties. Swiping the folder off your messy, clustered desk, you wasted no time in making a beeline to Sunghoon's office. With how late it was, you were the final person to leave.
At least, that's what you thought.
You came to a stop when you noticed the lights in his office was still on from a far. At first, you assumed he must have forgotten to turn it off in his haste of leaving but it was gone when you now stood before his door. You didn't knock and he didn't see you yet, giving you a chance to see (or admire, like the closeted freak you are.) him in his current state.
His tie and blazer was gone with the top two black buttons of his now wrinkled white dress shirt unbuttoned, revealing his pale skin. You briefly remembered how there were baseless rumors when he first joined, with people wondering if he was a vampire in disguise, due to how pale he was. Sunghoon rested his chin on the palm of his left hand, his long and slender fingers curled over his mouth as he absentmindedly tapped his nose.
Whatever he was looking at has him deep in thought. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes slightly narrowed with him reading whatever was reflected on the screen. His usual neat and tidy hair was slightly messed up, with random strands poking out in different directions. Some even fell forward, hanging over his eyes, acting like a shield.
The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing a delicious pair of arms that can make anyone drooled like a nasty dog. You swallowed, ripping your eyes away and looked up, nearly flinching on the spot when you made direct eye contact with him. For a moment, none of you looked away, seemingly entering a staring contest with you standing outside of his office and him seated by his desk.
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow and you took that as your cue to enter, pushing the door open while clutching the folder in your left hand. You stepped in, your footsteps muffled against the carpeted floor and you stopped before his desk. Your superior torn his gaze away from his desktop screen, looking at you with an unreadable, impassive look on his face.
"I assume you've finished it?" He asked, jumping straight to the point without beating around the bush.
You nodded, wordlessly handing the folder over to him. Sunghoon took it from your hand and flipped it open to read. The next few seconds of tense, thick silence felt like eternity. You shuffled your heels on the spot, curling and uncurling your fingers with your hands resting by your sides. You observed him the entire time, trying to read him but it was easier said than done. You had considered yourself as someone good in reading people via their body languages but when it comes to Sunghoon?
You got nothing.
After what felt like centuries when a solid seven minutes passed, he finally spoke up. He held the folder in his right hand, arms crossed across his chest. Every time he shifted or readjusted his position, it caused his muscles to move as well—something you noticed almost immediately, much to your utter frustration.
"This is more acceptable than your previous work," he said, not praising nor insulting you. Just stating a fact, as simple as that.
Normally, you would retort with something snarky of your own but with how late it was, you were too exhausted to argue with him. You simply nodded, turning and was ready to leave when it's clear he wasn't going to say anything else. Only for him to call out your name, stopping you.
"Wait, I'll drive you home."
What?
"…What?" You turned to him, eyes widening and mouth dropping slightly, dumbfounded, like you couldn't believed your own ears.
But Sunghoon was already moving. He shut down his desktop, slipped his glasses off in one fluid motion as he rose to his feet. He swiped his loose tie and blazer off the stand he hung them on, folding them over his left arm and grabbed his bag placed near his chair.
"I'm not taking no for an answer, (Name). It's already late and there isn't anymore buses or trains left. It'd be faster and safer if I just drive you," he pointed out.
You sighed, hating how he was right and obliged. You stepped out of his office, returning to your own desk. You quickly shut down your desktop, shoving your things into your bag and rushed over to regroup with Sunghoon, who was already waiting for one of the lifts to arrive.
There was some distance between you and him—roughly around fifteen centimeters. You busied yourself in checking your phone, catching up on the messages and notifications you didn't managed to read, not when you were busy typing like your life depended on it.
Ding!
The lift in front of you announced its arrival with a soft 'ding!' sound and the doors opened. The two of you entered with Sunghoon pressing on the B2 button before it closed. Faint classical, jazz music started playing, acting as white noise. You had unconsciously moved to stand in the right corner of the small, cramped space, wanting to be as far away as him from possible.
The silence thickened further as the lift came to a stop, doors opening to reveal the car park located at the second basement of the company. You followed Sunghoon as the man walked over to where his car was parked—a sleek, obsidian-black Mercedes Benz S-Class sat under the dim lights. Its polished surface reflects the cold white glow from above.
He unlocked the car with a soft click, walking straight to the driver's seat without sparing you a glance. You hesitated for a second before moving to the passenger side, the door handle cool under your fingertips. The interior was just as pristine as the exterior—black leather, faint traces of a clean, subtle cologne lingering in the air.
All it took was a simple, gentle press of a button for the car to spring to life. The engine purred to life smoothly, barely making a sound as he pulled out of the lot. The city lights and everything else turned into a blur as he drove, slowly stepping down on the gas with the figure gradually increasing until he's driving at ninety kilometers per hour.
Music was playing from the radio as you looked out of the window, not wanting to look him in the eyes. It didn't help that Sunghoon knew your address by heart—something the younger him have very much proudly boasting at the top of his lungs. You dug your short, clean nails into your face, not caring by the fact that you're leaving indents behind.
You should say something. But what can you possibly say in such a tense, awkward situation? There were so many things you wanted to ask but whenever you opened your mouth, it was like your voice chose that moment to give up on you. There were many, many thoughts swirling around in your mind whenever you think back to the past.
How you could have had it all instead of what you're facing now.
Why did you leave without telling me? Am I not worth a text or a simple farewell? Why did you came back as a completely new person? Who are you now? What happened when you moved abroad?
Instead of asking any of those questions—the very same questions that had been lingering in the back of your mind for the past twenty plus years, the only word you managed to utter out was:
"Why?"
Sunghoon didn't react immediately nor did he even spared a glance, like you weren't worth his attention. You furrowed your eyebrows, now turning your head to him. You observed his side profile—his sharp jawline that can make your fingers bleed if you were to trace it, his slightly cracked and dry lips that were pursed in a thin line with his eyes fixated on the highway road ahead of him.
His silence added more fuel to the growing fire residing deep in you and you pushed on, unable to hold it back anymore.
"Why did you leave without telling me?"
A few seconds of silence passed. For a moment, you thought he would ignore you again, how he will pretend he didn't hear you. But you caught the way his grip tightened on the steering wheel. A subtle action that if it was anyone else, they would have missed it.
But not you. You weren't anyone else.
"You're asking questions about something that has already happened," he said in a flat tone, like he was stating a simple, obvious fact.
You stared at him, rendered speechless before huffing out a incredulous laugh. Sunghoon made a turn to his right, exiting the highway as he entered a street you were familiar with—you were reaching home.
"So that's it? You just leave, go off the grid for years and then come back like nothing happened? Is it wrong for me to care about you?"
His jaw muscles twitched faintly and as per always, he remained silent. And gods, his silence is starting to infuriate you further.
"You wouldn't understand," he replied after a beat, now in quieter and more distant tone.
You narrowed your eyes, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and slapped him. "Then tell me! You can't expect me to understand when you refuse to say anything!"
The car came to a stop at a red light, the glow casting faint shadows across his face. And finally, he turned to look at you and you wished he didn't. Because there was nothing there. No warmth, no familiarity and gone was the boy you once knew by heart, soul and mind.
"I don't have to explain everything to you," he said, the words sharp and deliberate. Sharp enough for you to feel like you were slapped in the face, leaving a stinging, lingering pain behind.
You couldn't speak, staring at him. Your throat tightened, stomach curling and twisting into itself as he turned back to the road, stepping down on the gas when the light turned green. It's crystal clear the conversation has came to an end and you decided to drop it, not wanting to waste any more of your drained energy to argue with him.
The moment the car came to a stop outside your house, you were quick to jump out of the passenger side, unable to tolerate breathing in the same air as him. You grabbed your bag, slammed the door shut on purpose and stomped your way to your house with your house keys held in your left hand.
The door closed behind you and you tossed your bag onto the floor, not caring whether the content inside was damaged or not. You lowered yourself until you were in a squatting position, arms resting on your knees as you cried. You wept like a fresh new widow who lost her husband to the war when that was far from the truth.
You wept for someone who doesn't deserve your tears, time and attention. You wept for someone who no chose to move on from the past, facing the future with a brand new mindset. You wept for someone who could care less about you.
And if you spent the rest of the night sobbing your eyes out, then that's only for you to know and a secret to keep.
◟‿୨୧‿◞
"Welcome home, sir. Your brother and parents are waiting for you in the dining room," the head butler informed him, in lieu of a greeting, bowing at a sharp ninety-degrees with his gloved hands placed in front of him.
Sunghoon scowled, not bothering to conceal his dissatisfaction as he handed his blazer and tie to the butler, who promptly took it from his outstretched hand. He never liked coming back to a home occupied by his parents. It was always something to do with their long, rich heritage of the Park family in the business industry and how they are practically the backbone of most of the companies.
The man turned, heading to the flight of stairs that will lead to the second floor, having no intentions of meeting them, only to stop when someone called out his name, making him froze.
"Sunghoon."
Resisting the urge to outwardly roll his eyes, he turned to face his older brother—Park Jongseong. He felt like he got shot right in the chest, something ugly curling itself around his heart at how the other man wasn't alone. There was another woman standing close to him, a woman with a very familiar face and someone who he knew for a while now.
He stiffly nodded his head to the woman, who returned it with a warm, polite smile as she bowed slightly, one hand on her chest.
"Sunghoon, it's been a while. How have you been?" She asked.
He sighed, moving to descend the flight of stairs until he's in front of the couple with some distance between them. Sunghoon's eyes darted down to the matching rings they worn before flicking up, swallowing the bile threatening to rise up his throat. His features softened slightly—a rare side that only a selected percentage of people were able to see.
"I'm fine, just busy with work. You know how it is, Areum," he answered.
Areum nodded, her lips covered in a thin, glowing layer of lipgloss curled up in a faint smile. "I understand. I heard you've successfully closed a difficult case. Well done, as expected of Park Sunghoon."
Normally, if it was anyone else who uttered those words, they would've received a cold, piercing glare from him. But Areum was different. She's like the older sister Sunghoon never knew he needed. Someone reliable, mature and clear-headed. Well, there is his brother but between Jay and Areum, he often gravitated to the woman instead, mostly because she was much easier to talk to, as compared to the other, who never fails to take the chance to tease him endlessly.
He let out a light, soft and genuine chuckle. "Thanks, Areum. But it's not something worthy of praise."
And Jay being Jay, snorted from where he stood. "Damn, just take her compliment, would you? It's weird watching you acting all polite."
"Jay!"
Areum scolded her husband, reaching out to deliver a light but stinging smack to his shoulder, drawing a pained hiss from him. Sunghoon snickered, all smug and since he's younger than Jay, he playfully stuck his tongue out—acting like how they were when they were young. His brother resorted to scowling from where he stood while resisting the tempting urge to throw hands with his younger sibling.
Ahem.
Their brief playful moment was rudely interrupted by someone pointedly clearing their throat. The three turned to see it was none other than their father. The very same man who owns the estate they are currently standing in and the very same man who built an industry from nothing. People couldn't believed when they find out he's already in his early sixties due to his still youthful look. Unlike the usual man who's seen shaking hands with shareholders, wearing a warm and professional smile on his face, the man standing before his two sons is the real him.
His eyes jumped from one face to another before landing on Sunghoon's, who didn't flinch nor did he backed down from the sudden eye contact. Just like the younger man, his father had perfectly aced the art of mastering and concealing his emotions, not allowing anyone else to decipher how he truly feels.
"All of you, stop fooling around. You're not children anymore," he started, his voice deep, low and slightly rough around the edges and his gaze lingered longer than usual on Sunghoon.
Sunghoon sworn he saw something akin to frustration behind those pupils but it was gone when he blinked. Without waiting for their response, their father turned and headed to the dining room. The three of them took that as their cue to follow him, not wanting to further worsen his mood.
But then again, the man was always in a bad mood. Which gets even worse when he's around his family.
They eventually arrived at the dining room, which was just as imposing as the rest of the estate—spacious, pristine and formal. A long, polished rectangular-shaped table stretched across the center, its glossy surface reflecting the warm glow of the lights hanging from above. High-backed chairs were arranged with perfect symmetry, each one as uncomfortable as the other.
Everything was meticulously set. Fine porcelain plates, neatly folded linen napkins and silver cutlery aligned with exact precision—untouched, like it's for display purposes rather than anything else. The air felt still, heavy with an unspoken tension that no amount of luxury could softened.
Their mother sat on one of the chairs, allowing her to face the doorway as they entered, moving to take their respective seats without hesitation. Jay sat with Areum, occupying the two vacant chairs opposite of his mother while Sunghoon sat beside the older woman. The final chair that was placed at the head of the table belonged to none other than his father.
No one spoke a word for a few seconds before his father broke it, directing his focus and attention to Sunghoon.
"Sunghoon, you'll be getting married in four months."
The words landed without warning, like a bomb was dropped on him out of nowhere. There was no greetings or no small talks before they dived into the main dish. Sunghoon didn't react immediately, going as still as a statue. The only form of reaction he exerted was his fingers tightening against the table.
Beside him, his mother remained perfectly composed and unfazed, delicately lifting her glass of white wine, like they were discussing something as minor as the weather itself. His brother and wife, on the other hand, had the same reactions as Sunghoon. The couple shared a bewildered look and Jay shot Sunghoon a worried look, but the younger man didn't see it, staring at a random spot of the table.
His father continued, not caring about the storm of conflict happening in his mind. "The arrangements have been finalized. Her family are major shareholders of the company and it will be beneficial to both parties."
Sunghoon slowly exhaled through his nose, finally lifting his gaze to meet his father's. "I'm not interested."
The temperature in the room dropped, the air thickening further. His father's expression darkened, jaw tightening as he leaned back into his chair.
"You don't get to decide that."
"I'm not agreeing to this," his son replied calmly but firmly.
For a brief moment, something flickered in his father's eyes. It wasn't surprise but rather, it was irritation.
"No, you lost the right to make decisions for yourself the moment you strayed away from your responsibilities."
Sunghoon frowned but remained silent, knowing what his father was referring to.
"And we let it happened. Your mother and I were lenient, even when you've embarrassed this family, even when you refused to take over the company, forcing Jongseong to do it instead while you flew to another country. And all for what? To pursue something as trivial as law itself," the man went on, his voice sharpening the longer he spoke.
"We gave you years to correct. To redeem yourself. But it's clear you mistook that for freedom."
Sunghoon narrowed his eyes, clutching onto the utensils so tight until his knuckles turned white. It's a sheer miracle on its own that he didn't snap it into half with how strong his grip was.
"This marriage is the consequence of your actions. You will marry her and you will start acting in the best interest of this family. No more defiance and no more selfish decisions," his father finally ended, each word deliberate and as sharp as a knife.
It's clear the conversation has ended, with the finalized tone his father used—the kind of tone he used when he's standing in front of a board of directors in those meetings he kept attending. Sunghoon lowered his head, his bangs falling forward to shield his eyes as their private bulters and maids started serving them their food.
The previous tense dining room was now filled with the occasional clink-clanking of utensils against porcelain plates and bowls. Everyone ate while chatting among themselves. Everyone but Sunghoon. He has no appetite to eat, not after what he was just told. He hated how his mind constantly drifted back to a certain someone, how every time he looked at her, a part of him was tempted to apologize, to tell her how he felt nothing but utter remorse about everything.
About the way he treated her, brushing her and the rich-filled history they had aside, like it was nothing but mere memories. About how he didn't have a choice in the first place. About how he was forced to do this. It was either flying to another country or risked having his parents controlled his life, leaving him under the mercy of them.
And most importantly, about how he was scared to ruin everything if he were to confess the feelings he had been harboring for a long, long time.
◟‿୨୧‿◞
The weekend passed in a blink of an eye, much to every working adult's disappointment and it was Monday again. You paid your surroundings no mind, holding a cup of warm coffee you ordered from the cafe located opposite of the law firm as you entered the lift, getting squeezed to a corner with more and more people entering. You managed to alight at your designated floor but you barely managed to take more than ten steps before someone threw themself onto you.
"What the-!?" You exclaimed, nearly dropping your precious cup of coffee as you staggered, managing to catch your balance.
"(Name), you need to see this!"
Beomgyu said, ignoring the annoyed glare you threw his way. Before you could say anything, he had dragged you to his desk and Heeseung was already there, scrolling through his phone while eating his breakfast.
"What's up with him?" You asked, pointing at your other friend, who threw himself into his seat, opening the Internet browser and started typing something at rapid speed.
"I don't know, he texted me at six in the morning, telling me how I needs to see this as soon as possible. Dude didn't even bother answering my other questions," Heeseung replied after swallowing his mouthful of food.
You chuckled and took a slow sip of your hot coffee. Beomgyu took that moment to finally show you and Heeseung what was reflected on the screen. You moved closer, reading it over his shoulder. What you you didn't expect was to read the bold and large headline reflected on his desktop's screen, staring back at you, mocking and laughing at you.
The color drained from your face. You tuned out your surroundings until they were reduced to nothing but white noise—the murmurs of the people around you, the sound of footsteps back and forth, the sound of fingers flying across keyboards and the rustling of papers. The cup of coffee slipped from your loose grip, landing on the floor with a loud noise and the fragrant, brown liquid splattered everywhere.
Thankfully, your clothes were out of harm's way but the same couldn't be applied to your heels as some had landed on it. You hissed in pain when the hot liquid landed on your bare skin. Your friends were quick to jump into action. Beomgyu was quick to swipe the tissue box off his desk and handed it to you. You grabbed a few pieces, lifting your right leg to clean the coffee stains, watching as the pristine white tissues turned brown as it soaked up the liquid.
You did the same with your other leg while Heeseung picked up your now empty cup, disappearing to the pantry to toss it away before returning shortly with a mop and bucket that he had filled up with water. You were about to take the mop from him but the man shook his head.
"It's fine, I can do it," he waved you off before you could say a word.
Beomgyu rose to his feet, flashing you an apologetic look. "Shit, I'm sorry, (Name). Maybe I shouldn't have showed it to you."
You shook your head, flashing what you hoped was an reassuring smile to your friend. "You don't have to apologize, Gyu. I'll find out about it sooner or later so thanks for the heads-up."
The two men shared a quick glance. Beomgyu was about to say something when an unfamiliar, polite and unsure voice spoke up, gaining everyone's attention.
"Uh, hello? I'm looking for Park Sunghoon."
Who is she and why is she looking for him?
When you saw her, the first impression that came to your mind was how out of place she looked. Not in a bad way that makes her stood out like a sore thumb. It's different from the usual sharp, intimidating presence that fills the firm. There was a softness to her, something almost hesitant in the way she portrayed herself.
Her hair fell neatly past her shoulders in loose waves, a natural shade that framed her delicate features. Her eyes were sharp but right now, they were wide with uncertain and confusion, obviously lost while trying to locate her designated destination. She worn a cream-colored blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt that fell just below her knees. The outfit was paired with modest heels, simple and refined.
But most importantly, it whispered quiet wealth rather than loudly announcing it to the world.
Before you could say anything or react, one of your colleagues had approached her. He was kind enough to show her the way, bringing her over to your superior's office. Your eyes tracked her movement until she was out of your sight, unaware of how you had even stopped breathing until Heeseung tapped your shoulder, a worried look on his face.
"You good?" He asked.
"Fine," you answered almost immediately, feeling your world tilting as you returned to your desk in a daze, ignoring how Heeseung called out your name.
You sat down, staring at your desktop and before you knew it, your limbs moved before your mind could processed it. You opened a tab on your Internet browser, typing something and tapped the enter button on your keyboard. You clicked on the first link you see, bringing you to an article—the very same article that Beomgyu showed earlier on.
The headline remained the same. The longer you stared at it, the more tempted you were to grab the nearest thing and throw it at the screen, as if that can magically wiped the article away from the Internet.
'Legal Prodigy Park Sunghoon Announces Engagement to Han Seo-yeon, Heiress to Major Shareholder Family—A Strategic Union That Shakes the Industry.'
You've never felt this much pain in your life where every time you inhaled, a part of your heart shattered. Where every time you think about him, tears welled up in your eyes and you have to swallow it down, the motion itself stiff, awkward and painful.
It's times like this where you get reminded that you may still be stuck in the past, replaying the memories over and over, like a broken cycle. But for Sunghoon, on the other hand, he had moved on, choosing to focus on the present and the future. Even if that meant getting engaged to a stranger with no intentions of telling you.
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Knock knock.
"Who is it?" Sunghoon asked, not lifting his gaze to the door as he continued reading the document laid out before him—the very same document that you had gave it to him last Friday.
"A woman is here to look for you, sir. She said she's Seoyeon," his personal assistant informed him through the internal lines.
He paused when he heard her name. "Let her in."
"As you wish, sir."
Shortly after, the woman—Soyeon entered with a warm, friendly smile on her face. Sunghoon sighed, leaning back into his seat as she stood on opposite of him, with his desk acting as a barrier between them.
"What are you doing here? I thought we agreed for no public appearances unless it's necessary," he asked in a deflated tone.
The woman lightheartedly rolled her eyes as she sat down, elegantly crossing one leg over the other while placing her bag on her lap. "I know, but your father was very persistent in forcing me to make a surprise visit to your office. So, here I am."
He scoffed at the mention of his father, tapping his fingers on the polished surface of his desk. "Did you see the article?"
Soyeon nodded, pursing her lips covered in a shiny layer of lip-gloss, in a thin line. "Yeah, my parents must've been the ones to tell the press so they can release it without telling either of us. I'm sorry about that."
Sunghoon ran a hand through his fluffy, black hair as he let out a long, heavy sigh. Faint exhaustion can be seen in his eyes and across his face.
"It's not like they're willing to inform us beforehand."
The woman eyed him with an unreadable look before asking a question that made his blood ran cold. "I saw her just now. She's very pretty."
The man froze for a second, clearing his throat in an attempt to look composed. "Who are you talking about?"
She lets out a light laugh. "You know who, Sunghoon. I'm talking about (Name). I saw her earlier and it's not hard to notice her. She has that charm that draws you to her without you knowing. I think she saw the article too, judging from the horrified look on her face when she saw me."
Sunghoon tongued the inside of his left cheek and his jaw tightened. "Why are you telling me this?"
Soyeon sighed, her tone switching to a rather motherly tone, like he's her son who's still learning about the world. "Because it's obvious you like her. Anyone with eyes can see that."
He flinched, very much like a cat that got splashed with cold, freezing water. "You're imagining things."
"Right, and I'm the president of Seoul," she dryly retorted.
For the rare, few times in his life, the legal associate didn't know how to react nor what to say. He resorted to narrowing his eyes, scowling and sulking like a child. Soyeon chuckled and rose from her seat, now holding her bag in her right hand.
"Anyway, would you like to join me for lunch?" She proposed, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.
"I suppose, as long as it's not French cuisine again," he joked, rising to his full height while removing the glasses he worn, leaving it on the table as he grabbed his keys, phone and wallet from where the drawer underneath it.
Soyeon scoffed but the glimmer of amusement in her eyes said otherwise. "It's not my fault you're a man with no taste."
Sunghoon shot her an incredulous look, moving to open the door for her, allowing her to step out before he followed suit. "No taste? I'd like you to know I've dined in more than ten Michelin-Stars rated restaurants."
"Oh, is that so? Forgive me, my lord, for I must've struck a nerve," she sarcastically replied and Sunghoon chuckled.
Remembering something, Soyeon quickly slipped her hand into Sunghoon's right hand to intertwine their fingers together. The sudden contact and action made him glance at her from the corners of his eyes.
She flashed him a sympathetic, apologetic smile. "We're in public, so we have to sell it."
Something unreadable flickered across his face but it was gone when he blinked. He didn't like this—the arranged marriage they were put up with, how he's practically a pawn in whatever game both families are playing, being used like a tool. The two walked to the lift lobby together, hand in hand and his eyes automatically moved across the sea of people, searching for someone.
And he locked eyes with you.
You were at your desk, fingers poised over your keyboard while you were working on something that probably needs his attention whenever you're done. What made his heart tightened was how your eyes widened momentarily before returning to its usual size, how your eyes darted between his and Soyeon's face. He can practically imagined the loading logo floating on top of your head as you eventually connect the dots.
You were the first to break eye contact, snapping your head back to look at your screen, like you couldn't handle looking at him. Sunghoon dryly swallowed, allowing himself to be dragged by Soyeon as they entered the elevator that arrived at their floor.
If he has the ability to turn back time, he'd do it without hesitation. He'd do it to apologize, to amend the soon-to-be broken bridge between the two of you. And most importantly, to not be the reason for the amount of tears you've shed, especially when it's all because of him.
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"…llo? Earth to lover girl? Anyone home?"
You blinked, snapping back to reality. "What?"
Beomgyu sighed, waving his chopsticks around in a circular motion, speaking after he swallowed his mouthful of food.
"You weren't listening, were you? Lemme guess, you were too busy thinking about that uptight superior of yours. Seriously, I don't get what you see in him. Sure, he's handsome but compare to this," he paused to gesture at his own face with a cocky, arrogant grin that made you and Heeseung rolled your eyes, "that's nothing."
Beside him was Heeseung, who rubbed the space between his eyes as he muttered a string of words under his breath, no doubt saying his prayers. The three of you were currently having lunch at a famous ramen restaurant near your firm. You wanted to turn down the offer at first but your friends were persistent.
They (more like Beomgyu) kept begging and begging until you gave in, having to shush them (Beomgyu) when they let out a triumphant shriek, which brought you to your current situation. You let out a sigh, stirring the noodles in your bowl. You didn't have an appetite and every time your mind went back to seeing the woman and Sunghoon, you felt the urge to vomit right there and then.
Heat crept up the back of your neck with your ears turning red and warm.
"I wasn't thinking about him," you weakly defended yourself but the looks both men sent you said otherwise.
"Right, and I'm the future president. You looked like you were about to faint when you saw her," Beomgyu (un)helpfully pointed out, letting out a pained yelp when Heeseung roughly elbowed him from the side, nearly sending him toppling out of his seat.
You placed your chopsticks down after forcing yourself to take another bite, swallowing it before answering him.
"What am I supposed to think? I didn't expect he'd do this," you confessed, like you were admitting to a sin you committed.
Beomgyu shared a quick glance with Heeseung before speaking up. Unlike before, his voice no longer carries the casual joking and teasing tone. But rather, he sounds serious—an rare occurence that he only used when the time and situation called for it.
"(Name), I'm telling you this as a friend who's been with you for three years: you need to move on."
You visibly flinched, feeling like you were slapped right on your right cheek and getting an arrow directly shot into your chest. You looked down, staring at a random spot of the table as you avoided eye contact. Someone sighed—Heeseung. He reached out, placed his hand above yours and gave it a light, assuring squeeze. You lifted your head up at the action, meeting his doe-like eyes.
"Beomgyu's right. We've seen the effect Sunghoon has on you and we say this out of the goodness of our hearts, if you continue to live like this—choosing to stay in the past, trying to convince yourself or trying to defend him, then it'd only do you more harm than good," he explained in a soft tone, the kind of tone specially reserved when he's oh so gently giving advice to his colleagues.
"I—I wasn't defending him. I'm fine, I really am," you instinctively replied, trying to defend yourself.
The lie sounds hollow even to your own ears. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, never breaking eye contact as he tightened his grip on your hand.
"No, you're not."
Even though he's being gentle, it doesn't soften the blow at all. You furrowed your eyebrows, feeling a flicker of frustration breaking through your facade.
"You don't get to decide that for me."
"I'm not. I'm telling you what I see."
You stubbornly shook your head, withdrawing your hand, the contact feeling too much with his heat lingering behind. "Both of you are overthinking. He's my boss now. Of course things are gonna feel and be weird. That's all there is to it."
"You know that's not the truth," Beomgyu cut in, his tone still serious and unwavering from Heeseung's left side.
You made a frustrated sound, head snapping to him. "Alright, why are both of you acting like I'm some kind of mess? I'm doing my job just fine, aren't I?"
"That's not the point," Heeseung softly pointed out but there was something else behind it. Something heavier and something you didn't want to acknowledge.
"You can function. You show up, do your work, act like everything's normal," he paused for a second before he continued and honestly, what he said next made you felt like you were punched right in the stomach, "but the moment his name comes up, you fall apart."
You parted your lips, opening and closing but you couldn't say a thing. Not when he's right. Not when he's speaking the truth. Not when he has caught you red-handed.
Heeseung pressed on at your silence. "I'm not saying this to hurt you. I'm saying this because I'm tired of watching you hurt yourself over someone who clearly doesn't care the way you do anymore."
"That's not—"
"Then what is it? Because from where we're standing, it looks like you're still holding onto someone who already let you go," he directly asked, not beating around the bush.
Your chest tightened, something twisting into itself painfully as you dropped your gaze to the table, defeated without knowing what else you can possibly say in a situation like this.
"I just…" You trailed off. "It's not that easy, alright? I'm trying. I really am."
"Nothing about love is ever easy," Beomgyu said, his voice softening now, nearly matching Heeseung's.
"We're not asking you to forget and get over him overnight. But you have to try. Really try. You have to stop giving him so much power over you," he continued and what he said next made your breath caught.
"You deserve someone better than him."
Your throat tightened, vision turning blurry around the corners. You rapidly blinked your eyes, trying to keep yourself together, trying not to burst out into tears, at a restaurant during lunchbreak with your friends sitting opposite of you. As much as you wanted to argue and to defend him, another part of you had finally gotten the closure you needed.
That they were right and maybe, just maybe, it is finally time for you to face the future with a brighter and clearer mind.
When lunch was over with you managing to finish your bowl of noodles, leaving the restaurant feeling lighter with your friends walking on both sides of you. Thankfully, no one bat an eye to your red, swollen and puffy eyes as you shrink into yourself, not wanting to gather any unwanted and unnecessary attention.
You returned to the firm, heading to your desk to grab a small pouch that holds your makeup and other necessities as you headed to the ladies to freshen up. What you didn't expect was for you to bump into someone that made you came to an abrupt halt, standing at the doorway. The woman stood before one of the mirrors, fixing her appearance when her eyes drifted to you, making eye contact via the mirror's surface.
"You must be (Name)," the woman said, her voice gentle and warm, eyes glimmering with something unreadable as she screwed the lid of her lipstick back on with an audible 'click' sound that echoed throughout the space.
You slowly nodded your head. "..Yeah, and you're Soyeon."
Sunghoon's fiance.
She—Soyeon, made a sound of acknowledgment, turning around on the spot to face you. She crossed her arms, the nail polish on her nails seem to glow under the lights from above. You caught the way she scanned you from head toe, like she's searching for something. Maybe it's your weakness. Maybe it's the way you're dressed or how you carried yourself.
Whatever it was, she seemed pleased and satisfied, like she had found something she was looking for.
"Yes I am. I've heard a lot about you and it's a great pleasure to finally meet you," she said, pushing herself off the counter she was leaning on, approaching you with her right hand stretched out.
You accepted the unspoken offer of a handshake, out of politeness and nothing else. You pointedly ignored how you were able to feel the smooth, cool surface of the ring pressed against your fingers during the brief handshake, being the first to drop your hand while clutching onto your pouch, like it has some sort of ability to defend you from her.
"Only good things I hope," you replied, the words all awkward and stiff, like you've forgotten how to speak.
The other woman chuckled, cocking her head to the side. The movement caused her earrings to sway side to side. "Of course, Sunghoon couldn't stop talking about you."
That sentence caught you off-guard. You owlishly blinked your eyes, looking at her like she had spoken in a different language or she had grown another head.
"S-Sunghoon talks about me?" You squeaked out, your voice unnaturally rising an octave, your ears and cheeks turning red, feeling unusually warm.
This time, she couldn't hold back her laughter. She bent forward, hands clutching her sides as she laughed—the sound was light, airy, full of joy and whimsical at its finest. You could only stare at her, not quite believing the woman standing right before you is the very same woman who's the daughter of a famous couple—couple who are none other than the law firm's key shareholders.
Eventually, Soyeon calmed down, straightening herself as she wiped the tears away from her eyes.
"Whew, you should've seen the look on your face. That was funny, but yes. Believe it or not, he does talk about you. Although, talking would be an understatement," she said, something mischievous glinted in her eyes.
You were confused, wanting to ask her what she meant by that but the sound of approaching footsteps and hushed voices caught your attention. Hearing this, Soyeon steeled herself and flashed you a warm, friendly smile.
"I'll see you around, (Name). And trust me when I say this: you should talk to him."
And just like that, she walked out without waiting for your response, leaving you standing there, mind reeling from the conversation you just had. The only things you gained from her was more confusion and of course, more questions than before.
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Days stretched to weeks with everyone being busy and swamped away by their never-ending workload. It's one of the peak periods, which meant more time spent slaving away at their respective desks, more time staring at screens until a migraine starts forming. For a certain legal associate who goes by the name of Park Sunghoon, that meant dealing with more cases, ranging from solving easy, simple cases to encountering the most mind-blowing and baffling cases he had seen in his entire life.
Being a legal associate is hard work and it's also a position Sunghoon took pride in. However, the same couldn't be applied to his family. Or more specifically, his parents. He remembered the day it happened—the very same day where he made up his mind to toss everything aside. His family's reputation, his time spent studying something he clearly has no interest in and the amount of money poured into him, shaping him to be the next successor of the company.
The whole thing happened when Sunghoon was nineteen. Not too young to be considered a child but not too old to be considered a fully-grown, mature adult yet. The thought had been lingering in the back of his mind for a few days now. He hasn't told anyone yet, not even his own flesh and blood. He didn't know when was the appropriate time for him to tell his parents.
What he does know however, is they will definitely be against it. Against his sudden, abrupt decision. He can already foresee it in his mind—their stupefied expressions followed by a mixture of feelings—betrayal, horror and disbelief. Betrayal at the fact that he dared to turn his back against his family. Horror at the bold, unexpected move he pulled. Disbelief as they couldn't fathomed the thought of their very own son, daring to go against the long history of a Park refusing to take over the family's business.
Sunghoon had long packed his things, putting his clothes, things and everything else into his luggage and carry-on. He had booked the tickets behind his parents back, using his own money and will be flying off tomorrow, first thing in the morning. The boy stood at the foot of his bed, staring at his opened luggage with an unreadable look on his face. All that left was to tell his parents and—
"Sunghoon? What are you doing?"
His shoulders tensed at the sound of his older brother's voice. He looked over his shoulder, noting the bewildered look on his face, his wide eyes rapidly darting between the opened luggage and Sunghoon. He caught the moment Jay connected the dots, eyes widening further with his lips parting.
Jay closed the distance in no more than five large strides, invading his brother's invisible personal space. He gripped onto the front of Sunghoon's shirt in a vice-like grip, wrinkling the fabric in the process.
"Can you oh so kindly tell me why there's a luggage on your floor and why does it look like you're about to do something reckless?" Jay demanded, his voice low and serious with him barely able to hold himself back from doing something reckless.
Sunghoon remained silent, eyes averted to the side, having no intention of wanting to face his brother. Jay clenched his jaw at the other's prolonged silence, further brunching his shirt between his fingers.
"Park Sunghoon, you better give me a damn good reason why you're doing this or I'm punching you in the face," he warned him.
Sunghoon sighed, reluctantly turning to face Jay. "I'm flying to Australia tomorrow morning, to study law."
Silence.
Jay stared at him, blinking his eyes once. Twice and thrice before his words fully sank in. The grip on his shirt loosened, his hands dropping and returned to his sides.
"..You're leaving? Is it forever?" He asked.
Sunghoon shook his head. "No, it's just for five years and I'll come back once I graduated. I've already booked the flight tickets and managed to get a dorm to stay on campus. Don't worry about me, Jay-ah."
Jay barked out a loud, incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Don't worry about you? How can you expect me to stay calm when you didn't tell me until now? Why didn't you say a thing? I'm your older brother!"
Sunghoon scoffed and crossed his arms defensively. "And what about it? Not once have you stood up for me when Father kept forcing me to learn about business. You knew I have no interest in it! You knew my heart was never there in the first place!"
Every sentence he spoke, his voice grew louder and louder until he was hollering at the top of his lungs. It's clear as day that he had been harboring these feelings for a long, long time—how he truly felt as the second son of the esteemed Park Family. Jay, on the other hand, stood rooted to the ground, speechless and startled by his outburst. Sunghoon took his silence as the green light to keep going, the lid long removed.
"Every time we bumped into each other in college, you pretend to not see me. It's like I'm some sort of embarrassment to you! What's so embarrassing about wanting something different from someone else? Whenever Father kept pressuring me, telling me that I need to study hard to be as smart as you, I wanted to tell him, to hell with your stupid company! You only cared about your own futures while forcing your son to work away, like he's a tool."
Jay's eyes widened. This is his first time witnessing Sunghoon's pure, raw and unfiltered fury. "Sunghoon, I—"
"No, you listen to me, hyung. I've tolerated him for eight years. Eight. Years. Eight years of listening to that man forcing me to do this and that, without caring what I truly wanted. Eight years of having to obey his words. It's either that or get disowned from the family."
He paused, letting out a humorless and shaky laugh. It's the kind of laughter that one does when they have lost all forms of hope and when they were being forced into a corner.
"So I decided to leave. I don't care if they are against it. I don't fucking care if they want to disown me. Let them do what they want. Nothing they say or do will stop me from pursuing my dreams," he ended his speech, voice firm and filled with firmness. The firmness of someone who had clearly made up his mind.
Silence.
Jay lets out a long, heavy sigh. His shoulders slumped in defeat with resignation written all over his face.
"…You're right, I've been a horrible brother to you. I wasn't there when you needed me, too caught up in my own world. I should've stepped in the moment I saw Father's persistent attempts to mold you into the son he wants. The type of leader he wants. But Sunghoon, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you."
The second son frowned, confused. "About what?"
Jay's features softened, stepping closer to pull him into a bone-crushing hug. He rested his chin on Sunghoon's right shoulder with his arms tightly wrapped around the other boy's figure.
"For having the courage to throw everything aside and to chase after your dreams. I'm sure you'd succeed and just know that I'll always be proud to call you my brother."
To put it shortly, their parents didn't take his decision well to heart—which wasn't surprising in the slightest. The two of them—Sunghoon and his father, argued like their lives depended on it. Hurtful words and creative insults were thrown at one another without hesitation. His father had the last word. What he said made the younger boy nearly see red.
"Fine. You can go but I want you to remember this for the rest of your life—whatever you do next is not your own decision. It will be decided by me and you have no say in this."
It took all of Sunghoon's self-restraint to hold himself back from saying things he couldn't take back, simply turning to stomp out of the room, slamming the door shut on his way out. He didn't sleep that night, spending the rest of the hours tossing and turning while angrily shedding tears, staining his pillow.
Since his flight bounded to Australia is at seven in the morning, he needs to be at the airport by five latest. He left at three thirty, not wanting to spend another second or minute being under the same roof as his father. The entire house was fast asleep—the way he wanted it to be when he leaves for his flight.
He managed to book an Uber and left for the airport with his house getting smaller and smaller until it was out of his sight. And from that day onward, Sunghoon's Father never viewed him with pride anymore. But rather, it was with disappointment and frustration.
"Huh, never thought I'd see you here."
Sunghoon snapped back to reality, pulled away from his train of thoughts when a familiar voice spoke to him. He straightened himself, looked over his shoulder to see someone standing behind him. Someone who he never thought he'd see again. Not when their last interaction was in Australia.
"Jake? What are you doing here?" He breathed out, confused to see his friend standing right before him in the flesh.
The two were assigned as roommates during their five years spent at law school. They clicked immediately. They are the same age, have lots of common interests and it was also thanks to Jake's help that Sunghoon was able to read, write and speak English fluently. Living in a country that's English-only does that to a foreigner. They also made jokes about how they were fated and meant to be, due to how close they grew.
"I'm on vacation and decided to fly to Seoul. Didn't expect to bump into you though."
Jake smiled, his face brightening up along with as he plopped down into the high stool on Sunghoon's right, turning it to face him with one elbow resting on the countertop. The two men are in a bar. There was a live performance happening right now, with a live band playing—the jazz music they were playing does more than enough to set the mood.
The sounds of people chatting with one another, with the occasional glasses clinking and the sound of cutlery scrapping against the plates echoed in the air, making the bar sounds lively. Sunghoon is a frequent customer of this specific bar, to the point where the staff recognized him and already knew what his orders is with one look at his face.
It was close to nine when he entered the bar, mind lagging with his body starting to shut down after working overtime by spending hours reviewing documents followed by him preparing for a trial tomorrow. A trial for a very serious case, to be exact. Sunghoon sighed and Jake heard it, despite how their surroundings were loud.
"What's wrong man? You looked like you got dumped. I saw the news too," he said, pausing to wave the bartender over, placing his order in fluent Korean with a hint of Australian accent before continuing his sentence, "I didn't take you as the type to move on that quickly."
"It's not real," Sunghoon replied without missing a beat, staring at a random spot of the bar counter. He further elaborated when he felt Jake's inquistive gaze.
"What's not real? The marriage?"
He nods his head.
Jake remained silent as the bartender slide him his order, taking a sip from it before placing it back down on.
"What really happened, Sunghoon-ah? You know you can tell me anything," he asked in a softer tone, like he's talking to a stray, frightened cat he stumbled upon on the streets.
Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. He absentmindedly caressed the sides of his shotglass.
"I didn't want to be like them, working in the business world and taking over my family's company. That's not what I want but my father refused to see it from my shoes. He didn't want my brother to take over, even though he has passion and interest in it. I, on the other hand, preferred to live in the world of law. I ended up going behind my parents' back, booking plane tickets and enrolling into a law school to fulfill my dreams of becoming a lawyer."
He paused, taking another swing of his alcohol, able to sense his friend's unwavering eyes on him the entire time. Sunghoon placed the now empty glass down, waving one of the staff over to refill it again. Jake noticed this, furrowing his eyebrows with faint disapproval written all over his face but he made no move to stop him. Not when it's clear the younger man needed this.
Once his shotglass was full, he wasted no time in downing it in one go for the second time, barely blinking against the strong taste of liquor going down his throat.
"I didn't tell anyone about my choice. Jay found out by accident and we argued. But he knew no matter what he says, he couldn't convinced me to rethink my decision. I ended up telling my parents and obviously it didn't went well. He ended up letting me go, as the tickets were booked. And then…"
His voice trailed off, starting to zone out with brief memories of the fateful dinner playing in his mind. Jake reached out, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. The mere contact was enough to snap him out of his trance and he continued, shooting Jake a grateful look.
"And then, my father told me he had set me up for an arranged marriage. Her parents are major shareholders to the company, so the marriage will be helpful to everyone. Everyone except me," he sneered, the final word dripping with disdain that he didn't bother concealing.
Jake clicked his tongue. "Damn, that sucks. Thank god I'm not born into some uptight families." He paused when something hit him and his eyes widened slightly.
"Wait, if you're getting married soon, then what about her?" He questioned and Sunghoon knew who he's referring to, even without saying her name.
"There's nothing I can do anymore. She's just my trainee solicitor. Nothing more and nothing less," he retorted, words borderline slurring with his shotglass being refilled for the third time, to which he gulped it down without second thoughts.
"Yikes, that's harsh but is that what you want? To remain as her superior?" Jake pushed further.
Sunghoon side eyed him, the shotglass now being held in his left hand. "What are you trying to say?"
The previous, usual easygoing expression he had was gone, now replaced with something serious—a rare sight for someone like Jake.
"I'm saying, you're being an idiot."
Silence.
Sunghoon scoffed, snapping his head forward. The abrupt motion made his mind spins and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut while fighting against the sudden dizziness before reopening them again.
"Watch your mouth."
