"I'm telling you," Jay said around a mouthful of kimchi, pointing his chopsticks at no one in particular, "if they don't reopen the Hongdae club with the good chicken skewers by Chuseok, I'm staging a protest."

Winter nearly choked on her soju. "You wouldn't last a day in jail."

"I have connections!"

"Your cousin being a traffic cop doesn't count as connections," Giselle deadpanned, popping a piece of grilled garlic into her mouth.

The metal door clanged open just as the argument devolved, all heads turning as you sauntered in—two hours late, naturally—with your newest designer bag dangling from one shoulder and sunglasses still perched on your head despite the fading light.

"Traffic," you announced breezily, though everyone knew damn well you lived three blocks away.

Winter snorted into her cocktail, her sharp eyes tracking your entrance with amusement. Jay whistled low under his breath at your outfit—shorts so short they might as well be underwear, heels high enough to make your calves flex with every step. You smirked, accepting the drink Karina handed you without breaking stride, deliberately bypassing the only open seat—the one right next to Ni-ki.

He didn’t look up from his phone.

Not when you leaned over Jungwon's shoulder to steal a bite straight from his chopsticks, not when you laughed a little too loud at something dumb Jay said, your hand lingering on his bicep just to watch Ni-ki's fingers tighten around his beer bottle.

"You should've seen the guy who tried to buy me drinks tonight," you sighed, swirling your glass. "Third-rate actor. Kept going on about his 'craft.'"

Ni-ki scoffed without looking up. "Bet he cried when you turned him down."

The group went suspiciously quiet.

You took a slow sip, eyes locked on him over the rim. "Who said I turned him down?"

Three hours and several drunken karaoke sessions later, the party had devolved into chaos.

Somewhere along the line, someone had produced a bottle of expensive tequila—courtesy of that finance bro Ningning was sort-of-seeing—and things got messy fast. Winter was attempting (and failing) to do a handstand against the patio railing while Sunoo filmed, cackling. Heeseung and Jay were deep in debate over whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it didn't), their voices rising with each round of soju. You were at your wits ends.

im ready to go

Ni-ki’s phone lit up facedown on the picnic table. He didn’t reach for it. Just stood abruptly, stretching his arms over his head in a way that made his shirt ride up, exposing that stupid V-line that haunted your dreams. "I’m out," he announced to no one in particular, already grabbing his jacket.

You waited exactly four minutes—long enough for Winter to start suspiciously glancing between the door and your suspiciously smug expression—before sighing dramatically. "Ugh, I have an early shoot tomorrow."

"Since when do you wake up before noon?" Jungwon asked through a mouthful of pork belly.

You flipped him off, already slinging your bag over your shoulder.

The alley behind the building reeked of garbage and spilled liquor, the sticky asphalt muffling your heels as you rounded the corner—just in time to see Ni-ki crush his cigarette underfoot, his head snapping up at the sound of your approach.

"Traffic, huh?" he mocked, crowding you back against the brick wall before you could answer.

You hooked a finger in his belt loop, tugging him flush against you. "Miss me?"

His teeth grazed your earlobe. "Shut up."

The Uber arrived exactly seven minutes later—just enough time for your lipstick to smear beyond repair and his shirt buttons to come mysteriously undone.

The Uber’s backseat was cramped, but you made sure Ni-ki stayed exactly where you put him, sprawled across your lap, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him whimper.

The driver coughed pointedly.

You ignored him, tilting Ni-ki’s head back to expose his throat. "Tell me what you want," you murmured, nails scraping along his jaw.

Ni-ki’s hips jerked. "Fuck—"

You tightened your grip. "Words."

His breath came out in a shudder. "You. Please."

You rewarded him with a slow, filthy kiss, swallowing his moan as your free hand slipped under his waistband.

The driver adjusted the rearview mirror again.

Ni-ki whined, hips bucking into your touch.

"Be good," you warned, pinching his inner thigh hard enough to make him gasp. "Or I stop."

Your apartment door barely clicked shut before you had Ni-ki on his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor as you toed off your shoes.

"Look at me."

His head snapped up immediately, dark eyes wide and glassy with want. A thin sheen of sweat already glistened at his temples, his lips parted around shallow breaths. You reached down to cup his chin, your thumb dragging roughly over his swollen lower lip, feeling the heat of his skin against yours.

"You've been very impatient tonight," you murmured, watching the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard.

"Sorry," he whispered, the word catching in his throat when you tightened your grip on his jaw.

"Don't be." You released him with a small shove, stepping back to lean against the wall as you crossed your arms. "Take off your clothes. Slowly."

His fingers shook as they went to the first button of his shirt, the fabric slipping through his grasp twice before he managed to pop it open. You watched with hooded eyes as inch after inch of golden skin was revealed - the sharp cut of his collarbones, the smooth planes of his chest, the tantalising V of muscle leading downward. His shirt pooled on the floor behind him as he moved to his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

When he finally stood bare before you, you let your gaze roam over every trembling inch of him, lingering on the way his cock twitched under your scrutiny, already hard and leaking against his stomach.

"On your back," you ordered, nodding toward the couch. "Hands above your head."

He moved like a man possessed, scrambling onto the cushions and stretching his arms up obediently. The position arched his back beautifully, putting every taut muscle on display. You prowled forward, letting your nails trail feather-light over his ribs, down the quivering muscles of his abdomen, along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs - everywhere but where he needed you most.

