© nephynes 2026

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

"Sunghoon!"

Headshot, headshot, assist—that's all that's being processed when the front door bursts open hard enough to rattle the empty energy drink cans on Sunghoon's desk. He doesn't blink, even as one of them falls over, rolling around on the floor. He doesn't even stop to think about the remaining drop left in the can that's probably leaking onto the carpet somewhere.

"Sunghoon, get your ass out here!"

He's in game mode, and nobody stops him when he's like that. Not even his roommates, whose approaching footsteps he fails to register. The only thing that matters is the screen in front of him as he lines up his next shot, just waiting for the remaining enemy teammate to peek around the corner. His prey is right there. Right behind that wall. All they have to do is walk into his trap.

Just peek already, you little pussy bitch—

"Sunghoon!"

He yelps when a hand clamps on his shoulder. His arm jerks, aim twitching, and the enemy peeks at that very moment, landing a clean headshot on him. His teammates start cursing at him in the voice chat. A lovely, overlapping chorus of "kill yourself" and "delete the game" as if he hadn't carried them for the past two rounds.

Sunghoon mutes the mic and pulls his headphones down around his neck, glaring behind him at Heeseung, who is practically dragging him up from his seat. He tries to yank his arm away, but then another pair of hands is hauling him out of his seat. He directs his glare back at Jay.

"What the f—"

"Don't act surprised. I literally told you we needed your help an hour ago. It's your fault for queueing a ranked game," Jay states, patting his shoulder. Sunghoon is now on his feet, blinking at him. Annoyed, but... ultimately unable to argue back, given he had ignored all his texts.

"Can't you just get Jake or something?" He mutters.

Jay is already leaving his bedroom, and Heeseung nudges him forward, forcing him to follow. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping him. He moves with begrudging footsteps out into the hallway.

"It's a four-man job. Turns out my grandma's coffee table is heavy as shit."

"Your grandma's coffee table...?"

He's not exaggerating. The thing is solid oak—masterfully crafted, intricately carved, and so extremely fucking heavy that by the time they've wrestled it through the front door, all four of them go down, collapsing to the couch. Jake, already muttering something about needing a drink, Heeseung describing his physical decline in real time, and Jay, heaving in silence.

Sunghoon sinks into the cushions, and his vision blurs, wondering which is more to blame for it: the summer heat or the fact that he's been skipping the gym to play ranked and living off microwave ramen for the past few weeks. His headset is still around his neck, and he can hear his teammates losing without him. He doesn't care. He can't feel his arms.

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel that in my back for weeks," Heeseung announces to the ceiling, then his head lifts, "but look at that—really ties the place together, right?"

He gestures to the room. Sunghoon's eyes glaze over the sight. Bare white walls, curtainless windows, a TV that sits directly on the floor, and a trash bag in the corner full of takeout containers and red solo cups—and of course, now, the beautiful table, sticking out like a sore thumb amid the room's college-boy barrenness.

"We've lived here a whole year now," Sunghoon starts between breaths, not enough energy in him to glare at his roommates. "Not once has any one of us said, 'Oh no, where will I put my cup of coffee?'"

"Who says we have to use it for coffee?"

He blinks. He doesn't know when Jake left the room, but he's now returning with a six-pack of beer, setting it down on the new table. He cracks one open immediately, settling next to him on the couch.

"My grandma's downsizing." Jay reaches forward, patting the table's surface with genuine affection. "She gave it to us for free. You don't say no to a free coffee table."

"Well, it looks stupid." Sunghoon folds his arms, "Really helps the whole we have nothing aesthetic."

"Come on. We're adults now." Heeseung perks up, "Adults have coffee tables. It's about presentation. Besides, I heard chicks dig it. Something about owning real furniture and bed frames just does it for them."

"None of us are bringing girls home," Sunghoon starts, looking at each of them. He sees Jake's mouth open to protest, "And no, your weird situationship does not count."

"Maybe that's 'cause we didn't have a coffee table before," Jay shrugs.

"Yeah, tell the ladies all about your grandma's furniture. I'm sure they'll start lining up the block."

Sunghoon feels a headache starting behind his left eye, and when he hears the game end through his headset at his shoulders, he rips the device from his neck, shoving it to the cushion at his side.

"Shitty ass game," He mutters.

A sweat had gathered at his brow, and he now moves to wipe it as he's reaching for a beer, cracking it open and taking a large gulp like it's water.

"Rough match?"

"Nah. Would've been an easy match," Sunghoon replies, groaning, "Just stressed. Coach has been pressuring me, plus there's that stupid course I have to retake this semester."

"Tough life being Captain of the E-sports team, huh?" Heeseung jokes, "Or what is it you were called that one time? The school's biggest virgin?"