"No, you shut up and listen to me," his friend fired back, voice growing firmer now. "I may not work in the same firm as you but I know you, Sunghoon. I know what you're doing—you kept shutting her down, acting like she's just another employee, like she means nothing when she means everything to you."
He tightened his grip on his shotglass.
"I'm trying to protect her," he replied, but deep down, he knew that was nothing more than a pathetic lie and a weak, feeble excuse.
"Bullshit."
That one, singular word came out as sharp as a knife. Sunghoon glanced at him from the corner of his eyes but didn't say a thing.
Jake exhaled. "You can keep telling yourself that all you want but it doesn't change anything. Not for you and definitely not for her. What you're doing is a fucking coward move."
That got a reaction from him. Sunghoon's jaw muscle twitched, now gripping onto the shotglass while fighting against the urge to throw it at the wall.
"Sim Jaeyun, I'd watch my mouth if I were you," he warned him in a low tone.
"Why? Because I'm right? Because I struck a nerve?" Jake retorted, unfazed and showing no signs of backing down.
"You don't get to treat her like that just because things didn't go your way. She didn't do anything wrong, Sunghoon. If anything, she's the one who got screwed over when you left without a word, only to become someone she barely knew anymore, like you're nothing more than a stranger."
He remained silent, lips sealed shut but his silence was louder than any response. Jake softened, just a little though.
"Look, if you really don't feel anything towards her anymore, fine. Then act like a decent human being with some manners and give her the closure she needs. Talk to her. Tell her the truth."
Sunghoon looked away, choosing to look out of the windows instead. After all, that was easier said than done. If anything, he'd rather take the truth with him, even when he's on his deathbed.
"Don't just pretend she's nothing to you. Because whether you like it or not, she was something. And from the way you talked about her to that look in your eyes, something tells me you feel something towards her."
Jake paused, letting his words sink in before he speaks up again.
"You're getting married. Married. That's a lifelong bond you'll have and it's not with her. Do you think you can survive watching as she moved on, fall in love with someone else who isn't you?"
Sunghoon didn't respond, not wanting to think about that. The thought of you walking hand-in-hand with someone else, someone that's not him, looking at him with your smile—the same fucking smile that never failed to make his heart melt while giving them that soft, tender and loving gaze, was enough for bile to rise in his throat.
He didn't respond, mostly because he couldn't find the words in him to describe the amount of frustration, insecurity and the huge conflict he had been holding for the past few years. But the way he downed the next shot—faster than the rest, said more than enough.
◟‿୨୧‿◞
You were in the comfort of your couch while slurping instant noodles from a pot as you were catching up on one of your favorite shows when someone knocked on your door. It was faint, barely audible if not for the low volume of the show currently playing on the television. You froze, mouth opened, fork hanging in the air as you were about to take another bite of your noodles.
For a moment, you thought you were hearing things. You didn't move an inch and when it's quiet again, you shrugged it off and continued eating—
Knock knock.
Only for it to happen again. This time, it's louder than before. You sighed, placing your pot on the low coffee table before you as you got up, groaning at the numbness in your toes. You headed to the door, making the mistake of not checking through the peephole, unlocked and opened it. Out of everyone you expected, you didn't expect it to be him.
But he's not alone.
"You don't know me but I know you-Wait, that sounds creepy," the man who's clearly struggling to keep Sunghoon standing upright spoke up, only to mumble to himself under his breath.
You were able to detect the faint Aussie accent in his voice and how he strangely resemblances a dog. Or more specifically, a golden retriever. You stood by the doorway, one hand on the doorknob with your eyes jumping from the two men's faces.
"What happened to him?"
You asked, pointing at Sunghoon whose obviously not alright, considering the evident Asian flush he has, his half-lidded, glossed over eyes and how he's half-leaning and half-stumbling on the spot while trying not to fall face-flat into the hard, solid ground or knocked his head against the doorframe. Although, you would pay good money to see that happen.
Not that you'd wished that on your superior. (Spoiler alert: you definitely would.)
The man had a sheepish look on his face. "He didn't want to listen to me and got drunk."
"I can see that. But why did you bring him here?" You deadpanned.
"Because he kept saying your name."
Silence.
Your breath caught, left fingers curling in on itself as it rested by your side. You stared at Sunghoon, watching as his usual cool, composed and collected demeanor was torn down, now replaced with him drunk, body swaying side to side on the spot. This wasn't the superior you're used to seeing at work, the man who kept pushing you away and never failed to remind you of your position.
No, this is just Park Sunghoon in all of his glory. The raw, unfiltered version of him that you've never seen before.
"..I think you got the wrong person," you ended up saying, grabbing onto any last hopes to push him away. Heeseung and Beomgyu's words echoed in your mind—a reminder and a gentle push to the direction you're supposed to go.
The man arched an eyebrow, pulling out a phone—Sunghoon's phone, from his own pocket and turned the screen around, showing the lockscreen—Sunghoon's lockscreen. What you saw made the air left your lungs, like you were punched right in the guts.
It was you.
Not the current you, now employed and working in the law firm. But rather, the you eighteen years ago. The picture of you was taken with you mid-laughing, head slightly tilted back with your eyes crinkled in a way that made them disappeared completely. Sunlight hits your face at just the right angle, all soft and warm. It even managed to catch the stray, loose strands of your hair.
It wasn't a posed picture nor were you looking at the camera. Heck, you didn't even know it was taken.
"…He took this," You whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
Your fingers twitched at the side. A strange, unfamiliar feeling settled itself in the depths of your stomach as you stared at the screen. You vividly remembered the day crystal clear. It was an ordinary, regular day, just like any other day there is in the year. You spent the entire day with Sunghoon—from chasing one another, to going to playgrounds or parks to walking home together at the end of the day.
But the same couldn't be applied to him. Just because it was ordinary to you, it wasn't to him. The man observed your expression and reaction carefully, something sharp glimmered in his eyes.
"Yeah. He did."
You remained silent, mind spinning with what you just seen. None of this make sense. The man you once knew—the one who looked at you like you were nothing, who spoke to you with tight politeness, drawing the lines between the two of you and occasionally being unreasonably harsh towards you, doesn't match this.
"Still think you're the wrong person?" The man asked in a gentle, knowing tone.
You parted your lips but couldn't find it in yourself to say a single word. Instead, you opened the door wider, moving to the side to give them space.
"..Come in."
The man—who goes by Jake, left after he set Sunghoon down on the couch. His annoyingly long legs nearly knocked your pot of noodles down to the floor if you didn't move it out of the way in the nick of time. And now, here you are—at eleven on what was supposed to be a peaceful Friday night for you to wind down from work, resulted in you getting an unexpected guest.
The guest being none other than Park Sunghoon himself.
It's clear he passed out the moment his head touched the cushion of the couch, falling asleep right there and then while remaining blissfully unaware of his surroundings or the fact that he wasn't in his own house. You stood by the foot of the couch, your show long forgotten as you looked down at the man in pure exasperation.
"Great, what do I do now?" You muttered under your breath, running a hand through your hair, your brain struggling to think of your next move.
You left the living room, shortly returning afterwards with a damp towel held in your hands and a stack of neatly-folded oversize clothes. You moved closer, now standing closer to him as you bend over from your hips, reaching out to gently dap the towel on his face—an attempt to clean him up. He didn't stir much, allowing you to do as you pleased—much to your relief.
However, the relief didn't last long. When you moved the towel down to his neck, the fabric grazing against his sharp, precise jawline, he reacted. One moment you were on your knees. The next moment, you were being pulled upward. You let out a startled yelp, your vision turning sideways as the towel fell from your grip.
You let out a strangled "oof" when your face was awkwardly squashed into his neck with his arms securely wrapped around your figure, locking you in place as he hugged you, like a koala bear clinging onto its mother. Your hands were poised awkwardly in the air, like you're uncertain if you're allowed to touch him or not despite how Sunghoon is literally hugging you like there's no tomorrow.
Your mind blanked out when he pulled you closer, if that's even possible in the first place as he groaned, furrowing his eyebrows, like he's having a nightmare. You moved your head away as you placed one hand on the armrest of the couch while the other on the back, pushing yourself up with your knees on both sides of his thighs.
Your face was bright red when realization hits you at the rather… scandalous position you're in. It's almost like you're about to ri—
"No, this is fucking stupid. Get a grip of yourself," you muttered, wildly shaking your head side to side to get rid of any unwanted, distracting thoughts in your mind.
You picked up the towel, ready to walk away when Sunghoon's hand shot out to grab your wrist. Your shoulders tensed at the mere contact, freezing on the spot. You didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to see him wide awake and looking at you. And despite that, you decided to risk it and sneak a quick peak over your shoulder, only for you to heave a sigh of relief when you're greeted with the sight of Sunghoon sleeping peacefully with his eyes closed.
You reached out with your free, clean and dry hand, ready to pry his hand away from your wrist when you saw his lips moved, almost like he was saying something. Curiosity getting the better of you, you inched closer, bending forward a little to hear him better and then—
"…Don't go…"
The words were barely audible, all slurred, fragile and weak, like they will shattered with just one simple push. You went as still as a statue, breath hitching and your heart did a somersault when his grip on your wrist tightened, just slightly, like he's afraid you might slipped away from him, even when he's asleep.
"…Just… stay… a little longer…"
What?
Your heart stuttered. It stopped beating for a moment when you fully registered the words he whispered. You knew he was merely talking in his sleep—something anyone can do. And besides, he's drunk. But as the saying goes, 'drunk words are sober thoughts', you hated how a small part of you felt hopeful—something you haven't felt for a long time.
"I…I didn't mean to…" He murmured, furrowing his thick eyebrows slightly, too deep into whatever dream he was having. "I thought… it'd be easier for you if I just…"
His voice and words trailed off, uncertainty seeping into them. You hated how you were waiting with bated breath, anticipation pumping through your veins, dying to know what he was planning to say next.
"..I still miss you…"
The silence that followed afterwards was heavy, thick and deafening. You couldn't hear anything else, other than your own loud, rapid beating of your heart that seems to echo throughout the four walls of your living room.
And just like that, everything you tried so hard to bury, to ignore and to convince yourself that the past doesn't matter anymore. Especially when you were about to embark on a journey, to start the slow, long-term process of moving on. All of it was washed down the drain and you've never been this conflicted in your entire life.
◟‿୨୧‿◞
What the? Where am I?
Sunghoon woke up to find himself laying on a couch that was too small for him. He looked around, noting the unfamiliar but familiar walls. The man pushed himself up, only to hiss when his head spins, causing him to stop as he clutched the side of his head, only shifting when the giddiness stopped. He sat up, groaning at the lingering backache from the uncomfortable position he slept in and it then hit him.
He's in your house.
"What the fuck happened?"
He murmured to himself, trying to recall the series of events leading to this but he came up empty. No matter how much he tried to think back, all he got was a blank space, hitting the dead end. Sunghoon clicked his tongue, annoyed at the wide gap in his memory. Before he could ponder over it, he heard the sound of soft footsteps coming from his right.
His muscles tensed up, already knowing who it was without looking back.
"Oh, you're up. How are you feeling?" You asked, acting like everything's perfectly fine and dandy when it's far from normal.
Sunghoon swallowed, clearing his throat as he pointedly faced the front, staring at the outline of his figure reflected on the blank television screen before him. "Better now, still have a slight hangover but I'd get over it. I should get going."
He hurriedly said the last sentence, not wanting to make you anymore uncomfortable. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to give you the wrong idea. The wrong idea that there's something between the two of you. If he listened closely, he can imagine Jake going off at him again, probably telling him off about how stupid he is but he quickly shoved his friend out of the window.
You stopped, now entering his sights and you slowly turned on the spot to face him. His eyes flicked to your direction, only for him to do a double-take when he realized you had dressed up more than usual. Even more than you during working hours. Sunghoon couldn't helped with the way he scanned you from head to toe with his eyes, taking in your figure, forgoing the thought of being subtle.
You worn a soft, form-fitting dress in a muted pastel shade that complemented your figure perfectly, the fabric hugging your waist before elegantly falling to just above your knees. The neckline was modest but the way it framed your collarbones along with a silver necklace resting just above, drew attention without trying.
A light cardigan loosely hung off your shoulders, sleeves pushed up to your arms, giving you a soft and almost effortless look. Your heels were simple, not too high or low but enough to add a hint of confidence from where you stood. Your hair wasn't how it was at work and one look was enough to tell him that you had styled it, with soft waves framing your face, catching the light whenever you moved.
It makes you looked…
Sunghoon swallowed for the second time.
Stunning.
There was no other word for it and he hated how the thought immediately came to him. He's so caught-up in his mini staring game that he wasn't aware you had noticed it. Noticed how his gaze lingered longer than usual. Noticed how his eyes kept flicking down to your lips. Lips that were covered in a noticeable, glossy shade of lip-gloss. Lips that looked kissable.
To be more specific, lips that he wants to kiss.
You frowned at the prolonged silence and how he kept staring at you. "Is there something wrong?"
No. Yes. You look beautiful. Stay here with me. I'm sorry for how I've treated you. Please come back to me.
Instead of saying any of those sentences, he asked a question instead, with the words slipping from his mouth before his still half-asleep brain could processed it.
"Where are you going?"
Silence.
Sunghoon internally cursed at himself the moment it slipped. You paused, body already angled towards the door, only to freeze when his voice pierced through the silence. You looked over your shoulder, confusion written all over your face. And gods, he desperately wished he can just get up, closed the distance and kissed you until you're gasping for air, until you're begging for him and until you didn't want to leave anymore.
But he held himself back, which proved to be a difficult task for someone who always keep his cool. Not when it comes to you though.
"Uh, I'm going out. Why?"
"With who?"
Not when you're dressed like that. Dressed like you're the main character and how you're gonna draw attention from everyone. Everyone who's not me.
He saw the way you narrowed your eyes and how you ran your thumb over your knuckles—something you do when you managed to pick up something about him. Up to now, it felt like you have some sort of hidden, secret ability to read his thoughts. Like you're a mind-reader and honestly, if you truly were, it will make his life so much easier—not that he'd dare to say it out loud.
"Why are you asking?" You fired back with a question of your own.
Sunghoon stubbornly remained silent—his signature move and you scoffed, making a show of rolling your eyes.
"I'm going out with Heeseung. We're gonna have lunch."
The moment those words left your mouth, something in the air shifted. It was small but it was unmistakable. The air thickened, so thick that one can sliced it apart with a mere butter knife. His eyes darkened a shade, now resting his elbows on his thighs with his legs spread slightly. He intertwined his fingers together—to prevent himself from doing something as reckless as kissing you right there and then.
He exhaled through his nose and looked to the side. "Right. Of course."
Even though he muttered it under his breath, you caught it. Of course you did. You swallowed the sudden rise of irritation that shot up when you heard his words. You crossed your arms, tapping your fingers on your arms while boring holes into his head. If looks could kill, he would've died on the spot.
"What's that supposed to mean?" You asked, sounding defensive but you couldn't help it.
"Nothing," he snapped, his tone cold and harsh—exactly how he sounds like in the office.
In a poor, feeble attempt to distract himself, Sunghoon stood up and ran a hand through his messy hair. He looked everywhere but you, like it's painful for him for his eyes to land on you. And to him, it is painful. Painful that you actually put in effort to meet someone. Most importantly, it's another man. He knows you and Heeseung are close, often seeing the two of you hanging out together whenever Beomgyu was too busy with work.
He remembered watching from wherever he was with a tight jaw, a vice-like grip until his knuckles were turning white, as you conversed with Heeseung. Sunghoon couldn't do anything but to watch, like a bystander, as someone made you laughed until you were shedding tears, until you were gasping and wheezing for breath, until your entire face lits up the entire room—
"I wasn't aware you have plans," he added after a moment, his tone forced into something neutral but the tightness in his voice gave it away.
You didn't catch it, too busy trying not to lose your mind at how weird he's acting. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know I'm supposed to report my schedule outside of work to you."
It's clear you were being sarcastic and honestly, you weren't in the wrong. Sunghoon looked out of the window, noting how blue the sky looks today. He hated how his heart tightened with ache at your bluntess, at how you didn't hesitate to stand your ground. But that was one of the many things he loved about you.
"..Right."
He said quietly and he should stop there. Should let you get going but there was another part of him. Another small, selfish part that wants to keep you here, in the same room as him, as long as possible. Forget Heeseung.
"And you dressed up for that?"
A wave of regret hits him immediately after that. He should say something but it was too late. The damage was already done. You gawked at him, mouth wide open with a mixture of emotions written all over your face—anger, frustration and most importantly, disbelief.
Sunghoon sank his teeth into his bottom lip, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants to hide how he had curled them into tight fists, actively restraining himself.
"What the fuck are you trying to say? God forbid me from wanting to dress up. It's not like we're going on a date," you retorted, shoulders trembling in rage with the flames gradually rising.
Sunghoon glanced at you from the corner of his eyes and looked away. "..Whatever, it's none of my business. Go on. I won't hold you back any longer. I can see myself out."
You stared at him, rendered speechless with his rude, cold behavior.
"Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you!? You should be grateful that I even let you into my house in the first place. If not for Jake, you would've been lying on the streets. But since you don't care about anything other than work and that fiance of yours, what else do I really have to say?"
You sneered, pausing for a second to let the words sink in before you continued, practically spatting them out, like the words are nothing but toxic venom. And Sunghoon can feel your hatred just from those words alone.
"This is the last time we'd be seeing one another out of work. Never ever try and talk to me again. Good fucking bye, Park Sunghoon. You're a fucking asshole and I hope you know that."
You didn't wait for his response, spinning to stomp out of your house, aggressively slamming the door shut with a loud, ferocious force that it's a miracle it's still attached to the hinges. Once you were gone, Sunghoon collapsed into the couch. He covered his face with his hands and groaned, the sound muffled and full of nothing but pure agony.
"What have I done?"
◟‿୨୧‿◞
You started avoiding Sunghoon ever since then but it was easier said than done. The fact that you're working in the same firm is one thing. But the other fact that you directly report to him is another different thing. However, you weren't blind to notice the small but gradual changes about him.
One good example will be when you were pulling another all-nighter, trying to read through the countless and seemingly never-ending case files spread out before your desk. Sunghoon had accepted a case but unlike any other cases, this was probably the most baffling case you laid your eyes on in your entire life.
At first glance, it was simple—just another hit-and-run case. But that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was thanks to Sunghoon who discovered something was amiss when he read through the report, constantly replaying the CCTV footage he managed to get a hold on, again and again like a broken cycle and that's when it hits him.
"Your report is missing something," he spoke up out of the blue.
After sitting in silence for the past few hours or so in Sunghoon's office, you jerked in your seat when he said that sentence, horribly catching you off-guard. It didn't help that you were exhausted as well, fighting the urge to fall asleep right there and then.
"What is?" You asked, confused.
"The accident was reported at 11.42pm but she passed the intersection at 11.39pm."
You blinked, still not following along. You watched as Sunghoon grabbed a pen and flipped the document to the other end, writing down the timestamps in neat, precise strokes. You had to wheel your chair towards his desk to get a closer look.
"There's a three minutes difference. That's barely enough time for impact, panic and escape, especially on a road with traffic lights and cameras."
Your eyes widened when you started to connect the dots. "…Unless she didn't stop."
"She would've had to slow down at the junction, no matter what," he pointed out.
"So the timeline is off," you concluded.
Sunghoon nodded in agreement, locking eyes with you. "Yes, and that it's done by someone else."
For some reason, you didn't look away from him, like you were having your own moment—just like those moments shared between the two leads in a Kdrama. Time seemed to slow down with everything coming to a stop. You caught the way his eyes flicked down to your parted lips. For a split second, you thought he was about to do something reckless but instead, he broke eye contact and pointedly cleared his throat.
"Let's stop here for today. I'll drop you off since it's late," he said, voice tense.
You mutely nodded, moving to pack your things while replaying the brief moment you had in your mind. You weren't sure why but maybe it was the way he looked at you. Maybe it was that certain look in his eyes. Whatever the actual reason was, you couldn't put a finger on it and you shrugged it off, not wanting to think twice about it.
What you didn't know however, was that was just the start. The start of Sunghoon attempting to redeem himself.
◟‿୨୧‿◞
Another example happened one week later, after the trial was successful in Sunghoon's favor. The client—a woman, was on cloud nine, profusely thanking him and you for saving her life. You had to swallow the sudden surge of irritation when the woman boldly embraced him while shedding happy tears. You knew the gesture doesn't mean anything and how she did it out of pure gratitude.
But that doesn't mean you were blind to how something ugly made itself known as it curled around your heart before sinking its claws in. Something painfully similar to jealousy.
You're being stupid. Why are you getting jealous? It's not like you're his fucking girlfriend.
You shook your head to clear your mind of the distracting thoughts, not wanting it to further ruin or dampen your mood. You felt something sharp being lodged deep in your heart when she rested her hand on his arm, fingers spread out, like she wants to touch more of him. The last straw comes in the form of her stepping closer, invading his invisible personal space and how he stiffened—a subtle move that didn't went unnoticed by you, made you stepped forward.
"Excuse me, Mam, we have somewhere else to be, so if you could excuse us," you loudly said, gathering the attention of the people around you as they looked at you with matching curious stares.
You smoothly inserted yourself in between the woman and Sunghoon. To anyone else, it would be an amusing sight—for you're shorter than your superior and compared to him—someone who often goes to the gym twice per week, he gives off the appearance of someone who knows how to handle himself. You didn't turn around to face him, already able to visualize his surprise with how you rescued him.
The woman was stunned, owlishly blinking her eyes a few times, evidently flustered. She then lets out a strangled, forced laughter, pretending everything was fine when it's not.
"Oh, right, sorry about that. If that's the case, then I won't keep you waiting," she said, bowing slightly before excusing herself, walking away with her face bright red in shame.
You spun around, glaring at Sunghoon and scoffed when you made eye contact. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
Like the way you used to, back when we were kids.
Your lips remained sealed shut, not wanting nor having the courage to utter those words out loud.
"..Forget it, let's go. We have another case on our hands," you muttered, walking past him with him easily matching your pace. Even when you refused to glance at him, you can feel the intensity of his firm, unwavering gaze.
Maybe it was the trick of the light or maybe your vision is starting to deteriorate but you sworn you saw something akin to softness when you risked a glance at him as both of you walked side by side. If Sunghoon stepped closer until the fabric of your blazers brushed against one another and how you didn't step away, then that was your secret to keep.
◟‿୨୧‿◞
The last and final example took place at a company dinner that took place at a five-stars hotel. Your jaw practically dropped to the floor when you arrived with Heeseung and Beomgyu, unable to believe what you were looking at. Beomgyu was the first to react as the three of you entered the lobby, following the directions provided to one of the major event rooms where the dinner will be taking place.
"Jeez, I know the company's rich but not this rich!" He hissed under his breath, eyes wildly darting left and right, trying to take in the grand and majestic hallways he's in.
Heeseung nodded along. "Yeah, but didn't the email stated the purpose of the company dinner was to thank everyone for their hard work?"
You couldn't help but scoffed, looping your hands through both Heeseung and Beomgyu's arms as you dragged the two men to the designated room, with the guards letting you in.
"Alright gentlemen, let's not talk about work after hours. Let's just eat and enjoy the moment, shall we? Free food is food," you said.
One look around was enough to know whoever was in-charge of the decorations, they had gone over the top. The hall was breathtaking—high ceilings draped with cascading chandeliers that covered the entire room in a warm, golden glow. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined on one side, revealing the city skyline as it glittered like a sea of stars.
Round tables occupied the floor in pristine white linen with each centerpiece adorned with different kinds of fresh flowers and delicate glass ornaments that caught the light here and there. Along the far end was where your destination was, waiting for you—the long spread of food that seems to stretch almost endlessly.
It has everything—from gourmet canapes to full-course dishes plated like pieces of art. Soft classical music instrument played in the background from a live band, perfectly setting the mood and it was loud enough to fill the silence without countering the chatters. Everyone put on their best outfits for tonight's dinner—tailored suits, elegant dresses and polished shoes that clicked against the marbled, polished floor.
Laughter came here and there as people mingled among themselves, talking about everything and anything at the same time. Unlike the usual stiff, tense and fast-paced atmosphere everyone was used to, this was more softer, relaxed and lighter. It felt like a much-needed break to everyone, considering how hard they had worked.
"I don't think insane is enough to describe all of this," Beomgyu continued, grabbing a plate for himself as he greedily helped himself to the wide selection of food, filling his plate up in no time.
You snorted as you grabbed a plate for yourself, walking behind him with Heeseung behind you. "Told you so. Less thinking and more eating. We gotta eat our salaries' worth."
Heeseung laughed, the most relaxed as compared to the two of you as he grabbed some food here and there. "I swear, both of you are unbelievable."
Beomgyu was about to retort with something when a group of colleagues standing nearby shouted his name. He turned to them before back to you and Heeseung, looking conflicted, like he doesn't want to leave the two of you alone. You made the choice for him, shooing him away, like he's some sort of pest.
"Go on, we'll be fine. Just find us whenever you're done," you said.
Beomgyu dramatically gasped, placing his free hand over his chest. "You traitor!"
He exclaimed as he was being dragged towards the group of colleagues who had been eagerly waiting for him, excitedly slapping him on the back. You and Heeseung watched from the sidelines as he effortlessly fall into their conversation within seconds, blending in with them, like the true social butterfly he is.
Heeseung sighed, shaking his head while taking a bite of his food. "Poor guy. Let's hope he's still sober by the time it's over."
You let out a sudden, loud laugh, startling the people around you and slapped a hand over your mouth. "I don't know about that. I think he'd be gone before it ended."
At that, the two of you walked around the room while chatting with other people, exchanging small talks or catching up with colleagues from different departments. It's easy like this—allowing you to temporarily escaped from reality as you chatted about anything but work. It's the kind of conversations that comes naturally, without the weight you had been carrying for the past few days.
Eventually, Heeseung oh so kindly led you to one of the tables for you to sit down, take a breather and relaxed your legs. You practically heaved a sigh of relief the moment you sat down, leaning over to rub at your slightly swollen feet.
"Maybe it was a bad choice for me to wear heels," you complained, straightening yourself as you leaned back into the chair, holding your plate with your left finger while trying to finish the remains on your plate.
Your friend chuckled, diagonally sitting on your left with one leg crossed over the other. "You could've worn sneakers and no one would've bat an eye."
You gasped, shooting him an incredulous look. "That would ruin my outfit!" You gestured to yourself. Just like the other ladies, you were dressed in a dress that fits the guidelines of the company dinner.
It's a sleeveless black dress with the hem reaching just above your knees. The length itself is modest enough but the way it hugged your body in the right areas was enough to gather stares with some daring to look longer than usual. You may not have noticed it—the effect you have but the same doesn't apply to a certain someone.
Someone who had been watching you the entire time, right from the moment you stepped into the room. Sunghoon nearly dropped his glass of half drank white wine when you entered, feeling his breath leaving his lungs. His mind blanked out at how stunning you looked, easily drawing everyone's eyes onto your approaching figure, whether they knew it or not.
That's another thing Sunghoon loved about you—how you're able to capture the entire room's attention without lifting a finger. He watched with a tight jaw, hands nearly snapping the glass into half in his vice-like grip as you were deeply engrossed in a conversation with Heeseung. From where he stood, he was able to get a clear view of how you leaned in slightly to say something into the man's ear, followed by you laughing as you covered your mouth with your hand after he made a joke.
Seriously, is he really that funny?
Sunghoon sulked, downing the rest of the wine in one go, not even flinching when someone threw an arm around his shoulders. He didn't have to turn to know who it was, for there was only one person who dares to lay a hand on him.
"Damn, you're beyond whipped, lover boy. Stop glaring and do something already. Did you remember what I told you?" Jake snickered, earning a nasty, signature side eye from the pale man.
"I know, I tried to make up for it by starting small," he replied, recounting the small, little but precise moments that happened with you to Jake—how he drove you home, how he stood up for you and how he didn't raise his voice at you, point out your mistakes and the list goes on.
His friend whistled, impressed once he was done. "Damn, didn't know the Park Sunghoon is capable of putting in effort in something that's not related to work."
He groaned. "Jake."
"Right, my bad man. So, when are you gonna man up and talk to her?"
Sunghoon went silent, eyes automatically and unconsciously drifting towards you, watching as you were now telling Heeseung something while wildly flailing your arms about like a wild, frantic chicken as you were retelling what seemed to be a thrilling story, judging from the starry look in your eyes and how they were practically glowing.
When was the last time you looked at him like that?
Sunghoon sighed, robotically facing the front while swiping off another glass of white wine from a tray of a passing waiter. He swirled the glass, watching as the colorless liquid sloshed around before taking a slow, deliberate sip.
"…Not yet, Jake. I don't want to mess this up."
Jake rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Really? That sounds like an excuse than anything else. You know what it sounds like? It sounds like you're scared. And that you're a fucking coward."
"You've already said it before at the bar."
"Yeah, but it's clear nothing has changed. Which is why I'm repeating what I said before. Park Sunghoon, get your fucking shit together before you lose her. Forever. Once you're married, you can't go back anymore."
"I know that!" Sunghoon snapped. His sudden outburst drew the attention of the people around him but they didn't think twice, returning to their respective conversations.
"I know I'm a coward but what am I supposed to do, huh!? Tell me! How does one even tell someone he truly love and cherish with his entire heart that they are sorry for the things they have done and said? Do you know how painful it was for me to get through every day, when she's so fucking close but so far from me!?"
Jake's eyes widened, cursing under his breath as he looked around, to see more and more people were now looking in their direction.
"Uh Sunghoon, you might wanna lower do—"
"Do you have any idea how much I want to apologize to her, wishing I could turn back time, go back to the past where everything was fine, just like the way it used to be? How I didn't want any of these? How I didn't want anything else but just (Name) by my side? That's all that I care about!"
"Sun—"
"Then tell me, why the fuck am I still standing here doing nothing!?" His voice cracked at the end, louder than he intended—whether he knew it or not.
Silence.
"Sunghoon."
Your voice cut through everything, as sharp as a dagger but it's clear and unmistakably yours. His breath hitched in his throat, fully turning around and there you were, standing just a few feet away from him with an unreadable look on your face. He couldn't helped but wondered if this was how you felt while trying to decipher his feelings but the thought was kicked out of his mind when you approached him, closing the distance in no more than six large strides.
Your hand shot out, grabbed his wrist. The sudden contact made him flinched, startled and his eyes snapped down.
"Come with me."
It wasn't a request but rather, it was a demand—giving him a sense of deja vu. But Sunghoon didn't resist or say anything. He allowed himself to be pulled through the gathered crowd, turning a blind eye to the multiple, curious stares and the whispers following you like a shadow. Jake remained silent, watching from where he stood. He can only prayed that whatever happens next won't end up on the news.
◟‿୨୧‿◞
You didn't stop walking until you reached a secluded corner of the long hallway, until you were far enough that the noise from the dinner event was reduced to nothing but a distant hum. You came to a stop, dropping his hand and sharply turned to face him. Your chest rose and fall, the emotions you had buried for so long were clawing their way back to the surface, threatening to break free.
"Park Sunghoon, what the hell was that all about?" You demanded, your voice low but borderline shaking.
The man—your childhood friend didn't respond. He simply stared at you, like he hasn't seen you in years, like you were something he wasn't sure he was allowed to look at, like you were nothing more than a figment of his imagination. And that whatever was happening right now, is nothing more than a dream.
You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms hard enough to leave indents behind. "I asked you a question. Answer. Me."
He swallowed. "…You weren't supposed to hear that."
You stared at him and let out a disbelief laugh, the sound wreck, sharp and fragile. "Oh, I'm sorry. Should I have covered my ears and let you yell your feelings out in the middle of a company dinner?"
"That's not—" He stopped himself mid-sentence, exhaling in frustration. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what is it? I don't know about you but it sounds pretty clear to me," you shot back, stepping closer now. Your eyes were glowing with flames of anger, like you're desperately trying to rip the truth out of him.
Silence.
It stretched until you were about to walk away when—
"I'm sorry."
The words were quiet, barely above a whisper. And yet, they hit you harder than any of his previous cold, ruthless words. You froze, heart nearly stopped beating in your chest when you heard it. You thought your ears were playing tricks on you and that you were mishearing things.
"…What?"
"I'm sorry. For everything," he repeated, his voice much steadier this time but it's still packed with the same amount of rawness.
You narrowed your eyes, your fight mode instinctively kicking in. It was one, last and final attempt to distance yourself before you dug a deeper grave for yourself.
"No. No, you don't get to do that now," you said, frantically shaking your head as you took a small step back.
"(Name), I know I don't deser—"
"Don't say my name or anything else. You don't get to just fucking stand there and say sorry like it fixes anything," you interrupted him.
"I know it doesn't fix anything."
"Then why not!? Why now, Sunghoon? After everything you've done. After the way you treated me, you suddenly what? Feel gulity? You think your pathetic apology can mend everything? Can it bring back the past!?"
Your voice cracked, leaving you to shriek and scream at the top of your lungs in the hallway. You no longer cared about maintaining professionalism, not when you're in front of the man who had seen you at your worst and best. Not in front of the man who you came to love with your entire soul, only for him to toss you aside, like you were nothing. Like you weren't worthy.
He flinched—such a small movement but you saw it.
"You're right, I apologize because I felt gulity," he admitted, his voice low and defeated.
Your breath caught.
"And because Jake's right. If I don't do something now, I'll lose you forever. And honestly? That fucking terrifies me," he continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration, messing it up in the process.
The pure, raw and unfiltered honesty made your heart skipped a beat and your breath stuttered in your throat. But you didn't let it show, refusing to show him the effect he still has on you, much to your disappointment.
"You didn't seem scared when you treated me like I meant nothing. Or when I was just another employee," you pointed out, each word deliberate, like you had taken great care to choose them out of the entire dictonary.
"I was a coward."
You blinked, not expecting the sudden confession. "Yeah, you are one. Why did you do that? Why did you pushed me away, looked at me like I'm nothing? Like I'm just another employee?"
The man lets out a shaky breath, the sound itself so painful and raw it made you want to step closer to hug him. But you held yourself back.
"I thought if I do that, you'd be able to find someone better. Someone who deserves your love, your smile, your kindness, your attention and everything about you. I.. I don't deserve you."
You let out a bitter, broken laugh as you felt something warm and salty stinging your eyes, blurring your vision slightly. Sunghoon faltered at the sight of your face and he stepped forward, slow and careful. When it's clear you're letting him move closer, he took another step, one move at a time.
"Who do you think you are?" You croaked out.
The man stilled, looking like a deer caught in headlights. "I—"
"No, shut up and listen. Who do you think you are, thinking that I don't deserve you? What makes you think that way, huh? Did God told you all of those and you decided to went along with it? Willingly? You don't get to make my choices on my behalf," you started, closing the distance to forcefully jab your finger into his chest as you hissed at him.
Sunghoon's expression broke. "(Name)—"
"You don't know what I've been through because of you. I couldn't stopped crying every night after work. I kept asking myself: just when did everything go wrong? Was I the one at fault? What can I do to make up for it? What can I do to make him look at me again, just like the way he used to? No matter how much I think, I couldn't think of anything! You left without telling me and came back, looking like a completely different person."
You paused, letting your words sink in before you continued.
"My friends told me to move on."
This time, it was his turn for his breath to stutter. "..What?"
You weakly nodded your head, tears now freely rolling down your cheeks. Sunghoon's hands twitched, tempted to reach out to wipe them away but he restrained himself. Not yet.
"They said I don't deserve you, that I deserve someone better."
He looked away, jaw tight and clenched. "They're right."
You made a sound of frustration, reaching out to grab his face, turning him so he can see you. "I don't care what anyone has to say! I've already made up my choice!"
"Your choice? Wait, you mean—"
"Yes! For fuck's sake, you're the only person I want! I don't want anyone else but you!" You exclaimed, heaving to catch your breath after you quite and literally, confessed your feelings in a hallway.
Sunghoon stared at you, lips parted, dumbfounded and rendered speechless. "I—You love me? For my personality?"
You rolled your eyes. "Ye—!"
You weren't given a chance to finish your sentence, barely getting the word out when he cut you off by crashing his lips against yours. Sunghoon expertly moved his hands—one hand supporting the back of your neck while the other pulled you in by your waist, until you're directly pressed chest-to-chest.
Your mind blanked out with you stilling in his arms, only for your eyelids to flutter shut as you returned the kiss, sighing into his mouth. He greedily swallowed the sound, shuddering when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. The kiss was slow and languid, like you're trying to convey your true feelings to one another.
I'm sorry. I really am.
Thank you for choosing me.
Despite everything, it's still you. It will always be you.
I love you. I really do.
You ended up breaking the kiss but you didn't pull away completely, resting your forehead against his with your noses grazing against one another. You opened your eyes, to see he was already looking at you. Unlike before, when his gaze was cold, blank and emotionless, this was full of nothing but pure love and adoration. It's enough for your heart to soar, spreading its invisible wings.
"Really? Did you really mean what you say?" He murmured, eyes darting between your eyes and your parted lips.
You chuckled. "Yeah, I mean it. I love you, Sunghoon."
He groaned, the sound low and dangerous. Hearing it does something to you, making heat pooled in your stomach. You attempted to rub your thighs together but he was faster. Without wasting time, he carried you bridal-style in his arms. You squeaked, throwing your arms around him as he walked with purpose, heading to where the elevators are.
"What are you doing!? Put me down!" You hissed, looking around and thankfully, there wasn't anyone around to see you in such a humiliating state.
He paid you no mind, jamming his finger into the Up button. The lift in front of him opened and he wasted no time in entering. Sunghoon pressed one of the many floors of the hotel. He didn't even wait for the doors to close, already crowding you against the wall to kiss you again. His firm, tall and strong body easily held you upright as he steals your breath away.
"W-Wait-hngh-s-stop-hah," you wetly and openly panted against his mouth. Your hands rested on his chest, fingers straining as you tried to push him away but it's futile, with his strength completely overwhelming yours.
He blindly grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head with one hand, holding you in place. None of you cared that you're in an elevator, a semi-public place or how the camera was able to capture every heated moment shared by the two of you. Sunghoon sworn under his breath, his free hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your dress up in the process.
His touch made your skin warm, leaving nothing but a tingling sensation and goosebumps behind in his wake. You gasped into his mouth when he toyed with the hem of your nude stockings, tugging on the thin fabric before letting it go. The fabric snapped against your skin, causing you to jolt on the spot. You sworn you felt him smirked against your lips at your reaction.
Ding!
The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Fortunately for you, no one was standing on the other end or they would have gotten the jumpscare of their lives. The two of you tumbled out of the elevator in a mess of limbs, struggling to walk with Sunghoon leading the way. Although, it was easier said than done when he kept kissing you, like he couldn't get enough of how sweet and soft your lips taste.
Eventually, he broke the kiss with a feat of amazing self-restraint, pulling out what looked like a keycard to a room as he stopped before a door. You watched as he pressed the card against the door and a green light lit up. The moment the door was opened, you were yanked into the room, only to be shoved into the door, closing it in the process and he's on you again.
Unlike before, the kiss was more intense, frantic and desperate. His hands were everywhere—greedily touching you in places he wasn't allowed to. Just like before, Sunghoon pushed your black dress up, revealing the stockings you worn underneath it. He boldly cupped you through your underwear, chuckling into your mouth at how you're already wet.
"Look at you, already dripping for me. All from what? Just a kiss? It's all for me, isn't it?"
He hummed, lightly pressing his thumb down on your cunt through the fabric, savoring the choked out whine you let out at the light, fleeting contact. You canted your hips forward, craving more friction but to your utter frustration, he dropped his hand. He pried your lips apart with his skillful tongue, exploring every inch of your warm mouth, ensuring nothing was left untouched.
Your legs buckled, threatening to give way when he gave a harsh suck on your tongue, the sound seemingly loud and lewd in the quiet hotel room. It made your ears turned red. Sunghoon easily lifted you up, maneuvering you to the bed. He placed you down on the pristine white, soft linen sheets with utter care and gentlness that it made your heart stuttered.
You whined, blindly tugging on the blazer of his suit as he hovered over you, careful to not crush you with his weight.
"Off. Take it off," you pleaded.
He chuckled. "Since you asked so nicely."
He withdrew from you, long and slender fingers making quick work of the buttons of his blazer. You pushed yourself up, aiding him in it while ignoring how your hands were borderline trembling. Thankfully, he didn't comment on it. Once the final button was unbuttoned, Sunghoon carelessly chucked it aside. He unknot the tie, ready to throw it to the floor when he paused, an invisible lightbulb going off in his mind.
"Mind if I try something?" He asked, holding the now long, black fabric in his left hand.
You nodded, granting him permission. He scooted closer, grabbed your wrists, telling you to hold them together and you obeyed. Your breath caught when he tied the black fabric around your wrists, binding them together. Once he's done, he observed your face, trying to search for any signs of discomfort.
"Is it too tight?" He questioned, genuinely concerned.
"No, it's perfect."
He nodded. "Let me know if anything hurts, alright? Green's to continue and red's to stop."
"Got it."
The moment those words left your mouth, the switch was instant. His eyes darkened a shade as he pushed you back until you were lying flat on your back. You watched, unable to look away as he unbuttoned the buttons of his white dress shirt at a slow, teasing pace. You squirmed about on the sheets. Now that your wrists were tied together, you couldn't do anything, only able to helplessly watched while you're dripping nonstop.
Sunghoon chuckled, the sound low, mean and degrading at how your reactions. "Aw, what's wrong, princess? Need something?"
You let out a pathetic keen—barely able to recognize your own voice. "P-Please."
"Please what? C'mon, use your words and tell me, baby. I'm not a mind reader," he drawled, finally unbuttoning the last button and shedded the dress shirt, leaving him shirtless.
Your eyes moved, shamelessly oogling him in all of his glory, drinking in his toned chest and the very solid abs he got—results from his hard work at the gym. Sunghoon caught you eye-fucking him. Of course he did. He didn't say anything but the way he smirked was enough. He made quick work of the rest of his pants and boxers, leaving him completely bare while you were still fully clothed, unable to lay your hands on him.
You instinctively looked down, nervously swallowing when you saw his cock. And wow, it's huge. You never knew your childhood friend can be packing down there, hiding and growing a third leg but you can only assumed puberty must have hit him like a truck. The mushroomy tip had already turned a ferocious shade of red due to the lack of attention and neglection. Heck, there was even a bead of precum on the tip that glistened under the dim lights.
You attempted to close your legs but Sunghoon moved. His large hands grabbed both of your thighs, his fingers touching as he held you down, forcing you to spread and present yourself before him. Even though you still have your clothes on, you couldn't helped but feel small under his intense, unwavering gaze.
"P-Please touch me," you whimpered and who was he to deny you?
Sunghoon groaned, wasting no time in removing your clothes from your body, tossing all of them to the floor—ending up in the same fate as his own clothes. Although, the same couldn't be applied to your stockings as he ripped them into shreds instead, too impatient to roll them off your legs. Now that you were completely bare, he had to pause to drink in the sight, almost wishing he can imprint this gorgeous scene into his mind.
Your lipstick was already smudged and nearly wiped off due to the intense make-out session you had. Your hair was spread out like a halo on the pillow, making you looked like an angel. Your lips was swollen and bruised, eyes dazed and slightly glossy as you stared at him, wanting him to do something already.
"Fuck, you're so gorgeous. I can't believe you're mine now," he breathed out, sounding in awe and somehow, that made your breath caught.
He didn't give you time to recover, shifting down until he's on his stomach and dived in. Sunghoon started with a flat stripe up your dripping, aching cunt. The first contact has your mind spinning, nearly making you see the white pearly gates of heaven. You cried out, the sound raw and was ripped from the depth of your throat.