"Please," he finally gasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. His hips lifted off the couch in a silent plea, his cock flushed an angry red with neglect.

You raised an eyebrow, pausing. "Please, what?"

Ni-ki's entire body shuddered. "Touch me," he begged, his voice breaking on the words.

Instead of complying, you wrapped your hand around his throat, feeling his pulse hammer against your palm. "Not yet," you purred, watching his eyes roll back at the pressure. Only then did you finally wrap your fingers around his aching length, stroking once, twice - just enough to tease, not enough to relieve.

"Fuck!" he gasped, his back arching off the couch as his fingers twisted desperately in the cushions.

You leaned down until your lips brushed the shell of his ear, your hand moving in tight, relentless strokes. "Come when I tell you to."

Ni-ki nodded frantically, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. You increased your pace, your grip tightening just shy of painful, your thumb swiping roughly over the leaking head with every upstroke. His breath came in ragged pants, his muscles coiled tight as a bowstring beneath you.

"Now."

The command shattered him. Ni-ki came with a broken cry, his entire body convulsing as stripes of white painted his stomach and chest. You milked him through it, not stopping until he was whimpering from oversensitivity, his spent cock twitching weakly in your grasp.

You pulled back, wiping your hand clean on his heaving stomach, watching the way his abs contracted at the touch. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his lips kiss-swollen and parted as he struggled to catch his breath. You patted his damp cheek lightly, smiling at the way his eyes struggled to focus on you.

You pout at the notebook, like a child denied ice cream.

“I don’t get why there are letters in math,” you complain, twirling the pink pen between your fingers. “Numbers were already enough.”

Jake snorts softly from across the library table, dragging the worksheet closer before you can accidentally doodle hearts in the margins again. He leans over to rewrite the equation for the third time, and your eyes drift from the page to the exposed skin of his forearms, before landing on the swell of his biceps that flexed whenever he rested his elbows against the table.

Jake was too nice to look at, and it made studying with him impossible.

“Here,” he says, moving your notebook closer. “You solve this one.”

You immediately push it back.

Jake exhales sharply through his nose, like he's already exhausted by you. "You're gonna make me beg?" His knee nudges yours apart beneath the table. "Or should I just give up and bend you over this desk instead?"

"I don't know how!"

"You know exactly how," he counters, "You've been teasing me for twenty minutes."

You twirl your pink pen. "Maybe I like it when you get frustrated."

Jake's laugh is low and dangerous. "You're the worst student I've ever had."

"But I'm your favourite. Aren’t I?"

He pauses just long enough to make your stomach flip. "Yeah," he admits.

Before you can think too hard about it, Jake reaches over and takes the pencil from your hand.

“Watch,” he says. “You move this here first, then divide both sides.”

You try to focus. You really do!

But Jake’s sitting close enough that his shoulder keeps brushing yours every time he writes, and he smells faintly like cologne, and suddenly algebra feels like the least important thing in the room.

“You’re not listening,” he says without looking up.

“How do you know?”

The thing was, you weren’t listening. You probably hadn’t been for the last 3 minutes he spent explaining equations that didn’t make sense. 

It wasn’t like you weren’t trying to pay attention; you seriously did try your best. You’d listen attentively as he explained content you had no understanding of, attempting to let the words click in your head. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, tapping the worksheet with the end of the pencil. His brows pull together in fake seriousness as he turns toward you. “Tell me what comes first.”

You stare at the equation for a long moment, glossed lips pursed thoughtfully.

Then you glance at him.

Then back at the worksheet.

“…crying?” you answer quietly.

Jake immediately drops his head into his hand, shoulders shaking with laughter he’s trying to hold in. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters into his palm.

“I’m serious,” you insist with a small pout, sitting up straighter in your chair. Your bracelets clink against the table as you gesture dramatically toward the page. “This looks evil.”

“It’s literally basic algebra.”

“Then why,” you ask, squinting suspiciously at the numbers, “are there so many steps?”

“Because math would be too easy otherwise.”

You slump in your chair, defeated by the question. Jake could lie and say he wasn’t watching the way your chest bulged over your top as you did, but that would be the furthest thing from the truth. 

"Y'know," he says, spinning the pencil between his fingers with infuriating ease, "most girls at least pretend to care when I tutor them."

“I do care!” you insist, fluttering your fake lashes.

“Really?” Jake raises a brow, unconvinced.

“Yeah.” You nod earnestly. “I care about making you proud of me.”

That catches him off guard. His smirk falters for half a second—just long enough for you to notice—before he schools his expression back into one of lazy amusement.

“That’s…” He clears his throat, adjusting in his seat. “Not what I meant.”

Jake exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. "Christ. You're manipulative."

You grin. "And yet you're still here."

"Because if I'm not," he leans in, voice dropping low, "some idiot's gonna have to explain why you failed."

"And because you like me."

Jake stares at you for a beat too long before exhaling slowly. "You make it really fuckin' hard to remember why I agreed to this."

Your eyes widen innocently. "Studying with me?"

“Yeah.”

You lean closer, lowering your voice like it’s a secret. "Is it because I distract you?"