He licked you open with his tongue. Each swipe was slow, deliberate and full of purpose. Your thighs trembled in his grip as you jerked your hips forward, pushing yourself into his mouth. He groaned in appreciation, face buried deep in your leaking pussy. The vibration traveled through your body, drawing a loud and shameless moan from you.
He continued working you open, eventually pushing his tongue inside you. The sudden intrustion of the wet, slimey and slippery muscle made stars explode in your vision. Your back arched off the back, creating an amazing arch that could put even the crescent moon to shame. Your tied wrists were hanging over your head, leaving you helpless and vulnerable to his assault.
"Oh fuck. Hngh, d-don't stop-" You moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he slides two of his long, slender fingers in, moving them in a scissors-like motion, spreading you open and preparing you for what's to come.
"Shit, you taste divine, baby. Could stay here forever and eat this pussy for every meal. Forget food when I can have a five-stars meal here," he growled, his voice vibrating through you.
You've never heard him like this—all pent-up as he gets drunk on your slick, sounds and body. The thought of that was enough to make you rocked your hips against his mouth and Sunghoon lets you do it, letting you ride his tongue. He continued to finger you while fucking you with his tongue.
The double pentration drew a series of angelic, sinful sounds from you. Sounds that you never thought you were capable of making. You can feel your climax coming, with how the pressure kept building as it coiled tighter and tighter in your stomach, like a rubberband being stretched to its limit—
Only for him to pull out, both fingers and tongue.
"Wha—"
"Can't have you cumming on my fingers and mouth. I'd rather have you cum on my cock instead."
Maybe it's the way he said it without hesitation. Maybe it's how firm he is, knowing the effect he has on you. Maybe it's the determined and desired look in his eyes. Whatever it was, it drew an soft, involuntary and needy whine from you. Sunghoon situated himself in between your legs. He aligned himself against your entrance and slowly pushes in.
You felt his mushroomy tip breaching past your folds, sinking deeper and deeper until he eventually bottomed out, buried to the hilt. Your mouth dropped open, forming an "O" shape. You felt impossibly full, like you were being split apart on his cock. Heck, you sworn you could feel him hitting the back of your throat, with how deep he is inside you.
Sunghoon fisted the sheets, twisting them between his fingers while resisting the tempting urge to just pound you six ways into heaven. He doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable and gods, if anything happen to you, he wouldn't know how to continue living after that.
"C-Can't-" You choked out, your pussy being stretched obscenly wide to accomdate to the huge grith of his cock.
He was quick to reassure you. "Shh, it's okay, princess. Just take a deep breath for me, alright? And then breathe out."
You copied him, managing to calm down. Sunghoon took that as his cue to move, pulling out until only the tip was still inside you before sheathing himself back in.
"Fuck!"
You moaned, wrists evidently straining against the temporary bondage as he repeats the movement, setting an even pace. He thrusted into you whole holding himself upright with just his hands. Sunghoon gritted his teeth at how you kept sucking him in, how there was close to no resistance at every thrust.
The hotel room was filled with the lewd, obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, his balls slapping against your inner thighs along with your pleasured moans that gradually get higher and higher. Until he had to duck his head, muffling it by kissing you while swallowing it down his own throat, treating it like an offering from the Gods themselves.
With your lips still interlocked, Sunghoon slung your legs around his waist as he bends you forward, putting you in a mating press. The new position allowed him to hit deeper. You sworn you can feel his tip constantly kissing the entrance to your womb. You couldn't keep up with the kiss, simply moaning and babbling incoherent words that sounded a lot like "more", "please" and "Sunghoon".
Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick on him. Your bodies were covered in a layer of sweat with salty droplets rolling down his back. Some even landed on the sheets as they trickled down his face. He glanced down, his thrusts faltering mid-motion when he saw a bump on your stomach. A bump made by him, due to how big he is.
He moved his left hand and pressed down on it.
His action elicited a high-pitched keen from you which to him, it was the most delicious sound he has ever heard from you. Sunghoon's mind spins, starting to spiral as he began to wonder: how will you look when you carry his children in the future? How will you treat them?
The thoughts kept flooding his mind and with the newfound vigor, he ruthlessly pounded into you like a madman. You whimpered at the sudden change of speed, body going limp against the sheets as you struggled.
"Gonna make you carry my kids. Pump this pretty little pussy full of my cum," he snarled, seemingly lost in his own world and thoughts.
You moaned, instinctively clenching down on him at his words. Sunghoon cursed, hand snaking down to rub at your clit, timing it with his thrust.
"Yeah? You'd like that, don't you? Walking around in the office with everyone not knowing you're carrying my children," he cooed, voice lowering an octave.
You frantically nodded your head, too far gone and intoxicated on the feeling of his cock constantly hitting that one spongy spot hidden between your gummy walls.
"Mhm! Please, m-more-hah."
Sunghoon continued fucking into you at a faster pace, if that was even possible. The bed creaked at every movement with the bedframe slamming against the wall. He knows he'll be getting a complaint from the hotel staff tomorrow but that's for future him to handle. Now, he has a more important issue to settle. The issue that comes in the form of impregnating you.
It took a few more long and timed thrusts for you to feel your climax reaching.
"G-Gonna cum-pleasepleaseplease," you babbled, too cockdrunk to think straight.
Sunghoon took pity on you. "Yeah? You wanna cum, pretty girl? Then cum for me."
He delivered one final thrust, burying himself to the hilt and you cum while chanting his name like a sacred prayer. Your walls violently convulsed around him, milking him dry as body-length shudders traveled through your body. Sunghoon was quick to follow suit. He spilled thick and hot cum inside you, painting your gummy walls in the shade of his cum.
You grimanced at the uncomfortable feeling of being pumped full, able to feel how bloated your stomach felt afterwards. Sunghoon didn't pull out. Instead, he collapsed onto you with an "oof" and you made a disgusted sound, reaching out to weakly smacked the back of his head.
"Ow!"
"Get off of me. You're gonna crush me to death," you retorted.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes but obliged. He pulled out first, drawing a hiss from you and he laid beside you. None of you said a word, laying on the same bed, bodies covered in sweat and body fluids as you stared at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. You ended up breaking the silence, wanting to address the invisible elephant in the room.
"…So, what does this make us now?" You asked, not daring to look at him.
"What do you want us to be?" He countered.
"You're not supposed to answer my question with your own," you retorted.
He chuckled, reaching out to place his hand above yours. When you didn't push him away, he took that as a green light to intertwine your fingers together.
"I'd like us to be partners. Romantically."
You snorted. "No one says that, Hoon. It's actually boyfriend and girlfriend."
He furrowed his signature, thick eyebrows. "What's the difference? They still mean the same."
You let out a long, heavy sigh. "Never mind, forget it. But sure, let's be partners. Romantically."
Sunghoon narrowed his eyes at you. "..You're mocking me, aren't you?"
You gave him an innocent look but the glimmer of mischief in your eyes said otherwise. "Me? I would never!"
He didn't budge an inch before pounching on you, fingers ruthlessly tickling your sides without a care in the world. You squealed, trying to push him away and shielding yourself but your efforts was futile. You can only make yourself small while he continued, your laughter and pleas of mercy bounces among the four walls of the room.
"S-Stop-pft-m-mercy-HAHAHA!" You exclaimed, gasping and heaving for breath with tears prickling your eyes.
Sunghoon stopped his tickling attack, only for him to lean forward with his hands now on both sides of your head, caging you against the bed. You stilled, locking eyes with him. He swallowed, eyes flicking down to your lips.
"There's something I need to tell you," he started.
"Well, that doesn't sound good," you teased—a poor attempt to lighten the atompshere."
He didn't react to your words.
"It's about the marriage the articles posted. I want you to know it's not real," he continued. Your heart dropped when you heard that. But despite it all, a part of you felt relieved.
"Oh."
He nodded, eyes searching for something in you. "Yeah, the marriage was set up by both of our families. They believed it's beneficial to both parties if the marriage goes through, in terms of business wise. My father also wants to use it to tie me down, so I won't do it again."
You frowned. "Do what?"
Sunghoon sighed, lowering his head before lifting them up again. "…The reason why I left without telling you was because I didn't know how to. The Parks—my family, is a line of business people. But I'm not like them. I wasn't interested in business. I was interested in law and that's something my parents refused to accept or acknowledge. No matter how hard they kept teaching me, I refused to accept it. It was torture, trying to learn something you didn't want to learn."
Your heart shattered at how small his voice became. You wordlessly reached out, cupped his face with your hands and he leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.
"So I decided to risk it all, book a plane ticket to Australia and enrol myself in one of the law schools there. I didn't know how to tell you. It was out of a sudden. My brother found out about it and he supports me. My father, on the other hand, harshly rejected the idea. We fought before I left and he told me he'd let me go but in the future, whatever major decisions regarding my life is in his hands now."
Your eyes widened. "..And one of it was the marriage. It's to bind you to the Parks."
He glumly nodded.
"Oh, Hoon…" You sighed, craning your neck up to brush your lips against his in an almost-like kiss. He shivered at how heavenly the nickname sounds from you. The very same nickname he kept close to his heart since young.
"Your father's an asshole. It's your life, whether he likes it or not. He doesn't have a say in what you want to do," you continued.
"I know, which is why I'd be telling him to cancel the marriage tomorrow," he replied, determined.
You paused. "Uh, are you sure that's even possible? What about that fiance of yours? Will she be mad and upset?"
"Huh? No, why would she? She's just like me. Both of us didn't want the marriage in the first place," he pointed out.
"…Oh, okay," you mumbled, face turning as red as a tomato as you looked away.
It took him a few seconds to realize why and when he did connect the dots, he smirked teasingly. "Don't tell me you were jealous."
"I'm not!" You defended yourself, replying without hesitation.
"Mhm, sure. And I'm the president of Seoul," he answered with sarcasm seeping into his voice.
You shot him an annoyed glare, ready to shove him off the bed when he stopped you, grabbing both of your hands, causing you to stop.
"I love you," he confessed.
The words were raw and it's a deadly combination with the utmost sincerity in his voice. So deadly that it made you teared up. Seeing this, Sunghoon's features softened. He ducked his head so he can pressed his forehead against yours.
"Jeez, I guess you're still a crybaby huh," he teased.
"Yeah, but I'm your crybaby now," you fired back, voice cracking at the end.
Sunghoon blinked once. Twice before a wide smile stretched across his face from ear to ear.
PLOT! AITA for using my best friends inner thoughts to fuck with him throughout the week until he is forced to admit his feelings for me out loud?
CONTENT! Sunghoon/Fem!Reader, Fluff, Reader can hear thoughts, Bestie!Sunghoon, Sunghoon acts nonchalant, His thoughts tell a different story, SMUT (MDNI), Top!Sunghoon, Soft Dom!Sunghoon, Desperate!Sunghoon, P in V, Unprotected Sex (pls wrap b4 u tap), Oral (f receiving), Yearner!Sunghoon, I believe this is considered psychological warfare, Y/n is a literal menace.
AUTHORS NOTE! got this plot from a randomr eddit video i saw on tiktok where the girl was married to this nonchalant guy and she could suddenly hear his thoughts and he was such a loser who wanted her so badd OOOOH sunghoon ur perfect for this bend over.
WORD COUNT! 7.2k!!!
It was a cold January night when it first happened.
You were on the couch, watching Silence of the Lambs (aka the most absurd movie ever) with your best friend, Park Sunghoon. It was your weekly movie night, and last time was at his place, so this time was at yours.
The setup was the same as always. Blanket split unevenly between the two of you—his fault, it’s always his fault—your legs tucked underneath you, his stretched out across the coffee table like he owned the place. Which, at this point, was basically true. Sunghoon had a key. He knew where the good snacks were hidden. He’d argued with you about your IKEA furniture assembly and been right about it. If that didn’t make someone a co-owner, nothing did.
“This movie is not scary,” he said flatly, reaching into the popcorn bowl on your lap without looking away from the screen.
“I never said it was scary. I said it was disturbing. There’s a difference.”
“Well it’s neither.”
“A man is making a suit out of human skin, Sunghoon.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
You looked at him. “Where?”
He paused. “Nature documentaries.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and something shifted in his expression. Barely anything, just the faintest softening in the corner of his eyes. It was so quick you almost missed it. Almost.
That was the thing about Park Sunghoon. On the outside, he was the picture of composure. Unhurried. Unbothered. The kind of person who could be late to his own birthday party and somehow make everyone else feel like they’d arrived too early. He was like that in class, too. Front row, never frantic, taking notes in that annoyingly neat handwriting of his while everyone around him was three lectures behind and quietly spiraling.
You had met him in your first year, in a mandatory elective neither of you wanted to be in. He’d sat next to you because it was the only seat left, and when the professor had asked everyone to introduce themselves to the person beside them, he had looked at you and said—very seriously—"How fast do you think we could get through this syllabus if we actually tried?”
You had been best friends ever since.
It made sense, in the way that certain things just did. You moved at the same pace. You thought the same things were funny. You could sit in silence for hours and it never felt like anything needed to be filled. He was the person you called when something went wrong and also when something went right. Somewhere along the way those two categories had quietly expanded to include everything in between.
Which was fine. Completely fine. You were not in love with your best friend.
You were almost certain.
On screen, Clarice was walking into the dark. You shifted on the couch, tugging the blanket back toward your side, and Sunghoon let you without comment. This meant he wasn’t paying attention. You glanced over at him.
He was looking at the TV, jaw resting on his hand, expression perfectly neutral. His hair was a little messy—he had come straight from practice, changed into a hoodie in your bathroom, and left his back by the door like he always did. There was something easy about having him here. Something that had started feeling dangerously close to necessary.
You looked back at the screen.
That was when it happened.
No warning. No build-up. No cinematic crack of lightning or sudden ringing in your ears. One moment there was the sound of Clarice's heavy breathing, the low ambient noise of your apartment, the rustle of the blanket—
And then there was a voice.
She always laughs like that when she’s actually surprised. Like she tried to hold it in and lost.
You froze.
The voice was his. Not out loud. His mouth hadn’t moved, you looked right at him. But it was unmistakably Sunghoon’s voice, low and even, like he was narrating a novel.
You didn’t move.
She’s been using the same shampoo since second year. I don’t know why I know that.
Your heart stopped. You turned very slowly to look at him. He was still watching the movie. Completely still, completely unaware. The popcorn bowl was between you and he reached into it again without looking and his arm brushed yours and—
Don’t make it weird. Don’t make it weird. You’re fine. She’s just… A pause. She’s right there.
You stared at him, but he didn’t stare back. He watched Anthony Hopkins monologue as if absolutely nothing was happening, as if his internal voice had not just short-circuited your entire brain, and you sat there in the blue light of your TV thinking: what the fuck.
You didn’t sleep well that night.
Not because of the movie. The movie was fine. Buffalo Bill was unsettling on a conceptual level but you’d watched it twice before and you had a high threshold for cinematic weirdness. No, you didn’t sleep because you laid in bed staring at the ceiling and replayed every single thing you’d heard for the remaining forty minutes of the film.
And there had been a lot.
Her apartment always smells like that candle. I should figure out what scent it is. For no reason.
She’s cold. She’s not going to say anything. She’ll just suffer. I should—and then he’d shifted and tugged part of the blanket over to your side without a word, like he’d just decided something.
Two more weeks until her birthday. I already know what I’m getting her. I’ve known for three months. That’s normal… that's a normal amount of time to know
She’s laughing again. Okay. Cool. I’m fine.
You rolled over and pressed your face into the pillow.
Park Sunghoon. Your best friend. The most unreadable person you had ever met in our life, who apparently had an entire internal monologue dedicated to noticing things about you. Your laugh, your shampoo, your candle, the way you got cold and didn’t say so. And he never let any of it reach his face.
For how long? How long had this been happening?
You thought about the soft look he’d tried to hide when you laughed. You thought about the blanket. You thought about I’ve known for three months, that’s normal—
You groaned into your pillow. This was a lot of information to receive on a Tuesday.
The next morning, you tested it.
Sunghoon had a habit of coming over early on Wednesdays because you both had the same 10 am lecture and he lived closer to your building than campus. It was an arrangement that had started practically and continued sentimentally, which was very on-brand for your entire friendship.
You knocked at 8:52. You opened the door in your oversized sweatshirt and immediately, before he’d even said hello—
She looks good in the mornings. She always looks good in the mornings. Fuck, thats extremly inconvenient.
You felt your face do something. You couldn’t control it.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing.” You stepped back. “I made coffee.”
He came in, dropped his bag, accepted the mug you handed him, and leaned against your kitchen counter with the air of someone who had never experienced a chaotic thought in his life. You watched him over the rim of your own mug and waited.
She’s staring.
It’s fine. She stares sometimes. It means nothing. Don’t read into it.
… She’s still staring.
“I’m not staring,” you said, more like blurted.
He looked at you. “I didn’t say you were.”
Fuck. “You were thinking it.” You said, which was technically true in the most unhinged way possible.
Sunghoon looked at you for a moment longer than necessary. Then he took a sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he said, in a tone that meant he had filed this away and would return to it later.
You needed a plan.
Here’s what you knew:
Sunghoon was not going to say anything. That was simply not how he worked. He could think about your shampoo and memorize your candle scent and spend three months deciding on a birthday gift and still show up every Wednesday looking like a man without a single complicated feeling. He would do this indefinitely. He would probably take it to his grave.
And you—you, who had spent the better part of a year trying very hard not to notice the way he looked at you sometimes—were not going to wait for a grave.
So you made a decision.
You were going to give Park Sunghoon exactly what he wanted. Piece by piece. Situation by situation, all of it carefully constructed so that he thought it was happening naturally. And at the end of it, he was going to have no choice but to say it out loud.
All you had to do was listen.
It started small.
Friday night, you invited him to the convenience store. Normal enough, you did this roughly once a week, usually for ramen and whatever snack had rotated its way onto the seasonal shelf. But this time, on the way back, you chose the path along the river instead of the shortcut through the carpark.
It was cold enough that your breath fogged the air. The streetlights caught in the water. You had your hands tucked into your sleeves, thinking that this had been a good idea when Sunghoon’s voice materialized quietly in your head.
I always want to walk this way. She never wants to walk this way.
You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t this nicer?”
A beat passed. “Yeah.” He said. He was looking ahead, but something in his shoulders had settled. “It is.”
She remembered.
He didn’t say it out loud, of course he didn’t. But you heard it, warm and quiet, and you had to look away before your face gave you away completely.
The next one was trickier.
You were in the library, 3rd floor, your usual table by the window. While you worked through problem sets, Sunghoon arrived twenty minutes later and folded himself into the seat next to you. He unpacked in silence, which was normal. Then he went quiet in that particular way he had where he was trying to figure something out and didn’t want to ask for help, which you also knew, because you knew all of his silences.
You waited.
I could just ask her. She’d explain it without making me feel stupid. She never makes me feel stupid.
But then she’ll know I didn’t understand the lecture and she’ll—
She won’t care. She genuinely will not give two shits.
Obviously I know that. That’s not the issue, the issue is that shes—
A pause.
She’s the only person I actually want help from. Is that a weird thing to feel this strongly about?
You looked up from your notes. “Do you want me to walk you through the regression model? I had to redo it like twice before it clicked.” Not technically a lie.
Sunghoon looked up at you.
“I’m serious,” you said, keeping your face carefully neutral. “It’s faster if we do it together.”
Something moved behind his eyes. Not readable: it never quite was. But it was there. He slid his notebook across the table toward you. “Okay.”
You worked through it side by side, your handwriting appearing in the margins of his notes, carefully avoiding his various doodles across the page. Your shoulders pressed close together so you could feel the warmth of him. And under everything, you could hear him thinking:
This is my favorite way to study. This is my favorite way to do a lot of things.
Then came the party.
Jungwon’s birthday parties had a reputation. What started as a small gathering with a reasonable headcount always turned into something completely different by 11 pm. More people, more noise, more empty bottles lined up along the windowsill like a timeline of bad decisions. You had been to enough of them to know to eat beforehand.
You arrived a little after 10. Sunghoon was already there—you found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a drink in his hand, talking to someone from his major with the energy of a person attending a very calm business lunch. Completely unbothered. Completely composed.
You felt him notice you before he looked up.
There she is.
Warm. Immediate. Like a reflex he’d long stopped trying to correct.
You made your way over and he handed you a drink without being asked, already knowing. Smirnoff Ice Raspberry. What a gentleman.
“How long have you been here?” You asked him.
“An hour.”
“An hour and you’re already relaxed?” You say, gesturing to what you can clearly tell is not his first drink of the night.
“I’m always relaxed.”
I am not relaxed. Her outfit is so small and I’ve been here an hour just wondering when she would show up and she shows up in that!
You took a sip of your drink to hide your expression.
By eleven, the party had done its inevitable thing. The hallway was full, the music was louder, and someone had started a game in the living room that you’d opted out of on principle. You weren’t really in the mood to kiss random men when you had one pining over you in his head.
You were on your 3rd drink, warm at the edges, feeling the particular looseness that came from just enough and not too much.
Sunghoon was on something closer to his fifth.
You could tell only because you knew him. To anyone else, he looked exactly the same. Same posture, same unhurried delivery, same expression that gave away absolutely nothing. He was holding his cup with the same quiet authority he held everything. Responding to people in full, measured sentences.
But his thoughts.
She laughed at something. I didn’t hear what it was. Doesn’t matter, I’d listen to her laugh for an unreasonable amount of time and never get tired. I’ve accepted that.
You pressed your lips together and did your best to bite back the blush running towards your cheeks.
Her drink is almost empty. I should—a pause, like he was negotiating with himself—no. That’s too obvious. She can get her own. She doesn’t need me to—
You watched him glance at your cup from across the room, completely imperceptibly, and then look away.
Fuck this. I can’t let anyone here think she’s single. Even though she is. Fuck.
He appeared by your side sixty seconds later and held one out. You took it.
“Thank you!” You said.
“Mhm.” He looked at the room.
She smells like that candle again. She must’ve been home before this. God I’m pathetic.
You stared very hard at a window across the room and reminded yourself to breathe normally.
It got worse—better, actually—as the night went on.
You found a quieter corner of the apartment, as you usually did, and the party moved around you while you stayed still. This was your pattern. Your orbit. Sunghoon stood close enough that your shoulders almost touched and talked to you in that low, even voice of his about nothing important—a lecture, a teammate, something Sunoo had said earlier that had mildly irritated him.
I think about telling her all the time. Like, constantly. It’s become a problem. I’ll be in the middle of something completely unrelated and I’ll just—think about her. The way she argued about things she cares about. The way she falls asleep during movies and then insists she wasn’t sleeping.
She’s always sleeping. I never say anything. I let her have it. I’d let her have everything if that’s what she wanted
Later, the crowd thinned. Someone swapped the music for something slower and the kitchen light cast everything in a warm gold. You were feeling pretty drunk, loose and light and devious, if you were 100% honest.
Because here’s the thing. You had spent the past 2 hours listening to Sunghoon’s internal monologue short-circuit in real time, and the drinks had made you brave, and you decided you were going to have fun.
You turned to face him fully and leaned your shoulder against the wall so you were looking up at him. Close. Closer than you’d normally stand.
“You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“More than usual.”
He looked at you. Said nothing, of course. His face was perfectly, infuriatingly composed.
She’s standing really close. Okay, that’s fine. She does that sometimes. It doesn’t mean any—she’s looking at me like that again.
You smiled, slow and deliberate, and watched his jaw shift almost imperceptibly.
“What?” He asked.
“Nothing.” You reached over and fixed the collar of his shirt—it didn’t need fixing. You just did it. Fingers brushing the side of his neck for half a second before you pull your hand back.
The thought that hit you was instantaneous.
Oh. A pause. Don’t. Do not.
His expression didn’t change. He simply looked at you with the same unhurried calm he looked at everything with and said “Thanks” in a voice that gave you nothing.
You were going to lose your mind. Give me something, asshole!
You shifted closer under the pretense of someone passing behind you and didn’t shift back. Your hand was on his arm now, you could feel the warmth of him through his sleeve.
She’s not moving. She’s not moving and I cant—I need to—Fuck she looks so good tonight. She always looks so good—I’m going to need a cold shower tonight.
“Cold?” He asked.
You tried not to laugh at how well it connected to his thoughts. “A little.” You lied.
He didn’t say anything, but he turned very slightly so his body was angled towards yours, the smallest possible adjustment, like he was trying to do so without admitting he was doing it.
Keep talking, his thoughts said, unprompted. Just keep talking to me. I don’t care what you say, I just wanna—
“Tell me something.” You say.
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
He considered this with great seriousness of someone preparing for war. You watching him think and heard the entire thing unravel. I want to tell her so many things. I want to tell her that I think about her all the time. I want to tell her she’s the first person I want to call when anything bad happens. I want to tell her to touch me and never stop.
“Jungwon’s playlist sucks.” Is what he chose instead.
You laughed. You couldn’t help it. The contrast of his thoughts to the words coming out of his mouth was just too hilarious for you to handle. He watched you laugh and his thought arrived soft and immediate:
There it is.
You looked back up at him, still smiling, and let the moment stretch. Then, slowly, you reached out and took the cup from his hand—just to take a sip, just as an excuse—your fingers overlapping his for a second before he let go.
His entire internal monologue went briefly nonverbal for a moment.
Fuck she has no idea what she’s doing to me. She genuinely cannot know. If she knew she would—she wouldn’t—she doesn’t—
A pause. A long one, actually.
Does she know?
You handed the cup back. Your fingers brushed him again on the pass. Deliberate. Completely deliberate.
I want you so bad.
The thought arrived and made you almost choke on air. It was so helplessly honest that it made your stomach flip. Not chaotic, necessarily, just true. Simple and overwhelming and incredibly sincere and raw.
I’ve wanted you for so long and you’re just standing here and I can’t tell you! Not like this.
But please don’t move.
You don’t move. Sunghoon stood beside you looking unbothered.
This, you thought, was the most fun you had ever had in your entire life.
Your shared 10 am was held in a wide tiered lecture hall that fit about two hundred students and smell permanently of coffee and resignation. You sat in the same spot every week, middle left. Close enough to see the slides, far enough to feel like you had options. Sunghoon always sat next to you.
You go there first on Tuesday. When he arrived, he dropped into the seat next to you and pulled out his notebook. You were ready.
You chose to wait until the lecture started, until he was settled. Pen in hand, paying attention the way he always did.
Then you leaned over, close enough that your shoulder pressed into his and whispered “Can I borrow a pen?”
You had 3 in your bag. He didn’t know that.
He reached into his case without looking and held one out. Your fingers closed around it slowly, over his, just for a second longer than necessary.
Don’t fucking look at her. Look at the slide. There is a slide, dammit.
You settled back into your seat and uncapped the pen like nothing happened. Ten minutes later you leaned in again. “What did he say? I missed it.” Your lips were approximately four inches from his ear. You felt him go very still and you smiled.
She smells so good. Why does she always—focus! He’s talking about monetary policy. Monetary policy. That’s what's important right now.
“Quantitative easing.” he said, in a voice that was completely level. Not even a crack.
“Thanks,” you murmured, and sat back.
I cannot believe I’m this affected by quantitative easing.
Sunghoon played like he did everything else, with total composure and quiet precision. Like the game was simply a problem being solved in real time. You had been to his matches before but usually with a group. This time you came alone and found a spot near the front and he saw you during warm ups.
You waved.
His expression softened the slightest bit. She’s wearing my hoodie.
You were, in fact, wearing his hoodie. The one he’d left at your place three weeks ago and you’d simply never given it back. You had put it on this morning with full awareness of what you were doing and zero remorse.
That’s my hoodie on her and she looks—I have a game. I have a game in four minutes. Get your fucking shit together.
He focused on the game. You watched him be extraordinary at it with the detached calm of someone who had done it a thousand times, and every few minutes a thought would surface.
Is she still here? She is. Good.
At halftime he jogged to the sideline and grabbed his water bottle and glanced at you once. It was brief, but you smiled as always and tucked your hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.
She’s so cute.
Then he went back to playing.
After the final whistle—they won, 2-1, Sunghoon had assisted in both goals with the energy of a man doing his grocery shopping—he found you at the edge of the field. Hair slightly damp, still catching his breath, looking at you with a gaze like you were the only girl in the world.
“You played great!”
“Thank you.” He said breathlessly.
You reached up and fixed a part of his hair that had fallen across his forehead, the same way you fixed his collar at the party. Easy and unbothered.
I’m so in love with her it’s embarrassing. And she’s still touching my hair. I will stand here forever. I will stand on this field until the groundskeepers kick me off.
It was a Saturday when it stopped being a game.
Not because you decided it. Not because anything dramatic happened to signal a shift. It was a Saturday and you were making dinner and Sunghoon was in your kitchen, and somewhere between the two of you it just became too much.
It had started normally enough. He texted at five asking if you’d eaten. You hadn’t. He showed up twenty minutes later with groceries and no further explanation, which was so perfectly, infuriatingly him that you hadn’t even questioned it. This was just a thing he did. This was just how he was with you.
The kitchen was warm. You had music on low—something ambient and unhurried. Sunghoon had taken over the stove with the quiet authority he applied to everything while you sat at the counter and handled the easier tasks: chopping, stirring, handing things over when he asked.
It was comfortable, it was always comfortable with him.
But you had spent a week being deliberate about every point of contact and now you were tired and warm and a little undone by the Friday couch moment still sitting in your chest, and tonight you weren't being strategic. Tonight things just kept — happening.
Like the way you leaned over to check on the pan and your arm slid along his. The way he reached past you for the salt and didn't move back immediately. The way the kitchen was small and you were both in it and neither of you seemed to be trying very hard to maintain any kind of distance.
She's everywhere in this apartment, he thought, while stirring something and looking straight ahead. Everything here is her. I come here and it just — feels like her. I don't know what to do with that.
You handed him a spoon without being asked and your fingers touched and the thought that followed was short and unadorned:
I love her.
Not feral. Not desperate. Just true, the way facts were true, the way gravity was true, delivered in the same internal voice he used to note the weather or remember an appointment.
I love her and I don't know how much longer I can—
"You're quiet," you said.
"I'm always quiet."
"Different quiet."
He glanced at you. "You say that a lot."
"Because it keeps being true."
He looked at you for a moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes, and then looked back at the stove.
You watched him. The line of his shoulders, the careful way he moved, the complete and total composure he maintained at all times like it cost him nothing when you knew — you knew now — exactly what it cost.
You slid off the counter and moved to stand beside him. Not for any reason. Just to be closer.
She's right next to me. She keeps doing this. She's been doing this all week and I—I don't know if she knows what she's doing. I think she might know. Does she know?
You reached past him to adjust the heat on the burner — he was standing right there, you had to reach across him to get to it, your arm brushing his chest for a half second — and when you pulled back you turned your head and found his face much closer than you'd anticipated.
Neither of you moved.
Okay, his brain said, with a kind of strained calm. Okay. This is—She's right there. She's looking at me. I have been in love with her for over a year and she is right there and I—
"Y/N."
His voice came out different. Lower. The composure was still there but something underneath it that wasn't, some thread pulled just tight enough that you could hear it.
"Yeah?" you said.
He looked at you. Really looked — the way he had on the couch on Friday, no pretense, no performance, just Sunghoon looking at you like you were something he'd stopped being able to look away from.
"What are you doing?" he said.
It wasn't accusatory. It was quiet. Genuine. Like he actually needed to know.
And here was the thing — here was the part you hadn't planned for — you opened your mouth to say something easy and deflecting and instead what came out was the truth.
"I don't know anymore," you said. "I think I stopped doing anything on purpose about three days ago."
Something in his face shifted. The last careful layer of it, the one he always kept in reserve, the one you'd never seen him let go of before.
"Three days ago," he repeated.
"The game," you said. "Friday. You were just — you were just being you and I—" you stopped. Laughed a little, helplessly. "I've been driving myself crazy, Sunghoon."
She—
His thought didn't finish. Like his brain had simply stopped processing and switched to something else entirely.
"You've been driving yourself crazy," he said, and something in his voice had shifted too, something dry and disbelieving and warm underneath it. "You've been driving me crazy for a week. You know that, right?"
You looked at him. "Have I?"
"In lecture," he said. "The couch. The game." A pause. "The collar." He said the last one quietly, like it had been living in him since the party and had just now been let out.
"The collar," you repeated innocently.
"You knew what you were doing."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Y/N."
"Sunghoon."
He looked at you for a long moment, this boy who never cracked, who never rushed, who kept everything behind his eyes until he decided otherwise — and then he decided otherwise.
"I'm in love with you," he said. Simple. Direct. Like he'd taken aim and let go. "I have been for a long time and this week has been the most unhinged experience of my life so if you have something to tell me I really think you should tell me now."
The most unhinged experience of my life. You almost laughed again. He had no idea. "I'm in love with you too," you said. "I have been. For a long time, I think."
He exhaled.
Not dramatically — this was Sunghoon, nothing was ever dramatic — just a slow breath out, like something he'd been holding had finally been set down. His hand came up and found your jaw, tilted your face up toward his, and he looked at you for one long, unhurried moment the way he did everything.
There she is, he thought, soft and certain and final. There she is.
Then he kissed you.
It was warm and quiet and careful and then — when you kissed him back, when your hand found the front of his shirt — not careful at all. His other hand found your waist and pulled you closer and you went, and the food on the stove went briefly unattended, and the music played on low in the background of your apartment that smelled like his candle and yours combined now, that had his bag by the door and his key on the hook, that had been halfway his for a long time already.
His last coherent thought, before everything else: Finally.
He kissed you like a man starved, and after everything you had heard the past couple of weeks, he was starved. His hands tightened on your waist the slightest bit, almost as if he was afraid you would leave.
You wouldn’t dream of it.
Your hands dragged up his shirt and towards the back of his neck, pushing him closer and playing with his hair. Sunghoon let out a shaky breath, which made you smile into the kiss.
“Shut.” Kiss. “Up.” Another kiss. His voice was so low that it shocked you, but you were too busy to even fully notice.
“I didn’t say anything.” You say in between his kisses. Eventually you force yourself to pull away. His face looks like you just slapped him, but you caress his face. “I’m just turning off the stove.”
Sunghoon pursed his lips together. “Right. I forgot. I was kinda distracted.”
You stare at him for a moment, taking him in. His flushed cheeks, his glossy eyes, his hands that refuse to leave your waist. “At the risk of sounding too forward—”
“Be forward. That’s all I’ve wanted this entire week.”
You nod. “Well.. we can go to my room…?”
You barely got the chance to hear his brain fry itself when he smashes his lips back down onto yours. He seems hungrier now, and the thought has you reeling. All you can hear are bits and pieces. Please, and I’m obsessed with you, cross his mind over and over again, but you’re too involved in him to care.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a please.”
Sunghoon keeps kissing you as the two of you walk (awkwardly. It’s surprisingly hard to keep a straight line of direction when a man is kissing the shit out of you) to your bedroom. The door was already open, and your bed was already made. The two of you just flopped onto the mattress, not bothering to stop.
He laid above you, moving from your lips to everywhere else. “I’ve been in love with you,” a kiss on the cheek, “since that IKEA argument,” a kiss on your jaw, “when you were wearing that stupid,” kiss on the neck, “fucking,” kiss on your collarbone, “shirt.” He keeps kissing you, mumbling more. “It was the tiniest shirt in existence and you wore it around me.”
“It was the first shirt I saw that day.”
“Well it made me really hard.” He says, looking down at you.
“Oh, did it now?” You say, a playful smirk on your face.
He wipes that smirk off with a kiss, trailing back down to the collarbone, sucking on various spots. You choose not to think about how much of a pain it will be to whisk those out of your skin before your shift. Instead, you choose to live in the moment.
His hands trail from your waist to your sides. “Can I?” He asks, hands incredibly still. You nod, but that’s not enough for him. “Please say it.”
“Yes, Sunghoon.”
He wastes no time in taking your shirt off, throwing it somewhere in your room for you to find later. “So beautiful.” He mumbles, almost incoherently. “Wanted this for so long. You for so long.”
Every word, every kiss, every touch sends sparks up and down your body. You don’t know how you’ve lived without this, but now that you have it you won’t ever give it up. You run your hands under his shirt and on his bare skin, feeling the warmth of the man on top of you.
It’s barely even a touch, and yet he folds completely. Head in your neck, holding you tightly. You feel the outline of abs and a strong v line, hands going lower and lower. Instead of the obvious, you choose to grab the hem of his shirt and pull it. He instantly moves, allowing you to pull the shirt off him—with his help of course.
You had seen him shirtless before. Sophomore year pool party hosted by Jake. But this is completely different. 2 years of soccer and consistent working out has made this man built. And you were not complaining.
You grab his jeans and pull him back in, but he stops himself.
“I wanna try something.”
You give him a nod, and he moves to pull down your sweatpants, leaving you in just a bra and underwear. Sunghoons eyes rake over your body in a way that screams adoration. If you had ever thought he didn’t like you, his actions now change your mind immediately.
“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
“Okay.” You say quietly, unsure of what's to come.
He starts kissing your neck once more, moving down to your collarbone, then shoulder, then sternum. He makes it his mission to kiss every part of you. Your tits, your stomach, your hips. You don’t even realize how far down he is until he plants a kiss right above your underwear.
He goes to one hip, then the other, planting kisses on both. But instead of going where you want him, he goes to your thighs. He starts at the left, gentle kisses up and down your inner thigh, making you squirm. At the right, his kisses are still gentle, but they're closer now. Closer to where you want him. To where he wants to be.
“So beautiful.” He murmurs, finally pressing a kiss to your clothed heat. A delicate kiss, yet it made you squirm. God, this man is the devil.
“Please…” You sigh, not even realizing that you said it.
“Whatever you want.” He hooks a finger around your underwear, dragging the lavender cloth down your legs slowly. He makes sure to actually take them off, and not let them pool around your ankles, and then spreads your legs just a bit. “Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’m sure.”
That's all he needed before he put his mouth on you. Soft kisses that drive you crazy, hands grasping the duvet and teeth biting your lip. The pace is brutally slow, testing the waters. But he speeds up a bit. One hand under your leg, pulling you closer, the other on your clit, making slow circles as he eats you out.
If you thought he kissed you like a man starved, then you would be surprised at how he is once he truly tastes you. Hands grip you tightly, moving faster and faster as his tongue makes you cry out. He laps at your folds, tongue going in and out of you on occasion. You close your legs around his head, and he groans like you just gave him dessert.
You’re so close, you can feel it. And he can too. But he pulls away at the last moment, wiping at his mouth.
Sunghoon takes a moment to admire you. Naked from the waist down, a simple bra covering you. You’re panting, desperate to reach the orgasm that was cruelly ripped away from you by the man who almost gave you it.
You give him a look, and he gives you one back. “I’ll eat you out as many times as you want later, but right now I just wanna fuck you.”
“I’m on the pill.” You say.
He closes his eyes for a moment. “Is that enough for you? Cause I’ll go get condoms—”
“It’s enough.” You interrupt him, hand on the buckle of his jeans, slowly unworking it. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted something more than you want him right now. Maybe that’s insane to say, but you don’t care. Not when the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen is about to fuck you.
The two of you waste no time in taking off his jeans, and then his boxers. He also makes sure to take your bra off too.
You aren’t new to sex. It’s a very straightforward process. But sex with Sunghoon seems different. There's nothing wrong with him, it's just the fact you’ve known him for so long and he’s your best friend, and what if this ruins things?
“Hey.” He says, snapping you out of the trainwreck that is your thoughts. “Are you 100% sure? If you say no then I’ll stop, I promise.”
“It’s not that,” You pause, avoiding eye contact with him and his naked lower half. “I just don’t want this to ruin things.”
His hand goes to your waist, gentle and comforting. “This won’t ruin anything. I’ll still be in love with you after this, probably even more than I am right now.”
You think for a second before nodding. “Okay.”
“You still want this?”
“Yes, Sunghoon.” You say with a faux-annoyed face.
He gives you the most genuine smile as he presses his tip against you. The feeling sends a shock straight to your core, and you’ve never wanted anything more than you do right now. He rubs his tip up and down your folds, letting the pre-cum mix with the wetness that was pooling out of you.
“I’ll go slow, okay?” Sunghoon pushes in slowly, true to his word. You wince, but not in pain. In pleasure. You’re completely engulfing his tip, and he’s looking at it like it’s the Mona Lisa. “Jesus Christ." His voice is low, gravely, and possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.
He continues to push, letting your pussy swallow him whole. When he’s finally in, he looks at you first to make sure you’re ready and that you’re still okay. It’s sweet, but you aren’t in the mood for sweet.
And somehow, he hears you loud and clear. He pulls back almost all the way, until it’s just the tip again, and slams into you.
It has you gasping for air, grabbing the blanket, the pillow, him. He keeps up the pace. Brutal, yet slow. A harsh slam in, a slow drag out. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough.
“Sunghoon…” You whine.
“You want more?”
You nod, and he obliges immediately, snapping his hips into yours faster. You're moaning and writhing underneath him but he doesn’t stop. After all, this is what you wanted.
It smells of sex, and the only sound you can hear is skin slapping, your whines, and his little groans. Back and forth and back and forth, it’s too much.
You can feel a pool in your core tightening, and in a moment of pure lust you wrap your legs around him and pull him closer. “You’re fucking evil.” He almost growls, going faster if that was even possible.
Sunghoon’s as desperate as you are, slamming his hips into yours with strength and precision of a man who worked for this his entire life. You can barely form words, just moans as he goes in and out of you.
You tighten around him and he whines, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. But you don’t get a chance to focus on that.
“I know honey, I know. Me too, sweet girl.”
His hips stutter, but he’s back on track, fucking you the way you deserve after weeks of psychological torture and cold showers on his part. He’s dreamed of this more times than you could imagine. But this is better than any dream of his. Because you’re under him, eyes shut in pleasure as he fucks the shit out of you the way he’s wanted for so long.
“I’m close.” You manage, hands grabbing on his biceps.
He speeds up. “You wanna cum?” You nod, a tear falling out of your eye from how good everything feels. As he drags himself in and out of you, a hand falls to your clit, rubbing fast circles. You let out a loud moan, only enticing him to keep going. “Come on honey, cum with me.”
He plays with your folds for a few more seconds before your hips buck without warning, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you come undone over his dick. Your legs shake around his abdomen, and you let out a silent cry.
“Good girl. I’m so close okay? Where do you want me?” He asks, slowing down just a bit.
You’re still reeling from your orgasm and the fact he’s still fucking you. “Anywhere.”
He places both of his hands around you, caging you in as he pounds into you with no remorse, desperate for a release. He can feel you clenching around him, and that’s what sends him over the edge.
“Fuck!” His hips stutter for the final time, pressing into you fully. His head drops down, almost heavy from the week long torture. As he cums in you, his head drops down, almost heavy. You both don’t move for a bit, just staying still
It’s quiet. The only sound being breathing coming from the both of you.
“Did it ruin it?” He asks, breathlessly with a smirk.
“Fuck off!” You reply, lightly slapping his chest.