Jake doesn't answer right away. His gaze flicks to your lips, then back up, before he huffs out a quiet laugh.

"You distract everyone," he mutters, shaking his head like he can't believe he's admitting it.

You beam as if you've just won something.

Jake watches you for another second before shoving the worksheet back in front of you with a sigh. "Alright, pretty girl. Focus." He taps the paper. "Solve it."

You chew on the end of your pen thoughtfully. "...Can I have a hint?"

Jake groans. "Jesus. I've given you, like, six."

"One more?" you wheedle, nudging his arm with your elbow.

He exhales sharply, but there's no real bite to it when he finally relents. "Move the x-values first."

You scribble something down with intense concentration, tongue poking slightly against the inside of your cheek. Jake watches quietly this time, chin resting against his fist.

A whole minute passes before you slide the notebook toward him with a triumphant grin.

“I got an answer,” you announce proudly.

He leans over. “Okay, let’s see—”

Then Jake stops.

"...How the fuck," he says slowly, tracing the pink "42" smudged across the page, "did you get forty-two?"

Your proud smile falters. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Jake looks from the paper—where the numbers only go up to twelve—back to your pouting face. His mouth twitches.

“Baby,” he says carefully, trying not to laugh again, “the equation only goes up to twelve. Did you just... guess?”

You puff out your glossed lips in an exaggerated pout, twirling a curled strand of hair around your manicured finger. "But numbers are, like, soooo confusing!" you whine, deliberately pushing your chest forward until your bedazzled, low-cut crop top looks like it could split at the seams at any second.

Jake's gaze drops to your cleavage for a second too long before he exhales sharply.

"Christ." He snatches the pen from your hand, scrawling the actual answer onto the page. "This is what happens when you flirt instead of focusing."

You bat your lashes. "But flirting's way more fun!"

Jake sets the pencil down, rubbing his mouth with one hand to hide his smile. "Alright. Let's try this differently."

"Oooh, are we playing a game?"

His fingers trail up your bare arm, making you shiver. "Something like that." He taps the pencil against your bottom lip. "First rule? No skipping steps."

You pout prettily. "But rules are boring!"

"Trust me," he murmurs, leaning in until his breath ghosts over your ear. "You'll love the rewards."

"First," he announces, tapping the paper. "Write the equation perfectly. Every symbol in the right place."

When you bite your lip and copy the equation (after three tries), his large hand slides up your thigh beneath your skirt. "Good girl," he purrs, thumb brushing dangerously close to where you're already damp.

"Reward one," he continues, guiding your hand as you subtract from both sides. When you get it right, his fingers tilt your chin up. You squeal when his lips crash against yours, his tongue teasing your lower lip before pulling away.

You're already breathless when he murmurs, "Reward two" He watches intently as you divide, his fingers tracing idle circles on your inner thigh. "Beautiful." His hand slides yours to his lap, where the hard length of him strains against his sweats.

"Reward three," he groans as you free him, his hips jerking when your fingers wrap around his cock. He guides your strokes, slow and firm.

"Now solve," he rasps, teeth grazing your neck. Your fingers tighten instinctively when you gasp out the answer.

"F-five," you whimper, and his grip tightens around your wrist.

Jake groans, his hips jerking into your grip. "Perfect." His free hand slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher until his fingers brush the damp fabric of your panties. "Reward four." He presses his palm against you, letting you grind shamelessly against him while you keep stroking his cock.

Your breath comes in uneven gasps, the dual sensation making it impossible to think. "J-Jake—"

"One more step," he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. "Prove it." He nudges your panties aside, dragging two fingers through your slick folds. "Show me how you got five."

You whimper, thighs trembling as his fingers circle your clit. "I—I subtracted first, then—oh god—divided—"

"Good girl." His fingers plunge inside you without warning, curling just right. Your back arches, your grip tightening around his cock as pleasure coils tight in your belly.

The textbook slides off the table when he lifts you onto it, spreading your legs wider. "Now," he growls, lining himself up, "let's check your work."

The first thrust punches the air from your lungs. His hands grip your hips, pulling you onto him with each rough snap of his hips. The sound of skin slapping fills the tiny dorm room, your moans muffled against his shoulder.

You come with a sob as Jake’s free hand claps over your mouth, concealing your desperate whines. Jake exhales sharply as he pulls out, watching you shiver at the sudden emptiness.  His fingers trail lazily through the mess between your thighs, smearing it across your flushed skin before bringing them to your lips.

"Lick," he commands, voice rough.

You part your lips obediently, swirling your tongue around his fingers until they’re clean, tasting the mix of salt and sweetness on his fingers. 

By the third "lesson", your ponytail is lopsided, lipstick smudged from Jake’s mouth on yours. His sweats are shoved halfway down his thighs, your sticky-sweet moans filling the room every time his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Still stuck?" he taunts, thrusting deeper as you squeal, hands scrabbling at the desk.

"Nuh-uh!" you lie, toes curling when he pinches your nipple through your lace bra. "I—oh!—I totally remember now!"

Jake’s grin is feral as he pulls out, positioning you onto your knees on the floor. "Prove it."

You whimper but obey, sinking your manicured fingers into his thighs before taking him into your mouth with an exaggerated, wet pop. His groan is ragged above you, hands fisting in your hair as you look up through your lashes, drool dripping down your chin.

"Such a good girl," he praises, and you preen, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes.

The dorm room is a wreck by the time he’s done with you—your skirt ripped off, hair a tangled mess, and makeup ruined in the best way. Jake’s lazily tracing equations on your bare stomach with his cum when you stretch like a cat, giggling.

"See?" you chirp, wiggling your hips. "I told you I’m a fast learner!"

His hand smacks your ass hard enough to make you yelp. "We’ll see tomorrow," he growls, biting your shoulder. "After I quiz you."

Your breathy giggle dissolves into a moan as his fingers slide between your thighs again.

A few days of silence would pass, sometimes a week if both of you were stubborn enough. Then, without fail, he would reach out. A message late at night, pleading for you back with a string of apologies. And no matter how determined you had been, no matter how much you told yourself and your friends that you were done, you would always find yourself replying. 

Sunoo had seen every version of it. He had become so used to the routine that your dramatic entrances into his room no longer surprised him. Exasperated, you’d flop down onto Sunoo’s beanbag, mumbling the same words every time,

“Sunghoon and I broke up.” 

He would barely react anymore, mustering up a pitiful smile at most. Sometimes he wouldn’t even look up immediately; he’d just sigh quietly and reach for his phone.

“Do you want me to be honest?” he’d ask, already knowing your answer.

“No,” you’d mumble.

“Okay,” he’d reply flatly. “He’s the worst, and you really do deserve better. This is definitely the last time.”

And then, after a pause, “Should I order food?”

You always said yes.

And that was it. That was the cycle. You would cry, you would complain, and then you would wait. Because somewhere deep down, you always knew how it would end. Sunghoon would come back, and you would let him back in with open arms.

So when it’s been forty days since the last breakup, Sunoo doesn’t take it that seriously. It plays out like it always has, a dramatic faceplant into his bed, your sobs coming out in choked gasps, the way your whole body shakes like this is the worst it’s ever been, even though, historically, it never really is. His hand moves absentmindedly against your back, comforting you yet again.

“Sunghoon and I broke up,” you mumble into the mattress.

“Mm,” Sunoo replies, not even looking up. His thumb is already halfway through unlocking his phone. “Do you want me to be honest or—”

“No.”

“Okay. He’s a fucking douchebag. You could so get with somebody better.”

The room stays silent for a second. 

“Should I order food?”

You sniff. “Yeah.”

He nods absentmindedly. “Forty days, though. That's probably the longest so far.”

“You’re acting like you’ve been waiting for this,” you groan, rolling slightly over so you can breathe properly.

“I mean,” he shrugs, “I don’t even have to wait that long.”

You kick him lightly. He ignores it.

“I’m done this time,” you say, sitting up a bit now, your hair a tangled mess from lying there too long and your wet, matted eyelashes sticking together in uneven spikes.

Sunoo deliberately pauses. “You said that last time.”

“This time I actually mean it.”

“You also meant it last last time, and the time before that, and even before that—”

“I get it!” you cut in quickly, voice rising just a bit, “but it’s different this time. I’m actually moving on. I’m talking to someone new. I’m not going to do this again.”

Sunoo finally looks at you properly. “Really?…Someone new?”

“Yes.” You say matter-of-factly. 

He nods slowly, not convinced. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

PARTY 1: They weren’t lying when they said that saying something is easier than actually doing it. You thought it’d be simple, and you’d even made yourself a mental checklist

Find someone new to talk to

Move on

BONUS: Maybe even do what Sunoo casually called “get some new dick up in your system.”

In reality, it was proving to be… not that.

You weren’t even sure what kind of party this was supposed to be. The house was too loud in a sticky, suffocating way. Your dress kept rising no matter how many times you fixed it, and your heels, clearly not broken in, made every step feel like hell on earth. 

Somewhere in the corner, there was a livestream happening. Some random frat guy being followed around by a whole crew, while a few people hovered around him like this was a completely normal thing to witness at a party.

Sunoo had called him Clavicular, like that was a real name that someone would actually have. You were starting to think Sunoo just made words up when he got bored.

Your phone sat face down on your thigh. You hadn’t checked it in twenty-three minutes, which honestly deserved some kind of award considering the circumstances.

“Hey.”

Your eyes shot up to find a guy standing in front of you. He was cute, definitely tall. But not taller than Sunghoon. A baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and the kind of easy smile that usually worked its charm on people immediately.

“You’re Sunoo’s friend, right?” He asked, a grin stretching across his face.

“Mhm.” You hummed.

“I’m Minjae.”

You introduced yourself politely, shifting slightly on the couch to make room when he sat beside you. He leaned close enough for you to smell the alcohol and expensive cologne radiating from him. Normally, this kind of thing would’ve distracted you. 

“So,” Minjae asked casually, “are you here with someone?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Minjae kept talking, and you really did try listening! You nodded at the right moments. Smiled when you were supposed to. But your attention drifted embarrassingly fast.

You wondered if Sunghoon had eaten dinner yet.

You wondered if he was still sleeping on the left side of the bed, even though there was no one occupying the right anymore.

You wondered if he still reached across the mattress half-asleep before remembering you weren’t there.

The thought made something ache painfully inside your chest.

God.

This was pathetic. You were so pathetic.

“You okay?” Minjae asked suddenly.