It was that very moment where you realized you couldn’t hear his thoughts anymore. You would miss the frantic array of thoughts that would show up when you did something miniscule to him, but you weren’t upset. This just meant he finally said all that he needed to say.
synopsis: in which you post about the most insufferable guy in your class on an AITA thread, only to find someone in the comments defending him a little too passionately.
genre: enemies to lovers??
pairing: insufferable!sunghoon x menace!reader
warnings: sexual tension, so many gawddamn arguments, some eye fucking from sunghoon’s behalf, lowkey bratty!reader, dom!hoon, semi-public sex, washroom sex, spitting, choking, oral (m rec.), fingering, biting, mirror sex, so much degrading, begging, spanking, slapping, teasing, unprotected p in v (don’t do it…), creampie, light cum play…i think that’s it…
wc: 13k
a/n: i love me some enemies to lovers i feel ashamed 😔😋 anyways after almost 3 months ya gurl is back w anotha banger 😛😛 warning, this isn’t edited properly i did like a quick read over or 2 and ran out of patience. ill sit down months later to revise it (no i wont). as always, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :p
˙𐃷˙
the literature lecture hall buzzed quietly with the usual sounds of a monday morning class—keyboard typing, coffee lids snapping shut, chairs dragging lazily across the floor.
rain streaked against the tall windows beside you, grey light spilling across rows of half-awake university students while professor choi clicked through his lecture slides at the front.
this class was your last pick and you were barely listening until the next discussion question appeared on the board.
what does meursault's emotional detachment represent?
professor choi adjusted his thick framed circle glasses.
"thoughts?"
and then, unfortunately, park sunghoon raised his hand.
you already knew this was about to piss you off. your face twisting into one of pure disgust before the man even opened his mouth.
sunghoon sat three rows ahead of you, posture relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair like he owned the lecture hall. he didn't even look interested in the discussion, which somehow made it more annoying whenever he spoke and everyone listened anyway.
professor choi nodded toward him."go ahead."
sunghoon spoke evenly, like a corrupt politician who was going to promise world peace. like he was delivering some groundbreaking intellectual revelation instead of absolute nonsense.
"i think the novel critiques performative emotion more than emotional detachment itself."
you narrowed your eyes immediately. all you could hear was blah blah blah meh meh meh.
sunghoon continued, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips so the bullshit he was going to spew would come out smoother.
"society condemns meursault not because he committed murder, but because he doesn't react the way people expect him to emotionally. he refuses to fake grief, guilt, remorse—"
"because he doesn't have any," you interrupted flatly.
a few heads turned instantly, students giving each other knowing looks. sunghoon glanced over his shoulder at you.
not irritated. oh no no, worse. he was amused.
"that's an oversimplification." he clicked, leaning his head back to the front to give professor choi a lazy look that basically said 'you see what's happening here?'
"no," you said. "you're just romanticizing emotional incompetence because the author used fancy wording."
a quiet snort came from somewhere behind you causing sunghoon to turn fully in his seat now. "you think the entire point of the novel is that he's a bad person?"
"i think the point is that detachment isn't inherently profound just because a man is quiet."
that got a reaction, small and subtle. a couple students trying not to laugh, their binders going up to hide their facial expressions as professor choi gave them a warning look.
sunghoon's eyes narrowed slightly for the first time.
finally.
"you're reducing existentialism to a personality flaw."
"and you're treating basic human empathy like it's optional."
professor choi opened his mouth and closed it again. probably deciding it was safer not to interfere yet.
sunghoon rested his arm against the desk beside him.
"the novel literally argues that societal expectations of emotion are artificial."
"okay, but there's a difference between rejecting social performance and acting like a disconnected freak."
sunghoon gave you a look at the last word, "interesting choice of wording."
"oh please," you scoffed. "you're acting like meursault is some misunderstood visionary when really he's just emotionally constipated."
someone coughed to hide a laugh and sunghoon's jaw ticked slightly.
barely noticeable, but you noticed. because you notice everything about park sunghoon, the good and the bad. unfortunately, more of the good which was all physical. nothing mental of course, the man had an IQ of a turnip.
arguing with park sunghoon had become a skill you'd accidentally perfected over the past two years. he always looked composed, always calm. but there were little tells and small cracks. tiny expressions that appeared when you pushed hard enough.
and right now? he was getting annoyed.
good.
"you're too emotionally reactive to engage with the text objectively," he said, his dark eyes boring into your own as if he was trying to get under your skin.
which, to be fair, he was. you knew that, and he definitely knew that.
you let out a short laugh. "and you think sounding detached makes you intelligent."
his gaze held yours for a second too long. steady and sharp. "maybe i just know how to separate emotion from analysis."
"maybe you just enjoy hearing yourself talk."
sunghoon tilted his head slightly, "you've interrupted me four times."
"because every sentence somehow gets worse."
a few quiet laughs spread through the room again. you saw professor choi pinch the bridge of his nose from the corner of your eye.
sunghoon looked entirely unbothered by the class watching. if anything, he looked more focused now.
like he enjoyed this, he enjoyed the attention he was receiving. the perfect spotlight to argue with a classmate. which made you irrationally angrier. "you're intentionally ignoring nuance."
"and you're intentionally making this deeper than it actually is."
"literature is supposed to be analyzed deeply."
"not every quiet man with a god complex is philosophically revolutionary, sunghoon."
that one landed, hard. his brows lifted slightly and the room went quieter. you could practically feel everyone pretending not to listen now.
sunghoon leaned back slowly in his chair. still staring at you, not daring to break eye contact.
"you know," he said lightly, "for someone who claims i'm insufferable, you spend an impressive amount of time thinking about my opinions."
your stomach flipped in annoyance. strictly annoyance.
"trust me," you replied sweetly, "criticizing you is not a difficult intellectual exercise."
the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. which only irritated you more because why did he look entertained right now?
"you get weirdly passionate whenever i disagree with you."
"because you say insane things with unnecessary confidence."
"and yet you always argue back."
you opened your mouth immediately. "because someone has to humble you."
sunghoon's eyes flicked briefly down toward your mouth before returning to your eyes so quickly you almost thought you imagined it.
almost.
then he said quietly, "you've been trying for two years."
your heartbeat stumbled once, completely involuntary by the way. and judging by the sudden silence in the lecture hall, several other people noticed the shift too.
professor choi finally sighed loudly enough to cut through the tension.
"well," he muttered dryly, "this has certainly been more engaging than most of your discussion contributions."
a few students laughed softly.
you tore your gaze away from sunghoon first, reaching for your pen like your pulse hadn't just betrayed you for absolutely no reason.
meanwhile, across the room, sunghoon leaned back in his chair again.
looking entirely too pleased with himself.
˙𐃷˙
by the time professor choi dismissed the class, the atmosphere in the lecture hall felt weirdly charged.
like everyone had just witnessed something they definitely shouldn't have.
chairs scraped against the floor as students packed up their bags, conversations immediately erupting around the room.
you shoved your laptop into your tote aggressively, muttering curses about the boy who shall not be named.
mostly because you could still feel park sunghoon's smug expression somewhere in your peripheral vision.
you hated him and his stupid fucking beautiful face.
the worst part was that he never even looked genuinely angry during your arguments. no matter how heated things got, sunghoon always stayed calm—relaxed posture, steady voice, slightly amused expression like he was watching you self-destruct for entertainment.
it was infuriating.
sunoo appeared beside your desk, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "you know," he said casually, "that was kind of the highlight of my week."
you glared at your so called best friend, "you're sick."
"no seriously," sunoo grinned. "when you called him emotionally constipated i almost started clapping."
you huffed, standing up. "he deserved worse." together, you and sunoo started toward the lecture hall doors with the crowd of students funneling out into the hallway.
except—someone was standing near the exit.
waiting, wearing a black hoodie. arms crossed loosely.
park sunghoon.
of course he was, because the argument that had erupted during class just wasn't enough for this troll doll. your steps slowed instinctively and sunoo noticed immediately, his smile widened, ear to ear.
fucking traitor.
sunghoon's eyes found yours through the crowd almost instantly. calm as ever and annoyingly unreadable.
then, as you got closer, he pushed himself off the wall.
you already knew he was about to say something irritating, you could feel it.
sunghoon stepped aside just enough to let other students pass before leaning slightly closer toward you.
close enough that you caught the clean scent of his cologne beneath the lingering smell of coffee and rain.
"for someone who hates my opinions," he murmured quietly, "you seem obsessed with hearing them."
you stopped walking and slowly turned your head toward him. you hated how you had to crank your head up to make eye contact with him, the height difference between you two surrendering your loss.
"and for someone who claims to be emotionally detached," you replied sweetly, "you sure spend a lot of time trying to get my attention."
sunghoon's mouth twitched, that stupid almost-smile again. he looked down at you at with this look that you couldn't quite identify.
"see you monday." you hope one of you don't make it to monday, preferably him.
you stared at him for one long second, really stared. at his stupid face. his stupid sharp jawline. his stupid pretty mouth that constantly said the most unbearable things imaginable.
then you walked away before you committed a felony.
sunoo was already laughing beside you. "OH my god," he breathed. "you two are unbelievable."
"he's unbelievable," you snapped immediately, a faint flush covering your face and neck.
sunoo hummed, clearly unconvinced. he was your best friend since elementary school, he knew exactly what this was.
the hallway buzzed with students moving between lectures while rain hammered softly against the windows lining the corridor. you shoved through the doors toward the outside courtyard, irritation simmering hotter with every passing second.
"i genuinely cannot wait until i graduate," you muttered. "the second i get my degree i'm never seeing that freak again."
sunoo snorted, looking at your pink tinted cheeks with a grin. "you still have two years left."
your eye twitched at the realization.
right.
two more years.
two more years of literature classes and discussion boards and seeing park sunghoon sitting three rows ahead of you looking annoyingly composed all the time.
you groaned dramatically. "i can't do this anymore."
sunoo bumped your shoulder lightly. "you've survived two years already."
"barely."
the more you thought about him, the angrier you got.
because sunghoon was the exact type of person that's easy to hate.
too calm. too smug. too aware of how intelligent he was.
and worst of all—too attractive for absolutely no reason.
everything about him irritated you.
his stupid perfect smile whenever he thought he'd won an argument. his stupidly long fingers tapping against his desk during lectures. the way his hoodies stretched across his broad shoulders.
the fact that he somehow looked composed even when everyone else looked exhausted during midterms.
it was deeply, deeply annoying.
you physically smacked yourself in the forehead.
sunoo blinked at your sudden outburst. "what was that for?"
"nothing."
sunoo narrowed his eyes. then slowly—dangerously—he smiled. "oh my god."
you frowned immediately, not liking the way he was smiling down at you. "what."
"i think you might be the issue."
you stopped walking so abruptly someone nearly walked into your shoulder. "excuse me?"
sunoo shrugged innocently. "i'm just saying."
"how the hell am i the issue?"
"you do start a lot of the arguments."
you stared at him in betrayal. "because he says ridiculous things."
"sometimes."
"all the time."
sunoo hummed thoughtfully, not agreeing, which was offensive. why is your best friend not blindly supporting you even when you're probably wrong, which you aren't, but even if you were—the fuck?
you scoffed loudly. "sunghoon is literally the one who started this whole thing."
and he had, freshman year. first semester.
he'd corrected one of your points during a class discussion with that calm, mildly condescending tone of his and something inside you had immediately gone: absolutely not.
listen you can take criticism, just not from that man specifically.
ever since then, every interaction between you had turned into some kind of competition. you couldn't help it. sunghoon always acted so composed, so polished, so annoyingly perfect that it made you want to knock him down a level, or several.
sunoo shoved his hands into his pockets. "okay but maybe if you stopped interacting with him—"
"impossible."
"you didn't even let me finish."
"because you're wrong."
sunoo laughed softly, knowing damn well that nothing he was going to say would penetrate through your thick skull. "you could just ignore him."
you looked at him like he'd suggested murder.
ignore park sunghoon? absolutely not.
that sounded suspiciously like losing. sunoo noticed your expression immediately and burst out laughing. "see? that's exactly what i mean."
you crossed your arms. "i am not the problem here."
sunoo just gave you a look. one of those deeply irritating best friend looks that implied he knew you better than you knew yourself.
which, unfortunately, he probably did.
you pulled your phone out of your pocket causing sunoo to raise a brow.
"what are you doing?"
"i'm getting unbiased opinions."
"from who?"
you opened reddit with complete confidence and sunoo immediately groaned.
"oh no."
˙𐃷˙
your dorm room was suspiciously quiet except for the aggressive tapping of your keyboard.
sunoo sat cross-legged at the end of your bed eating gummy bears straight from the bag while watching you with the exact same expression people have witnessing a public breakup.
concern mixed with entertainment.
you ignored him. because right now you were busy crafting the most objectively accurate reddit post ever written.
the glow from your laptop lit your face as you reread the title for the fifth time.
AITA for telling a guy in my class to shut up because he thinks he's always right?
perfect. concise. truthful.
you cracked your knuckles dramatically before continuing to type. sunoo snorted from the other side, picking out all the red gummies before stuffing them into his mouth.
-
there's this guy in one of my university classes and he is genuinely one of the most irritating people i've ever met.
he's quiet but in a pretentious way? like he thinks being emotionally constipated makes him intelligent. he corrects EVERYONE during discussions and somehow always sounds smug even when he's technically being polite.
the worst part is that he's annoyingly good at everything. presentations? perfect. essays? perfect. participation? professor's favourite somehow.
one time i got a question wrong during class and this man literally smirked at me. SMIRKED. like a disney villain.
today we got into an argument during lecture because he was saying some pseudo intellectual nonsense and i told him to shut up because nobody cares about his superiority complex anymore.
now some people are saying i overreacted but i genuinely think he needed to be humbled.
AITA?
-
you hit post.
then immediately grabbed your phone while bouncing slightly in your seat.
sunoo stared at you with mild distaste. "you look like you just launched a cyber attack."
"i'm right and soon the public will confirm it."
sunoo snorted. "you're insane."
the first comment appeared almost instantly.
you gasped dramatically. "OH MY GOD." sunoo leaned over slightly as you opened it, rolling his eyes as soon as he read the first word.
-
NTA
this guy sounds like if a philosophy podcast became a person.
-
you slapped sunoo's arm excitedly."SEE?"
another comment appeared.
-
girl stand UP. why are you letting a man who's probably named after a victorian disease humble you in public
-
you folded over laughing, sunghoon was a disease alright. a disease that would rot and corrupt your brain before leading you to your own destruction.
sunoo grabbed your laptop before you dropped it off the bed. "okay that one was funny."
more comments flooded in rapidly and sunoo watched as your expression morphed into one of pure joy. like a kid who had just walked into a candy shop with an unlimited budget and no parental supervision.
-
NTA
he sounds insufferable.
-
ESH
you both sound annoying but in a sexual tension way.
-
you frowned, "what does that even mean?"
sunoo looked away suspiciously fast, hiding his smirk.
another one.
-
i know EXACTLY the type of man you're talking about. probably wears silver jewelry and thinks eye contact is a personality trait.
-
your jaw dropped. "THEY GET ME."
sunoo popped another gummy bear into his mouth, eyeing you. "or maybe you're describing every business major ever."
you ignored him because the comments were getting better by the second.
-
does he perchance look like this:
🗿
-
"OH MY GOD." he totally does.
-
girl he likes you.
⤷
no literally this sounds like academic enemies to lovers fanfiction.
-
"okay why does everyone keep saying that," you muttered, a deep frown now etched on your face. you were beginning to not like where these comments were headed.
sunoo made a noncommittal noise. you narrowed your eyes at him briefly before scrolling again.
-
i'm crying at "emotionally constipated." please cook him again.
-
next class hit him with "you're not beating the pretentious allegations."
-
ask him if he learned emotional intelligence from patrick bateman edits and sigma bro podcasts lol.
-
you physically wheezed, your body folding over in laughter. sunoo shook his head slowly, watching you upvote every single comment that dissed sunghoon.
"you're enjoying this way too much."
"because i'm finally being validated."
you pointed accusingly at him. "unlike SOME people."
sunoo rolled his eyes before muttering, "whatever bitch."
another comment appeared.
-
INFO: is he actually arrogant or are you just threatened because he's smarter than you?
-
your smile vanished instantly. "BOOOOO."
you downvoted it immediately, sunoo burst out laughing. "you are NOT supposed to interact emotionally with the comments."
"they interacted emotionally with ME first."
you kept scrolling, feeling increasingly euphoric as strangers across the internet continued confirming what you'd known all along: park sunghoon was deeply irritating.
the comments only got more ridiculous from there.
-
"he smirked at you after you got a question wrong" oh huny he wants you BAD.
-
this sounds less like hatred and more like unresolved yearning.
-
enemies to lovers ahh post.
-
"unresolved yearning?" you repeated aloud in horror.
oh fuck no.
sunoo was smiling now. not laughing. no no, he was smiling.
which was somehow worse, you turned your head slowly to shoot him a glare, "what."
he shrugged. "nothing."
you narrowed your eyes suspiciously then looked back at your screen.
another comment. this one longer.
-
honestly i think you're leaving out context. from your own description, it sounds like he was trying to engage in discussion normally and you took it personally because you already dislike him.
-
your smile faltered slightly.
who the fuck was this? and why the fuck do they think they know the situation?
the comment continued:
-
correcting people during literary discussions isn't arrogance if he's contributing meaningful analysis. also, calling someone "emotionally constipated" because they interpret a book differently than you is kind of ironic.
-
you scoffed loudly. "OH BROTHER." get a load of this guy, why don't they just go and suck sunghoon's dick at this point.
sunoo leaned closer, reading the comment out loud "wait that one kinda—"
"no."
you clicked reply immediately, your fingers flying across the keyboard.
-
if you defend people like this i just KNOW nobody likes you in real life.
-
sunoo let out a disbelieving laugh. "you're fighting civilians now?"
"they started it."
your reply posted and within less than thirty seconds—
the person responded.
-
bold assumption coming from someone who wrote an entire essay about a classmate because he annoyed her.
-
you froze and slowly sat up straighter. you felt your face tense in what you can only identify as pure raw anger.
sunoo noticed instantly when your face went from. mildly annoyed to baboon ass red. "what."
your eyes narrowed at the screen. something about the reply irritated you immediately. the tone. calm. slightly condescending. annoyingly articulate.
...absolutely not. no way.
you started typing again with renewed aggression. you stared at the username with pure hatred.
notniceprince02
your eye twitched, something about it already annoyed you. the reply sat there on your screen like a personal attack.
calm and smug. condescending in a weirdly articulate way that made you want to throw your laptop across the room.
sunoo leaned closer from beside you. "what happened?"
you pointed aggressively at the screen. "this person thinks i'm the problem."
sunoo made a face. "well..."
you slowly turned toward him eyes like slits and your mouth scrunched. "choose your next words carefully."
sunoo immediately looked back down at his gummy bears.
fucking coward.
you cracked your fingers dramatically before typing a response.
-
sorry i didn't realize his defense attorney was in the comments section. should i call you next time he starts acting like a rejected sherlock holmes adaptation?
-
you hit reply with satisfaction, finally letting out the breath of anger you had taken earlier,
sunoo blinked. "you type like you're in a duel."
"because i am."
less than a minute later—another response.
-
maybe people correct you often because you're wrong often.
-
you gasped so loudly sunoo nearly dropped the gummy bear bag. "OH this bitch."
you didn't know who this person was but you are not the one to be fucked with like this. your fingers flew over the keyboard with new found passion.
-
and maybe you defend emotionally detached weirdos online because you see yourself in him.
-
reply posted and the response came back almost immediately.
-
emotionally detached = calm
emotional instability = writing reddit essays because a guy disagreed with you in class
-
sunoo physically leaned forward now the gummy bears had been abandoned.
"okay wait," he said slowly. "this is getting good."
you ignored him, mostly because your blood pressure was rising.
-
if being calm means acting like a pretentious AI generated philosophy quote then congratulations i guess.
-
reply and instant response.
-
if being intelligent sounds pretentious to you that might be a personal issue.
-
your jaw dropped. "PERSONAL ISSUE?"
sunoo was trying not to laugh, badly. you glared at him before pushing at his shoulder hard enough to have him almost fall of your bed. unlucky for you, he managed to catch his balance and stay seated next to you with a dumb grin on his face.
"i'm sorry but they kinda cooked you there."
"whose side are you on?" fucking twink.
"the entertainment's."
traitor.
you sat up straighter on the bed, narrowing your eyes at the screen like notniceprince02 had personally wronged your entire bloodline.
-
you sound exactly like the guy i'm talking about btw. same superiority complex. same "i think i'm the smartest person in every room" energy.
-
the response appeared almost immediately, which somehow irritated you more. did this person have no life? fighting with strangers on the internet like a loser.
this doesn't apply to you of course.
-
maybe you're just intimidated by people who challenge you intellectually.
-
you stared at the screen in disbelief.
sunoo let out a quiet whistle. "they hit a nerve?"
"i'm going to hit THEM."
you typed furiously, your thumbs cramping up but you don't let weak things like this stop you.
-
intellectually challenge me? please. this man raises his hand in class like he's announcing a new world order then says the most pseudo intellectual nonsense you've ever heard.
-
response.
-
interesting. you seem to remember his class participation very vividly.
-
you froze for like half a second and then scoffed loudly.
because it's TRAUMATIZING. not because you care enough to remember, but because it's shocked itself into the crevices of your brain.
sunoo snorted while you kept going.
-
he literally smirks when people get answers wrong. do you know how deeply punchable that is?
-
response.
-
maybe he smirks because your reactions are dramatic.
-
you narrowed your eyes dangerously. this conversation, more like argument, felt more natural that you'd like to admit.
-
okay now i KNOW you're him.
-
sunoo's brows shot up immediately. hold on...
you pointed at the screen frantically. "LOOK AT HOW HE TYPES."
sunoo leaned closer, the two of you stared silently at the replies for a moment. then—sunoo slowly looked at you. "that actually does sound like him."
"THANK YOU." validation surged through your body instantly. you pointed aggressively at the laptop. "RIGHT? the annoying calmness? the fake intellectual wording? the superiority complex?"
sunoo tilted his head, a shit eating grin plastered on his porcelain face. "you know him disturbingly well."
"unfortunately."
another reply appeared.
-
i think it's funny how much attention you pay to someone you supposedly dislike.
-
you barked out a laugh, completely humorless.
-
oh my god. you ARE him.
-
response.
-
and if i was?
-
you sat there, staring. sunoo sat there too, also staring.
the room suddenly felt strangely quiet as you squinted at the screen.
"why did that make me mad."
sunoo was smiling again, that knowing smile. you hated that smile.
"because you think it might actually be him."
"it's not him."
"mhm."
"it's just some annoying reddit user." another response appeared before you could keep ranting.
-
for the record, if this guy really is as arrogant as you claim, why do you keep engaging with him?
-
you rolled your eyes instantly.
-
because someone has to humble him.
-
reply.
-
sounds more like obsession.
-
you gasped, like actually gasped. you? obsessed with sunghoon? out of all the people in this world? fuck no.
sunoo folded over laughing. "OH MY GOD."
"OBSESSION?" you typed so aggressively the keyboard started clacking violently.
-
you people see a man and woman arguing and immediately think there's romantic tension. have you considered that i simply think he's irritating and unfortunate-looking?
-
sunoo looked at you, slowly. "unfortunate-looking?"
you avoided eye contact because unfortunately that part wasn't true. at all. which was deeply annoying. you hated how you couldn't get away with dissing his appearance because as much as you hate to admit it, there was nothing to pick at.
another reply.
-
unfortunate-looking yet you described his facial expressions in detail.
-
you froze. sunoo froze. your eyes slowly widened as you stared at sunoo who looked equally as surprised as you.
"..."
sunoo pointed at the screen. "THAT IS ABSOLUTELY HIM."
"SHUT UP."
˙𐃷˙
by the next morning, your hatred for user notniceprince02 had evolved into something genuinely concerning.
your phone had been vibrating nonstop since eight in the morning.
every. two. seconds.
ping.
ping.
PING.
another reply. another argument. another smug paragraph typed in that calm, annoyingly articulate tone that made your blood pressure spike on sight.
you sat in the student lounge with your laptop open and your phone in your hand simultaneously, responding across two devices like a woman fighting in active warfare.
sunoo sat across from you, fully invested now. having the thread opened on his laptop as he watched you type out responses like it was war.
classes? irrelevant.
education? secondary.
this reddit argument had become the main event.
"you've replied to him thirty-seven times just in this past hour " sunoo said.
"thirty-eight." you hit send aggressively and sunoo blinked in pure shock.
"that was immediate."
"because he's wrong." your phone buzzed again and you looked down instantly.
-
notniceprince02:
"you keep proving my point by reacting emotionally to everything."
-
you scoffed so loudly the two people at the next table glanced over.
"OH my god." your fingers slammed against the keyboard.
-
sorry i forgot being emotionally unavailable is apparently a personality trait now.
-
send.
and would you look at that, a response within seconds.
-
no, but making hating one guy your entire personality definitely is.
-
you stared at the screen with a scowl etched on your face. offended, deeply offended.
sunoo leaned over your shoulder to see you clutching your phone was a grip that would shatter your screen.
then immediately started laughing. "okay no because why does this genuinely sound like sunghoon."
"it's NOT him."
"__."
"it's just some weird sigma male ass kisser who probably listens to podcasts hosted by divorced men."
you ignored him because your phone buzzed again—another reply.
-
you seem weirdly committed to misunderstanding him.
-
you rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. at this point you wondered how many people at the library thought something was mentally wrong with you.
-
and you seem weirdly committed to defending him. is this his burner account or are you just in love with him?
-
send.
sunoo nearly choked. "OH?"
"what?"
"you're spiraling."
"i'm WINNING."
sunoo pointed at your screen, a thread of reddit beef that's exceeded an appropriate limit. "this does not look like winning."
you frowned at the ongoing thread. unfortunately, it had become one of the top comments under your post. people were fully invested now with random users jumping into the argument just to spectate.
some were taking sides while others were making it worse, much worse.
-
y'all are literally flirting.
-
this is the most enemies to lovers thing i've ever read.
-
somebody invite me to the wedding.
-
"irl academic rivals is CRAZY."
-
you physically recoiled at the thought of being shipped with that garden troll of a man. "what is WRONG with people?"
sunoo looked way too entertained. "they kinda have a point."
"they absolutely do not."
another comment:
-
at this point just kiss and get it over with.
⤷
i would rather chew denim.
-
you typed immediately, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. this was the last thing you had expected as an outcome when you posted on reddit.
sunoo burst out laughing. "chew denim?"
"i'm emotional."
your phone buzzed again.
-
notniceprince02:
"that's dramatic."
-
your eye twitched as you read the message out loud. "HE KEEPS SAYING THAT." people had now physically turned on their seats to look at the two of you with curious and annoyed looks in their eyes.
sunoo pointed accusingly at you while gives others a apologetic smile. "because you ARE dramatic." he whispered to you harshly all while motioning you to shut the fuck up.
"you're both against me."
"no," sunoo corrected. "i just think this is the funniest thing that's happened all semester."
you glared at him before standing abruptly, grabbing your phone. "i'm going to the washroom."
if sunoo wasn't going to appreciate this properly, then some girl in the stall next to you will. sunoo hummed absently. "tell your boyfriend i said hi if he replies again."
"die."
you walked off before he could keep talking.
the hallways buzzed with students moving between lectures, conversations overlapping with the sound of footsteps and lockers shutting nearby.
your phone buzzed again and without looking up, you immediately started typing.
-
no, because at this point you're defending him like you want him carnally.
-
send.
you turned the corner toward the washrooms—and slammed directly into someone.
hard.
your shoulder collided with a solid chest and your phone nearly flew out of your hand.
"shit—"
steady hands caught your arms before you stumbled backward. familiar hands. long fingers curling briefly around your sleeves.
your stomach dropped instantly, because of course.
of fucking COURSE.
park sunghoon looked down at you with mild surprise, dark hair slightly messy like he'd been running his hands through it all morning. a pair of headphones rested around his neck, black hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms.
and unfortunately—unfairly—he looked really good today.
which immediately irritated you, because how dare he have a shit personality and look good while ruining your mood by just breathing in your vicinity.
sunghoon glanced at your death grip on your phone before meeting your eyes again, a small smirk playing on his pink plush lips.
"you should probably watch where you're going." his voice was calm, low and slightly amused.
you narrowed your eyes instantly. "maybe people would move if they weren't standing in the middle of hallways like decorative statues."
one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. there it was, that stupid almost-smile. you hated that stupid almost-smile.
sunghoon's gaze flicked downward briefly. to your phone screen which was still open to reddit. your heart stopped for half a second because the thread was visible. very visible. and at the top of the screen sat a fresh notification from—notniceprince02 replied to your comment
sunghoon's eyes lingered on the notification then slowly lifted back to yours.
silence. your brain short-circuited instantly, no. absolutely not. there was no way. sunghoon looked at you for one long second before asking casually, "still fighting with strangers online?"
your entire body went still, just for a second. because there was absolutely no way—no actual way.
sunghoon stood there holding your arm loosely, thumb brushing the fabric of your sleeve while your phone screen glowed between you both like evidence in a criminal investigation.
notniceprince02 replied to your comment.
your brain was buffering. loading. malfunctioning.
sunghoon's expression remained frustratingly neutral but there was something there. something subtle: amusement.
your eyes narrowed immediately. "why are you looking at my phone?"
smooth. good recovery. yup yup.
sunghoon let go of your arm slowly, way too slowly. "hard not to when you almost tackled me with it."
you scoffed, "you were standing in my way."
"you walked directly into me."
"semantics."
sunghoon hummed quietly as his gaze flicked toward your screen again and then back to you.
"so," he said lightly, "what stranger online managed to upset you this badly?"
your grip tightened around your phone instantly. absolutely not. you were NOT about to entertain sunoo's ridiculous theory.
"nobody."
sunghoon raised a brow, "you look homicidal."
"maybe that's just your effect on people." you retorted back almost automatically. you wonder if you've ever responded to sunghoon in a normal way.
that stupid almost-smile appeared again. small and annoyingly attractive. you hated it, like actually hated it.
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you know," he murmured, "you get strangely defensive whenever i ask simple questions."
your stomach flipped in irritation, strictly irritation. "and you get strangely nosy for someone who acts emotionally detached all the time."
his eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary, steady and focused. like he was trying to figure something out.
the hallway around you blurred into noise and somehow you were still standing there.
too close to him, way too close.
you noticed stupid things at the worst possible times, like the faint scent of his cologne or the tiny mole near his neck. or the fact that his hair fell into his eyes slightly when he looked down at you like this.
deeply irritating.
sunghoon's gaze flicked briefly toward your mouth before returning upward so quickly you almost thought you imagined it.
almost.
"what?" you snapped immediately. you could feel a small flush cover your cheeks and neck at the thought of sunghoon sneaking glances at your lips. maybe he thought you looked really slapable right now, or really kissable. it hurt your ego to think that either one of those things were deemed acceptable to you.
his brows lifted slightly. "nothing."
liar.
you narrowed your eyes harder. "you're being weird."
"you say that every time you don't know how to respond."
your jaw dropped at his audacity. "i always know how to respond."
"mhm."
that stupid calm tone again. you wanted to bite him. which—bad wording. very bad wording.
sunghoon watched your expression shift in real time and something in his face changed slightly. like he noticed the exact moment your thoughts betrayed you.
horrifying. absolutely horrifying.
you recovered immediately, sort of. "why are you even talking to me right now?" you asked. "don't you have some freshmen discussion group to intellectually terrorize?"
sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath—actually laughed. and it caught you so off guard that you momentarily forgot to stay angry.
which made you angrier. "you're the one who ran into me."
"unfortunately."
"yet you're still standing here."
you opened your mouth then closed it. sunghoon noticed, of course he noticed. the only thing he doesn't seem to notice is his mouth opening and closing with cow noises spilling out during class.
the corner of his mouth twitched again. "that's new," he said softly.
"what is?"
"you being speechless." your face heated instantly, not because of him.
obviously.
you crossed your arms defensively. "you're unbelievably annoying."
"and yet," sunghoon said calmly, stepping slightly closer, "you keep talking to me."
your heartbeat stumbled. just once. which was unacceptable.
because now he was close enough that you could see every tiny detail in his expression—the faint curve of amusement in his eyes, the way his lips kept threatening to smile fully.
he looked way too pleased with himself. you hated that too. a group of students walked past nearby and one of them whispered: "there's no way they're not dating."
you whipped your head around instantly. "WE'RE NOT—"
sunghoon's hand suddenly landed lightly against the wall beside your head. not trapping you, but enough to make your words catch awkwardly in your throat.
his expression remained perfectly calm which somehow made the gesture worse. "you're loud when you're flustered," he said quietly.
your brain short-circuited. flustered? FLUSTERED?
you stared at him in disbelief. "i am not flustered."
sunghoon hummed, completely unconvinced as he reached into his pocket to slip out his phone. your pulse was going insane now for reasons you refused to examine.
then—your phone buzzed loudly between you both.
the notification lit up the screen and your head snapped down, unlocking your phone to see something that only made your heart drop to your gut.
-
notniceprince02:
"you still haven't answered my question."
-
silence.
sunghoon looked down at the notification then slowly back up at you. and this time—this time he smiled properly.
small. sharp. dangerous.
your stomach dropped straight to hell. because suddenly—suddenly you knew.
oh my god.
it WAS him.
your soul briefly left your body. there was no other explanation for the horrifying full-body shutdown you experienced standing there in the middle of the hallway.
because park sunghoon was smiling at you. actually smiling. not the tiny smug almost-smirk he usually wore during arguments.
a real smile. sharp at the edges. dangerously entertained. and your phone was still glowing between you both with the notification from: notniceprince02
oh my god. OH my god.
you stared at him, sunghoon stared back. this fucker was playing with you this entire time and he had the audacity to look calm, composed and completely evil all at the same time.
your voice came out accusing immediately. "you're insane." sunghoon's smile widened slightly. which honestly should've been illegal because why did he suddenly look—no.
absolutely not.
"that's a strong reaction," he said mildly.
"you've been fighting with me online for like fourteen hours."
"thirteen, actually."
you blinked up at him, horrified.
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you stopped replying around three in the morning."
your jaw physically dropped. "YOU KEPT TRACK?"
"you type aggressively when you're tired."
you looked genuinely offended. "that is such a weird thing to notice."
"you notice weird things about me too."
silence. dangerous silence. because unfortunately—unfortunately he was right. and judging by the look on his face? he knew he was right too.
you recovered immediately or at least attempted to. "okay first of all," you started, pointing at him aggressively, "using a burner account to argue with me on reddit is psychotic behavior."
sunghoon crossed his arms loosely still way too relaxed. "you made an entire public post about me."
"i didn't SAY your name."
"you described me like a wanted criminal."
"because you're irritating."
"it was weirdly detailed."
your eye twitched. "you're unbelievable."
sunghoon leaned slightly closer, close enough that your stupid heart started acting weird again. "you wrote three paragraphs about my facial expressions."
heat crawled up your neck instantly. because in hindsight—mentioning the smirking might've been a mistake.
"that was for CONTEXT."
sunghoon hummed not buying it for a second. "right....right"
you hated how calm he sounded. like this entire situation entertained him more than anything else. which made sense, considering the man apparently spent his free time anonymously provoking you online.
actual freak behavior.
"and YOU," you shot back, "were defending yourself in the comments like a loser."
sunghoon's brows lifted. "i was defending myself because you compared me to a podcast for divorced men."
"because you talk like one."
"you literally accused me of wanting attention 'carnally.'" your face heated instantly, sunghoon looked way too pleased saying that out loud. "that was BEFORE i knew it was you."
"does that make it better?"
"a little."
his mouth twitched again. you wanted to throw him into traffic. respectfully.
sunghoon glanced down at your phone screen where the reddit thread was still open. hundreds of notifications flooded the post now. people were still replying, still arguing and still shipping you both for reasons you refused to acknowledge.
sunghoon read one of the comments over your shoulder, then laughed quietly. "someone said we have 'academic rivals to lovers tension.'"
you looked horrified, shooting him a quick glare before downvoting on the comment. "don't read those."
"why not?" he asked lightly. "they seem passionate about us."
"there is no 'us.'" you snapped back.
sunghoon's gaze flicked back to yours, steady—focused.
"you sure?"
your stomach dropped. hard. something about the way he said it felt unfairly intentional. like he knew exactly what he was doing now. which—he probably did.
you crossed your arms tighter, defensive. "you're enjoying this way too much."
"you started it."
"you kept replying."
"so did you."
"because i don't lose arguments."
sunghoon stepped closer again, just slightly. enough that your back nearly brushed the wall behind you.
"is that what this is?" he asked softly.
you frowned. "what."
"you needing to win." his voice had gotten quieter somehow, lower and suddenly the hallway noise around you felt distant again.
students walked past constantly but it barely registered.
because sunghoon was standing too close and looking at you like he'd figured something out.
you swallowed once, annoyed at yourself for even noticing. "obviously," you replied.
sunghoon watched you for another second. then, "i think you just like arguing with me."
you let out a disbelieving laugh immediately. "that is genuinely the dumbest thing you've ever said."
"is it?"
"yes."
"then why do you always look excited before you disagree with me?"
your mouth opened. closed. opened again. nothing came out. because that was—that was not the point. like fuck, you caught me i guess.
sunghoon noticed your silence instantly, of course he did. his expression shifted into something smugger and more dangerous. "there it is again."
"what."
"speechless."
you hated him, like actually hated him. especially because he looked so unfairly good right now standing there with messy dark hair and that stupid smug expression like he'd won something.
you narrowed your eyes. "you know what? maybe people only think you're smart because you say things confidently."
sunghoon leaned one shoulder casually against the wall beside you. completely cornering you now without actually touching you.
"maybe," he said calmly, "you only argue with me because i'm the only person who argues back."
your heartbeat betrayed you again. you stared at him, sunghoon stared back. then—your phone buzzed loudly again between you both.
another reddit notification, sunghoon glanced down before taking your phone into his own hands then read aloud: "'just kiss already and save us all the trouble.'"
you lunged for your phone instantly. "give me that."
sunghoon lifted it out of reach easily and your eyes widened. "park sunghoon."
he looked down at you with blatant amusement. "that's the first time you've said my full name without sounding homicidal."
"i AM homicidal."
"mhm."
you reached for your phone again, sunghoon caught your wrist lightly before you could grab it. everything stopped. your breath. your thoughts. your functioning nervous system.
his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, warm and firm. and suddenly you became painfully aware of how close he actually was.
sunghoon looked down briefly at where he was holding you and then back at your face. his expression changed slightly, less teasing and more—dangerous.
your pulse went absolutely insane. then quietly—way too quietly—he said, "you know... you're a lot less mean when you're flustered."
your brain completely stopped functioning. like genuinely. because park sunghoon was still holding your wrist, still standing way too close, still looking at you with that horribly calm expression while your pulse was actively trying to kill you.
and the worst part? he knew. you could tell he knew. his thumb shifted slightly against your wrist and your stomach flipped so violently it made you angry.
sunghoon's eyes flicked briefly to your mouth again. then back up, slowly and deliberately.
"you know," he murmured, "the comments might be onto something."
your brows furrowed instantly. "what comments."
his mouth twitched. "'just kiss already and save us all the trouble.'"
you stared at him in disbelief. "absolutely not."
"why not?"
"because i'd rather die."
sunghoon hummed thoughtfully. "dramatic."
"you make me dramatic." that slipped out before you could stop it, the silence was thick.
sunghoon's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. something darker settling beneath the amusement. your face heated instantly. great. excellent. love that for you.
you tried pulling your wrist back but he didn't let go. not fully, he just loosened his grip slightly. enough to remind you he could let go if he wanted to, but wasn't.
"you know what i think?" he asked quietly.
"i don't care."
"i think you enjoy this."
you scoffed immediately. "arguing with you is psychologically damaging."
"yet you keep doing it."
"because someone needs to humble you."
sunghoon smiled slowly, that smile should've come with a warning label. "you've been saying that for two years, i don't think you're making much progress, __."
your stomach twisted, you hated how softly he said it. like he'd been thinking about it too, absolutely disgusting.
you crossed your arms tighter, or tried to. hard to look intimidating when he still had your wrist trapped loosely in his hand. "you're weirdly obsessed with me for someone who acts emotionally detached all the time."
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "says the girl who wrote a public essay about me." at this point the both of you were repeating yourselves for the nth time, none of you progressing anywhere.
"because you're irritating."
"and handsome?"
you nearly choked. "WHEN did i say that?"
"you didn't have to."
you looked genuinely appalled, sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath. the sound went straight through you in the most irritating way imaginable.
you hated that too, everything about him irritated you. his stupid voice, his stupid face, his stupidly long fingers still wrapped around your wrist.
"you're insufferable."
"you like that word."
"because it applies to you constantly." you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes in the most dramatic way you could possibly pull off.
sunghoon leaned closer, close enough that your back finally brushed against the wall behind you.
you swallowed hard, annoyed. deeply annoyed.
"you know," he said softly, "for someone who claims to hate me, you stare at me a lot."
your jaw dropped. "you stare at ME."
"because you're loud."
"and you're annoying."
"yet here we are."
your heart was beating so hard you were convinced he could hear it. which was humiliating, especially because he looked entirely unaffected.
calm. steady. composed. which is what his heart monitor would read after you ran him over with your car. you wanted to ruin that composure so badly. sunghoon's gaze dropped to your mouth again, this time slower and less subtle. your breathing hitched involuntarily and that smug bastard noticed immediately.
his eyes darkened slightly. "there it is," he murmured.
"what."
"that look."
"what look?"
sunghoon smiled faintly. "the one you get before you start losing an argument."
you pushed against his shoulder instantly, hard. or at least hard enough to make a point but sunghoon barely moved. which only irritated you more. "i never lose."
"sure."
"i'm serious."
"mhm."
you glared at him, sunghoon stared back. then quietly—
way too calmly—he said, "maybe we should give people what they want."
your stomach dropped. "what."
his fingers tightened slightly around your wrist before he stepped closer again, completely boxing you in now.
"the comments seem very invested in us."
"there is no 'us.'" you repeated for the nth time.
"you keep saying that."
"because it's true."
sunghoon looked at you for one long second, then his voice dropped lower, dangerously soft. "then how about we start with the kiss?"
your brain short-circuited so violently you physically stopped breathing. "excuse me?"
sunghoon's expression remained infuriatingly calm. but his eyes—his eyes looked anything but calm now. "you heard me."
heat exploded across your face instantly. "you are OUT of your mind."
"probably."
"i would never kiss you."
sunghoon leaned down slightly, close enough that his voice brushed against your skin. "you keep saying things your body language disagrees with."
your stomach flipped violently. you hated him, because he sounded so certain, so unfairly confident. you opened your mouth to argue again but footsteps echoed nearby and a group of students rounded the corner laughing loudly.
both of you glanced over instinctively, the moment broke slightly. just enough, except sunghoon didn't move away. instead, his gaze flicked briefly down the hall toward the nearby family washroom.
then back to you and your pulse spiked instantly. "sunghoon—"
before you could finish, he tugged lightly on your wrist.
your breath caught as he pulled you forward down the hall.
"what are you DOING?"
sunghoon glanced back at you once, that same dangerous almost-smile pulling at his mouth.
"proving a point."
your stomach dropped straight to hell. your sneakers squeaked slightly against the floor as sunghoon pulled you down the hallway.
not fast enough to look suspicious, which somehow made it worse. his hand stayed wrapped around your wrist the entire time—warm, firm, steady—like he already knew you wouldn't actually pull away.
which was irritating, deeply irritating. "park sunghoon—"
"you say my full name a lot when you're nervous."
"i'm not nervous." he glanced back at you briefly, that smug look again.
"sure."
you swore out his entire bloodline at this moment as your heart was currently beating like you'd just sprinted across campus. sunghoon stopped outside the family washroom and pushed the door open casually before looking back at you expectantly.
your eyes widened immediately. "oh my god."
"what?"
"you're insane."