You blinked hard, fake eyelashes fluttering. “Huh?”

“You looked kinda sad just then.”

“Oh.” You forced out a laugh. “That’s just my face.”

Thankfully, he laughed too, accepting your answer easily.

Around you, the party only got louder. The music rattled through the walls hard enough to vibrate beneath your heels while people squeezed past each other carrying drinks that sloshed onto the floor. Somewhere near the staircase, somebody screamed over a game, followed by an automated “you just died.” The entire house smelled like sweat, cheap liquor, and somebody’s overly sweet vanilla perfume.

And somehow, all you could think about was how different this felt from being with Sunghoon.

You missed the stupid things the most. The tiny things you never noticed while they were happening, only in the wake of their aftermath. The way he’d tug you into his lap absentmindedly while scrolling through his phone. The way his hand would always find your waist automatically in crowded places, like his body just expected yours to be there.

You hated how vividly you remembered it all.

“You want another drink?” Minjae asked.

“Oh— sure.”

“I’ll be back.”

The second he disappeared into the crowd, you hurriedly grabbed your phone.

No notifications.

A heavy ache unfurled through your chest so suddenly it almost made you angry with yourself.

Forty days.

Forty fucking days.

Usually, Sunghoon would’ve cracked by now. Usually, there would’ve been late-night paragraphs, a few missed calls at two in the morning, a series of voice messages full of exhausted apologies and “baby, please just talk to me.”

But there’d been nothing.

Your thumb hovered over his contact before you could stop yourself.

hoonie

He was still pinned. Still stupidly pinned.

You stared at the chat, eyes boring into the screen. The last message was from him.

i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you really want.

You remembered sitting on the cold tiles of your bathroom floor, reading it over and over again five weeks ago, tears running down your face while you waited for another message to appear underneath it.

It never did.

Your throat tightened at the recollection of the memory.

“You’re kidding me.”

Sunoo dropped onto the couch beside you, holding a half-open bag of chips, before narrowing his eyes immediately. “Why do you look like someone just died?”

You locked your phone instantly. “Nobody died.”

“You were staring at your screen like you got a funeral notice.”

“Shut up.”

His eyes widened dramatically. “Oh, my god. You miss him.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

You opened your mouth to argue before stopping.

Sunoo stared at you for a second longer before his face softened.

“…Oh,” he said, quieter this time. “Wait. You actually miss him.”

Your silence answered for you.

And somehow that expression on Sunoo’s face got worse. “You know,” he said carefully, “you guys break up so often that sometimes I forget you’re actually in love.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? It would’ve been easier if you didn’t love him anymore. If the relationship had ended nicely because one of you just stopped caring. But every breakup with Sunghoon felt less like falling out of love and more like drowning in it.

“You should text him,” Sunoo said quietly.

You laughed immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to move on.”

“Are you?”

You looked away.

Across the room, a couple leaned into each other lazily. Somebody else kissed near the staircase like they were alone.

And suddenly the entire party felt unbearable.

You missed him. You really fucking missed him, in the most humiliating way possible. You missed calling him when something funny happened. You missed hearing the jingle of his keys outside your apartment before he walked in without knocking. You even missed your screaming fights with him.

Sunoo watched your expression carefully.

Then his phone buzzed. He checked it once and physically froze.

“Oh,” he muttered to himself.

Your stomach dropped instantly. “What?”

“…Nothing.”

“Kim Sunoo.”

He slowly turned the screen toward you.

sunghoon: is she there

Your heart actually stuttered.

Below it, another message appeared.

sunghoon: don’t tell her i asked sunghoon: just tell me if she’s okay

The room suddenly feels too warm, wrapping around your neck and suffocating you. 

You hate how quickly your body remembers him before your brain can catch up. The tightness in your chest. The way your stomach flips over itself. The instinctive urge to answer him immediately, even after all the nights you spent crying because of him.

Sunoo watches your expression carefully from beside you, his lips parting like he wants to say something before deciding against it. Instead, he pulls the phone back toward himself slowly, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

“Don’t reply yet,” you say quickly.

“I literally wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I am thinking about it,” he admits shamelessly. “Because this is the longest you two have gone without speaking since, like, the invention of electricity.”

You glare weakly at him, but there’s no real energy behind it. 

just tell me if she’s okay

The worst part is that you can hear his voice saying it.

Because despite everything, despite all the arguments and slammed doors and tearful “maybe we just shouldn’t do this anymore” conversations at two in the morning, you know he loved you. Maybe badly sometimes. Maybe in ways that damaged both of you more than either of you wanted to admit.

But he loved you.

“You should answer him,” Sunoo says again, softer this time.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Because if you answer him, everything starts again.

That’s the problem.

One message turns into a conversation. The conversation turns into him calling you late at night because he “just wanted to hear your voice for a second.” Then suddenly, he’s outside your apartment holding your favourite drink and a bouquet of your favourite flowers, like muscle memory alone just carried him there on its own.

And the worst part?

You always let him in.

Every single time.

It wasn’t because you were weak, and definitely not because you enjoyed heartbreak. It was because loving Sunghoon had never left room for pride. It seemed like the one thing you truly knew how to do.

You look down at your hands. Your nails are chipped. One of your rings sits crooked on your finger because you’ve been twisting it unconsciously all night.