"you've said that already."
"because you keep proving it."
sunghoon's mouth twitched then he gently tugged your wrist again. you should've walked away, seriously. you should've told him to go to hell and left immediately.
instead—you followed him inside. which honestly felt like a personal failure.
the door clicked shut behind you.
the washroom was too bright and too small. and now sunghoon was standing directly in front of you with nowhere to escape to, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms and dark hair slightly falling into his eyes.
you became painfully aware of every inch of space between you both, which unfortunately (fortunately) wasn't much.
your pulse went insane. sunghoon leaned back lightly against the sink counter, still watching you with that same unreadable expression. except now there was something sharper underneath it, something heated.
you crossed your arms immediately, defensive. "if you murder me in here i'm haunting you."
sunghoon laughed quietly, the sound bounced softly off the tiled walls. "you think i'd need to drag you into a bathroom to kill you?"
"probably not. you'd do it in a psychologically manipulative way."
"interesting that you've thought about it."
"i think about punching you constantly."
sunghoon hummed. "violent."
"you bring it out in me."
his gaze held yours for a second too long. then, "i know."
your stomach flipped, you hated how low his voice sounded in here. hated how every tiny expression felt amplified now that you were alone. you needed to regain control of this conversation immediately.
"so what exactly was your master plan here?" you asked. "corner me in a public washroom and continue being annoying?"
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you came willingly."
well, he got you there. "against my better judgment."
"yet still willingly."
you rolled your eyes aggressively. "you're obsessed with having the last word."
"that's rich coming from you."
"i'm right most of the time." sunghoon smiled slowly, there it was again. that stupid smile that made you irrationally aware of how attractive he was.
you hated that too, everything about him was annoying.
the way he stood, the way he talked. the way his hands and forearms looked resting against the sink behind him—okay.
you needed to stop thinking immediately. sunghoon noticed your brief lapse in concentration. his eyes narrowed slightly, amused.
"what happened?" he asked softly. "lost your train of thought?"
"i'm deciding how much jail time i'd get for assault." good cover up!
"probably less if you looked this cute during the mugshot."
your brain completely blue-screened, you stared at him.
sunghoon stared back. completely calm after saying the most insane thing imaginable.
"you—" nothing, your thoughts evaporated.
sunghoon pushed off the sink slowly, one step closer.
then another. your back instinctively hit the door behind you.
oh my god.
"what?" he asked quietly. you swallowed hard, annoyed at yourself.
"you can't just say things like that."
"why not?"
"because it's weird."
"you're flustered again."
"I AM NOT FLUSTERED."
sunghoon looked down at you for a long second then his gaze flicked to your mouth again. slowly and deliberately. your stomach twisted so hard it physically hurt and you wondered what would happen if you just threw up your guts onto him. how pretty would he look with a bacon egg and cheese splashed onto him?
"you know," he murmured, "for someone who claims to hate me, you let me get very close to you."
"you cornered me." you snap.
"you could move." you opened your mouth then closed it. because—well technically. he wasn't wrong. you absolutely could move, but instead you stayed exactly where you were.
sunghoon noticed immediately, that smug look returned. "there it is."
"stop saying that."
"then stop proving me right."
you glared at him, he stared back. neither of you moved.
the tension in the room felt ridiculous now. thick enough to choke on.
and the worst part? sunghoon still looked calm. slightly amused, even. like he was waiting for you to figure something out.
your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket. both of you glanced downward instinctively. another reddit notification, causing sunghoon laughed softly. "they're probably asking if we kissed yet."
your face heated instantly. "they're delusional."
"mhm."
"stop doing that."
"doing what?"
"looking at me like that."
his brows lifted slightly. "like what?"
you gestured vaguely, frustrated. "like you know something i don't."
sunghoon stepped closer again, barely any space left between you now. his voice dropped lower, quieter.
"maybe i do."
your breath caught, his hand lifted slowly toward your face. you froze up, completely. sunghoon's fingers brushed lightly against your jaw, gentle and careful.
somehow that made it worse. your heartbeat was so loud you were convinced the entire campus could hear it.
sunghoon looked at you for one long second. then quietly—almost teasing—he murmured "still think you'd rather die than kiss me?"
your brain was screaming because park sunghoon's hand was on your jaw right now. his thumb resting lightly against your skin while he looked at you like this —calm on the surface, but with something much more dangerous underneath.
and the worst part? you still hadn't moved away.
your back pressed against the door behind you as your pulse absolutely lost its mind. sunghoon waited patiently for an answer.
that smug bastard. "well?" he murmured softly. you swallowed hard. "you're very confident for someone who uses reddit burner accounts."
the corner of his mouth lifted immediately. there you were, finally talking again.
"deflecting already?"
"i'm not deflecting."
"mhm."
you hated that sound. hated how he kept looking at you like he could see directly through every thought in your head. because right now those thoughts were actively betraying you.
you were suddenly hyperaware of everything, the warmth of his hand, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his hoodie sleeves stretched around his forearms when he shifted closer.
deeply irritating. you narrowed your eyes, trying desperately to regain control of the situation.
"you know what your problem is?"
sunghoon hummed softly, looking down at you with an unreadable glint in his dark eyes. "you think everyone secretly likes you."
"not everyone."
his thumb brushed your jaw slightly as he spoke and your stomach flipped violently.
"just you."
your breath caught embarrassingly fast. sunghoon noticed instantly and his eyes darkened slightly. suddenly the teasing atmosphere shifted into something heavier, quieter.
you hated how good he was at this. "you're unbelievable," you muttered.
"you've said that too."
"because you keep acting insane."
sunghoon leaned down slightly, close enough now that his voice felt warm against your skin.
"you haven't told me to stop."
your brain short-circuited. because—because technically—you hadn't. you opened your mouth immediately. "stop."
sunghoon smiled faintly, but didn't move. "that sounded forced."
you glared at him. "you're annoying."
"and yet you're still here." he kept doing that. kept pointing out things you didn't want to acknowledge.
like the fact that you could absolutely shove him away right now if you wanted to.
except you didn't, which felt like a massive personal failure. your phone buzzed again in your pocket making sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath. "persistent audience."
"they need hobbies."
"says the girl who argued with me online for thirteen hours."
"because you were WRONG."
"about what exactly?"
"everything."
sunghoon's brows lifted slightly. "including the part where you're obviously attracted to me?"
your jaw dropped. silence. violent silence. your entire nervous system shut down. "you—"
nothing came out and sunghoon looked way too pleased with himself. "there it is again."
"if you say 'speechless' one more time i'm calling campus security."
he laughed again, soft and genuine. and it hit you in the chest in the most irritating way imaginable because you'd never heard him laugh like this before.
not during class, not during arguments. this was different, warmer, more relaxed. like he was actually enjoying himself.
you stared at him suspiciously, sunghoon noticed immediately. "what?"
"why are you smiling like that."
"like what?"
"like you're having fun." his gaze held yours for a second, then, "i am."
your stomach twisted again, it felt as if your body was actively betraying you . you looked away first this time, suddenly very interested in the tiled floor beneath you. sunghoon's hand shifted slightly, fingers brushing gently beneath your chin.
guiding your attention back to him and your heart nearly exploded.
"don't do that," you muttered weakly.
"do what?"
"that."
"very descriptive."
you glared at him, or attempted to. hard to look intimidating when your face was hot and your heartbeat sounded like a construction site.
sunghoon studied your expression quietly for a moment.
then smiled slightly, smaller this time and less teasing. "you know what i think?"
"i think you should stop thinking entirely." you spat out weakly.
"i think," he continued calmly ignoring what you just said, "you've spent two years picking fights with me because it's the only time you stop pretending not to care what i think."
your stomach dropped straight to hell you stared at him only to see him look at you with a look you were afraid to identify. and somehow that was worse than the teasing, because he sounded genuine now.
which felt unfair.
you recovered immediately through anger, your favorite defense mechanism.
"oh my god you are SO full of yourself."
"am i wrong?"
"yes."
"then why are you blushing?"
you slapped your hands over your face instantly, and sunghoon actually laughed. fully this time and the sound was so unexpectedly attractive it made you want to walk directly into traffic.
"stop laughing."
"you're cute when you're angry."
"you're making me angrier."
"i know." his voice softened slightly on the last two words, your hands slowly lowered from your face.
sunghoon was still standing impossibly close. still looking at you like he wanted to see what you'd do next.
your heartbeat wouldn't calm down and neither would your thoughts.
and then his gaze dropped to your mouth again, slowly—intentionally.
your breath caught again and sunghoon noticed. again.
his hand slid lightly from your jaw to the side of your neck.
you completely stopped functioning. "sunghoon," you whispered, first name only this time. this was probably the first time in the two years you knew him that you had said his name with such softness.
something shifted in his expression immediately and his eyes darkened. his thumb pressed lightly against your neck.
"yeah?" he murmured.
oh.
oh this was bad.
his thumb pressed gently against the pulse hammering in your throat. that single point of contact felt like a live wire.
"yeah?" he murmured again, his voice dropping into a register you'd never heard, low and rough and utterly dismantling. you had no witty retort, no clever insult. your brain was static, every neuron firing toward the heat of his hand, the dark focus in his eyes.
he saw the surrender you hadn't even voiced. his other hand came up, fingers threading through your hair to cradle the back of your head, and then he was closing the last inch of space.
his mouth was on yours.
it wasn't tentative. it wasn't a question. it was a firm, smooth claim that stole the breath from your lungs and the strength from your knees. his lips moved against yours with a confident pressure that was instantly dizzying. he tasted like mint and something darker, something uniquely him.
a soft, surprised sound escaped you, swallowed immediately by his kiss. he angled your head, deepening it, his tongue sweeping past your lips to tangle with yours.
it was an argument you couldn't win, a debate settled with a devastating, sensual finality. your hands, which had been balled into fists at your sides, came up to clutch at the fabric of his hoodie.
he broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against your swollen lips, "finally." then he was moving again, his body pressing you firmly back against the cool door. you felt your heart pounding in your chest like you had ran a mile, his one word stealing the strength from your legs.
in one fluid, shockingly strong motion, he captured both your wrists in one of his large hands and pinned them above your head. you gasped, a thrill of helplessness shooting straight to your core. his other hand returned to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a dominant, possessive weight.
"always so loud," he breathed, his lips trailing down your jaw. "so much to say." you could feel the hard, undeniable ridge of his dick pressing against your stomach through both your clothes. the evidence of his desire was a shockwave that made you whimper. he smirked against your skin. "what's wrong? no clever comeback?"
he leaned in again, but instead of kissing you, he hovered. his gaze locked on yours, dark and intense. then he gathered a bit of saliva on his tongue and let it fall, slow and deliberate, past his own lips and onto yours.
the warm, wet intimacy of it made your eyes flutter closed for a second. "open," he commanded softly. dazed, you did. he sealed his mouth over yours again, sharing the wetness, the kiss turning filthy and deep.
you drank him in, your earlier defiance melting into a desperate, aching need. you could feel your underwear stick to you uncomfortably, shifting slighting only to have sunghoon's large body pin you against the door harder. his bulge pushing into your stomach firmer, you could feel him grind against you.
he pulled back, his breathing slightly ragged, and began to mouth down the column of your throat. his teeth scraped lightly, then bit down, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you cry out and arch against him. he soothed the spot with his tongue before sucking hard, leaving a brand you knew would bloom purple.
he admired his work, then the dizzy, wrecked look on your face. "look at you. all that fire, reduced to this."
his free hand slid down, grabbing the hem of your shirt. "all those essays about my emotional incompetence," he said, tugging the fabric up. you shivered as cool air hit your stomach.
"all that time you spent thinking about me." the shirt went over your head, discarded somewhere on the floor. his eyes raked over your bra. "and for what? to end up here."
"you're—you're still insufferable," you managed to pant, even as you pressed your chest toward him—urging him to take it off.
"i know," he said, his fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra. it came undone. "and you're still obsessed." the bra straps slid down your arms, still trapped in his grasp. he let go of your wrists just long enough to pull the garment away and toss it aside. immediately, his hand returned, clamping back down.
you used your momentary freedom to grab the bottom of his hoodie, pushing it up. he helped, releasing you to yank it and his shirt off in one impatient move.
then he was back on you, skin to searing skin. he was a biter, just as you'd imagined. his mouth latched onto the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before he sucked it deep.
you cried out, your head thumping back against the door. "if you can do it," you gasped, twisting to reach his shoulder with your mouth. you sank your teeth into the hard muscle there, a retaliatory claim. "then i can too."
"fuck." he groaned, the sound vibrating through your entire body. you think you just gushed and ruined your panties.
a competition of marks began. he left a trail of bruises and blooming red patches down your chest, over your ribs. you reciprocated on his neck, his collarbone, his pectoral, each bite earning a sharper gasp or a low, approving growl from him.
the pain was a bright, sharp pleasure, a physical manifestation of all your tangled, furious energy.
suddenly, he was pushing you down. a firm hand on your shoulder guided you to your knees on the cold tile.
you looked up at him, dazed. he loomed over you, his expression one of dark, predatory amusement. he undid his belt buckle, the click obscenely loud in the small room.
"i wonder," he mused, his voice thick, "how much shit you can talk with your mouth full of me."
he popped the button of his jeans, lowered the zipper. the outline of his cock straining against his boxers made your mouth water. "hands behind your back," he ordered.
you hesitated, glaring up at him. with a frustrated noise, you reached for his waistband. he caught your wrist instantly. "ah-ah." his other hand came up and delivered a firm, almost casual pat against your cheek. it wasn't a hard slap, but it was a stinging, dominant correction that made your eyes widen and your clit throb. "i said, no hands."
swallowing your pride, you leaned forward. you nuzzled against the fabric of his boxers, feeling the hard heat beneath. using your teeth, you caught the elastic waistband and tugged it down, revealing him.
he was thick and fully hard, the tip already glistening. you licked a slow stripe from base to tip, looking up at him through your lashes. his jaw tightened as you took him into your mouth, slowly, relishing the salty, clean taste of him, the way his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk.
he let you set the pace for a moment, his hands fisting in your hair. "that's it," he breathed, his composure fraying. "all that attitude... fucking gone." you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, until he hit the back of your throat.
you relaxed, letting him slide further, tears pricking your eyes. the rhythm became faster, harder, driven by the soft, choked sounds he was making above you. his grip in your hair tightened, guiding you.
you could feel his hips shudder and his pace falter as he peered down to see his cock disappear in your mouth. he felt his chest swell just at the sight of you, eyes watering and face red.
"gonna cum," he warned, his voice ragged. you didn't pull away. with a sharp, guttural groan, he spilled hot and bitter over your tongue and across your chest, painting stripes over your skin.
he took a second to admire the mess he had made of you, your skin flushed a pretty pink with his cum coating you like icing on a cake.
he pulled you to your feet, his own legs seemingly unsteady. he pushed your pants and panties down in one rough motion, his fingers immediately finding your slick heat.
he pushed your soaked underwear aside, sliding two fingers through your folds. "so wet," he laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. he brought his glistening fingers to your lips. "and for me. after all that."
he turned you around, bending you over the sink. your reflection was a shock—flushed face, bruised lips, hair a mess, his marks covering your skin. he positioned himself behind you, one hand wrapping around your throat again, pulling you back against his chest. the other hand rubbed tight, demanding circles over your clit.
"look," he whispered harshly in your ear, nodding at the mirror. "look at how silly you look. falling apart on my fingers when just hours ago you were calling me a 'rejected sherlock holmes adaptation' on the internet."
the overstimulation was maddening. pleasure coiled tight in your belly.
"the comments... were idiots," you panted, even as you pushed back against his fingers trying to get him to slip them inside your needy weeping hole.
he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. "they saw right through you." he pushed a finger inside you, then another, curling them. you gasped, your knees buckling. "admit it. you wanted this every time you picked a fight."
"i wanted to win," you moaned, the words torn from you. he hooked his fingers in you, rubbing your gummy walls while his thumb continued to rub circles against your needy clit.
"you are winning," he breathed, nipping your earlobe. "look at you. you won my full, undivided attention." he removed his fingers, and you felt the blunt, hot pressure of his cock at your entrance.
he pushed in, slowly, inch by devastating inch, filling you completely. the stretch was divine. he held you there, both of you panting, watching in the mirror. he almost came at the sight of your fucked out face, his hands gripping your waist with pressure that would surely bruise.
he began to move, a slow, filthy grind that had you seeing stars. his hand on your throat kept you upright, the other hand sliding around to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. "beg for it," he murmured, his eyes locked on yours in the reflection. "beg me to let you cum."
you didn't answer, trying to avoid his gaze in the mirror only for a particularly rough thrust and his blunt nails digging into your face to swiftly put you back in your place.
"no," you gritted out, even as your body shook.
he spanked you once, hard, on the ass cheek. the sharp sting made you cry out and clench around him. "beg."
"sunghoon—"
another spank. his fingers on your clit became relentless. you were so close, teetering on the edge, but he held you there, his thrusts measured and deep.
"you're so stubborn. just like online. all that typing." he punctuated each word with a thrust. "just. give. in."
the pleasure was a tidal wave, held back by his will alone. you were so overstimulated, so desperate, your pride the only thing left. he leaned forward, his mouth at your ear. "come on, sweetheart. let go. tell me you need it."
as much as it killed you to beg, it also killed you to not cum all over his stupidly thick cock. you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten up as you try to push yourself back to meet his strong and unrelenting thrusts.
sunghoon smirks when he notices your desperation, slowing down on purpose. "c'mon, sweetheart. you don't wanna cum f'me?"
the pet name, the raw need in his own voice, broke you. "please," you sobbed, the word barely audible. "please, sunghoon, let me cum."
"good girl," he purred, and his rhythm became punishing and his fingers began to rub punishingly against your swollen clit. "now."
the orgasm ripped through you, blinding and violent. you screamed, your body convulsing around him as he fucked you through it, his own groans joining yours.
you felt his warm cum flood your cunt as you twitched with the aftershocks of your high. he watched you fall apart in the mirror, his expression one of fierce, possessive satisfaction.
as your spasms began to subside, he slowed, still buried deep inside you. he was breathing heavily against your neck.
he planted soft kisses on your shoulder blade and neck, his dick still in you—twitching. your body trembled slightly, refusing to look into the mirror because then you would see the aftermath of what sunghoon had done to you.
the silence afterward felt strange.
not awkward. not exactly.
just... different.
like something between you had shifted permanently and neither of you quite knew how to deal with it yet.
the fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead while rain tapped faintly against the tiny washroom window. your heart still hadn't calmed down properly, which was deeply irritating considering park sunghoon looked entirely too composed standing in front of you when you had finally found your guts to look.
his dark hair was messy now, lips pink from kissing you. his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat that gave his pale skin a beautiful glow.
which—you immediately looked away.
absolutely not.
sunghoon noticed, of course. he noticed everything.
"you're quiet," he said softly.
you scoffed weakly, body twitching when you feel sunghoon grow hard in you. "this is emotionally traumatic for me."
the corner of his mouth lifted, that stupid almost-smile again. except now it looked softer somehow and less smug.
you attempted to move only for his body to keep you caged between the sink and him. you looked down for a moment to see his cum that had escaped from you dripping down your thigh, a shaky breath leaving your bruised lips.
"don't look at me like that."
"like what?"
"like you just won something, you didn't win shit."
sunghoon leaned back lightly against the door of the washroom eyes still fixed on you. "maybe i did."
your stomach flipped and you frowned immediately, just because you two fucked doesn't mean that you would admit defeat to sunghoon and his annoying antics. "you're so annoying."
"you keep saying that."
"because you keep being annoying."
sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath, shaking his head slightly. the sound hit you straight in the chest in the most irritating way imaginable.
silence settled again for a moment, except this time it didn't feel sharp or tense like your usual arguments.
it felt warm, which was arguably more terrifying.
your eyes narrowed suddenly. "sunoo is never letting me live this down."
sunghoon's smile widened immediately. "he already thought you liked me."
"he's delusional."
"mhm."
you pointed at him instantly. "stop doing that."
"doing what?" he snickers as he finally pulls out, a small whimper escaping your parted lips and sunghoon swears he could cum from that little sound alone.
"that fake calm thing."
"it's not fake."
"that somehow makes it worse."
sunghoon pushed himself off of you before turning you around so your back faced the mirror and stepped closer again.
not cornering you this time, just close enough that your pulse started acting stupid all over again. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then your thighs that were trembling before returning to your eyes.
"so what now?" he asked quietly, his hands coming out to grab on to your hips.
you folded your arms tighter, defensive reflex.
"what do you mean."
"are you still gonna argue with me in class?"
you stared at him like that was the dumbest question ever asked.
"obviously."
sunghoon laughed softly. "figured."
"just because i fucked you doesn't mean your opinions suddenly got better."
"ouch."
"you still sound pretentious."
"and you still interrupt me constantly."
"because you're wrong constantly."
sunghoon shook his head, smiling now. his hand reaching down to push the cum that was trailing down your inner thigh back up—rubbing your swollen cunt with his remnants.
you squeaked out at the feeling, grabbing a hold of his wrist as he watched you with a lazy smile. you hated how much better he looked when he smiled properly.
your phone buzzed loudly against the counter beside you.
then again and again.
you looked down at the endless reddit notifications flooding your screen and groaned dramatically.
"i genuinely hate everyone on that app." sunghoon glanced at your phone before looking back at you, his fingers leaving your cunt to rest back on your hips again much to your dismay.
amusement flickered across his face immediately. "they were pretty accurate though."
"don't start."
"'enemies to lovers' seemed popular."
"they're unemployed."
sunghoon laughed again and you stared at him suspiciously for a second, then narrowed your eyes. "you know this is all your fault."
"interesting argument."
"you replied first."
"you made the post first."
"because you're irritating."
"and yet here you are."
your face heated instantly, sunghoon noticed. his expression softened slightly after that, teasing fading into something quieter.
more careful, he looked at you for a long second close enough that your heartbeat immediately betrayed you again. then, with that same smug little smile returning to his mouth, he tilted his head slightly and murmured, "so."
you narrowed your eyes immediately. "so what."
sunghoon's gaze held yours, steady, amused and dangerously warm.
"do you still think i'm the asshole?"
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“princess?” heeseung’s voice is soft, still husky with sleep, as he watches you twist beneath the sheets, brows pinched in distress. the room is dim, but he sees the way your body trembles, and his heart clenches.
“baby, wake up,” he whispers gently, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other rubs soothing circles on your arm. “it’s okay, i’m here.”
your eyes finally blink open, dazed and teary, and heeseung immediately pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like a shield.
“shh, bad dream?” he presses a kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple. “you’re safe now. i’ve got you.”
he begins to hum quietly—an old lullaby his mom used to sing—his voice barely above a whisper, warm and comforting in the dark.
his fingers comb through your hair as he keeps humming, until your breathing slows against his chest.
“sleep, my love,” he whispers. “i’m not going anywhere.”
PARK JONGSEONG
he observed your sleep pattern for a while— how you jolt in your sleep so often, which causes you to wake up and leave the bed. but he is determined now, eyes wide open as you sleep next to him.
jay notices your eyebrows frowning, he sits up without a word, one arm already pulling you close, the other brushing your hair back gently.
“hey, baby,” he whispers, lips soft against your temple. “it’s just a dream. i’m right here.”
you stir, breath shaky, and he hugs you tighter, tucking your head under his chin. he rocks you slowly, barely there movements, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
“you don’t have to run anymore, okay? i’ll hold you through it all.”
he peppers your face with little kisses—your forehead, your nose, the corners of your eyes, each one quieter than the last. your hands find his shirt, gripping weakly.
“you’re safe. so safe with me,” he breathes, eyes full of warmth.
you finally relax, body melting into his, and he doesn’t stop holding you the entire night.
SIM JAEYUN
jake wakes up to your shaky breaths and doesn’t hesitate. “hey, love,” he says instantly, scooting closer and cradling your face.
“was it a nightmare?” you nod weakly, and he frowns, kissing your forehead over and over. “i hate that you have to feel that way.” he sits up, tugging you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a blanket.
“deep breaths, baby. i’ve got you.” he rocks you slowly, whispering silly stories or calming memories until your shoulders relax. layla softly hops onto the bed too, aa if providing you comfort as well.
and jake laughs softly. “see? even layla knows you’re safe now.” he kisses your temple, your nose, your cheeks.
“you’re safe. you’re here. and you’re mine,”
he says, a little shyly, brushing your hair behind your ear. when you finally calm down, he lays you back down gently and cuddles you so close, like he could shield you from the world.
PARK SUNGHOON
sunghoon jolts awake when he hears you whimper, his chest tightening as he sees the tears on your cheeks.
“baby,” he whispers, immediately sitting up and reaching for you. you try to turn away, but he gently pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against him like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.
“shh… it’s okay,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back and kissing your temple. “you’re safe now. i’ve got you.”
he reaches for the remote with one hand, still holding you close with the other. “let’s distract you, yeah?” he says quietly, scrolling through until he finds your comfort movie. he presses play, the soft glow from the screen washing over both of you.
you’re curled up against his chest, legs draped across his lap as he rubs slow circles into your back.
“no more nightmares,” he whispers, kissing your head. “not while i’m here.”
KIM SUNOO
sunoo wakes up to you shaking, and his heart breaks instantly. “oh no, sweetheart,” he whispers, sitting up and pulling you into his lap.
his hands stroke your back with the gentlest touch, rocking you as if you were fragile glass.
“was it another nightmare?” he gently pulls you into his lap, cradling you like you might shatter. his hands stroke slow lines down your back, steady and soothing. he presses a kiss to your hair, then your temple, staying quiet, letting the calmness in his touch do the talking.
he hums a soft tune as he pulls the blanket tighter around you both, tucking your legs over his. “you wanna talk about it? or just cuddle?”
either way, he holds you close, whispering sweet affirmations: “you’re loved. you’re safe. you’re everything to me.”
and when you finally calm down, he cups your face and kisses your nose. “sleep now, baby. i’ve got you.”
YANG JUNGWON
jungwon feels you flinch beside him, and his eyes flutter open. he doesn't speak at first—just slides closer, arm wrapping around your waist.
he doesn’t say anything—just slips out of bed quietly, padding to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. when he returns, he kneels beside the bed, gently placing the glass on the nightstand before brushing your hair back with careful fingers.
he cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin, grounding you with each touch. “it wasn’t real. whatever it was… it can’t get to you here,” he whispers, his breath warm on your skin.
you cling to his shirt, and he kisses your forehead slowly. “you’re doing so well,” he murmurs, pulling you close enough that your heart syncs with his.
he tucks the blanket higher over your shoulders, lips pressing a quiet kiss to your forehead, “i’m not letting anything hurt you. ever.”
eventually, you fall asleep again, wrapped in his quiet protection.
NISHIMURA RIKI
riki blinks awake the moment he hears your shaky breaths, instantly alert despite the hour. “hey, angel,” he whispers, reaching for you gently. when he sees the tears in your eyes, his chest tightens. “another nightmare?”
you nod, voice too small to speak, and he immediately tugs you into a hug, pressing your face to his neck. “let’s get some air,” he mumbles, already reaching for his hoodie and slipping it over you.
a few minutes later, you’re both outside, walking quietly under the moonlight. riki holds your hand, swinging it softly between you two. “look how peaceful it is,” he says, pointing at the stars. “nothing scary here. just me and you.”
you lean against him and he smiles, kissing the side of your head. “see? fresh air and us. the best cure.”
you finally smile, and he tugs you closer. “nightmares don’t stand a chance, baby.”
스루 ܃ to everyone having tough nights, everything will be alright soon 💗
๑´ ³`) ﾉ pls leave feedbacks if u liked it ♡ REBLOG !!
LEE HEESEUNG — shows you off all around the college campus, an arm wrapping your shoulders and bored eyes to scare off guys who thought they had a chance with you. his presence alone is enough to send a clear message: you're off-limits. it's not just his imposing demeanour that keeps others at bay; it's the way he looks at you, with a mix of pride and adoration that makes it clear you're the centre of his world. everyone knows not to mess with heeseung's girl, if they don't want a black eye.
and even when he's not around you like a guard dog, you're wearing his leather jacket everywhere, like a souvenir. between classes, he sneaks moments to steal kisses, his touch gentle yet possessive. you find comfort in the routine, in the way he makes you feel safe and cherished.
"you don't have to do that, you know," you say, looking up at him with a reassuring smile.
“do what?”, heeseung's voice morphs into a mellow, loving tone, as he looks down at you.
“scare them like that”, you sigh. heeseung chuckles, pulling you closer, "i can't help it. i just want to make sure everyone knows you're mine.”
“i think they got the message”, you giggle, kissing your lovely boyfriend.
PARK JONGSEONG — has his utmost faith in the fact that there is no line in this world he wouldn't cross for you. from sneaking into your room late at night to celebrate your anniversary, to beating up your psycho ex, jongseong's actions speak louder than his words. to him, protecting you isn't just a duty, it's a sacred vow. that's why he drags your ex to his underground boxing match, to claim his victory— both over this fight and you. most ardently, you.
and it's all worth the cuts and bruises and hushed conversations around the town when they are being treated by you.
"you're crazy, you know that?" you murmur, but there's no hiding the affection in your voice. you dab the cotton swab over his wounds, faces too close to each other.
jay raises his head from your lap, hovering over you within seconds. there's this glint in his eyes that speaks volumes for him, and he does the rest with his lips.
“only for you”, jay replies, catching your lips in a breathtaking kiss, hands wandering under your shirt in a split second, “forever for you, crazy or not”, he nibbles on your lower lip, before kissing you again.
his hands slip under your shirt, that's actually his, and wonder about your waist, tracing random shapes.
your heart flutters at his words, and you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles. "just promise me you'll be careful," you say, your eyes reflecting the depth of your feelings for him.
“sorry angel”, jay sighs, ruffling your hair playfully, “i need to make sure there are no bad guys.”
SIM JAEYUN — ‘s second most favourite thing in this entire universe is his bike. the first being the girl who sits behind him on his bike, you. reality blurs with his fantasies when you wrap your hands around his torso, pulling yourself closer to lean on his shoulders. the ambient air hits your face and makes your hair dance along with it, as jake’s bike speeds up. he feels euphoric at this moment, it's just you and him.
it's the way his biker jacket dangles off from his shoulder, the silver chain decorating his neck— which is obviously gifted by you. and everytime you're nervous while looking down at you, he bites his lips, which is not helpful at all.
“oh my god, jake slow down!”, you hold on even tighter to him as he roars his bike, and that's just what he wants. he chuckles softly, the sound barely audible over the roar of the engine. "hold on tight, love," he shouts back, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief. the cityscape blurs into streaks of light and colour as you weave through the streets together, the night air cool against your skin.
he takes a sudden turn, and the bustling city gives way to quieter streets lined with trees. you dismount, legs slightly wobbly, but jake is there to steady you.
"how was that?" he asks, a grin spreading across his face.
you laugh, the sound full of joy and relief. "absolutely crazy," you reply, gazing up at him. “you scared me good."
"scare you? never," he teases, pulling you into a hug. "i just wanted to feel you hold onto me tighter."
you shake your head, playfully swatting his arm. "you're impossible, you know that?"
"it's alright if it's you," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead
PARK SUNGHOON — climbs up your balcony at 3 am, the perfect time when he knows your parents are either having a soundless sleep or out of town. he feels like a knight in shining armour, climbing up to save his dear princess from all the melancholy and shush her to ease, hands softly gliding through her raven hair. he lands with a soft thud, his eyes scanning the darkened room through the sheer curtains.
as he approaches your window, his heart beats faster, not from the exertion but from the anticipation of seeing you again. he knows this is dangerous, knows that if your parents found out it could mean the end for him. but none of that matters now
he taps lightly on the glass, and watches your silhouette get up and open the window for him with a worried face. “sunghoon what the—”, you manage to shush yourself before pulling him in and shutting the window close, “you just came here yesterday!”, you whisper.
“can't even see my pretty girl in peace now?”, sunghoon sighs, pulls you closer and lets your lips meet. they travel all over your face, to your neck, trailing up to nibble on your earlobes and back to your lips again. he takes a moment to breathe and adore your pretty face. "i couldn't stay away," he murmurs, his eyes locks onto yours. "i needed to see you.”
“i get it hoon, but at least tell me before you drop by”, there is adoration hidden by worry in your voice as you press a soft kiss on his mole near his nose. “i wanted it to be a surprise, princess”, he chuckles.
“what if my parents—”
before you could say another word, sunghoon tackles you down on the bed. “i don't care if your parents find out”, he shushes you, his index finger ghosting over your lips, tracing it down to the middle of your collar bones, “it's about us, and you're mine.”
KIM SUNOO — hates to see you hanging around with boys who just aren't good for you. he knows their type—smooth talkers with no substance, guys who don't see you for the incredible person you are. in his mind, he's the one for you. maybe because he's crazy in love with you but also because he knows how to treat you better. sunoo knows your favourite colour, how you like your coffee, your favourite spots around town and what not.
it's always him, even in this cold of night when your date stood you up, and you circled back to kim sunoo. teeth chattering and a soft yet piercing breeze, another minutes’ wait before you hear the long awaited familiar voice.
“sorry uh— i'm late”, sunoo clears his throat, hesitant to look at your eyes, “let's go home.”
you're about to run to him and be ready to go home when you notice the bruises on his knuckles, “what the fuck have you been doing?”, you furrow your eyebrows together. sunoo tries to hide his hands behind his back, but it's too late. you grab his wrist, pulling it closer to inspect the damage. the bruises are fresh, the skin raw and tender. “what is this, sunoo?”
“since you don't know how to deal with trash dudes”, he rolls his eyes, snatching his wrists back, “and i called jay so we were good. now let's go home.”
“you can’t keep doing this, sunoo,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over the wind. “you’re going to get hurt.”
“if you care about me so much then maybe you should just be with me”, sunoo spits those words, coming out of him in an instant, “i'm i-”
“i love you,” you reply back, a hint of nervousness and hurry, almost as instant as him, “sorry, i was not brave enough.” sunoo immediately takes your face in between his hands, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips, “don't ever say sorry to me ever again. it's okay…i love you too.”
YANG JUNGWON — ‘s secret behind his back to back victories is you. overly eager to impress the pretty girl in denim skirts and hoop earrings. your presence at the illegal racing scene fuels his desire to impress you, to see your smile widen with every race he wins.
as he revs up his engine, the adrenaline coursing through his veins isn't just for the thrill of the race, it's to capture your attention, to make your heartbeat a little faster. each victory isn't just about the prize money or the bragging rights, it's about earning your admiration, maybe even your affection.
jungwon dismounts his bike, helmet in hand, and strides towards you, a triumphant grin on his face. "told you i’d win," he says, voice low and confident. he pulls you closer by your waist, his hand snaking tighter around it.
“you never fail to amaze me," you say, looking up at him with a mixture of awe and affection.
he chuckles, a hint of pride in his voice. "just doing what i do best.”
he shrugs, but you can see the sparkle of excitement in his eyes. "it's easy when i have the best motivation in the world.” jungwon's eyes light up at the sight of your smile, how happily you look at him and giggle over his win.
“we're missing something out”, jungwon clears his throat, pulling you just a bit closer, doing all his best not to kiss you.
“really? what's that?”, you smirk.
“you promised to let me take you out on a date if i win”, a smirk plays at the corners of his lips, a smug confidence coloured over his face, “‘ya still remember that?”
“and what if i say i forgot?”, hard to get, he likes that.
jugwon's smirk widens, "then i guess i'll have to remind you," he murmurs, his voice a tantalising blend of challenge and flirtation.
NISHIMURA RIKI — has endless foolproof excuses up his sleeves, whether it's bunking his class or ways to meet up with you despite your strict household. just last week he had to take you out on café and amusement park dates to convince you to tutor him, that too, in your house! something about the fact that your parents can catch you both thrills riki.
he leans casually against the school gate, his usual smirk playing on his lips as he watches you approach. "hey," he greets, sliding his hands into his pockets. "ready for our 'study session'?"
you roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at the sight of him. “you know, if you actually paid attention in class, you wouldn't need tutoring." he laughs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "where's the fun in that? besides, i prefer learning from you.”
you had a hard time convincing your dad to even let riki in your house, he's always greeted with an awkward stareq, which he returns back to your mom. "you really shouldn't be here," you whisper, glancing nervously around.
he chuckles softly, his voice low and comforting. "relax. i promise i won't get you in trouble."
"alright, algebra it is. but you know," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper, "i think i'd learn better if you rewarded me for every right answer." you look at him, your resolve weakening. "what kind of reward are we talking about?"
he grins, his gaze intense. "how about a kiss for every correct answer?"
“only if you wanna die—”
but it's only a fraction of a second before he pulls you into a sweet kiss, pushing you away as he hears the door of your room creaking open. he's once again greeted by your father's angry face.
“oh, good evening sir!”
a/n — i don't think the sypnosis is it TT i think this could've been more bad boy coded on my part, but honestly my brain was fried TT lmk if u liked it tho!
heyheyhey I need cold sunghoon boss that makes a lot of exceptions for yn, like to the point where they are kissing 🙈🙈 teheheheheh
Exceptions
Pairing: CEO!Sunghoon x newSecretary!reader
Genre: Office AU, slow burn, tension, romance
Synopsis: You were hired to be efficient, composed, and focused - but your presence does the exact opposite to your boss. As Sunghoon begins to soften only towards you, the line between work and something else becomes harder to ignore.
Word Count: ~1.7k+
A/N: Hai thereeee! I was worried when writing this that it would be awkward or like an HR violation but hopefully this is a good take on the request! Thank you as well for the indirect title idea for the fic. 😏 Also, thank you so much for the support and I hope you enjoy!! 🥰
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
The résumé sits between them like something delicate. Not fragile but rather valuable.
The woman across from you flips another page, eyes scanning quickly but thoroughly, the faint crease between her brows deepening - not in concern, but in focus.
“…You’ve interned at three different firms,” she says, glancing up. “All within competitive sectors.”
You nod once, slightly apprehensively. “Yes.”
“And graduated top of your class.”
“…Yes.”
She exhales softly, leaning back in her chair.
“You do realize this is a secretary position.”
You don’t flinch.
“I do.”
A pause. Then-
“You’re overqualified.”
It’s not said harshly in any way. Just plainly. Like a fact was placed on the table between you.
You hold her gaze.
“I prefer to start where I can understand the structure of a company from the ground up,” you say calmly. “It helps me learn faster.”
Something shifts in her expression.
Not surprise, but silent approval. Subtle, but there.
“…I see.”
She closes the file slowly.
“We’ll be in touch.”
The hallway outside is quieter than the office.
There’s polished floors, muted footsteps, and conversations lowered just enough to feel contained.
You walk steadily, shoulders relaxed, mind already shifting away from the interview.
You did well.
That’s enough.
“-I don’t repeat myself.”
The voice cuts through the corridor before you see him.
Low.
Even.
Controlled.
You glance up…and that’s when you notice him.
Sunghoon stands a few feet ahead, mid-conversation with another employee who looks…tense.
Very tense.
“…Then I suggest you start listening the first time,” he finishes.
Not louder or sharper. Just final.
The other man nods quickly, almost stiff, murmuring something before stepping away.
Sunghoon turns slightly…and his gaze catches yours.
Just for a moment.
Not long enough to be considered staring, but long enough that something in his expression stills.
Your steps don’t falter.
You hold his gaze for that fraction of a second-
Then pass him.
Calm. Unhurried.
Like nothing just happened.
But he notices.
The way you didn’t look away too quickly.
The way you didn’t shrink under his presence.
The way you carried yourself like you belonged there-
Even when you didn’t…yet.
By the time you step out of the building, he’s already moved on.
But-
Whether or not he realizes it, the impression stays.
♡
The email comes two days later.
You read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time, slower.
“We are pleased to inform you…”
You don’t smile immediately.
It comes after. Smaller. More satisfied that they found your application strong.
♡
The weekend passes quietly.
You prepare.
Clothes laid out, schedules reviewed, routes memorized. Professional, overall.
Composed.
Ready.
Monday arrives not too long after.
The office feels different when you walk in as an employee rather than a candidate.
Less distant.
Real.
You step inside, greeting the receptionist softly before being directed toward your assigned office.
The door is slightly open.
And before you even step inside-
“…If I have to go over this again, we’re going to have a different conversation.”
That voice.
Him.
You pause just outside.
Inside, Sunghoon stands behind his desk, posture straight, gaze fixed on the employee in front of him who looks like he’d rather be swallowed by the floor.
“…Do you understand?” Sunghoon asks.
“Yes, sir-”
“Good.”
The dismissal is immediate.
The man turns - and nearly freezes when he sees you standing there. Then he slips past you quickly, muttering something under his breath.
You step inside.
Sunghoon looks up.
And stops.
It’s not obvious. Not dramatic.
But it’s there.
That same pause. That same stillness from before.
Recognition.
“…You’re the new secretary.”
His tone is neutral.
Controlled, but not as sharp as it was before.
You incline your head slightly.
“Good morning, sir.”
Another pause.
Then-
“Sit.”
Your first day begins.
He’s efficient.
Direct.
Every instruction clear, precise, and delivered without unnecessary explanation.
You follow easily. Take notes. Ask questions when needed - but only when needed.
By mid-morning, he’s already adjusting.
Not outwardly and noticeable, but in the way he speaks to you.
“…Review these before sending them out.”
Not-
“Fix it.”
Not-
“Redo it.”
Just-
“…Review.”
You notice, but you don’t comment. Maybe it’s a coincidence…or because you are new?
By the end of the day, something subtle has already shifted.
Not enough for anyone to say anything out loud, but enough to feel a change of atmosphere.
♡
It happens again three days later.
A small mistake.
A number misplaced.
Nothing catastrophic, but it’s definitely noticeable.
You realize it the moment he calls you in.
The office feels colder than usual…or maybe that’s just your hyper-awareness .
You stand in front of his desk. Hands steady.
Posture straight.
“I apologize, sir. I’ll correct it immediately.”
Silence.
You brace for the worst.
But-
“…Check it again before submitting next time.”
That’s it.
You blink.
Once.
“…Yes, sir.”
When you step out, the shift in the office is immediate. Eyes flick up.
Then away.
Whispers start low - barely audible.
“He didn’t-”
“Why wasn’t he-”
“I’ve seen him-”
You ignore it, return to your desk, and continue working.
But the tension lingers in the air all throughout the rest of the day.
♡
Late evenings become routine.
Not by instruction from anyone, but by choice.
You stay because there’s work.
Because it’s quieter.
Because it’s easier to focus when the office empties.
He stays too.
The first time you notice it, you glance at the clock.
8:17 PM.
Then toward his office.
The light is still on.
You hesitate. Then stand.
Knock lightly.
“…Come in.”
He’s at his desk.
Jacket off.
Sleeves rolled.
Tie loosened slightly.
Still composed, but less…distant.
“I finished the reports,” you say, stepping inside. “I’ll send them in the morning.”
He nods once.
“…Good.”
You turn to leave-
“Y/N.”
You pause.
Look back.
“…You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ when it’s just us.”
The words settle slowly.
You blink.
“…That…wouldn’t be appropriate.”
He watches you.
Longer this time.
Then stands. Walks around the desk. Stops a step closer than necessary.
“…Sunghoon is fine.”
The name sits between you.
Unspoken. Unaccepted.
You hold his gaze.
“…Understood, sir.”
A pause.
Something unreadable flickers in his expression.
Then-
“…You can go.”
You leave, nodding your heading and shutting the door quietly.
But…the air feels different.
♡
People start noticing.
It’s not in plain sight.
Not something you can point out directly.
But it’s there.
The way he calls your name less sharp than the others.
The way he stands closer to your desk.
Just slightly.
The way he steps in-
“…I’ll handle it.”
-before something escalates.
It builds.
Quietly.
Until-
“Hey.”
You glance up.
Your coworker, Jiung, leans against the edge of your desk, casual.
Too casual.
“You free for lunch?”
You hesitate.
Not because you don’t want to answer, but because of the timing. The positioning.
The way it feels…watched.
“She’s busy.”
The voice cuts in without raising. Without effort.
You don’t turn immediately.
I mean, you don’t have to. You know who it is.
Jiung straightens.
“Oh- I didn’t-”
Sunghoon doesn’t look at him.
Not even once.
“…She has work to finish.”
Silence.
Then-
“Right. Yeah. Of course.”
He leaves your desk quickly, feet shuffling towards the elevator.
You look down at your desk.
Then slowly…toward Sunghoon’s office.
The door is open.
He’s already gone and working again.
Like nothing happened.
…but something most definitely did.
♡
You hear it later.
You know it wasn’t meant for you, but you were close enough to overhear.
“He’s never like that.”
“I’ve worked here for three whole years-”
“Why her?”
You don’t stay to listen, but you heard enough.
And for the first time-
You start to question it too.
♡
It’s late when you finally decide to ask.
The office is nearly empty. Lights dimmed.
Footsteps gone.
You stand outside his door hesitating to approach the situation.
Eventually-
You knock once.
“…Come in.”
You step inside.
Close the door behind you.
“Sir…can I ask you something?”
He looks up instantly.
Studies you.
“…Go ahead.”
You hesitate again, just briefly.
“Why do you treat me…differently?”
Silence envelopes the room. Longer than before.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t deny.
He just stands.
Walks toward you.
Slow.
Measured.
Stops close.
Not touching, but close enough to feel his presence.
“…Do you want me to stop?”
The question lands heavier than expected.
You inhale. Steady.
And a little confused.
“That’s not what I asked.”
A flicker.
Small, but there.
“You can’t keep doing this, sir.”
His gaze sharpens slightly.
“Doing what?”
“Acting like I’m different.”
Silence.
Then-
“…You are.”
The air shifts as his hand lifts up.
It stops midway, hesitating. Like he’s deciding whether or not to do something.
Then-
He lets his fingers rest lightly against your jaw.
Soft. Barely there.
He watches you.
Carefully.
You don’t move. His thumb brushes once.
Testing.
Still-
You don’t pull away.
He leans in.
Slow. Controlled. Stops just before your lips.
Breath close. Warm against your mouth.
A pause.
Not an accident.
Not a slip.
A choice.
Your choice.
You stay.
And that’s all it takes.
He closes the distance.
The kiss is quiet and measured.
Not rushed. Not demanding.
Just…fully intentional.
His hand stays light against your face as if he’s still giving you space to step back if you need to.
You don’t.
And something in him shifts.
Not losing control, but loosening it.
The kiss deepens slightly.
Not enough to overwhelm, but just enough to change the air between you.
Then, he pulls back.
Not far, but just enough go create small distance - forehead almost touching yours.
His breath is steadying.
“…I shouldn’t do this.”
But he doesn’t step away.
His voice lowers, softer now. Something only you can hear.
“…This doesn’t leave this room.”
Not a command. Well, not entirely.
A boundary. A reality.
You nod.
“…Yes, sir.”
Something in his expression changes again.
Not cold. Not soft. Something…in between.
♡
The next day, everything looks the same.
You greet him like usual.
“Good morning, sir.”
He nods once.
“…Morning.”
Professional…but…his gaze lingers a second longer.
Your hand brushes his when you pass a file, but…neither of you pulls away immediately.
The office still hums like nothing changed.
But, it did…and everyone can feel it.
They just don’t know why.
And maybe…that’s exactly how it’s meant to be.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
A/N: This is kind of a new ending for me because I usually like to wrap things up…so please tell me if you think this needs some sort of bonus part!! I’m not 1000% proud of this fic or comfortable with the fact I left it on a cliffhanger butttt…I’m not quite sure what I’d do in it a second part. We’ll see! Thank you for reading! 🤍
synopsis: Heeseung and Sunghoon have been there since scraped knees and summer bike rides, since whispered secrets under blankets and promises made without understanding what they meant. You grew up in the space between them — one steady and soft, the other quiet and unshakable — never imagining that one day the space would feel too small to breathe.
—
you don’t remember meeting them.
there is no clear beginning. no cinematic introduction. no first impression.
just a collection of moments that blur together—scraped knees, borrowed pencils, three shadows stretching across cracked pavement in late afternoon light.
if you try hard enough, you can piece it together.
a cul-de-sac that felt bigger than it was. bikes dropped carelessly in the grass. your mother calling you inside for dinner while you pretended not to hear her.
heeseung talking, always. gentle, intrigued. he aways had that certain way of asking questions like they mattered.
you remember thinking he was patient in a way other kids weren’t. he waited for your answers. didn’t rush them. didn’t laugh when you hesitated and stuttered.
sunghoon, however, didn’t ask questions.
he just stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you like he was assessing something only he understood.
when the older boys from two streets over tried to claim the basketball hoop on your street, sunghoon stepped forward before either you or heeseung could react.
he didn’t yell, he wasn’t one to do that.
he just stood there.
and the boys left.
you didn’t think much of it at the time. you were seven. you thought his protection was normal. you thought the way they closed ranks around you was something everyone experienced.
it wasn’t.
—
by middle school, the three of you were a fixture.
teachers paired you automatically. parents and staff joked about you being a packaged deal. classmates stopped trying to wedge themselves into conversations that had been building for years before they arrived.
you sat in the middle.
not because it was assigned that way. it just.. happened.
on the bus, at lunch, on the curb when you waited for rides.
heeseung would lean in to show you something on his phone, shoulder brushing yours, warm and familiar.
sunghoon would sit slightly angled outward, like a quiet guardrail, eyes scanning your surroundings even when he pretends not to care.
if someone teased you, heeseung handled it with words. calm. reasonable.
if someone pushed too far, sunghoon’s presence was enough.
it felt safe to exist between them.
—
high school sharpened everything.
heeseung grew into his voice.
not louder—deeper. richer. the kind of voice that made people turn their heads in hallways. he joined choir, then band, then something that kept him at school long after classes ended.
you started waiting for him after rehearsals.
you told yourself it was convenience. you lived in the same neighborhood.
but you liked watching him when he didn’t know you were looking.
he closed his eyes when he sang, like he trusted the sound to hold him.
sunghoon grew differently.
sharper around the edges. more precise. he joined the skating team, then competitions. early mornings, cold rinks, bruised ribs he pretended didn’t hurt.
he stopped smiling as easily in public.
but when you handed him a water bottle after practice and called him stupid for acting fine with a split lip, the corner of his mouth would twitch.
just slightly.
you were the only one who saw it.
—
the dynamic changed slowly.
so slowly you didn’t have a word for it.
the first time you noticed was silly.
you fell asleep during a movie in heeseung’s basement half-curled toward him. your head resting against his shoulder like it had a hundred times before.
when you woke up, the room was quiet.
the tv screen dimmed.
sunghoon was watching you.
not in a strange way, but calculating.
like he was memorizing something.
he looked away the second your eyes opened.
“don’t drool,” he muttered.
you rolled your eyes, your sleeve coming up to wipe your chin.
—
then came the first date.
it wasn’t anything serious, just a guy from chemistry who asked if you’d wanted to go get coffee with him.
you said yes because you could. because you were curious. because you were seventeen and wanted to feel normal.
you told them that afternoon while you sat on the curb outside your houses.
heeseung reacted first.
“oh,” he said. not surprised. careful.
“that’s good,” he added, nodding. “he seems nice.”
you waited for sunghoon, who was staring at the asphalt.
“when?”
“saturday”
he nodded once, “okay.”
that was it.
you didn’t notice how quiet it was after that. how when saturday came, both of them were suddenly busy.
heeseung had rehearsal. sunghoon had practice.
they’d never both been unavailable at the same time.
—
the date was fine. normal. forgettable.
the guy talked about himself too much. you laughed when expected. you let him walk you home.
and halfway down your street, you saw them.
leaning against sunghoon’s car, waiting.
“what’re you guys doing here?”
heeseung shrugged lightly, “finished early.”
sunghoon opened the passenger door for you without answering.
you felt heat crawl up your neck, slightly embarrassed as this unfolded in front of your date.
“i can walk..”
sunghoon’s voice was even, “we know.”
the guy from chemistry waved awkwardly before leaving.
heeseung didn’t look at him, sunghoon didn’t acknowledge him at all. you slid into the seat.
for the first time in your life, the space between the three of you felt smaller and tighter.
—
senior year bled into graduation, then summer, then acceptance letters.
you all ended up at the same university, of course.
different majors, different schedules. same orbit.
college should’ve diluted things, but it didn’t. if anything, it magnified them.
people noticed you now. not as a trio, as individuals.
girls lingered around heeseung after performances.
they laughed too loudly at sunghoon’s dry comments.
you told yourself it didn’t matter, you were happy for them. you were.
but something ugly and unfamiliar started to coil in your chest.
you didn’t like when they’d touch heeseung’s arm.
you didn’t like when a girl leaned too close to sunghoon at a party.
though, you didn’t have the right to dislike it.. you were just friends.
you repeated that so often, it began to lose meaning.
—
the first real crack happened in the library.
midterms. stress.
you were sitting between them like always, textbooks open, tension thick.
heeseung’s knee brushed yours under the table. it lingered. you didn’t move.
sunghoon noticed.
you know he did because his jaw tightened—subtle, but there.
you shifted instinctively, trying to relieve something you didn’t understand.
your thigh brushed sunghoon’s now, neither of them moved. the air changed.
no one spoke for a full minute.
and you realized—with a cold, creeping clarity—that you were aware of both of them at once.
their warmth, their breathing. the way your pulse reacted differently to each.
you stood abruptly, “i need air.”
neither of them stopped you. neither followed.
that hurt a little more than if they had.
—
that night, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
you replayed every small moment from the last few years.
the waiting by the car, the way heeseung’s voice softened only for you, the way sunghoon positioned himself between you and anyone who came too close.
the jealousy you pretended not to see, to feel.
the truth rose slowly.
reluctantly.
like something you were afraid to name.
you didn’t love one of them. you loved both.
and that realization didn’t feel romantic. it felt catastrophic.
because loving one person was complicated enough.
loving two—three people who had loved each other platonically for over a decade—felt like standing at the edge of something irreversible.
you pressed you hands to your eyes.
you thought of childhood sleepovers, of tangled limbs and easy laughter, of how natural everything once was.
you thought of losing that. the fear of it hollowed you out.
you whispered out into the dark, “what is wrong with me?”
there was no answer. only the echo of something shifting quietly between the three of you.
and the sinking feeling that you couldn’t pretend much longer.
—
you start noticing everything after that. it’s unbearable.
once you name a feeling, it doesn’t shrink. it sharpens.
the three of you still move in orbit. still sit together. still walk the same routes across campus like muscle memory is steering you.
but now you’re hyper aware.
heeseung laughs at something you say and his hand rests on your back a second too long.
sunghoon reaches for your wrist when you step too close to the street, and instead of letting go immediately, his fingers tighten—just once—like he’s reminding himself you’re there.
they’ve always touched you. nothing is new.
it just feels new.
—
the distance doesn’t happen all at once.
it starts in inches.
heeseung stops waiting outside your morning lecture, saying he doesn’t want to distract you.
sunghoon studies in a different corner of the library, saying the lighting is better.
they don’t stop being kind, they stop being close.
and somehow that hurts worse.
so you decide to test it one night.
you show up at heeseung’s apartment unannounced, like you’ve done a hundred times before. he opens the door and freezes for half a second before stepping aside.
that half-second guts you.
“you busy?” you ask.
he shakes his head, “no, just working on something.”
you step inside. the air smells like coffee and late hours. you sit on his bed. he stays at his desk. not beside you.
you swallow, “did i do something?”
he turns slowly, confused. “what?”
“you’ve been..” you search for a word that doesn’t sound desperate. “different.”
something flickers across his face. gone in an instant.
“i’m not.”
you hate that answer. it’s not cruel, it’s careful.
he always chooses careful.
you stand up, cross the room, and stop in front of him.
“you are.” your voice shakes despite your effort to steady it.
heeseung looks at you like you’re fragile glass.
“i just don’t want to complicate things.”
your stomach drops.
“complicate what?”
he opens his mouth. closes it. looks away.
and for the first time in your life, he doesn’t tell you what he’s thinking.
—
sunghoon is worse.
he doesn’t deny anything, he just doesn’t explain.
you corner him outside the practice building one evening. the sky bruised purple, the cold air biting.
“you’re avoiding me.”
he looks tired. more than tired. like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks.
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
he exhales through his nose.
silence stretching between you.
you’ve known him long enough to read the signs. the tight jaw, the stillness that means he’s holding something back.
“say it,” you whisper.
his eyes flick to yours. you feel it in your ribs.
“you went on another date,” he says evenly.
your throat tightens, “so?”
his gaze sharpens, “so nothing.”
you hate how controlled he sounds.
“you don’t get to act like this,” you say, heat rising behind your eyes, “you don’t get to punish me for living my life.”
“i’m not punishing you.”
“you’re disappearing.”
that hits, you see it in the way his shoulders stiffen.
he steps closer, just slightly.
“you think this is easy?” he asks quietly.
your breath stutters, “what is ‘this’?”
he looks at you for a long moment.
then he says the worst possible thing.
“you don’t want to know.”
—
you do.. that’s the problem.
you want to know so badly it feels like it might split you open.
days pass like this.
close enough to touch. too far to hold.
you stop going on dates. not because they ask, but because you can’t stand the way it feels.
you tell yourself you’re being dramatic. that this will pass. that adulthood will sand down the sharp edges.
it doesn’t.
the tension thickens.
it changes the way they look at eachother. you notice that too.
heeseung watches sunghoon when he thinks no one sees.
not suspicious, not angry, just aware.
sunghoon meets his gaze sometimes. holds it.
there’s something unspoken there, and you are in the center of it.
the realization makes your chest ache .
—
the breaking point comes on a night that was supposed to be ordinary.
you’re all at sunghoon’s apartment, movie playing, takeout containers open on the coffee table.
you’re sitting between them again, out of habit, out of comfort. out of fear that if you don’t, something will happen.
halfway through the movie, you lean back.
your shoulder presses into heeseung’s chest, your knee brushes sunghoon’s thigh. neither move.
heeseung’s fingers curl lightly into the fabric of your sleeve, sunghoon’s hand rests against your lower back.
not possessive, not accidental, intentional.
and suddenly you can’t breathe. you stand so fast the takeout containers tips.
“i can’t do this.” you say.
they both look up.
“what?” heeseung asks.
you shake your head.
“i feel like i’m losing you. both of you. and i don’t even understand why.”
silence.
your chest tightens painfully.
“i didn’t ask for this,” you whisper. “i didn’t ask to feel like this.”
sunghoon’s voice is steady. too steady.
“feel like what?”
you look at them, really look.
these boys have been the center of your world since you were seven years old.
the boys who stood on either side of you for every milestone.
the boys who are pulling away because of something none of you are brave enough to name.
your voice breaks, “i love you.”
the words hang in the air. neither of them moves.
you swallow.
“i love you,” you repeat, looking at heeseung. “and i love you,” you whisper, turning to sunghoon. “and i don’t know what that makes me.”
the room feels too small.
you feel exposed. stupid. terrified.
heeseung’s face crumples first. not dramatically. just quietly.
like something he’s been holding finally cracked.
sunghoon goes completely still.
you wipe at your cheeks angrily.
“i don’t want to choose,” you choke out. “i can’t choose, you’re both—“ your voice collapses. “you’re both home.”
you expect anger, disgust, rejection.
instead—
heeseung stands slowly, walking towards you like he’s approaching something fragile.
“you think you’re the only one who’s been losing sleep?” he asks softly.
your breath catches.
sunghoon exhales sharply.
“you should’ve said something,” he mutters—not to you, to heeseung.
heeseung doesn’t look away.
“i was trying not to ruin everything.”
“you already did,” sunghoon replies quietly.
the words slicing through you.
you step back, “i’m sorry.”
heeseung’s head snaps toward you, “don’t.”
sunghoon runs a hand through his hair. frustrated—not at you.
at himself. at the situation. at the years of pretending.
“you think i wanted this?” sunghoon says, voice low.
“you think i wanted to feel like this about either of you?”
either.
your heart pounds.
heeseung meets his gaze.
not rivalry, recognition.
and that’s when you understand.. this was never just about you, they’ve been circling the same truth.
afraid of hurting eachother, afraid of hurting you, afraid of losing what you built as children.
heeseung looks at you again, you’ve never seen him this unguarded.
“i love you,” he says plainly. no hesitation.
sunghoon closes his eyes briefly, then opens them.
“i do too.”
it’s not dramatic, it’s devastating. because now it’s real.
you stare at both of them, tears still drying on your cheeks.
Frank Ocean said “It’s a bad religion to be in love with someone who could never love you”, and there are no better lyrics to describe your life with Lee Heeseung.
sfw warnings ── NO SMUT/PURE ANGST ── no happy ending, unrequited love, heavy pining, emotional neglect (unintentional), heartbreak, use of drugs (marijuana), toxic self sacrifice, mentions of sex, casual dismissal, mental health themes (depression). don't read if you're looking for a love story. inspired by frank ocean’s bad religion. not proofread.
word count ── 6.8k
The seventh floor windows of the architecture building were always the last to go dark on campus, but Heeseung's very own corner never did. It was 3:36 in the morning and the studio smelled of wood shavings and spray adhesive, you could even hear the buzz of his overworked laptop. You walked into the room with two cups of coffee held in a cardboard carrier, listening to your footsteps echo like a heartbeat against the tile. You knew the code to the keypad, you knew the ac closest to the door was leaking and there was a permanent puddle of water people occasionally slipped in, you even knew exactly how he'd look before you even opened the door.
He was hunched over his latest site model with a literal scalpel in his hand and his dark hair messy and pushed back by a pair of glasses he only wore when his eyes were failing him.
"You're going to cut a finger off, Lee," you said softly.
He didn't even jump or look up, but he did let out a little tired laugh that vibrated in the quiet room. "I was wondering when you'd show up. I was starting to think I'd have to survive on vending machine protein bars."
You set the coffee down on the only sliver of desk not covered in blueprints. "Caramel macchiato. Extra shot. Don't say I never did anything for you."
He finally dropped the knife, stretching his arms over his head until you heard his spine popped. He turned his chair, reaching out to grab your wrist to pull you into his space, the way a brother or a lifelong companion does, leaning forward to press a dry kiss to your cheek.
"My guardian angel," he mumbled against your skin, his stubble grazing your cheekbone for a fleeting second. "What would I do without you? Seriously. I'd probably just turn into a corpse in this building."
The spot where his lips touched felt like it was on fire, you already know it’s going to be a brand you'd have to wear for the rest of the night. You forced a smile, feeling the muscles in your face aching. "You'd probably just find someone else to exploit for free caffeine."
"Never," he said, already turning back to his model and blowing on a piece of foam board. "No one else knows the ratio. Besides, Minah from my Psych elective asked if she could bring me dinner tonight, and I told her no. Told her I already had the best partner in the world coming through."
He said it so casually. Partner. A word that meant everything to you and absolutely nothing to him.
"Minah, huh?" you asked, leaning against the drafting table, your eyes glues to his steady hands. "The one with the dimples?"
"Yeah. She's great. Fun. But she doesn't get the grind, you know? She'd want to talk about feelings and fuck on the studio table. You...you kinda just let me be."
And there it was, it sounded like Lee Heeseung loved you because you were convenient, because you were the silence he needed to finish his work. He was in love with the girls he took to dinner, the ones he had to impress, the ones who didn't know the three in the morning version of him. You were just the foundation—the part of the building no one looks at because it's buried in the dirt and holding everything else up.
You stand there, feeling the ghost of his lips still cooling on your cheek, while Heeseung's attention has already snapped back to the balsa wood and the blade. To him, that kiss was a thank you, at best a casual currency traded between two people who really have nothing left to prove to each other.
To you, it was a fucking sacrament.
You keep watching his hands, they seem so sure as they design structures meant to withstand the weight of the world and you slowly start to realize the irony of it all. He's so good at designing things that last, yet he's entirely unaware that he's the architect of your slowest quietest ruin.
You remember the first time Lee Heeseung called you his best friend, you don’t think you’ll ever forget the feeling that surged through your veins, it was a violent bloom of heat in your chest that you were too young to name but definitely old enough to feel.
It was eighth grade and the humidity of summer was sticking your uniforms to your backs. You were sitting on the edge of the school's rooftop, the orange sun bleeding out over the horizon. Heeseung had just finished a grueling practice on the piano for the talent show, his hair was damp and his fingers were sore from hitting the same keys over and over until they were absolutely perfect.
"I don't think I could've gotten through that practice without you sitting there," he had said, bumping his shoulder against yours. He smelled like laundry detergent mixed the metallic tang of the rooftop railing and his newly developed boy stink. "Everyone else just wants to see the performance. You're the only one who stays to make sure I’m okay after."
He had turned to you then with his eyes all wide and earnest, before the world had taught him how to shield them. "You really are my best friend, you know? Like, for real. I don't think I'll ever have anyone else like you."
At twelve, those words felt like coronation, they had made you feel chosen, anointed even. You didn't realize then that best friend was a boundary line he was drawing in the sand and it would soon become a line you would spend the next decade terrified to cross, watching him invite every other girl to the other side while you stayed in the lonely circle he'd drawn for you.
Ten years later, not much has changed, yes you’re older but the roles are still very much the same.
Heeseung sighs and reaches for his ruler, his elbow brushes your hip in the process. He doesn't pull away, cause why would he? There isn’t an ounce of tension in him, no sudden intake of breath because he’s comfortable, he is…safe.
"Minah asked if I wanted to go to that cabin trip next weekend," he says, his voice taking the conversational tone, the way a person talks to themselves in an empty room. "With the rest of the psych seniors. What do you think? Should I go? Or should I stay here and finish the site plan?"
It’s almost as if he’s asking you to authorize his absence, like he’s asking his priest for permission to go and worship at a different altar. "You should go," you hear yourself say, the words feel like grit in your throat. "You've been working too hard, Hee. You definitely need the break."
"Yeah?" He finally looks up at you with this small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're right. You're always right. I'll text her back."
You watch him pick up his phone, the blue light immediately reflecting in his pupils. He's happy and because you love him, because this is your religion, his happiness is your only requirement, even when it's the very thing that's killing you. You've spent years perfecting the art of being the person he needs, at the complete expense of being the person he wants.
He leans back in his swivel chair now, stretching his long legs out and crossing his ankles. He looks up at the ceiling, exposing his throat and you don’t even need to touch it to know the pulse there is steady and maddeningly calm.
"I don't know," he says, as a tired post work haze begins to settle over his features. "I mean, the sex was actually...wow." He huffs a laugh, looking over at you with that terrifyingly casual grin. "Seriously. I kind of miss the way she rode me, to be honest. She had this way of—well, you don't need the details, but it was good. Really good."
The words are like blunt physical blows, hitting you square in the chest. Most times you feel stuck with Heeseung like really your dynamic has solidified, you’ve practiced this role for too long and you can’t dare to break character now.
You let out a practiced bark of a laugh, tossing the crumpled up napkin in your hand at his chest. "Jesus, Heeseung. TMI. Keep it in your pants for at least one studio session, would you?"
"What? You know we’re way past the filter stage," he says, catching the napkin with a beautiful grin, his eyes even crinkle at the corners. "You're the only person I can actually be a pig around. Everyone else expects the star of the architecture department, such bullshit. With you, I can just...be."
With you, I can just be. It's the ultimate compliment and the ultimate execution all at the same time. He trusts you so much that he's forgotten you have a gender, forgotten that you have a body that reacts to the sound of his voice, or a heart that stutters when he describes someone else touching him. To him, you’ve become a neutral territory, something so damn close to a confessional booth where he can dump his desires and his dirt without fear of judgment.
You remember the first time he brought a girl home in high school, you were sitting on his bed, trying to help him study for a math final, when he'd looked at his phone and told you he'd be back in twenty minutes because Sophia, the cheer captain was outside.
You had stayed right there, sat in the silence of his bedroom, surrounded by his posters and the smell of his cologne and waited for him to come back and tell you how it went. You had listened to the play by play of how Sophia finally let him kiss her, nodding along like a coach, while your own firsts were all happening internally—your first heartbreak, your first betrayal of self, all caused by the boy currently laughing about his situationship’s riding skills.
"Go with her, then," you say, steadying your voice to perfection. "If the wow factor is that high, don’t stay here staring at foam board."
Heeseung sighs, his smile fading into something softer and more appreciative. He reaches out and nudges your knee with his. "You always know just what to say to make me feel better. You're the one who actually knows me."
You’re not even sure he knows he says that like it's a prize, as if being the permanent fixture in his life is way better than being the one he wants to lose his mind over. You're the saint of his life but he's a god in yours.
"You're such a sap, Lee," you mutter, turning back to your open sketchpad so he won't see the way your hands are shaking.
"Only for you," he says, already closing his eyes for a ten minute power nap, blissfully unaware that he just set your world on fire and left you to put it out alone.
You’ve always hated the campus bookstore, the lights are so aggressive in here, reflecting off the glossy covers of textbooks you can't afford and the plastic wrap of school spirit hoodies. You're just trying to find a specific set of charcoal pencils for your illustrative art class when you hear that specific melodic laugh that acts as the compass of your life.
Heeseung is leaning against a display of literature notebooks, looking effortlessly cool in the patchwork jacket you made him for his birthday last year, it makes you smile that he actually wears but that smile quickly disappears when you notice his hand resting naturally on the small of Minah's back.
She's wearing this soft lavender cardigan that looks like a cloud or cotton candy, her hair is falling in these perfect ringlets over her shoulders. She looks like a porcelain doll, all gentle, smelling of vanilla and expensive shampoo. She is a stark, jarring contrast to the girl Heeseung described last night—the one who rode him, the one who was a wow in his bed. The thought immediately makes your stomach turn, the fact that she can be both those things for him, she can be the sweet girl he shows off like a trophy and the fire in his bed, while you are stuck being the guardian angel in a faded hoodie.
"Oh, hey!" Minah chirps up the moment she spots you, her smile bright and genuinely kind. "Heeseung was just saying we should text you for lunch."
This might be the absolute worst part, you want to hate her, you so desperately want her to be a villain so your jealousy feels like justice. But instead she's lovely, the kind of girl who remembers what you told her weeks ago and asks how your mom is doing cause you mentioned her being sick once.
Would it be too obvious if I suddenly morphed into something similar? you wonder, looking down at your own pencil lead covered fingers and tired sneakers. If you traded your cynicism for her pastels and the best friend banter for soft spoken praise, would Heeseung finally see a woman instead of a fixture? No, he’d probably just ask if you hit your head or something.
"Hey you," Heeseung says, you watch as his eyes brighten at the sight of you but he doesn't move his hand an inch from Minah's waist, it’s like it’s glued there now. "You look like you haven't slept since you left the studio."
"I haven't," you confirm, "I have a drawing due like last week." Although the lack of sleep is due to his voice playing on a loop in your head and not your coursework.
"Always working too hard," a new voice cuts in, followed by a heavy arm draping over your shoulders.
Jay.
He smells of expensive cologne and confidence as always. Park Jongseong, also known as Jay has been trying to get into your pants since freshman year orientation, his flirtation has become less of a question and more of an ongoing siege.
"You know," Jay murmurs, leaning in so his breath hitches against your ear, "I have a very comfortable bed and a complete lack of art homework. You should come over and let me help you relax."
Heeseung watches this play out with a stupid supportive grin you instantly feel like smacking off his face. He isn't even the least bit jealous or protective, in most way he just looks like a proud older brother watching his two favorite people hit it off. You’re somehow reminded of the first time Heeseung encouraged it.
It was sophomore year, at some crowded frat party in a house that smelled of cheap beer and sweat. Jay had been cornering you by the drinks, his hand resting dangerously close to your waist.
When he left to fill your cup up, Heeseung had leaned in, nudging your shoulder with his, mostly out of habit. "You should go for it," he'd whispered, his eyes scanning the room for his own date. "Jay's a good guy. A bit of a player, sure, but he's been crazy about you. It'd be nice to have you in the inner circle for real, you know? We could double date."
The words had felt agonizingly close a death sentence. Double date. He was trying to outsource your heart to his friend so he could keep you close without ever having to be the one to touch you.
You feel Jay's hand slide a little lower, his thumb catching the belt loop of your jeans. "What do you say? Lunch? and then maybe some tutoring at my place?" You can literally hear the air quotes on the word tutoring, this man absolutely just wants to fuck you and you’re pretty sure the crazy about you part will vanish the moment he gets that.
Heeseung chuckles a little and adjusts his grip on Minah. "Come on, you deserve some fun. Jay's been whining about you for weeks."
You look at Heeseung, really look at him like you almost can’t believe it, you are literally performing the labor of being the best friend you can possibly be, keeping your feelings at bay, while he stands there actively trying to hand you off to someone else.
"Maybe another time, Jay," you say, slipping out from under his arm and forcing a smile Minah, mostly because you can't bear to look at Heeseung anymore. "I have a session. See you guys."
"Actually," Minah quickly says, her voice like honey as she steps forward and detaches herself from best friend’s side just to take your hand. Her skin is soft, her manicure perfect, no signs of paint stains or jagged edges. "You should come with us this weekend. To the cabin. I know it's supposed to be a psych major thing, but I've already cleared it with the group. We have an extra room, and it would be so much more fun if you were there." She says the words with such genuine warmth that you feel like a monster for wishing she would just be mean to you so could spit in her face and feel good about it. If she were a bitch, then you could justify the fire in your chest. But she's just...lovely, to the point where it makes you nauseous.
"I don't know, Minah," you stammer, feeling your heart sinking into your stomach. "I have so much work—"
"Oh, pleaseeee," Heeseung cuts in, throwing an arm around Jay's shoulder, pulling his friend into the conversation like he's closing a business deal. "You've been living in that studio of yours. A weekend in the woods is exactly what you need. Besides," he adds, giving Jay a pointed, conspiratorial look before winking at you, "it'll give you and Jay some real alone time. No easels or canvases, no distractions. Just the fresh air and...you know? Whatever else you guys get up to."
The world feels like it's tilting on its axis. Does he not know me at all? The question screams in the silence of your mind, you’ve been this man’s shadow since you were twelve. You've watched every movie with him, eaten every meal with him, sat through every one of his heartbreaks and triumphs. You have spent a decade carefully curating yourself for his eyes only and yet, he looks at you and sees a girl who wants Jay? Your best friend looks at you and sees a puzzle piece that fits perfectly with someone else, just as long as it isn't him.
"Yeah," Jay smirks, his hand finding the small of your back again, emboldened by Heeseung's blatant endorsement. "I promise to be a very attentive host."
Heeseung laughs—a bright sound that usually makes you feel safe but now it sounds like the tolling of a funeral bell. "See? It's settled. We'll pick you up Friday afternoon. I'll even pack the snacks so you don't have to worry about a thing."
He's so helpful, isn’t he? So kind, he’s meticulously planning the logistics of your weekend with another man because he truly believes he's doing you a favor. He thinks he's being the best friend of the year by setting you up with his buddy, meanwhile every word out of his mouth is another nail in the coffin of your spirit.
You realize then that this isn't just about the pathetic way you love him—it's about the pure blindness that comes with it. You are worshipping a god who doesn't even recognize his own devotee. He sees the guardian angel, the study buddy, sister figure, but he is fundamentally incapable of seeing you. To him, you are a the special person that provides him with coffee and comfort, a spirit that doesn't have needs or desires of its own.
"Fine," you whisper, the word tasting like poison. "I'll go."
"Perfect!" Heeseung beams, leaning down to give Minah an affectionate peck on the temple before looking back at you and you can’t help but notice how it’s so different from the one he gave you yesterday, it’s the same set of lips, just very different intentions. "It's gonna be the best weekend. I can't wait."
What he means is that he can't wait to play house with Minah all weekend in a cabin while you try to dodge Jay's eager hands in the next room. He can't wait to be happy and he expects you to be happy right alongside him, even if it kills you. As you walk away, you can hear Heeseung's voice fading behind you. "She's so focused, man. Told you she's the best." It’s meant to be a compliment about your work ethic, instead it feels as if he's just praised the strength of the walls you've built to keep yourself from screaming in the middle of the fucking bookstore.
The lie had been easy—way too easy, you almost thought you wouldn’t get away with it. But feigned migraine, a shaky voice over the phone, and a "don't worry about me, go have fun" that tasted too close to expired paint was all you needed to get out of the cabin trip. Heeseung had sounded genuinely disappointed and promised to bring you back a souvenir and a list of all the things you'd missed, oblivious to the fact that his absence was the only thing keeping your lungs from completely collapsing.
Now, it's Sunday afternoon and the gray hues of a drizzly campus weekend are filtering through your window, illuminating the dust motes dancing over your cluttered coffee table. You're buried under a fleece blanket on the couch, the silence of the apartment feeling less like peace and more like a vacuum. Sunghoon is right next to you, you feel his fingers against yours when he passes you the blunt you bring to your lips for a drag, he spends most Sundays on your couch in detached boredom like this, despite the fact that he can’t stand Heeseung, honestly Sunghoon can’t really stand anyone so it’s kind of a huge deal that he chooses to spend time with you, which is exactly why he's the only person you can stand to be around right now. He doesn't offer platitudes or try to fix you or make you see the light.
"I think I've suffered the heaviest drop in serotonin in the last week," you say, blowing out the smoke before passing the blunt back to him. It's the weakest attempt at a joke ever, a silly way to dress up the agony in the language of a failing biology minor.
Sunghoon doesn't look up from his phone or blink. "I literally think you're just really depressed," he responds, his tone flat and dangerously honest.
The bluntness of it hits you harder than Heeseung's best friend label ever could but it’s the unfortunate truth you've been trying to wrap in metaphors. You aren't just tired or stressed, you are basically mourning a living person at this point.
"You're probably right," you whisper, feeling the first hot tear slide down your cheek, followed by the familiar and suffocating ache of your heart getting stuck in your throat. You think of the cabin. Right now, the rain is probably hitting the roof of that wooden house in the woods and Heeseung is probably laughing, his large, warm hand draped is probably over Minah's pastel covered shoulder. He's probably telling her a story he's already told you a million times, and she's laughing all cute cause it's the first time she's heard it.
"It's pathetic, isn't it?" you ask, your voice trembling as you wipe your face with the back of your hand.
Sunghoon finally shifts, his gaze finally moving from his screen to your face. There's no pity in his eyes, it’s just a cold, sharp recognition when you make eye contact with him. He knows exactly what you're doing. "Hey, don’t get your salty tears on my blunt. Fucking crybaby." That immediately makes you snort a laugh through your tears, you love how he completely ignores the snot that flies out of your nose and just continues talking.
"What's pathetic," he says, "is that you're sitting here crying over a guy who's currently asking some ditzy girl what she wants for dinner, matter of fact he probably ate her for dinner. Heeseung isn't a god, for fucks sake. He’s just some guy who's too stupid to see what's right in front of him. And you're just a girl who I now know is addicted to the hurt."
Sunghoon's words are a like scalpel that’s peeling back the skin of your denial to show the absolute rot underneath. You really do want to scream at him, you want to defend the ten years of history you have with Heeseung, but you don't, you actually can’t. You just let the tears fall until your face feels tight and dry, you randomly laugh when you think about how unlikely your friendship with Sunghoon is.
A few days later, when you’ve managed to convince yourself you’re not as depressed as Sunghoon is making you out to be, you’re proven real wrong at a frat house on the edge of campus. You're only there because staying home felt like dying and because Heeseung had texted you three different times saying it "wasn't a party without his favorite person."
By midnight, you find him out on the back deck, leaning against the wooden railing and looking away from the crowd out at the dark tree lines. For once, Minah isn't attached to his side and he looks kind of lonely or maybe just quiet sight of him all stripped of his usual charm is the final straw for you.
"Hey," you say, stepping into the cool night air.
He turns and the way his face lights up when he sees you is a cruelty. "There you are. I was about to go on a search party." He reaches out, pulling you into the space beside him, his arm heavy and warm across your shoulders. "I missed you this weekend. The cabin was...it was fine. But it was quiet. Too quiet."
This is it, you think. The music from inside is muffled and you can feel his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles into your arm. The confession is a physical weight in your throat, like a heavy stone you've been carrying since you were thirteen. You turn toward him with your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
"Hee," you start, your voice trembling. "I need to tell you something. About why I didn't go to the cabin. About why I—"
"Seungie!"
The glass door slides open with a jarring screech, of course Minah would appear right at this very moment, her cheeks all flushed pink from the heat inside, her hair is even a bit disheveled but she still looks so beautiful. She looks like she belongs to the night as she stumbles slightly, and Heeseung's arm immediately drops from your shoulder to catch her.
"There you are, baby," she giggles, tucking herself into his chest. Then she looks at you, her eyes softening with that genuine and unbearable kindness. "Oh! Am I interrupting? I'm so sorry, I just really wanted to head home. I'm exhausted."
"No, no," Heeseung says, already adjusting his weight to support her leaning on him. He looks at you, his eyes apologetic but very distant, already moving into the future—a future that involves taking her home, tucking her in, being her hero. "We were just talking. Right?"
"Right," you whisper.
As she leads him away, he throws you a quick wave over his shoulder. "Text you tomorrow?"
The door clicks shut and you stand in the cold, the sudden silence is the loudest thing you've ever heard. It's like the final fracture or the last piece of your heart that doesn't break, it turns to dust.
Your mind is flooded with unwanted memories of a different night, years ago when you were seniors in high school. It was 11:00 at night on a Tuesday when the rocks hit your bedroom window. You'd opened it to find Heeseung standing on your lawn, with his eyes red rimmed and his chest heaving. He'd just found out Sophia, his first real girlfriend had been seeing someone else.
You'd let him in through the back door and he'd immediately collapsed onto your bed, sobbing into your pillows. You sat beside him, stroking his hair and letting him dampen your shirt with his tears. He had clung to you like a life raft in a storm. "Why couldn't she just love me?" he'd choked out. "I gave her everything. Why wasn't I enough?"
You had held him tighter, your own heart breaking for him, even as a very shameful part of you wanted to scream, 'I love you! I'm right here! Why am I never the one you cry over? Why am I only the one who wipes the tears away?'
Heeseung is long gone with Minah now and for the first time in ten years, you don't feel like a best friend. You just feel empty.
Weeks manage to turn into a blur of grey hallways and strategically timed exits. You become a ghost in your own life, a master of the busy text and the just missed you phone call. You even start taking the longer way to class, avoiding the architecture building like it's a crime scene. Every time his name flashes on your screen, a wave of nausea hits you—not because you hate him, but because you're experiencing the worst withdrawal in history.
You spend your time with Sunghoon. He's still cold and blunt but he doesn't smell like the laundry detergent Heeseung uses. It's a relief to be with someone who doesn't expect you to be a saint or the understanding best friend.
But your luck runs out on a rainy Thursday when you’re cutting through the back of the student union and a hand grips your elbow roughly. You don't even have to look up to know the heat of him.
"Enough," Heeseung says, sounding all frustrated and pulling into the alcove beneath the stairs, not caring how your shorter legs can barely keep up with his long strides. "I've called you fifteen times. I went to your apartment. Your roommate said you were out with Sunghoon again."
He says the name like it's a slur. He's towering over you, his breathing heavy, his brow furrowed in a way that usually makes you want to reach out and smooth the lines away. But today, it just makes you feel so cold.
"Since when do I need your permission to make friends, Heeseung?" you snap, the venom in your voice surprising even you. "I didn't realize my social calendar had to be cleared by the architecture department."
"It's not about permission," he shoots back, stepping closer, his shadow immediately swallowing you whole. "But Sunghoon? Really? You know I don’t like that guy. He's so arrogant and cynical—he's not good for you. And suddenly you're blowing me off to spend every waking hour with him?"
"I’ve literally never said anything about all the time you spend with Minah," you retort, your voice rising to match his. "I sat there and listened to you rave about her. Fucking hell, I even encouraged you! I didn't judge your choices."
"That's different!" Heeseung yells, you can see his frustration boiling over. He throws his hands up, pacing in the small space like a caged animal.
"How?" you scream back. "How is it different, Heeseung? Because you're allowed to have a life and I'm just supposed to be the backup singer? The one who waits in the wings until you need a coffee or a fucking shoulder to cry on?"
He stops and looks at you, his eyes flashing with a very patronizing kind of heat. "It's different because Minah and I are fucking, okay? It's a relationship. It's...it's real."
The word hits you like a physical slap. Fucking. Real. There’s a casual crudeness to it, the way he uses it to validate his distance from you while demanding your proximity and ultimately it breaks the last thread of your patience.
"And what?" you hiss. "You don't think Sunghoon and I could be fucking too?"
The silence that follows is absolutely deafening, a part of you expects him to be angry, expects him to be shocked or maybe even a little jealous. What you don’t expect is for your best friend to look at you for a beat, his expression blank before breaking out into laughter. He laughs straight in your face, a genuine, amused sound that makes your blood run cold.
"Come on, Y/N," he says, shaking his head as the laughter dies down into a smile on his lips. He reaches out as if to pat your head, the ultimate gesture of condescension. "You and Sunghoon? I know you. You're not like that. You don't just...do that. Especially not with a guy like him."
He says it with such certainty, like he’s so sure of this version of you he's kept in a box for ten bloody years. He thinks he owns the blueprints to your soul and in his design, there is no room for a girl who sleeps around with the likes of Sunghoon, there’s no room to be anything other than his guardian angel.
He isn't jealous because he doesn't even see you as a sexual being, maybe he even sees you as a utility or a ritual but definitely not a woman, and even if so definitely not one guys like Sunghoon would be willing to fuck.
"You really don't see me at all, do you?" you whisper, your voice is suddenly small cause the anger replaced by a hollow, aching clarity.
"I see you better than anyone," he says, his voice softening like he thinks he's won the argument. "That's why I know you're just acting out because you're stressed. Come on. Let's go get some food. My treat."
He reaches for your hand, confident that the best friend spell on you will hold, his hand is halfway to yours, his fingers already slightly parted and expecting the familiar slotting of your palm against his. It's a movement he's done a thousand times—in movie theaters, on school buses, in the quiet corners of libraries. It is the gesture of a man who is so certain of his gravity.
You look at his hand, at the callouses from his drafting pencils and the clean line of his wrist.
But Sunghoon’s voice is a roar in your ears now, drowning out the sound of the rain against the student union windows. Heeseung isn’t a god. So you don't just pull away, you recoil.
The smile on his face doesn't just vanish, it flickers, all confused like a dying lightbulb. "What?"
"You think you know me?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the humid air of the alcove. "You think I'm not like that? You think I'm some kind of holy relic you can keep on a shelf and only touch when you need a blessing?"
"I didn't say—"
"You laughed, Heeseung." You step back and then another step, creating a chasm of concrete between you. "Right in my face. You laughed because the idea of me being someone else's—the idea of me having a life that doesn't revolve around your studio schedule or your girl problems—is a fucking joke to you. You don't see a woman. Right now I’m not even sure you see a human being. You see a service."
"Y/N, you're being a little dramatic," he says but his voice has lost its edge. He's starting to look at you and for the first time in a decade, he looks completely terrified of what he's seeing.