“You know what’s embarrassing?” you murmur.

Sunoo hums beside you, urging you to continue.

“I genuinely thought I’d be okay without him this time.”

The words come out smaller than intended.

For a second, Sunoo doesn’t joke around. He doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t laugh and pat you on the back. He just leans back into the couch cushions with an exasperated sigh.

“I think,” he says carefully, “you guys keep trying to act like the problem is that you love each other too much.”

You frown slightly.

“I think you both just don’t know how to stop hurting each other. It’s too toxic, y/n”

Your chest tightens.

Because maybe he’s right.

You and Sunghoon had always loved each other desperately. Every emotion between you became enormous. Fights escalated too quickly. Small misunderstandings turned into unbearable conversations that lasted until the sun rose. Neither of you knew when to stop talking once you were upset. Neither of you knew how to let things go.

But somehow, even your worst moments with him still felt more real than anyone else.

That was the sick part. No matter how exhausting it became, nobody ever compared to him.

Not the random people Sunoo tried setting you up with. Not the awkward conversations at parties. Not the pretty strangers smiling at you across the crowded rooms.

Nobody looked at you the way Sunghoon did, like he was terrified of losing you even while he was actively ruining things.

Across the room, Minjae finally reappears holding two drinks. The second he notices your expression, his smile falters slightly.

“You okay?”

You blink like you’d forgotten he existed. You probably had forgotten.

“Oh. Yeah.”

It sounds fake even to you.

He hands you the drink anyway, before sitting beside the armrest this time instead of directly next to you. He probably sensed he had walked into something.

Sunoo suddenly stands up.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announces suspiciously.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t text him.”

“I’m literally peeing.”

“You’re evil.”

He flashes you his white pearls, and then he disappears into the crowd before you can stop him.

You sink further into the couch with a groan, covering your face with your hands as if it could shield you from everything.

Minjae laughs softly beside you. “Rough night?”

“You have no idea.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

The music changes again, the bass vibrating through the floorboards hard enough to rattle the cups on the table. Someone nearby starts singing horribly off-key. And suddenly, all you want is to go home.

Not because the party is bad. Because Sunghoon would’ve noticed ten minutes ago that you were uncomfortable. He always noticed.

He would’ve tugged you somewhere quieter without making a big deal out of it, fingers brushing against your wrist gently as he pulled you through the crowd. Then he’d look down at you with that stupidly sincere expression he only ever wore around you and ask, “You wanna leave?

Like leaving together was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your chest aches so suddenly that you almost feel angry about it.

Forty days.

And somehow you still miss him in every room you enter.

PARTY 2:

You convinced yourself that the first party after the breakup was a trial run. You would surely move on and find a rebound this time! You were sure of it!

Because that’s what you were supposed to do, right? Keep going out, keep meeting people, keep proving to yourself that Sunghoon wasn’t supposed to be the centre of everything anymore.

“You cannot spend another weekend rotting in bed watching relationship tarot readings,” Sunoo had said, practically doing your own makeup for you for the party. 

“They were accurate.”

“You believe some woman called MoonPrincess444?”

“She understands me!”

Sunoo ignored you completely, already sifting through your closet. “Wear the black dress.”

“The short one?”

“The hot one.”

Exactly an hour later, you’re standing in another overcrowded house filled with strangers and flashing lights.

At first, it feels exactly like last time. The same sticky heat in the air. The same bass vibrating through your ribs like it’s trying to rearrange something inside your chest. 

You stayed near Sunoo at first, letting him lead you through the crowd like he always did, but even that didn’t last long. He kept getting pulled away by people he knew, conversations swallowing him whole until you were left standing slightly off to the side, holding a drink you didn’t remember agreeing to take.

You tried at first. You really did. You talked when people talked to you. You smiled when it felt appropriate. You even laughed once or twice just to prove to yourself that you still knew how to. But it never quite really stuck.

Your attention kept slipping in ways you couldn’t control. Every interaction felt slightly out of focus, like your mind was watching it from somewhere behind your body instead of inside it.

This guy laughs too loudly. Sunghoon used to laugh as it caught him off guard.

This one looks at his phone while you’re speaking. Sunghoon used to look at you like everything else in the room didn’t exist.

At some point, Sunoo vanished again into the crowd, leaving you alone near the edge of the kitchen area. You stayed there for a while, not really moving. The drink in your hand had gone warm. You weren’t even sure when you stopped noticing the music properly.

You were staring down into the swirls of your drink when it happened.

Your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up. A tightening in your chest, a shift in your breathing. Slowly, you turned your head.

And everything stopped.

Sunghoon was standing at the entrance.

He was wearing your his favourite hoodie, his hair falling in front of his cheekbones, his hands tucked strictly into his pockets as if he was holding himself together. There was something about the way he stood there that felt different from every other person in the room, not because he was doing anything noticeable, but because the space around him seemed to respond to him, as if the atmosphere itself had adjusted.

He had not seen you yet.

But you had already seen him.

And that alone was enough to make your chest tighten in a way that felt almost painful.

Then his eyes glanced up. 

And he saw you. Your eyes diverted immediately

The recognition was immediate and absolute, like there had never been any real distance between you at all, like the forty days had not stretched or faded anything, but had simply been waiting for this exact second to collapse back into itself.

Your fingers tightened around your cup without you meaning to, the pressure building into the bones of your hand as your body reacted faster than your mind could intervene.

Around you, the party continued as if nothing had changed. People kept talking, laughing, and moving through the space without even noticing what had happened to you. 

Because Sunghoon was still looking at you.

And in his expression, something changed in real time.

His gaze flickered briefly, and then, just for a moment, past you.

And that was when you realised.

Someone had been talking to you earlier. Standing too close that you could still feel the warmth radiating off his body. Close enough that it looked harmless to anyone else but Sunghoon.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened further as his attention returned fully to you. There was a heaviness in the way he looked now, as if seeing you here, like this, in a room that was not his, next to people who were not him, was something he had not prepared himself for, even if he had known he might eventually have to.

And that was the part that made something in him snap.

Because Sunghoon did not come here tonight expecting peace. He did not come here expecting healing or acceptance or any of the things people pretended happened after breakups when they were trying to sound mature about it. He came because forty days of silence had slowly stopped feeling like space and started feeling like divine punishment from God, and because the last words of “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want” had begun to rot in his chest the longer you did not come back.

He had told himself he would be normal about it. That he would walk in, act like he did not care, maybe have a drink, maybe talk to a few people, maybe convince himself that seeing you again would finally mean nothing. At least, that's what Jake said would happen.

It did the fucking opposite.

Because the moment his eyes found you across the room, everything in him reacted like it had been waiting for that exact sight. The way you stood there, holding your drink as if you belonged somewhere else entirely, your expression soft in a way he used to be the only one who got to see up close, made something in his chest tighten so much it almost hurt.

His jaw tightened before he could even think about it. His grip on his phone shifted in his pocket, fingers curling hard enough that he almost forgot he was holding anything at all. He watched the angle of your body without meaning to, the way you were facing slightly away from the guy but not moving away either, and his mind filled in the gaps faster than he could stop it.

You looked fine.

That was the worst part.

You looked like you were completely okay here.

Like you had adjusted just fine.

Like you were not waiting for anything anymore, that you weren’t waiting for him anymore. 

And that thought, more than anything else, made his chest tighten in an almost unbearable way.

He started walking before he fully decided to.

The music got louder as he moved deeper into the room, but it felt miles away to him now. People brushed past him, scoffing at his abrupt movements. Jay called his name, some girl laughed too loudly near his shoulder, but none of it mattered to him. His focus wasn’t on them; it stayed on you.

On the way, you had looked away like you’d been caught.

On the way, you still had not moved.

On the way, someone else still stood too close to you.

By the time he was only a few steps away, he could finally see your face properly again. He saw the way your expression had changed slightly, as you had finally noticed something was different in the room, even before you turned fully. He saw the small hesitation in your posture, the way your attention was no longer fully anchored to the conversation beside you.

And then, slowly, you turned.

And everything stopped for him again, too.

Up close, it was worse.

Because now there was no distance. No crowd to hide behind. Just you, standing there, looking at him like you were not sure whether he belonged here or in your memory.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Forty days sat between you, like some sort of physical barrier. 

Then Sunghoon looked past you again, just briefly, just enough to confirm what he already did not like. The guy was still there, now watching the interaction with obvious confusion, like he could tell something was wrong, but didn’t understand what.

Sunghoon felt his expression change before he could control it.

When he looked back at you, his voice came out lower than usual.

“You’re serious?”

The words were simple, but the way he said them was not. There was something underneath them that sounded almost disbelieving.

You did not answer immediately, and that hesitation alone did something to him.

Because he knew you, he knew exactly what your silence usually meant.

The jealousy didn’t feel rational anymore. It was not just some guy. It was about everything he was suddenly seeing all at once. You laughing with someone else. You standing comfortably without him. You existing in a space where he was not automatically the centre of your attention.

He took a breath, slower this time, forcing his expression to steady, but his eyes did not soften.

Instead, they stayed on you.

“I leave you alone for a month,” he said finally, quieter again, “and this is what it looks like?”

There was no accusation in it. And for the first time since he walked in, Sunghoon did not look like someone trying to act normal. He looked like someone who had just realised that maybe he was not the only one still stuck in the same place. And for a second, it felt like neither of you knew what to do with that.

Because that was the truth that neither of you had said out loud yet. Not in forty days, not during the breakup, not in any of the arguments that had ended with slammed doors and messages left on read until they stopped meaning anything.

Sunghoon had not moved on.

Not even slightly.

And seeing you here, like this, made that fact unbearable in a way he did not have the words for.

“You’re not answering,” he pressed.

“I don’t need to,” you replied, and your voice was steadier than you expected it to be.

That steadiness made something in him crack further.

Because it was wrong. Wrong in every single way, it disrupted the version of you he still held in his head. The version who always looked at him first in a room. The version of you who would beam at him, ushering him to your side. The version that never made him feel replaceable.

But you weren’t doing that now.

You were just standing there, completely still, completely fine without him. And it made him feel ridiculous for assuming anything would be the same.

“You’re really just going to stand here like I didn’t just walk in and see—” he stopped himself, as if he had reached a dead end and didn’t know how to navigate a way out. 