"I've been in love with you since the eighth grade," you finally confess but the words don't feel like a confession, they feel like an exorcism. You watch them hit him, watch his brain scramble to rewrite ten years of history in a single second. His mouth opens, then shuts. The star of the architecture department, the man with a blueprint for everything, is suddenly standing in a ruin.
"I've spent half my life being a guardian angel for a god who only prays to himself," you continue, your voice gaining a cold and steady strength. "I brought you coffee at three in the fuckass morning, not because I'm nice, I’m actually quite a bitch, but because I wanted you to look at me the way you look at a fucking site plan or even Minah. But you never did and now I know you never will."
"I...I didn't know," "You never said anything! How was I meant to know?" He’s scared, reaching out again, his voice cracking. "Y/N, wait. I love you. You're my best friend, I—"
"Would it have changed anything, Heeseung? If I confessed when we were fourteen or nineteen, would you have looked at me as a woman?" You rub the tears from your eyes with your sleeve as he stands there at a loss for words. "I’m guessing that’s a no."
You turn toward the exit, toward the relentless rain. "I love you so much Heeseung, I love you so much it’s ripping me apart from the inside. And I—I can’t do it anymore." You start to walk away.
"Wait!" he calls out, his footsteps echoing as he tries to follow.
You don't stop walking, you walk straight into the downpour, the cold water soaks through your jacket, washing away the scent of his cologne and the sting of his laughter. You don't look back to see him standing in the alcove, finally seeing the empty space where you’ve been standing for ten years.
You walk until your lungs start to burn, until the rain is the only thing you can feel. Your heart is a wreck, a collapsed structure that even Heeseung couldn't fix. The rain is so unforgiving, as if the sky is crying for you too. Every step away from the student union is a step away from the only world you've ever known, and the sheer weight of it nearly makes your knees buckle.
You're sobbing these ugly and jagged sounds that are thankfully swallowed by the thunder. It's a bad religion to be in love with someone who could never love you. You realize now that the religion wasn't just Heeseung himself, it was the version of yourself you sacrificed to keep him happy. You were a martyr without a cause, walking through a flood that can't wash away the decade of best friend memories currently burning in your mind.
You know, with a sickening certainty that a part of you will never stop. You'll always know his fast food order. You'll always recognize the specific cadence of his laugh. You'll always have a Heeseung shaped hole in your chest that no one else will quite fit into. That is the curse of unrequited love, you know it doesn't end just because you finally said the words out loud. It just turns into a dull and permanent ache.
By the time you reach Sunghoon's building, you're shivering so hard you can barely press the buzzer. When the door clicks open, you don't take the elevator. You climb the stairs, each flight feeling like a mountain, until you reach 4B and pound on it with all the strength you have left. The door swings wide and Sunghoon is standing there, not wearing his usual mask of boredom. His eyes are sharp as they sweep over your drenched hair to your trembling hands and the absolute wreckage of your face. He doesn't ask "What happened?" or "Where is he?" He doesn't even say "I told you so."
Sunghoon, the boy who doesn't like anyone, the boy who finds emotions inefficient, simply reaches out. He grabs the front of your soaked jacket and pulls you forward, dragging you over the threshold and into his space. His arms wrap around your shoulders and it’s not with the casual or breezy affection Heeseung always gave you, it’s with a grounding pressure that demands you stay upright. He's cold to the touch but his chest is a solid wall against your crumbling world.
You bury your face in his shirt and begin to sob violently again, your tears finally turning into a loud heaving as he attempts to shush you. You're still very much in love with a ghost and your heart is still very much in ruin. But as Sunghoon closes the door and locks it behind you, the silence isn't as heavy anymore.
And for the first time in a very long time, you aren't the one doing the comforting.
nene’s note ── hurt to write, i love frank ocean and lee heeseung, shoutout to my architecture friends for the lingo i used. enjoy!💋
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You and Sunghoon have never been close, so being paired together for ENHYPEN’s We Got Married spin-off is awkward from the start. When filming ends, neither of you knows how to go back to normal.
word count: 8.9k
content warnings: fluffy, fake dating, a little bit of jay x reader, sunghoon jealous, and a kiss <3
authors note: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY LOVES!! enjoy a very fluffy sunghoon fic 💋❣️
The set is louder than usual. Staff move quickly, adjusting mics, fixing collars, whispering timing cues. The members are gathered off to the side waiting for instructions.
You’re there too —but off camera.
At least, that’s what you think.
You were told to come “help out.” Jungwon had texted you the night before, suspiciously vague. Just show up. It’ll be funny. You assumed you were there to host something small, maybe hand out cue cards, maybe play a small role in whatever they are doing .
Because clearly something was planned.
Jay and Jungwon keep stepping away from the group to talk to staff. Heeseung looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Jake keeps glancing at Sunghoon and then quickly looking away. Ni-ki is practically vibrating with the need to spoil whatever secret he’s holding.
Sunghoon notices.
“Why are you guys acting like this?” he asks, scanning their faces. “Did I miss something?”
“What’s new,” Jay replies easily.
You’re standing near the side, arms folded, watching this unfold with growing suspicion. “Is someone going to tell me what’s happening?” you ask.
Jungwon turns to you with an innocent smile that is never actually innocent. “You’ll see.”
“I’m scared.”
Heeseung leans toward you. “Just trust us.”
“I don’t,” you say flatly.
Across the room, Sunghoon crosses his arms. “Why is she here?”
The way he says it isn’t rude. Just confused.
Jake grins. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
Sunghoon shrugs. “This is our shoot.”
“And?” Ni-ki says. “She’s basically part of us anyway.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t drag me into whatever this is.”
Jungwon claps once, drawing everyone toward the center as the crew makes final adjustments to the lights and microphones. The cameras are already rolling, quietly capturing every reaction.
“Alright,” Jungwon says, hands on his hips, tone deceptively casual. “Today’s concept is simple. We’re pairing up.”
There’s a split second of silence.
Then chaos.
Heeseung immediately grabs Jake by the sleeve. “Mine.”
Jake gasps. “You didn’t even hesitate.”
Jay steps beside Jungwon without a word, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Obviously.”
Ni-ki throws an arm around Sunoo. “We already decided.”
Sunoo nods, amused. “He didn’t give me a choice.”
Within seconds, everyone is locked into pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder like it was rehearsed.
Except Sunghoon.
He’s still in the middle, hands in his pockets, looking around at the sudden alliances.
“Alright,” Jungwon begins, glancing around at the members in pairs. “Today’s episode is a special segment. Think of it as a mini We Got Married.”
Jungwon continues. “We will be paired up. You’ll complete missions together. Stay in character. Try to look convincing.”
He lets out a small laugh. “Wow. So I’m marrying myself?”
Jake grins. “It suits you.”
“Very on brand,” Jay adds.
Sunghoon shrugs. “Honestly, less stressful.”
Jungwon tilts his head. “Not so fast.”
Sunghoon narrows his eyes slightly. “What.”
Jungwon smiles —too calm. “We invited a special guest.”
Sunghoon’s posture shifts. “What special guest?”
The main camera pans slightly, to show you standing behind the crew.
You’re standing near a wall, arms crossed, clearly already getting where this is going.
“No,” you mouth immediately, shaking your head.
Off-camera, Heeseung’s laugh is audible. “It’ll be fun.”
“It won’t,” you argue, looking directly at the lens like it personally betrayed you. “Absolutely not.”
Back on the main camera, Sunghoon stares at Jungwon. “…Why is she here?”
Jake tries to hold back his grin. Fails.
You take a step back. “You said I was just visiting.”
“And you are,” Jay’s voice echoes faintly from wherever you’re standing. “Visiting your husband.”
Your head snaps up. “My what?”
The room on set erupts, even some of the crew couldn't hold their laughs in.
Sunghoon goes still. “You’re joking.”
The hidden camera catches you running a hand over your face. “I’m not doing this.”
Too late.
Heeseung and Jake appear on either side of you, each grabbing one of your arms dramatically.
“Don’t touch me,” you warn, already trying to twist away.
“Come on,” Jake says. “Commit to the bit.”
“I didn’t agree to a bit!”
The feed cuts back to the main camera just as they gently guide you onto the set.
You dig your heels in slightly before realizing the cameras are inches away. You straighten up instantly, glaring at all of them.
Sunghoon is still standing alone in the center.
You stop a few feet away from him.
There’s a long pause.
He looks at you.
You look at him.
“…You didn’t know?” he asks carefully.
“No,” you say flatly.
He exhales slowly. “Good.”
“Good?”
“If I’m suffering, you are too.”
You glare. “I was perfectly fine five minutes ago.”
Jungwon steps between you slightly, delighted. “Sunghoon, congratulations. You’re not marrying yourself.”
Sunghoon deadpans, “I was starting to prefer that option.”
You nod. “Same.”
Heeseung claps his hands once. “Alright! Couples, stand together.”
The other pairs instinctively lean into each other, already laughing and comfortable.
You and Sunghoon hesitate.
Neither of you moves first.
Jake whispers loudly, “Stand closer.”
You step half an inch forward. Sunghoon mirrors it, stiff.
“Wow,” Ni-ki mutters. “The chemistry.”
“Shut up,” you and Sunghoon say at the same time.
The crew snickers.
Jungwon beams at the camera. “Looks like all our couples are ready.”
Sunghoon glances at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re smiling.”
“I smile when I’m stressed.”
“That actually explains a lot.”
You fight the urge to laugh.
And just like that, with every camera focused on you and no way out, the “special guest” twist lands exactly how they wanted.
----------------------------------
Looking back, you probably should’ve questioned it the moment staff emailed you saying it would be a multi-day shoot and to pack a bag. At the time, you assumed you were just helping with extended filming —you just didn't think too much into it. You didn’t think too hard about it.
You should have because now the bus ride is loud before it even starts moving.
Staff usher everyone inside while the cameras are already positioned between the seats. The second Jungwon steps on, he makes a show of it. “Husbands and uhh wife, sit together.”
Heeseung immediately slides into a seat and pats the space beside him. “Jake, don’t embarrass me.”
Jake gasps. “I would never.” He sits close on purpose, throwing an arm over the back of the seat like he’s in a drama.
Jay and Jungwon take the row behind them, shoulders brushing, purposely making it dramatic. Sunoo dramatically pulls Ni-ki down beside him and rests his head on his shoulder just to be annoying.
The energy is exaggerated, playful. Everyone is leaning into it.
You step onto the bus a second later, scanning the seats.
Sunghoon is already sitting near the middle, by the window. Alone.
You hesitate, then walk over and sit beside him. Not too close. Not too far.
There’s a noticeable gap between your arms.
The bus doors close.
Jake twists around in his seat immediately. “Wow.”
Heeseung follows his gaze. “The… distance.”
You don’t look at them. “What.”
“You two look like coworkers on a field trip,” Jay says from behind.
Sunghoon sighs. “Can we not start?”
Ni-ki cranes his neck over the seat. “You’re supposed to be married.”
Sunghoon glances at you. “Do you want the window?”
“It’s fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s fine,” you repeat.
He shrugs and looks back out the window.
Heeseung whistles. “This is painful.”
“Hold hands or something,” Jungwon suggests casually.
You and Sunghoon both turn to him at the same time. “No.”
The bus erupts in laughter.
Jake reaches back and physically pushes Sunghoon’s shoulder forward. “At least sit closer.”
Sunghoon swats his hand away. “Drive the bus.”
“I’m not driving.”
“Then face forward.”
You cross your arms. “Why are they more invested than the producers?”
“Because this is content,” Jay says simply.
Ni-ki stands halfway in the aisle despite staff telling him to sit down. “Introduce yourselves as a couple.”
“We already know each other,” you say.
“That’s not romantic.”
Sunghoon mutters under his breath, “Nothing about this is romantic.”
You almost smile at that.
Jake catches it. “Oh, she smiled. Progress.”
You immediately look away. “I did not.”
“She did,” Sunoo confirms calmly.
Sunghoon shifts slightly in his seat, finally closing a bit of the gap between you —not dramatically, just enough that your shoulders almost brush when the bus turns.
It’s subtle.
But the others notice.
“Ooooh,” Ni-ki drags out.
“Shut up,” Sunghoon says, but there’s no real bite to it.
The rest of the ride is filled with exaggerated couple questions shouted from different rows.
“Who apologizes first after fights?”
“Who’s clingy?”
“Who cooks?”
At that one, you glance at Sunghoon. “Not you.”
He scoffs. “You don’t know that.”
“You’re not good at cooking.”
“I can learn.”
“You say that about everything.”
Jake leans over the seat again. “See? Bickering. That’s chemistry.”
“It’s not chemistry,” you and Sunghoon say in sync.
That only makes it worse.
By the time the bus slows down, the teasing hasn’t stopped. But it’s less sharp now. More familiar. You’re not sitting stiff anymore. Your knee is pressed lightly against his because of the cramped space, and neither of you bother to move.
The doors open.
Outside, four small cabins sit side by side, spaced evenly apart. They’re wood-paneled, simple but neat, each with a small porch and matching steps. In the center of the space between them is a shared area —a pool, a fire pit surrounded by chairs, string lights already hanging overhead. There’s a grill off to one side, a table for outdoor games, even a small volleyball net stretched near the grass.
Ni-ki steps off first. “Oh, this is nice.”
Heeseung whistles low. “Okay. Production budget.”
Jungwon turns toward the cameras. “Welcome to your vacation house.”
He gestures toward the cabins. “Each couple gets one.”
You glance at Sunghoon.
He glances at you.
The teasing quiets for a second as the reality of that settles in.
“One cabin,” Jake repeats slowly.
“Shared,” Heeseung adds.
Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
You fold your arms again, but you’re trying not to smile. “Still wish you married yourself?”
He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Ask me in an hour.”
And as the staff begin handing out cabin keys, the “mini” concept suddenly feels a lot less temporary.
A staff member drops a single key into Sunghoon’s hand.
“Cabin three,” they say.
“One key?” you ask.
“Married couple,” the staff member replies simply, already walking away.
Sunghoon looks at the key like it personally offended him. “Unbelievable.”
You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Are we arguing about it here or going inside?”
He gestures toward the row of cabins. “After you.”
“You have the key.”
He sighs and starts walking.
Cabin three is the second from the end. The porch creaks slightly under your weight as you step up. The camera operator follows close behind, lens already pointed at the two of you.
The door swings open to a small but clean interior —wood-paneled walls, soft lighting, a compact kitchen area to the left, a couch against the far wall, and a sliding door that probably leads to a bathroom.
You step inside first, scanning everything carefully.
“It’s… nice,” you admit.
Sunghoon walks in behind you, dropping his bag by the couch. “It’s smaller than I expected.”
“There are four of them,” you point out. “We’re not royalty.”
The camera pans slowly across the space.
You walk further in, peeking into the kitchen cabinets. “At least it’s stocked.”
“Don’t get excited,” he says. “You said I don’t cook.”
“You don’t.”
“But I could learn.”
You glance at him. “Are you going to learn tonight?”
He ignores that and walks toward the back of the cabin where a short hallway opens into the bedroom.
There’s a pause.
You follow him.
And then you both stop at the doorway.
In the center of the small bedroom is one bed. Not two small ones pushed together. Not a bunk. One bed.
You stare at it.
Sunghoon stares at it.
The camera zooms slightly.
“…No,” you say quietly.
He lets out a slow breath. “They’re insane.”
You step fully into the room like seeing it from another angle might change something. It doesn’t. One bed. One set of pillows. One blanket folded neatly at the bottom.
You turn to the cameraman. “There’s another room, right?”
Silence.
Sunghoon rubs the back of his neck. “Is there at least a couch long enough?”
You walk back out into the living area, eyeing the couch critically. “Maybe if one of us doesn’t move all night.”
He leans against the bedroom doorframe. “You move in your sleep?”
“How am I supposed to know? I’m sleeping.”
He exhales sharply, fighting a smile. “That wasn't funny.”
“You have to admit, it was a little funny.”
The cameraman shifts slightly to capture both of you in frame.
You look at the bed again, then back at Sunghoon. “So what’s the plan?”
He hesitates for a second. Just a second.
Then, quieter, “We’ll figure it out later.”
You study him, expecting more resistance. Instead, he steps fully into the room and sets his bag down on one side of the bed.
“Left side’s mine,” he says.
You blink. “You just decided?”
“Yep.”
You walk over and drop your bag on the opposite side. “This is temporary.”
“It’s three days,” he replies.
“Temporary.”
He looks at you, something unreadable flickering across his expression before he looks away again.
Outside, you can faintly hear the others laughing near the pool, already settling into their cabins like this is normal.
You and Sunghoon step back out onto the porch at the same time. The camera follows, of course.
The central area is louder now. Jay and Jungwon are already claiming chairs near the fire pit. Heeseung and Jake are standing by the pool, arguing about who would win in anything remotely competitive. Ni-ki has his shoes off and is halfway into the water while Sunoo tells him to wait for staff instructions.
Jungwon spots you first. “Cabin tour done?”
You walk straight toward them. “There’s one bed.”
Jay doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” you repeat. “That’s your response?”
Heeseung shrugs. “It’s a couple concept.”
“You’re all paired with each other,” you argue. “You’re all guys.”
Jake tilts his head. “And?”
“And it’s different,” you say flatly. “I didn’t sign up to share a bed.”
Sunghoon stands slightly behind you, hands in his pockets. “Neither did I.”
Ni-ki looks between the two of you. “You’ll survive.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” you shoot back. “You’ve known each other for years.”
Sunoo nods thoughtfully. “That’s true.”
Jay leans back in his chair. “You act like he’s a stranger.”
You glance over your shoulder at Sunghoon. “We’re not exactly best friends.”
Sunghoon exhales quietly. “Why do you keep saying it like that?”
“Because it’s true.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but Jungwon cuts in before he can.
“Relax,” Jungwon says. “It’s only three days.”
“Only,” you repeat.
Jake claps his hands once. “Okay, before you two file a formal complaint, we’re starting the first game.”
Ni-ki brightens immediately. “Pool game!”
You narrow your eyes. “What pool game?”
“The shoulder one,” Heeseung explains. “Two people. One on top, one holding.”
You blink. “Absolutely not.”
Jungwon points at you. “Go change.”
You look down at your clothes. “I just got here.”
“Married life is fast,” Jay lets out a chuckle.
Sunghoon mutters under his breath, “This is a nightmare.”
Jake grins at him. “You’re carrying her.”
You turn sharply. “Excuse me?”
“You think you can carry Sunghoon?” Ni-ki says matter-of-factly.
“This isn't fair,” you argue.
Heeseung crosses his arms. “So who’s on top?”
You and Sunghoon both answer at the same time.
“Not me.”
You glare at him. “You think I’m getting thrown into a pool on day one?”
“You think you can lift me?” he shoots back. “That’s not even physically possible.”
You rub your temples.
Jungwon gestures toward the cabins. “You have five minutes. Swimsuits.”
You hesitate. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Sunghoon looks at you. “We can just lose on purpose.”
“That’s worse,” Jake says immediately. “If you lose on purpose, you’re cooking dinner tonight.”
You freeze. “We don’t cook.”
“You will,” Jay replies calmly.
You look back at Sunghoon. “You said you could learn.”
He looks mildly betrayed. “Don’t use that against me.”
Ni-ki splashes water toward the edge of the pool. “Five minutes!”
You sigh dramatically and turn toward the cabins. “This is your fault.”
Sunghoon blinks. “How is this my fault?”
“You opened the door first.”
“That’s not how this works.”
You stop walking just long enough to point at him. “If I drown, I’m blaming you.”
“You’re not going to drown,” he says flatly. “It’s not even that deep.”
You resume walking. “Still blaming you.”
He shakes his head but follows after you toward the cabins.
----------------------------------
By the time you walk back out in a oversized T-shirt and shorts, the others are already in the pool, water sloshing at the edges from Ni-ki’s impatience.
Sunghoon is standing at the edge, sleeves pushed up, staring at the water like it personally offended him.
“You ready?” Jake calls.
“No,” Sunghoon answers.
You step up beside him. “We’re not losing.”
He glances at you. “I thought you didn’t want to do this.”
“I don’t. But I also don’t want to cook.”
“That’s fair.”
The rules are simple. One person holds the other on their shoulders. Try to knock the other pair into the water. The last couple standing wins.
“Sunghoon, you’re base,” Jay says. “No debate.”
You look at Sunghoon. “Don’t drop me.”
He steps into the pool first. The water reaches just above his waist. He turns, crouching slightly. “Okay. Just—careful.”
You hesitate for half a second before placing your hands on his shoulders.
“This is already awkward,” you mutter.
“Just hurry,” he says.
With assistance from the side and an embarrassing amount of trial and error, you manage to swing one leg over his shoulder, then the other. Your hands grip the top of his head for balance.
“Not my hair,” he complains immediately.
“Then stay still.”
He straightens slowly, hands hovering awkwardly at your calves.
The others are already positioned. Heeseung has Jake on his shoulders, solid and balanced. Jay and Jungwon look disturbingly coordinated. Ni-ki is trying to tip Sunoo over before the round even starts.
“Ready?” Jungwon shouts.
“Wait,” you say quickly, wobbling slightly.
Sunghoon’s hands are barely touching you.
“Why are you not holding on?” you hiss down at him.
“I am.”
“You’re touching my ankles.”
“I don’t know where else to—”
“Anywhere more secure than that!”
Before he can answer, Jungwon yells, “Go!”
Chaos erupts.
Heeseung charges first, Jake reaching out and shoving at you. You try to push back, but the second Sunghoon shifts his footing, you tilt too far to the left.
“Sunghoon—”
You both go down in under ten seconds.
The water is cold. You come up sputtering, hair in your face.
Jake is laughing so hard he nearly falls off Heeseung’s shoulders. “That was pathetic.”
“You didn’t even try,” Jay calls.
You wipe water from your eyes and glare at Sunghoon. “You weren’t holding me.”
“I didn’t want to grab—”
“You didn’t want to grab what?”
He lowers his voice. “Your thighs.”
You stare at him. “This is a game.”
“I know that.”
“Then hold me properly!”
The second round starts almost immediately.
You climb back up, slightly less awkward this time. Sunghoon steadies you, but again his grip is cautious —hands hovering at the sides of your knees, barely anchoring you.
“Stronger,” you say under your breath.
“I am holding you.”
“Barely.”
Jay and Jungwon collide into you from the side. You reach forward to shove Jungwon, but your balance is off again.
Down you both go.
The cheers from the others are louder this time.
“You two look divorced already,” Ni-ki shouts.
You push your hair back, competitive frustration settling in. “Okay. Stop.”
Sunghoon blinks. “Stop what?”
“Stop being weird.”
“I’m not being weird.”
“You’re absolutely being weird.”
He looks offended. “I’m trying to be respectful.”
“I don’t need respectful right now. I need stability.”
He exhales sharply. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Another round is called.
You climb up again, water dripping down your arms. This time, before he can default to his careful grip, you lean down slightly.
“Hold me,” you say firmly.
He looks up at you, stunned. “What?”
“My thighs. Properly. Or we’re going to keep losing.”
There’s a beat.
Then his hands shift.
Higher.
Secure.
His grip is firm now, fingers steady against your legs. You feel the difference immediately —solid, balanced.
“Better?” he asks, quieter.
“Yes.”
Jungwon shouts the start again.
Heeseung charges, but this time when the impact hits, you don’t wobble as much. Sunghoon adjusts quickly, feet digging into the pool floor.
“Left,” you say.
“I know.”
“Just saying.”
You shove at Jake. Hard.
He loses balance first.
Heeseung stumbles, and they both crash into the water.
The group erupts.
You sit up straighter on Sunghoon’s shoulders. “See?”
He huffs out a breath, almost laughing. “Don’t get confident.”
Jay and Jungwon approach next. You brace yourself, hands gripping Sunghoon’s head for leverage.
“Careful,” he warns.
“You hold me, I’ll handle the rest.”
Their collision is stronger this time, but Sunghoon’s grip doesn’t falter. His hands tighten instinctively as you lean forward and push Jungwon back with both palms.
Jay slips first.
Then Jungwon.
They go under.
For a second, it’s just you and Sunghoon left standing in the middle of the pool.
Ni-ki is still trying to get balanced with Sunoo when Jungwon blows the whistle.
“Winners!”
You let out a sharp laugh, adrenaline high. “Told you.”
Sunghoon slowly lowers you back down into the water, hands still steady at your thighs until your feet touch the floor.
When he lets go, there’s a brief pause.
“You’re competitive,” he says.
“You’re stronger than you look.”
He raises a brow. “That’s not a compliment.”
“It is, actually.”
Around you, the others are already complaining about rematches and unfair tactics.
But for the first time since arriving, you and Sunghoon aren’t standing apart.
You’re side by side in the water, both breathing a little heavier, both trying not to smile too obviously.
You and Sunghoon finally drag yourselves out of the pool, dripping and laughing, and make your way back to the cabin. The sun is starting to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the cabins. Your hair clings to your face, and the damp T-shirt sticks uncomfortably to your skin, but the adrenaline from the pool game has left you buzzing.
Inside the cabin, the familiar smell of wood and the faint scent of cleaning supplies greet you. For once, the camera crew isn’t hovering. No cameras, no lights, no staff whispering instructions. Just the two of you and the small cabin, a quiet pause in the chaos of the day.
Sunghoon sets his bag down and finally glances at you. “You… comfortable?” His voice is careful, low, like he’s worried about overstepping. “I can talk to the staff if—if this is too much.”
You shake your head quickly, stepping past him. “No, it’s fine. Honestly, it’s fun. Just… a little weird to get used to.” You drop your bag by the bed and tug at your wet T-shirt. “It’ll be fine.”
He studies you for a moment, still cautious. “Alright.” He moves toward the bathroom. “I’ll go after you, but… you can take the shower first.”
You blink at him. “First?”
“Yes,” he says simply, turning slightly. “I’ll wait. Make sure you’re comfortable.”
You hesitate, unused to someone being so considerate, but eventually nod. “Okay.”
He steps back, giving you the space you need, but the tension hasn’t fully lifted. Not yet. Even with the privacy, the reality of the day is still there, humming quietly in the back of your mind.
You glance at the small bathroom door and step inside, turning the water on. Steam fills the room as you finally let yourself relax, knowing Sunghoon is just outside, waiting, giving you control of this moment.
And for the first time since the pool game, it feels… manageable. Maybe even easy. Almost.
----------------------------------
You step out of the bathroom finally, wrapped in a soft oversized hoodie and comfortable shorts, letting your damp hair fall loosely around your shoulders. Sunghoon is still waiting on the couch. You toss him a quick glance.
“Going to check what the losers are cooking,” you say, nodding toward the sliding glass door.
He raises an eyebrow. “You mean Ni-ki and Sunoo?”
You smirk. “Yeah. Since we won, it’s our duty to supervise.”
He exhales, shaking his head. “Right… because you know your way around a grill.”
You head outside, squinting in the early evening sun. But instead of Ni-ki and Sunoo, you find Jay crouched near the small grill, apron on, concentrating on flipping meat over the heat. The others are nowhere in sight.
“Jay?” you call softly, walking over.
He looks up, surprised, then smirks. “Oh… hey. Didn’t trust them to cook.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Mind if I help?”
He gestures at the grill. “Sure. Just don’t mess it up.”
You laugh and grab a spatula, kneeling beside him. “I promise. I’m careful… mostly.”
About six minutes after you start helping Jay, Sunghoon finally steps outside. His hands are buried in his pockets, and he leans against the porch railing, watching quietly. You catch his gaze and give a small, teasing shrug. “Want to supervise?”
He shakes his head. “I think I’ll let you do this.”
Together, you and Jay flip burgers and stir vegetables, chatting casually as the small fire crackles. It’s the first time today you feel like a normal person again.
Then the sound of the cabin doors sliding open catches your attention. Jungwon’s grin is instant, mischievous.
“Well, well,” Jungwon says loudly, his voice carrying across the yard. “Looks like we’ve got an affair going on here.”
You freeze, spatula mid-air, and look at him. “What?”
He points at you, then at Jay, clearly enjoying himself. “Helping him cook all alone… very suspicious.”
Heeseung leans over from the edge of the pool. “Look at you two, sneaking away from the group. Someone’s trying to get extra points.”
Jake snorts. “Yeah, I didn’t know couples were allowed side missions.”
Sunghoon suddenly stands behind you, crosses his arms and pouts dramatically. “My wife… is cheating on me,” he says, voice low but clearly joking. “Right in front of me.”
You roll your eyes at him. “Me? Really?”
“Exactly,” he replies, turning toward Jay with mock suspicion. “You’re seducing her with your… grilling skills.”
Jay laughs, shrugging. “I swear I’m just cooking.”
You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not being seduced. I’m just helping.”
“Uh-huh,” Jungwon says, walking closer. “That’s exactly what someone having an affair would say.”
The teasing escalates as the rest of the group finally starts to gather around closer. Heeseung and Jake grab drinks from the cooler.
“Look who’s working hard,” Ni-ki teases, pointing at you.
“Yeah, one of the winners is helping Jay,” Sunoo adds.
You glance at Jay, who shrugs with a faint smile. “She’s actually nice, unlike you guys.”
Sunghoon huffs again, dramatically folding his arms. “I can’t believe my wife is cooking with someone else.”
Jungwon claps his hands, smirking. “Alright everyone, picnic table in the middle! Food’s ready! Let’s gather!”
The group begins moving toward the table, plates in hand, while you stay beside Jay a moment longer, flipping a piece of meat and laughing softly. Sunghoon trails behind, still glancing at you with exaggerated suspicion.
Even with the teasing and Sunghoon’s playful pout, the stolen moments of quiet and casual conversation make the day feel lighter, and for a second, you almost forget this is all part of a show. Almost.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, teasing, and good food. The group gathers around the picnic table, swapping stories, arguing over who got the best bite of grilled meat, and jokingly debating who’s the most competitive from the pool game earlier. Jay and you continue to talk with minor nudges here and there, while Sunghoon hovers nearby, pouting dramatically at every glance you give another member.
Eventually, the night winds down. The fire pit is low, the string lights casting a warm glow across the cabins. One by one, the others retreat to their rooms, leaving you and Sunghoon standing in the quiet cabin doorway.
You glance at the single bed in the corner and sigh. “So, how do we do this?”
He shrugs. “We could… just sleep on opposite sides. Pillow in between?”
You nod, relieved. “Yeah, that works.”
The two of you do your nightly routine and then climb into bed, careful to respect the imaginary boundary of the pillow. It’s awkward at first, the pillow feeling like a small wall between you, but eventually you both relax, letting the exhaustion of the day take over.
----------------------------------
The next morning, you’re woken not by alarms or sunlight, but by the harsh sound of rain pelting against the roof and windows. You peer outside; A storm has come in full force, gray clouds blocking out the sun.
Sunghoon, already awake, is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the rain through the window. “Great,” he mutters. “Looks like we’re trapped.”
You groan. “Trapped… with you.”
He glances at you and smirks. “Yep. Just you and me. No one else to bother us.”
You flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Didn’t you want to be alone?” you mutter with a teasing tone..
Sunghoon glances over at you, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not so bad,” he admits quietly, almost to himself. Then, as if to make sure you hear, he adds, “I mean… you’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be.”
You raise an eyebrow, sitting up just slightly. “Is that….a compliment.”
He shrugs, leaning back on his hands. “Take it how you want.”
After a moment, you both begin moving through the cabin, awkwardly settling into the morning routine. You brush your teeth side by side in the tiny bathroom, neither of you saying much, but the silence feels easier now. Sunghoon grabs a towel and drapes it over his shoulder, while you pull your hair back into a loose ponytail.
“I should’ve brought extra socks,” you mutter.
“I have some,” Sunghoon says, tossing you a pair of clean black ones. You catch them and shoot him a small smile.
Breakfast is simple —Pancakes are the only thing you know how to make— but the two of you sit at the cabin table, quietly sipping coffee and unpacking some of your things. Every so often, you glance at him, and he meets your eyes with that same faint smile.
“You know,” you say, poking at one of your pancakes, “for someone who claimed he didn’t want to be here, you’re… you’re not so bad in the morning.”
“I told you,” he replies, voice low, “not so bad.”
You shake your head, laughing softly. The rain continues to hammer against the windows, wind rattling the thin cabin walls. You glance around, restless, then your eyes land on a small wooden cabinet near the kitchenette.
“There were board games in there,” you say, pointing. “If we’re trapped, we might as well suffer some more.”
Sunghoon narrows his eyes. “Suffer?”
“Yeah. I’m competitive.”
“That’s cute,” he says flatly. “You lost the first two rounds yesterday.”
“Because someone wouldn’t hold on properly,” you shoot back.
He exhales through his nose and crouches in front of the cabinet. Inside are a few worn boxes —cards with bent corners, Uno with a rubber band around it, and a small strategy game with colorful square tiles. He studies them like he’s choosing something serious, then pulls out the tile game and sets it on the table between you.
“Fine,” he says. “Until the storm’s over.”
You sit across from each other at the tiny wooden table, knees brushing every time either of you shifts. The rulebook is slightly crumpled. You both lean in to read it at the same time, shoulders bumping.
“So we build patterns?” you ask.
“And block the other person,” he adds, already sounding invested.
The first argument happens before the game even properly starts.
“You moved that,” he says immediately, pointing at one of your tiles.
“I absolutely did not.”
“You’re smiling.”
“So I can’t smile now?”
He gives you a slow, unimpressed look. You roll your eyes and push the tile half an inch back just to irritate him.
To make it official, you prop your phone up against a mug and hit record. The angle is slightly crooked, but it catches both of you and the board.
“For engenes,” you say. “So they can see when I win.”
He snorts but subtly fixes his hair anyway.
The first round starts cautiously. You both place tiles carefully, pretending not to have a strategy. Sunghoon’s expression shifts quickly —eyes narrowing, jaw tightening just slightly. He’s calculating.
You try to mirror his calm, but when he places a tile that ruins your setup, you gasp dramatically.
“Are you serious?”
“Strategic,” he replies.
You lean forward, elbows on the table, completely focused now. The rain pounds against the roof, but neither of you flinch at the thunder. When you finally manage to block his path across the board, you tap the tile with satisfaction.
He stares at it like it personally offended him.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
His lips twitch despite himself.
The second round is faster. More aggressive. You stop pretending you’re casual about it. You snatch tiles from the pile with too much force. He reaches for one at the same time and your fingers brush. Neither of you pull away immediately.
“Let go,” you say.
“I grabbed it first.”
“You hesitated.”
“You’re making that up.”
At one point, when you move too quickly, he lightly grabs your wrist.
“Think,” he says, low and steady. “Don’t panic.”
“I am not panicking.”
“You are absolutely panicking.”
You yank your hand back and stand up, pacing around the small table like a coach on the sidelines. He leans back in his chair, watching you with open amusement.
“You’re so dramatic,” he says.
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m winning.”
“You’re about to lose.”
He huffs when you drop a tile that flips the entire board in your favor. You clap once in victory, leaning over the table.
“Yes. See? Natural talent.”
He leans back, folding his arms. “Beginner’s luck.”
You lean toward the phone, pointing accusingly at it. “Document this. He’s bitter.”
He reaches over and adjusts the phone so both of your faces are fully in frame. “Rematch,” he says calmly. “Best of five.”
Your eyes light up immediately. “You’re on.”
The third and fourth rounds blur together. There’s more laughing now. Less tension. You start teasing him every time he overthinks a move.
“Just place it,” you say.
“Silence,” he replies, holding up a finger. “I need to visualize.”
“You’re not performing surgery.”
He wins one round and doesn’t celebrate —just gives you a small nod like it was inevitable. You shove his shoulder lightly.
“You’ve been waiting to do that.”
“Of course.”
By the final round, you’re both leaning so far over the table your foreheads nearly bump. Your knees press together under the table without either of you commenting on it. The air feels warmer, smaller somehow.
When you make the last move and realize you’ve won overall, you freeze.
“…Wait.”
He looks down at the board, then back at you.
You break into a grin. “I won.”
He exhales slowly, staring at the board like he might argue with it. Then he shakes his head.
“You’re insufferable.”
“But a winner!”
You raise your hands in quiet triumph while the phone keeps recording. He reaches forward and flicks your forehead lightly.
“Next time,” he says, “I’m not going easy on you.”
“You weren’t going easy.”
He doesn’t respond to that. Just watches you for a second longer than necessary before finally standing to stretch.
Outside, the storm still rages. But inside the cabin, the awkwardness that once filled the space is completely gone
----------------------------------
By late afternoon, the snacks ran out.
The granola bars are gone. The fruit bowl is empty except for one bruised apple neither of you wants. Your stomach growls loud enough that Sunghoon looks over from the couch.
“Okay,” he says. “We can’t survive on snacks.”
You glance toward the small kitchenette. “So… we cook?”
He stands slowly, stretching his arms over his head. “We cook.”
The cabin kitchen is barely big enough for one person, let alone two. There’s a narrow counter, a small stovetop, and cabinets stocked with basic ingredients —rice, ramen, eggs, a few vegetables, some pre-marinated meat the staff clearly planned for.
You prop your phone up again, this time against a bag of rice. Sunghoon adjusts the angle carefully.
You tie your hair back. “What are we making?”
He scans the ingredients, thoughtful. “Rice, meat, maybe eggs on top.”
You nod and move beside him, shoulder to shoulder in the tight space. He washes the rice while you start cutting vegetables. The knife thuds softly against the cutting board, rain still tapping against the windows in the background.
“You’re cutting those too thick,” he says.
“They’re fine.”
“They won’t cook evenly.”
“You’re dramatic.”
He steps closer without thinking, gently guiding your hand down. “Like this.”
You glance at him. He’s focused, not teasing for once. The proximity makes the small kitchen feel even smaller.
“Okay, chef,” you mutter.
He smirks and goes back to washing the rice
The stove clicks as he turns it on. Oil sizzles in the pan. You crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them quickly while he seasons the meat.
“Don’t burn it,” you warn.
“Have some faith in me.”
You laugh under your breath and pour the eggs into a second pan. The scent of cooking food fills the cabin, warm and comforting. It feels domestic in a way that makes you pause for half a second.
He notices.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, flipping the egg before it overcooks.
At some point, your hips bump as you both reach for the same utensil. You both freeze.
“You first,” he says.
“No, you.”
He sighs and steps back slightly, letting you move around him. The phone is still recording —capturing the small glances, the accidental touches, the way you naturally adjust to each other in the limited space.
When the rice finishes steaming, he plates everything carefully. You stand beside him, adding the eggs on top.
“You actually did okay,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
He slides one bowl toward you and keeps one for himself. Instead of taking it to the table, you both just lean against the counter, eating side by side.
The food is simple, but warm.
“See,” he says between bites. “We work well together.”
You nod. “We do.”
The rain hasn’t stopped, but it feels quieter now. Your camera continues recording on the counter, catching the way you stand close without noticing, the way conversation flows more easily than it did yesterday.
After dinner, you clean up together without arguing about it. He washes, you dry. The kitchen is small enough that your elbows keep knocking, but neither of you comment on it. The routine feels easier tonight.
When you move to the bathroom to get ready for bed, it’s the same quiet coordination. He brushes his teeth while you stand beside him washing your face. You complain about the water pressure. He hands you the towel before you even ask. At some point your shoulders bump and neither of you step away immediately.
“You’re hogging the sink,” you say, flicking a bit of water at him. He exhales through his nose, pretending to be annoyed.
Back in the main room, you both change into comfortable clothes again. The rain hasn’t stopped. It’s darker tonight, heavier. The single bed looks less intimidating than it did yesterday.
You grab the extra pillow automatically and place it down the middle.
“Still building the wall?” he asks.
“Don’t act like you weren’t grateful for it.”
He shrugs but doesn’t argue.
Instead of immediately turning off the lights, you prop your phone against your bag and scroll through shows. “Pick something,” you say.
You both settle on something light and easy to watch. The two of you lie on your backs at first, staring up at the screen. After a while, you both shift onto your sides without discussing it, facing the same direction. The pillow barrier stays in place, but your arms brush occasionally when one of you adjusts.
Halfway through the episode, your phone lights up with a video call.
You glance at the screen. “It’s Jake.”
Sunghoon groans. “Don’t answer.”
You answer.
Almost immediately, Jake’s face fills the screen, Heeseung squeezed into the frame beside him. They’re both grinning.
“Well?” Jake says. “How’s married life?”
You angle the phone so both you and Sunghoon are visible. He doesn’t move away.
“It’s raining,” you say. “We’re surviving.”
Heeseung squints at the screen. “Wait. Are you in the same bed?”
You hesitate for half a second. Jake gasps dramatically.
“No way.”
“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” Sunghoon says flatly.
Heeseung laughs. “I bet there is a pillow between you guys.”
Jake leans closer to the camera. “Is there a pillow? Show us.”
You roll your eyes but tilt the phone slightly so the divider pillow is clearly visible.
“See?” you say.
Jake cackles. “That pillow’s not doing anything.”
Sunghoon reaches over and pushes it more firmly into place. “It works.”
Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “Sure it does.”
“You guys done?” Sunghoon asks.
Jake smirks. “Just checking in. Didn’t know you’d get this comfortable this fast.”
“We’re not,” you and Sunghoon say at the same time.
There’s a brief silence. Then Jake grins wider. “That was perfect.”
You immediately hang up.
The room goes quiet again except for the rain and the faint sound of your show still playing.
Sunghoon exhales. “They’re not going to let this go.”
“Ever,” you reply.
You both settle back into your original positions. The pillow remains between you, but at some point during the next episode, your hand drifts over it absentmindedly. His fingers brush yours for a second before either of you adjust.
Neither of you comment on it.
----------------------------------
The episode ends at some point, the screen dimming as the rain keeps falling outside. The room is dark now except for the faint light from your phone charging on the nightstand.
You’re half-asleep, facing the wall, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands.
“Are you still awake?” Sunghoon asks quietly.
You hum in response, not fully opening your eyes, and roll over to face him. Your voice is thick with sleep. “Mm. Kind of.”
For a second he just looks at you. Then he reaches down and slowly pulls the pillow from between you, setting it aside so there’s nothing blocking the space anymore.
You blink at him. “What are you doing?”
“Couldn’t see you,” he says simply.
You squint at him, too tired to argue properly.
There’s a pause. The rain fills it.
“Would you rather be paired up with someone else?” he asks, tone softer than usual. Not teasing, just curious.
You frown slightly, thinking even in your half-asleep state.
“Maybe…” you mumble. “Heeseung. I’m the closest to him. Or Jake.” You shift closer into your pillow. “Or Jay. He cooks good food.”
Sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re supposed to say no,” he says. “And pick me.”
Your eyes open a little more at that. “You didn’t say that was an option.”
“It’s obviously the option.”
You study his face in the dim light.
You sigh dramatically. “Fine. I guess I would still pick you.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“You’re not so bad,” you correct lazily, echoing him from earlier.
He huffs a small breath through his nose. “I’ll take it.”
The space between you feels different without the pillow. Warmer. Closer. Your knees brush under the blanket.
“You’re so competitive,” you murmur.
“About what?”
“Everything, even this.”
He smiles faintly. “You started it.”
You don’t respond this time. Your eyes drift closed again, breathing evening out.
After a moment, he speaks quietly, mostly to himself.
“I’d still pick you.”
You’re not sure if you actually hear it or if it blends into the sound of rain. But you shift a little closer anyway, and neither of you reach for the pillow again.
----------------------------------
The storm clears overnight.
When you wake up, sunlight is spilling through the thin curtains, warm and almost blinding after a full day of gray skies. For a moment you just lie there.
Sunghoon is still asleep beside you, hair messy, one arm thrown across his face to block the light. You slip out of bed carefully this time, to not wake him up.