“You don’t get to act like that,” you sighed, everything that had been kept bottled up over the forty days pouring out, “You don’t get to break up with me, disappear for forty fucking days, and then walk in here like you still have the right to—”

You swallowed your words.

His eyes stayed locked on yours in that way that always used to make you feel like the rest of the world didn’t exist. As if he only existed in your orbit.

“You don’t get to show up,” you continued, voice shaking now despite your best effort, “and act like I’m doing something wrong just because I’m here.”

The guy behind you shifted awkwardly, suddenly very aware of himself, of his proximity, of the fact that he had become a detail in something much larger and much more volatile than a casual conversation at a party. He muttered something under his breath and took a step back, disappearing into the crowd in a blink.

Sunghoon laughs, actually fucking laughs. “You think I left?” he repeats, like the idea itself is insulting.

“You literally said you’d leave me alone,” you remind him, voice rising now, your throat tightening. “You said it. You wrote it. You made it sound so final, like I was supposed to just, what? Wait for you?”

“No,” he says quietly. “I said I’d leave you alone if that’s what you wanted.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

It is. It is. It is.

You shake your head slightly, frustrated in a way that feels familiar and humiliating all at once.

AFTER PARTY

You really did try not to succumb to Sunghoon’s touch. You should have pushed him away—should have reminded him that whatever this was ended a month ago—but the familiar heat of his palms through your dress made your breath catch. His fingers tightened slightly, testing your resolve, and you hated how easily your body still responded to him.

Without a word, he guided you away from the crowded living room, his grip firm enough that no one would question whether you were following willingly. The noise of the party dulled as you moved down the hall, replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. People blurred past, but you barely registered them. Not when Sunghoon’s thumb was tracing slow circles against the dip of your waist through the thin fabric of your dress.

"You're thinking too much," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he nudged open the bathroom door. The click of the lock was deafening.

Your body registers that you're being set down on the bathroom sink top before your mind does. 

"You said you'd leave me alone," you repeated, voice breaking on the last word.

Sunghoon's fingers traced idle patterns along your hipbone beneath the hem of your dress. "I did." His thumb brushed the sensitive skin just above your thigh. "And then you showed up here looking like this."

Within seconds, he’s bunching your dress up around your hips. 40 days apart hadn't changed the way your bodies fit together—his cock hard against your core, your nails already digging into his shoulders.

Your panties were gone before you could protest, tossed carelessly to the floor, and then his fingers were there—stroking, teasing—just long enough to make your hips jerk toward him.

"Still wet for me," he noted, voice thick with amusement as he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance. "Even after all this time."

You grip onto the bathroom counter as you feel him push inside of you, the stretch so deliciously intoxicating, your jaw slack. He groaned when you clenched around him, his forehead dropping to yours as he bottomed out. "Fuck, you feel—" 

"Don't," you cut him off, even as your legs hooked around his waist to pull him deeper. "This doesn't mean anything."

Sunghoon laughed darkly, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in hard enough to make you cry out. "Keep telling yourself that," he taunted, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still as he set a punishing rhythm. "Your body knows the truth."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing rough circles just the way you liked, and you hated how quickly you unraveled under his touch. The pleasure coiled tighter, your back arching off the sink as he fucked you through it, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer you didn’t mean to say.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched when you came, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release. "Missed this," he gritted out, fingers digging into your thighs. "Missed you."

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, when his cock was still buried inside you, when every nerve in your body was alight with the aftershocks.

“I don’t miss you.” His large hand moves, slapping the meat of your ass as a response. The sting of his palm against your flesh makes you gasp, your back arching further as he picks up the pace. His hips snap into yours with ruthless precision, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you until your thighs tremble. You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you break—but your body betrays you. Your nails dig into the cold marble countertop, leaving faint crescent marks as pleasure coils tighter in your core.

Sunghoon’s breath is hot against your ear, dripping with lust. "Still lying to yourself, huh?" His fingers tighten around your hips, holding you in place as he drives into you harder, the slap of skin echoing off the tiled walls. "Your pussy's begging for me. Always has."

A moan claws its way out of your throat when his thumb circles your clit again, pressing just enough to make your vision blur. You hate how easily he unravels you, how your body remembers every filthy thing he can do to it.

"Say it," he growls, punctuating the demand with another sharp thrust. "Tell me you missed this."

You shake your head stubbornly, but your hips rock back against him anyway, taking him deeper. The bathroom mirror fogs with the heat between you, obscuring your reflection—just as well, because you can't bear to see how wrecked you look beneath him.

Sunghoon laughs darkly, dragging his teeth over your shoulder. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

His hand wraps around your throat, not enough to cut off your air but enough to make your pulse leap wildly beneath his fingers. The pressure sends a dizzying rush through you, your body tightening around his cock in helpless response. "Look at you," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Always so fucking perfect when you’re mine."

The words shouldn’t unravel you—but they do. Your resolve crumbles with every punishing thrust, every filthy whisper against your skin. His free hand slides down your stomach, fingertips skimming lower until they find you throbbing and soaked, your clit swollen under his touch.

"Sunghoon—"

His hips jerk forward, slamming into you so deep your back bows off the counter. "Say it."

You choke back a sob as pleasure fractures through you, your body clenching around him in helpless waves. He doesn’t let up, fucking you through it until your legs go weak and your hands scramble for purchase against the slick sink.