You get ready quietly— wash your face, change into something light, brush through your hair. The cabin feels different in the sun.
When you step outside, the air is cool and fresh from the rain. The ground is damp, but the sky is completely clear. The pool glints in the sunlight. Birds are loud, almost aggressively cheerful.
Near the edge of the yard, you spot Jay sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees.
You walk over quietly. “Are you… meditating?”
He cracks one eye open. “Trying to.”
You hesitate only a second before grabbing one of the extra mat beside him and sitting down. “Teach me.”
He gives you a small nod. “Just breathe.”
You mirror his posture. Inhale. Exhale. The morning is calm in a way that feels earned after the storm. For a few minutes, neither of you talk. Just steady breathing, sunlight warming your face.
Then you hear the cabin door slide open.
Soft footsteps on damp wood.
You don’t open your eyes, but you can feel someone hovering.
A second later, a body drops dramatically onto the empty mat beside yours.
You glance over.
Sunghoon is still in his pajamas —loose shirt, slightly wrinkled, hair sticking up in every direction. He looks half-awake, squinting against the sun.
Jay opens one eye. “This is supposed to be peaceful.”
Sunghoon groans and rolls onto his back instead of sitting properly. “It is peaceful.”
You can’t help it —you laugh. Jay does too.
Sunghoon peeks at you through one eye. “Why are you laughing?”
“You look ridiculous.”
“You left,” he mutters, voice still heavy with sleep.
“I woke up early.”
“I couldn’t find you.”
There’s something oddly sincere about the way he says it. Like it genuinely bothered him.
Jay smirks slightly. “You could’ve gone back to sleep.”
Sunghoon turns his head toward you instead. “You didn’t wake me.”
“You were dead asleep,” you say. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
He pushes himself up onto his elbows, blinking at you. “Next time, disturb me.”
You and Jay exchange a look before both laughing again.
Sunghoon drops back down onto the mat with a dramatic sigh. “Unbelievable. I come out here to join and I’m getting bullied.”
“You’re not meditating,” Jay points out.
“I am,” Sunghoon insists, closing his eyes immediately.
He lasts about ten seconds before cracking one eye open to look at you.
You’re already watching him.
You sit there a little longer than necessary, eyes half-closed, listening to Jay’s steady breathing and Sunghoon’s not-so-subtle shifting beside you. He keeps adjusting like he can’t get comfortable on the mat, but he doesn’t leave.
It hits you quietly —unexpected and inconvenient— that you’re going to miss this.
Not the cameras. Not the teasing. Not even all the guys.
Just… this.
The slow mornings. The shared glances over something stupid. The way he looked mildly offended when you talk to the other members. The way he said he couldn’t find you like that actually mattered.
You open your eyes and glance at him.
He’s pretending to meditate again, but one eye cracks open when he feels you looking.
“What?” he mutters.
“Nothing,” you say quickly, looking forward again.
He studies you for a second longer before settling back down.
The trip isn’t technically over yet. There’s still filming to finish, cabins to clean, bags to pack. But sitting there in the sun, with the last morning stretching out quietly in front of you, it feels like something is already ending.
And for the first time since this “mini marriage” started, you don’t feel relieved about that.
----------------------------------
By late morning, everyone is outside. The staff have re placed the cameras near the pool and between the cabins, capturing final shots —group laughter, exaggerated recaps, staged “emotional” goodbyes.
Jungwon claps his hands dramatically. “Alright, couples. Time to wrap up your marriages.”
Heeseung pretends to wipe away a tear while Jake bows formally to him. Ni-ki and Sunoo argue over who’s getting custody of imaginary pets. Jay sighs loudly about irreconcilable differences with Jungwon.
Then it’s your turn.
The cameras swing toward you and Sunghoon.
“So,” Jake says loudly, barely containing his grin, “are we witnessing a peaceful divorce?”
You glance at Sunghoon. He looks back at you, unreadable for half a second.
Instead of answering, you both laugh.
Not forced. Not staged.
Just laugh.
He shrugs lightly. “It was… manageable.”
“High praise,” you add.
The staff seems satisfied enough with that.
After filming wraps, everyone starts packing for real. The energy shifts from performance back to normal —bags zipping, doors sliding open and shut, someone arguing about who took whose charger.
Inside the cabin, you fold the last of your clothes into your bag. The room looks smaller now that it’s nearly empty.
You don’t notice him coming in at first.
Sunghoon steps up behind you quietly and rests his chin on your shoulder, arms loosely wrapping around your waist without much thought.
You freeze slightly. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t move. His voice is softer than usual. “We technically never got divorced.”
You let out a small breath of disbelief. “That’s not how this works.”
“Seems official to me,” he replies.
You try to turn around to look at him, but he stays resting against you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Wifey,” he says casually.
Your face heats instantly. “Stop.”
He lifts his head just enough to look at you, clearly pleased with your reaction. “What?”
“It was a show.”
“And?”
You push at his arm lightly, but you’re smiling. “You’re annoying.”
He steps back finally, hands still in his pockets like nothing happened. “You didn’t say you didn’t like it.”
You blink at him.
He raises an eyebrow. “See?”
Outside, you can hear the others calling for everyone to load the bus. Doors slide open and shut. Laughter carries across the yard.
You take a step toward the door —then stop.
For a second, you just stand there, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of your bag. The cabin feels oddly quiet compared to the noise outside.
You turn back to him.
“What does a husband and wife usually do when leaving?” you ask, trying to sound casual. It doesn’t quite work.
Sunghoon blinks at you, caught off guard. “Uh… I don’t know.” He shifts his weight. “Kiss?”
The word hangs there.
He’s still looking at you, waiting for you to laugh it off. You don’t.
Instead, you swallow, shoulders stiff, eyes flicking up to his and then away again. There’s a nervousness in the way you’re standing —like you asked the question and immediately regretted it.
He studies you more carefully.
You’re not joking.
Realization softens his expression. The teasing edge drops. The smirk fades into something quieter.
“Oh,” he says under his breath.
You don’t speak. You just look at him again, hesitant but not backing away.
He steps closer slowly, giving you time to change your mind. When you don’t, he lets out the smallest breath of a laugh —almost relieved— and reaches for you.
One hand settles gently at your waist. The other comes up to brush a loose strand of hair away from your face.
“You could’ve just said that,” he murmurs.
A faint smile touches his lips.
Then he leans in.
The kiss is soft. Careful. Not dramatic like a k-drama. Just warm and steady, like something that had been building quietly for days. His hand tightens slightly at your waist as if making sure you’re still there.
Outside, someone yells for Sunghoon.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, forehead almost touching yours.
“Now we’re officially married,” he says quietly.
You shake your head, but you’re smiling. “Still just a show.”
“I don't think it is anymore,” he replies “Just a show…”
Another voice calls your name this time.
You step back reluctantly, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He reaches for the door and slides it open, sunlight flooding in.
You walk out together, side by side, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch. He doesn’t reach for your hand.
But his hand twitches slightly at his side, barely there. Like he has to stop himself from closing the distance completely.
You notice.
Neither of you say anything.
The cameras may have stopped rolling, the “marriage” officially wrapped, the trip reduced to memories and edited clips— but the space between you feels different now. Unscripted.
warnings ; lee heeseung x reader, childhood friends to lovers, reunion au, alcohol, suggestive themes, emotional intimacy. smut warnings below the cut ;)
synopsis ; you haven’t seen your childhood best friend in years, not really. then a mutual friend invites you to a party and he’s just… there. taller, broader, so attractive. which would be fine if your brain didn’t short-circuit every time he looked at you...
word count ; 7.5k words + text screenshots!
author's pre note ; hi guys! this took AGES because of finals season stress, but i really hope you guys like it as much as i did! MDNI.
smut warnings ; explicit sexual content (18+), consensual sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (do NOT do that!), dom/sub undertones (light), praise kink, dirty talk, power dynamics, light hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, aftercare, staying the night
you don’t even notice him at first.
you’re too busy trying not to spill your drink, shoulder wedged between sunoo and a bookshelf that looks like it’s one unsteady sway away from killing someone. the apartment is humid with too many bodies and not enough open windows, cheap LED strip lights washing everything in blue and purple. music thumps low from the bluetooth speaker on the counter, some playlist jay swore was “chill vibes” and is actually just five different sabrina carpenter songs and a random drake track.
“you good?” sunoo asks over the music, leaning into your ear.
“yeah,” you shout back. “just thinking about how i’m gonna sue if this bookshelf collapses on me.”
he grins, eyes crinkling. “i’ll testify on your behalf.”
you roll your eyes, bringing the cup to your lips. the drink is… suspiciously sweet. someone definitely drowned the alcohol in juice. you’re halfway through another sip when sunoo’s gaze flicks over your shoulder, light catching on the metal of his earrings.
“oh,” he says, like he’s just remembered something. “by the way—don’t freak out.”
every time someone says “don’t freak out,” they fully intend for you to freak out.
you swallow. “what did you do.”
“i invited someone,” he hedges. “you know him, i think. from back home?”
the words slide straight past you because the front door opens right then, a rush of cooler hallway air rolling into the apartment. voices spill in with it, a few greetings, footsteps, the scrape of shoes being kicked off.
you don’t even look, at first. you’re used to these things—people drifting in and out, new faces, friends-of-friends you’ll never see again.
and then sunoo’s hand lands on your forearm, squeezing.
“don’t look,” he says. “actually, do look. but be normal about it, please.”
“you’re being weird,” you say, already turning your head because you’re nosy and have zero self-control—
—and your heart drops down to your stomach.
heeseung.
for half a second, your brain refuses to register him as the same person. the guy stepping into jungwon’s living room, tugging his beanie off and running a hand through his hair, is tall, for starters. like… actually tall, shoulders filling out the hoodie he’s wearing, dark jeans hanging loose on long legs. there’s a thin chain glinting at his throat when he laughs at something jungwon says, head tipping back. his hair is messier than you remember, styled on purpose instead of just flopping into his eyes. his voice when he answers is deeper—still familiar, but settled.
it’s stupid that what really hits you is his hands. big, long fingers, veins running faintly along the backs when he lifts one to push his hair away from his forehead.
your brain, very helpfully: oh. he got hot.
like, not just “oh he grew up” hot. full, proper, “you would swipe right and regret it later” hot.
“you’re staring,” sunoo murmurs, amused.
“i’m not,” you hiss, already staring harder. “shut up.”
heeseung glances up then, like he can feel your eyes on him. his gaze sweeps the room once, quick, and then lands on you.
it hits like a physical thing.
his whole face shifts. the relaxed, polite smile drops into a more real kind of smile, maybe recognition; you see it travel through him, down to the way his shoulders straighten a little.
“oh my god,” you croak, suddenly very aware of the way your hair is half-frizzed from the humidity and you’re wearing a t-shirt with a questionable stain on the hem.
sunoo snorts. “hey, I told you not to freak out!”
“i’m going to kill you.”
“after i just reunited you with your childhood best friend? rude.”
childhood best friend.
he’s already crossing the room, weaving through people like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to shove them aside. his eyes don’t leave your face. every step closer has your pulse climbing higher into your throat.
you haven’t seen him properly in… years. random instagram stories of nothing but food and aesthetic travel pics, sure. the odd “happy birthday” text that fizzled into nothing. but not like this. not within arm’s reach.
“hey,” he says when he finally stops in front of you. his smile does that thing you remember, where it starts a little crooked and then takes over his whole face. “wow. you—”
he hesitates, eyes sweeping over you in a quick, almost shy pass before snapping back up.
“you look different,” he finishes. “in a good way. obviously. not that you didn’t look good before, i just—”
“you want to start over?” you offer, saving him from himself.
the corner of his mouth tugs up. “kind of.”
he smells clean. there’s something vaguely sharp under the detergent—maybe cologne, maybe body wash. either way, it’s nice. too nice.
“hi,” you say, trying for casual. “you’re tall now. crazy.”
he lets out a laugh that punches heat into your chest. “i always was tall. you just stopped seeing me before it got this bad.”
you make a face, but the word sticks. stopped.
you’d both stopped, in different ways. different schools, different friend groups, both promising “we’ll hang out soon” until soon wasn’t a real word anymore.
“i didn’t know you were coming,” you say.
“sunoo threatened me,” he says immediately. “he said if i didn’t show up he’d text my mom and tell her i’m living off of ramen”
“that’s because you are,” sunoo calls from behind you.
“snitch,” heeseung mutters.
sunoo peels away toward the kitchen, giving you a look over his shoulder that says ‘you owe me.’
you’re suddenly very aware that you’re standing alone with heeseung in the middle of a party, your drink clutched too tight in your hand.
“so,” he says. “how’ve you been? that’s a normal question, right?”
“super normal,” you nod. “textbook, even.”
he huffs out another laugh. something in your chest wants to preen at the sound.
you talk.
it starts stilted, the kind of small talk you could have with anyone—classes, work, how shit the bus system is. but somewhere between your rant about your professor who still prints everything and his horror story about a roommate who’d had a sock on the door at 3 a.m. every night for weeks, it eases. the old rhythm slips back in, the push and pull of teasing and fondness, all those years of knowing each other quietly resurfacing.
he remembers everything. the old street you grew up on. your childhood dog’s name. the way you used to be weird about thunderstorms.
“you still sleep with the light on when it rains?” he asks, sipping his drink.
“no,” you lie. “i’m brave now.”
he lifts a brow. “sure.”
your skin buzzes. it’s fine. it’s normal. childhood friends can reconnect. there’s nothing weird about your heart doing backflips just because he looks at you like that.
it’s not until someone bumps into you—as in, full-on shoulder check—that you realize how close you’ve drifted. his shoulder almost touches yours, his arm half-curving behind you like he meant to shield you from the impact.
you mumble an apology to the stranger, then turn back. heeseung’s gaze flicks down to your mouth for a split second before he drags it away.
okay. you need a second.
“bathroom,” you say, the word tumbling out. “i—uh, i’ll be right back.”
he nods, maybe a little too fast. “yeah. sure. i’ll be… around.”
of course he’ll be around.
you elbow your way down the hall until you find the bathroom and shut yourself in, pressing your back to the door. the music muffles. the tiny space smells like somebody’s floral soap and cheap air freshener.
you stare at your own messages for another full minute, heat crawling up your neck.
when you finally pocket your phone and look in the mirror, your reflection looks… flustered. flushed cheeks, eyes a little wide.
“pull it together,” you mutter to yourself. “it’s literally just heeseung.”
the words don’t even sound convincing to you.
you splash a bit of water on your wrists, wipe it off on a hand towel that’s seen better days, and escape back into the hallway.
you find him exactly where you left him, leaning against the wall near the kitchen, tapping his fingers against his cup to the beat of the music. he glances up the second you step into view.
“got lost?” he asks.
“considered climbing out the window,” you say. “decided the fall might kill me.”
“dramatic as always,” he says, but his eyes sweep your face like he’s checking if you’re actually okay.
────────
the night blurs.
someone starts a dumb drinking game in the living room. jungwon fails at shuffling cards. sunoo ends up on the floor, laughing so hard he can’t breathe. you drift in and out of conversations but somehow always end up back near heeseung, orbiting to one another each time.
when you finally glance at your phone again, the time makes you wince.
“i should head out,” you say, finding him in the kitchen refilling his drink with water now. how responsible…
“i’ll walk you,” he says immediately.
“you don’t have to.”
“i know,” he says, grabbing his hoodie from the back of a chair. “but i want to.”
────────
the apartment air has been thick and warm. outside, the hallway is cooler, quiet in that slightly echoey, late-night way. he walks beside you down the stairs, his shoulder a steady presence at your side.
“so, be honest,” he says once you’re outside, city air hitting your face. “on a scale of one to ten, how much did you hate seeing me again?”
you snort. “i was at, like, a solid… negative three.”
“wow,” he says. “so you missed me.”
“don’t push it.”
you fall into step together. it feels bizarrely like being twelve again, walking home after dark, shadows stretching long on the sidewalk. the world is quieter now. a car rolls past, headlights washing you both in white for a second.
“i did, you know,” he says, softer. “miss you.”
your throat dries. “we text.”
“that’s not the same,” he says. “and we weren’t even good at that.”
you know he’s right. the texts got shorter, lighter. schedules clashed. you both let it happen.
“life got… busy,” you offer lamely.
“yeah,” he agrees. “but i still thought about you. more than i probably should admit.”
you shoot him a look. “that’s weird,” you say. “you’re weird.”
his smile is small but real. “you liked that i was weird.”
“i tolerated it. don’t rewrite history.”
you reach your building faster than you want to. the yellow light above the front door flickers, buzzing faintly. you stop, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
he shoves his hands into his pockets, looking up at the building, then back at you.
“so,” he says. “guess this is where i say ‘it was good seeing you again’ and then we send each other reels for the next six months and avoid actually hanging out.”
you grimace. “that sounds painful. not inaccurate, though.”
he huffs a laugh, then looks at you properly, all the joking stripped back for a second.
“we could not,” he says.
“not what?”
“not avoid it,” he says. “i mean. if you want. we could actually… see each other. there’s a whole city we’ve both been ignoring.”
your pulse does that stupid climb again.
“that’s bold of you,” you say. “assuming i want to be seen in public with you.”
“you already did tonight,” he points out. “no take-backs.”
you try to roll your eyes, but it melts into a smile. “fine,” you say. “we’ll hang out. once. see if you’re still annoying enough.”
“i promise i’m worse now,” he says solemnly.
“comforting.”
you hesitate, then pull your phone out. he raises his brows.
“give me your number,” you say. “i’m not digging through five-year-old texts.”
“you still have them?”
“don’t get excited,” you mutter, but he’s already grinning.
he types his number in, calls himself so he’ll have yours. your screen lights up with his contact—
lee hee🤢 from when you were twelve and thought you were hilarious.
“wow,” he says, seeing it. “still the same contact name, huh?”
“some things never change,” you say.
except everything else did.
you say goodnight. he steps back a little, like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you. your fingers twitch.
“hey,” he says, before you can turn away. “i’m… really glad you were here tonight.”
you swallow. “yeah,” you say, too quiet. “me too.”
your chest feels warm all the way up the stairs.
────────
a few hangouts later, something’s changed. it happens slowly. quietly. like something shifting under your feet without warning.
the first time is coffee.
you go to that tiny café near his place, the one that looks like it should smell like old books but somehow smells like cinnamon instead. he shows up wearing a beanie and that old hoodie he’s had since high school, sleeves fraying at the cuffs. it should look stupid.
it doesn’t.
he orders something iced because he claims hot drinks “burn his soul,” whatever that means. you sit across from him at a too-small table, your knees bumping under it every time someone squeezes past behind you.
it’s easy, way too easy, the way conversation just… unfurls. he talks with his hands. you tease him about it. he calls you out for chewing on your straw. you roll your eyes so hard you almost see gods.
it’s nothing. it’s everything.
you leave the café and walk the long way home even though it’s cold and you’re both underdressed.
he says, “i forgot how cold you get,” and before you can protest, he unzips his hoodie, tugging the side of it around your shoulder like it’s normal.
you feel the butterflies in your ribs for hours.
the second time is at the bookstore.
sunoo drags you and heeseung along because he wants to “absorb literature through osmosis,” which means he wanders off and leaves you alone with him between two shelves.
he’s flipping through a photography book, head tilted, lips parted just a little in that unconscious way he has when he’s focused.
you should not be looking at his mouth. you should not be thinking of—
“what?” he asks, glancing up with a hint of a smile. like he caught you, somehow.
you scoff, crossing your arms. “nothing. you look stupid.”
“right,” he says. “because i’m the one staring at you.”
you freeze.
he looks back down at the book immediately, like he didn’t mean to let that slip. like he’s pretending he didn’t notice the way your brain just short-circuited.
the dynamic keeps shifting back to your old ways, but something is different. you can't deny it.
the third time is late. way too late.
you’re half-asleep in bed when your phone buzzes with a voice message. you expect sunoo. maybe your friend.
it’s heeseung.
you press play against your better judgment.
heeseung: “i know it’s like, 2A.M., but i just met god. or maybe satan. unclear. there’s this raccoon the size of a third grader staring at me from the dumpster. he has seen my soul. we have beef now.”
you snort. out loud. in the dark.
then he sends a second one.
heeseung: “also, sorry if i woke you up. i just… didn’t know who else to send my raccoon death-wish to.”
you stare at your phone.
what the hell does that even mean.
you send back a text telling him to stop instigating wildlife at 2 a.m. he responds with a photo of the raccoon with the caption my enemy.
your chest hurts in a weird, embarrassing way.
the fourth time is when you’re sharing a booth.
you go out for dinner with the group, but the only open seat is beside him, so you slide in, trying very hard to act like it’s normal that your thighs are touching.
he shifts to make room. you shift too. somehow you end up even closer.
your whole left side feels like a live wire.
heeseung doesn’t move his leg away. not once. not even when he reaches for the menu and his knee bumps yours so firmly you almost drop your water.
the worst part is that he doesn’t react. not in any obvious way.
but you feel it.
you feel everything now.
the brush of his arm. the way he turns his head when he talks to you. how his gaze lingers a half-second too long before he looks away.
you’re hyperaware of him in a way that feels embarrassing.
and then—because the universe hates you—the waitress calls you two a couple by accident.
you sputter. he chokes on air. sunoo kicks heeseung under the table on purpose.
“we’re not—” you start.
“no,” he says at the same time. “we’re just—friends. old friends.”
you swear your stomach drops through the floor.
the waitress apologizes and moves on. the table continues talking.
but heeseung glances sideways at you, jaw tight, something unreadable in his eyes.
you don’t touch your fries after that.
────────
you lock your phone and stuff it in your pocket before you can overthink for too long.
it all comes to a head after another one of jungwon’s kickbacks.
it’s smaller this time. fewer people, more actual conversation. you end up at the dining table beside heeseung, playing some card game you barely understand. he keeps leaning over to explain the rules, breath ghosting your cheek, his hand brushing your wrist when he points at your cards.
you lose, obviously. there’s no way to focus when he’s right there, sleeves pushed up, laughing that low, warm laugh every time you mess up.
later, when the night’s thinned out and people are stretched across the couch half-asleep, you step out onto the balcony for air. the chill hits your overheated skin, soothing.
you’re halfway through a deep breath when the sliding door clicks open behind you.
“knew i’d find you out here,” he says.
you don’t turn immediately. the city sprawls out below, streetlights smearing gold over asphalt. “stalker behavior.”
“says the one who’s been staring at me all night,” he shoots back.
your head snaps around. “i have not.”
he raises a brow. “you had to be reminded it was your turn every single round.”
“i'm just sleepy,” you lie, voice a touch too high.
he steps closer, the railing at your back cool against your spine. there’s not a lot of space out here, but his presence fills what’s left of it.
“you’ve been weird lately,” he says.
“thanks,” you say dryly. “super specific, very helpful.”
he huffs a laugh. “i mean it. you get all quiet around me sometimes.”
“just thinking,” you say. “you’re a lot to process.”
“yeah?” he asks, smile twitching. “what’s there to process?”
you could pretend. you could laugh it off.
instead, maybe because you’re tired, you hear yourself say:
“that you’re the same idiot who used to wipe snot on my sleeve.”
his lips part. “i never—”
“you absolutely did.”
“ok, once,” he admits, then sobers. “but that’s… good, right? that i’m not the same?”
“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “it’s confusing.”
his gaze searches your face. something like realization flickers there, slow and dawning.
“oh,” he says quietly. “you mean—”
“don’t finish that sentence,” you cut in, panic skittering through you. “seriously.”
“why?” he asks, and there’s something rougher in his voice now. “because you don’t want me to be right?”
your mouth goes dry.
“heeseung,” you say, a warning.
“i’m just asking,” he says, but his eyes are on your mouth again, lingering. “because i’ve been losing my mind over you for weeks and if i’m making that up in my head i need to know.”
the words hit you like a slap and a relief at once.
“you—what?”
he laughs under his breath, incredulous. “you really think i’m hanging out with you this much just because i’m nostalgic?”
you stare at him, heart hammering.
“that’s part of it,” he admits. “i missed you. like. a lot. but then you showed up and you’re just… you. and it’s worse now.”
“worse,” you echo.
“so much worse,” he says. “i'm losing my mind over you, you’re in my head all the time. in every way.”
your brain short-circuits.
a car passes below, horn distant. inside, someone laughs at something on tv. up here, everything condenses to the space between you and him.
“say something,” he says, softer. “anything. even if it’s ‘you’re disgusting, never talk to me again.’ just—don’t leave me hanging.”
you swallow. your tongue feels too big in your mouth. you wish you could text him your answer instead, emojis and all.
“i don’t want to never talk to you again,” you manage. “that would be… dramatic.”
“so what do you want?” he asks.
you hate him for asking that. you hate him for giving you the choice.
you also kind of love him for it.
you’re saved—temporarily—by jungwon sliding the door open to shout something about ordering food. the spell breaks. you jerk back, heart in your throat, and mumble something about being starving.
heeseung lets you flee, but his eyes follow you back inside.
────────
you don’t sleep.
you toss, turn, stare at your ceiling, replay every second of that balcony conversation until it blurs. your phone lights up once with a instagram reel from him. nothing even remotely interesting.
you leave it on read for exactly three minutes before caving and opening your best friend's chat instead.
you stare at the last message for a long beat.
then you flick out of the chat, thumb hovering over heeseung’s name. his contact photo is some stupid picture sunoo took of him mid-bite at a diner.
you tap it before you can overthink.
you: are you awake
the reply is almost instant.
heeseung: no i'm texting in my sleep
heeseung: yeah i’m awake what’s up
you chew your lip.
you: can you come over
the typing bubble appears, disappears, appears again.
heeseung: rn??
you: unless you’re busy eating ramen or something
heeseung: wow the disrespect
heeseung: send me your address
your heart climbs into your throat.
you: you remember it
heeseung: ofc i do
heeseung: gimme like 15
you toss your phone onto your bed like you're playing hot potato, then immediately scramble to pick it up again to check the time, your reflection in the dark screen, the mess of your room.
“oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, dragging a hand down your face. “this is so dumb. you’re so dumb.”
you shove some clothes off your chair, fix your blanket, check yourself in the mirror. you’re in an oversized t-shirt and shorts. not exactly lingerie, but it’s better than the stained sweatpants you almost put on.
the knock on your door comes faster than it should. either he lives closer than you thought or he sprinted.
your stomach drops straight through the floor.
you crack the door open.
he’s there, hair a little mussed from the wind, hoodie thrown over a t-shirt, gray sweats hanging low on his hips. he’s slightly out of breath, cheeks tinted from the cold. or the speed— maybe you’re projecting.
“hey,” he says. his voice is softer than it was on the balcony, like it’s weighed down with the late hour. “did i… did something happen? are you okay?”
you realize how this looks. late-night emergency summons.
“i’m fine,” you say quickly. “sorry. that probably sounded like a crisis text.”
“kind of,” he admits, stepping inside when you open the door wider. he toes his shoes off by habit. “i almost brought snacks.”
“you should've,” you say. “i wasn't gonna stop you.”
he lets out that little huff you love. the one that sounds half like a laugh and half like an exhale. he follows you to your room without another word.
your room suddenly feels tiny with him in it. he scans the space, lingering on the old photo stuck to your mirror—two kids on a bike, you on the handlebars, him behind you, both mid-laugh.
“you kept that,” he says.
“yeah,” you say, throat tight. “you almost killed us that day.”
“i maintain my innocence,” he says, turning back to you. “you’re the one who thought standing on the seat was a good idea.”
“you dared me,” you remind him.
“you always did what i dared you to,” he says quietly.
that sits between you, heavy.
you gesture lamely toward the bed. “you can sit.”
he does, perching on the edge, hands braced on his knees. you sit beside him with your hands pressed together between your knees.
silence, for a second. the air hums.
“so,” he says finally. “why am i here, exactly?”
you force yourself to meet his eyes. in the dim light of your bedside lamp, they look darker, softer.
“you said you didn’t want to be left hanging,” you say. “on the balcony.”
his jaw works. “yeah.”
“i thought about it,” you say. “and i decided that would be… mean.”
“you’re incapable of being mean,” he says.
“don’t be gross,” you mutter, but your chest aches.
you take a breath.
“i like you,” you blurt, because apparently your brain has given up on finesse. “like, not just in a ‘haha we have history’ way. in a ‘it makes me stupid how much i want you to touch me’ way. and i hate it because you’re you and this feels like—like crossing some invisible line we should’ve talked about years ago.”
his eyes widen a fraction. his throat bobs when he swallows.
“okay,” he says slowly. “can i… also say my thing now?”
“if you disagree just lie,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.
he shifts, turning fully to face you, one knee bumping yours. he’s close enough now that you can count his lashes, see the tiny freckle near his jaw you’d forgotten about.
“i like you too,” he says. “in the ‘i think about kissing you every time you look at me for longer than two seconds’ way. in the ‘i get jealous when other people make you laugh’ way. in the ‘this has been a long time coming and i’m terrified of fucking it up’ way.”
you exhale shakily. “oh.”
“yeah,” he says, a wry twist to his mouth. “oh.”
he hesitates, glancing down at your mouth again, then back to your eyes.
“if i kiss you right now,” he says quietly, “we’re not going back to whatever we were pretending to be before this. you know that, right?”
your pulse throbs in your ears.
“that’s kind of the point,” you say, surprising yourself with how steady it comes out.
something in his face breaks open then, all careful restraint cracking.
“come here,” he murmurs.
his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. it’s barely a touch, but your whole body leans into it like you’re starving.
you tilt toward him, breath mingling, noses almost brushing. his gaze drops to your lips, then back up, searching.
“last chance to change your mind,” he says, voice low, a little rough. “because if i get started, i’m—”
you cut him off by closing the distance, your mouth slotting over his.
he inhales sharply against your lips, hand tightening on your jaw. the kiss starts tentative, testing, and then he makes a low sound in the back of his throat that you feel everywhere and it tilts into something hungrier, and deeper. his other hand finds your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp.
you end up half in his lap without meaning to, knees bracketing his thigh. his hoodie rides up under your hands, warm skin under your fingertips. he kisses like he’s been thinking about this for years, like he’s memorizing the shape of you all over again.
when you finally pull back, you’re both breathing hard. his forehead rests against yours, eyes closed, thumb still stroking the edge of your lower lip like he doesn’t want to stop touching you for even a second.
“fuck,” he whispers, almost to himself. “that was… yeah. that was bad.”
“bad?” you echo, offended.
“no! bad for my self-control,” he clarifies, opening his eyes. they’re dark, pupils blown. “i told you. once i started…”
his gaze trails down, lingering where your shirt has started slipping off your shoulder, the strap of your bra peeking. heat crawls down your spine.
“heeseung,” you start.
he swallows, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip.
“you sure you want me to keep going?” he asks, voice so low it borders on a growl.
your heart stutters.
this is it. the line. the point of no return.
you tilt your head, press your mouth to the corner of his in a quick, deliberate kiss.
“i think,” you murmur against his skin, “this is where we stop talking?”
his laugh comes out shaky, disbelieving.
“yeah?” he says, fingers tightening on your waist as he shifts, guiding you fully into his lap. “don’t have to tell me twice.”
his mouth finds yours again, more sure this time, hands already tracing paths down your sides. you grind down against his hips firmly, and his lips pull back from yours in a groan, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you closer.
“you have no idea what you do to me,” his lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, just below your ear. he reaches for the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms, letting him pull it off of you, discarding it across the room. heeseung makes a low, strangled sound deep in the back of his throat, his eyes raking over your exposed chest, taking in every detail.
he pulls back, tugging his hoodie off, his shirt going with it, and you nearly drool at the sight of him bare. “oh my god.” you manage, your hand moving forward to feel every inch of his smooth skin. he takes a deep breath, his hips twitching up against you.
“let me suck you off,” you blurt out, your breath ghosting over his lips with your words. heeseung’s jaw clenches, pulling back to look at your eyes, feeling his knees go weak at the sight of your lust-clouded gaze.
“i want you on your knees,” he murmurs, voice thick with the desire he’s nearly incapable of suppressing. “now.”
your eyes widen at the sudden shift in command, but you obey. you get up off of his lap, pulling him by the hand to help him up, kneeling down in front of him with glossy eyes. your hands find your knees, bracing yourself.
he exhales sharply as you drop down without hesitation, gazing up at him with those wide, pleading eyes. his jaw tenses visibly, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s barely holding himself back. his voice comes out hoarse, halfway between a growl and a groan.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he stares down at you. “you look too good like this.”
“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” you say, fighting a smile.
“don’t tempt me,” he returns, letting out a sharp, breathless laugh. he tugs his sweats down, leaving him standing in front of you in nothing but boxers. he reaches down, fingertips brushing against your chin as he tilts your face up to look at him.
“you sure?” he says, his voice suddenly soft, his eyes gentle. you nod, reaching up for the waistband of his boxers wordlessly. he watches with wide eyes, his bottom lip catching between his teeth, watching as you pull them off and let the fabric pool at his ankles.
“holy shit.” you draw in a shaky breath, your hand reaching up to wrap around him. your hand just barely manages to wrap around the entire thing, and his breath hitches the moment he feels your touch.
“fuck,” he groans. “now open your mouth.” he commands, his hand moving to hold behind the back of your head. your mouth falls open, your tongue pushing out. his breath hitches audibly at the sight of you so obedient and eager. his pupils dilate, darkening slightly.
“good girl,” he murmurs, his voice gruff from need. his fingers tangle into your hair, gripping firmly. not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re feeling his control over you.
your body leans forward like you’re already anticipating him, and he exhales sharply. “You look so pretty like this.” his voice is so quiet, you’re not sure if he meant for you to hear it or not.
the grip in your hair tightens as he guides himself towards your waiting mouth, letting the head of his length rest on your tongue for a second before pushing forward. your lips curve around him perfectly, accommodating to his size, your eyes fluttering closed in a deep focus.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice heavy with approval. his gaze burns into you as he pushes his hips further forward into your mouth, slowly, savoring every second. “perfect.”
your tongue swirls around his tip, his precum mixing with your saliva, the taste overwhelming you. you dip your head further forward, feeling his cock scrape across your soft palate, landing against the back of your throat. you gag a bit, small tears pricking your eyes from the feeling of him filling you entirely.
you pull back, sucking him in harder, eliciting a groan from him at your insistence. he’s almost dizzy from how good you feel, and how well you’re taking him in. a low, shaky, exhale leaves him, his lips parting in a deep focus on the view of you. “mmf— just like that, fuck,” his voice is ragged, thick with need for you. “you’re doing so good.”
you pull your head back slowly before he suddenly pulls your head back onto him without warning, causing you to gag again. he winces internally when he hears you gag, worried. “f.. fuck, sorry, i—“ he mutters a small stream of apologies, his free hand moving to cup your cheek gently in apology. you screw your eyes shut, focusing hard, humming softly in response to his hurried words.
“you’re good, you’re doing— fuck— you’re doing good.” he assures you. you hum again, an attempted ‘thank you.’
the feeling of you humming against him causes his grip in your hair to tighten almost reflexively, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths. The sound, the vibration, the sensation, all of it is almost too much for him, and he has to clench his jaw to keep his composure.
his other hand caresses your cheek again, his touch gentle against you, eyes fixed as he murmurs soft whispers of praise, “such a good girl.”
he pushes your head back, pulling it forward again, searching your face for any sign of opposition, finding none. he does it again, a bit faster, testing the waters. both hands find a place to tangle in your hair as he starts to slowly push your head back and forth, watching closely, his eyes flickering with satisfaction.
you let a moan slip out around his length, causing him to throw his head back, bucking his hips forward unintentionally before he catches himself. he doesn’t even try to hide how much it affects him. he lets out a choked, desperate sound at the way your moan is muffled by his cock, the vibration of your voice sending a shockwave of pleasure through him.
his hips twitch forward involuntarily again. “Jesus,” he breathes raggedly. “that— fuck, that’s perfect.” his control is slipping fast. too fast.
he quickly pulls you back, letting his dick spring free with a soft pop, a string of saliva connecting your tongue to the head of his shaft. he almost whines at the feeling of separation from your mouth. “i gotta..” he pants, his voice faltering slightly, the words catching in his throat, replaced by a soft swear as he tries to regain his composure.
“yeah?” you ask, breathless. “what— what is it?” you manage.
he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, his chest heaving, his voice raspy as he speaks. “wanna fuck you,” he says finally. your eyes darken at his words, and you reach your hand up for him to grab, helping you stand.
he quickly moves to kiss you deeply, his hands moving down to your shorts, his thumbs slipping under the waistband to pull them down. his tongue juts forward into your mouth, the kiss roughening with every second. his hands rake up and down your body, groaning at the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips.
without breaking the kiss more than a second, he reaches down, helping lift you up, carrying you back to the bed, your legs wrapped around his waist. he sits down on the edge of the bed, trailing kisses down your neck, your bodies flush to one another, your heat hovering right over his member.
“r—ready?” you manage, looking at him with desperate eyes. he nods quickly, pulling back to look at you fully. you reach down between your bodies, your hand wrapping around his dick, angling it to your hole before sinking down onto it slowly. his jaw falls open, a guttural groan leaving his lips as his head throws back, his hands flying to your hips, his grip almost bruising.
his breath catches in his throat as you look at him, your expression a mix of pleasure and a little bit of pain. his eyes are dark and intense on yours, watching you carefully. “doing okay?” he asks, voice deep and rough, rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs.
you huff out, nodding. “yeah, been a minute.” you say, laughing lightly. he lets out a low, shaky breath, whispering a quick ‘i get it,’ his eyes flicking down to where your hips meet.
his fingers unintentionally sink into the skin of your hips, his restraint slipping.
you lean forward, your lips catching his again in a searing kiss. you roll your hips against his once, and he lets out a groan between kisses. he pushes up against you, and you feel the heat start to build like fire in your gut.
His arms snake around your waist, holding you close as he deepens the kiss, tongue teasing against yours, lips pressing against yours passionately. It’s only when you start lifting up off of him that he lets out a guttural moan, hands gripping your hips even tighter.
he pulls you down, his tip pushing against your cervix. heeseung’s eyes rake over your entire body, taking in the sight of you in awe. “you’re so perfect, you feel so good…” he mutters, watching as you slowly start moving up his length, drawing in a shaky breath, reaching forward to grab his shoulders for stability. you say his name between moans, your voice softly breaking.
heeseung’s breath hitches at the sound of you, his arms locking around you even tighter as his fingers dig into the small of your back. he burrows his face in your neck, your name escaping his lips in quiet sighs. his hips lift slightly to meet yours every time you sink down, chasing that every inch of friction, listening to every sound that spills from your lips.
your eyes are heavy with lust as you speed up just slightly, bobbing up and down like your bodies were made for each other.
“you have no idea how long i’ve thought about this night,” he breathes.
his hands tighten on your hips as you slow down, grinding with a slow, torturous roll. every sound you make fuels him, and he reaches forward, his finger hooking under your chin, making you look at him through half-lidded eyes. he opens his mouth to speak the moment you clamp your walls down onto him, and all of his words die in his throat, his head falling back in pleasure.
his hands start moving your hips for you, increasing the speed of each movement, guiding your hips into a relentless rhythm. every thrust drives him closer to the edge, but he doesn’t care. he wants you to be screaming his name first.
he lifts you just slightly higher before pulling you down harder and deeper, his breath catching as you both gasp at the feeling. you let out an embarrassing whimper, feeling the knot in your stomach building as the grip on your hips bounces you up and down his length, your eyes screwing shut.
his whole body tenses at the sound of his name spilling from your lips, broken and desperate. he can’t hold back anymore. he grains your name, low and rough, hips surging up to meet yours as he loses all sense of control, deep, frantic thrusts making you cry out.
one hand grips your hip hard; the other tangles in your hair, pulling just enough to make you arch against him. “You feel so damn good… gonna make you come apart on me. come on, you’re doing so good for me, baby.”
almost immediately, as if waiting for his permission, your body shakes, walls clamping down, releasing every bit of tension, falling apart. “f— oh my fucking god!” your moans are nearly screams of pleasure with every movement.
heeseung holds you through it, whispering praises into your ear, his voice a low rasp. “God, that’s it, good girl… look at you, so perfect… you’re so good for me, baby, so damn beautiful..” his body is as tight as a bowstring as he fights to keep himself under control, but just hearing you come undone for him has him on edge, and he cant’t help himself from rolling his hips up against you, a small smirk playing his lips as he hears your exhausted but pleased whine from the sensation.
“baby, I gotta—“ you cut him off with a nod, and a low groan comes from deep in his chest. he flips you onto your back without warning, driving into you hard. his rhythm falls apart frantically as he chases his release. “look at me,” he says, his voice breaking. “look at me when I come, I wanna see those eyes, I wanna remember this…”
the moment your eyes look at his, he’s gone, shuddering above you as pleasure rips through him, his head falling into the crook of your neck, his groans muffled against you as he bites down onto the skin of your shoulder gently. every muscle tenses before going slack with pure bliss.
the room has gone quiet other than the sound of both of your panting, your ears ringing from a mixture of the sudden silence and the overstimulating pleasure you’d just felt.
for a few seconds, neither of you move.
your skin buzzes with overstimulation, and your legs feel useless. your shirt is on crooked, and you’re sweating in places you didn’t even know you could sweat from.
the room is quiet in that loud, ringing way that kinda hurts your ears. you stare at the ceiling, blinking slowly, trying to get your head to catch up.
heeseung’s still hovering over you, breathing uneven, forehead pressed into the side of your neck.
“you good?” he murmurs.
“define good.”
he huffs a breath, then shifts carefully off you, sitting up like he’s suddenly very aware of himself. the bed dips. you immediately miss the warmth of his body on yours.
you’re still staring at the ceiling when he reaches down, grabs your shirt from the floor, and hands it to you. you tug it on, wincing a little as the fabric brushes against your sensitive skin.
he’s already standing. “hang on.”
you hear him move around the apartment. drawers. running water. when he comes back, he sets a water bottle and a warm washcloth within reach on the bed.
you don’t say anything. you just take them.
he sits beside you while you drink, close enough that your knees brush. the washcloth helps. the water helps. your breathing finally evens out.
for a moment, neither of you speak.
then he exhales, staring up at the ceiling. “well.”
you glance at him. “yeah.”
“that’s gonna live in my head forever.”
“gross.”
“…yeah.”
a beat passes.
“i’m really glad it was you.”
your chest tightens in that quiet, annoying way. you don’t trust your voice, so you just say, “me too,” and hope it comes out normal.
he shifts closer carefully, his arm settling around your waist like it’s second nature. you go with it, tucking into his side, the space between you closing without discussion.
“don’t make this a one-time thing,” he says after a moment. “i’ll actually be pissed.”
you snort softly. “threatening me already?”
“just being honest.”
you let your head tip against his shoulder. he stays still, lets you settle, thumb tracing slow, absent circles at your side.
the room feels different now. calmer. like something finally clicked into place.
“you staying?” you ask, eyes already half-closed.
he doesn’t hesitate. “yeah.”
you hum, content, exhausted, your body slowly coming back online.
curled into him, his arm heavy around your waist, it finally sinks in.
you're slowly beginning to wrap your head around the fact that you just hooked up with your childhood best friend.
a/n ; tried to give y/n some personality. did it work? not entirely.
ALSO, please don’t take any of my writing as a reflection of real life. fanfiction isn’t meant to be realistic, and it definitely isn’t something to measure your own experiences against. it’s fiction, and it’s meant to stay that way. don’t be hard on yourself over unrealistic expectations 🤍
also, what did we think of the screenshots of texts?? i think it's fun :3!