Captain of the E-sports team. A title Heeseung delivers like a punchline. Most people do. Sunghoon, on the other hand, wears it with pride, and had long since stopped trying to explain himself—both the fact that being the best player in the whole school is a legitimate accomplishment, and the fact that he is not a virgin. Effectively explaining either of those things would require Heeseung to actually care, which he doesn't.

Sunghoon had spent his whole life refining his skills for that sort of recognition. He shoots with precision and wins. He reads his opponents to filth, predicting their every move, and annihilates them with ease. He plays Valorant at a level that makes his teammates worship him like a god, and the enemy team start inventing new slurs to type in the chat. That is to say, he was very, very good at it. And very serious about it.

It's precisely why he doesn't have time for moving coffee tables. Or sitting around like this. Or—

His phone buzzes.

His is summer course. Right. The one he'd failed last semester, that his academic advisor had gently but firmly informed him he needed to retake if he wanted to graduate on time. He'd registered for it in a fog of dismissive irritation back in March, figuring it would be easy enough. And then the syllabus had dropped with the word group project, and he'd been assigned a project partner who had emailed him four times before the first week of classes had even ended, asking about meeting up weeks before the deliverable due dates.

He reaches for his phone, scrolling through the feed of missed notifications from you: One shared document link, more than a couple missed messages, and—he squints—a voice memo. Who the fuck sends voice memos about code?

"Is that the project partner you keep complaining about?" Heeseung leans over his shoulder, snatching the phone away, "She sends voice memos. How adorable. Don't tell me you're ignoring those?"

"Give it back."

He doesn't; instead, he hits play, raising the volume to the max so the whole room can hear it.

"Hey, Sunghoon. How are you? Um... I'm here at the library now. I know we agreed to meet at three o'clock, but I got here a little early," he hears you laugh a bit nervously through the speaker. You have one of those that's just a little too sweet, a little too apologetic for no reason in particular. "I booked a study room, so text me when you're here. And... that's all for now. Bye, Sunghoon."

The boys sit there in silence. Glaring in disbelief at their friend.

"Oh my god," Heeseung groans, "Sweet Jesus, your partner sounds like this, and you've been ignoring her?"

Jay snatched the phone, glaring at it, then glaring at Sunghoon, "She sounds like an angel. What the fuck is wrong with you? Like, medically. What kind of mental illness does a guy have to have to end up like this?"

"That's the long-term psychological damage of being a Valorant player," Jake scoffs, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes.

"Play it again," Heeseung demands, and Jay rewinds it a bit, just to hear the breathing and that nervous little laugh through the speaker, a smile forming on his lips, "Is she cute? She sounds cute. She's got the voice. You know the one that some girls have, that makes you think about what other noises they could—"

"I don't know. I haven't even met her—yet." Sunghoon snatches the device back, "She's annoying. She sends like twenty messages a day."

"Twenty messages a day," Heeseung looks at him, "From a girl who sounds like she whimpers when she's nervous. You know what I'd do with twenty messages a day? I'd be jacking off to the typing indicators."

"That's disgusting. Keep that shit to yourself."

"What's disgusting is you having a girl sending you personalized audio content, saying your name like that, and choosing to ignore it."

"Bet he's got it all in a folder somewhere," Jay snorts, "Keeps it hidden away, playing on loop while he queues ranked. Jacks off between rounds."

"I've never even listened to any of these," Sunghoon says flatly, "She sends so many. Seriously. She's like an organized freak. The kind who start projects early and shit."

"Oh, so she's one of those girls?" Jake grins, "super nervous, apologizes for nothing... You know the type?"

"I don't." Sunghoon deadpans, feeling like his friend is about to start describing a porno category rather than an actual person, given the smirk on his face.

"The type that acts all innocent and sweet on the surface," Heeseung nudges him, "you know what they say about them, right? That they're total freaks in bed. Shit, if a girl like that booked me a study room I'd—"

"Actually finish your degree and graduate?" Jake offers.

"I'd graduate with honours."

"She's probably been waiting in the library for how long, now?" Jay shakes his head, "She got there early. Early. She's probably sitting there with her little notes and highlighters and her 'bye Sunghoon' voice, checking her phone every thirty seconds, and you're here drinking beer and complaining."

Today. The meeting was today. He checks the time—forty minutes ago.

"Shit," Sunghoon's on his feet, sprinting towards his room, "Shit, shit, shit."

He starts digging around for his backpack in his room, under piles of laundry, and nearly trips on the can he forgot to pick up on his floor.

"Guys, the library!" he calls out in a panic, "I'm supposed to be at the library. I need a ride. Now. Jay?" "Not my problem." "Jake?" "Nope."

Sunghoon grabs his bag and stumbles back to the living room, bracing himself against the doorframe. Heeseung is already looking at him with that slow, insufferable smile, sprawled on the couch like he's been waiting for this exact moment.

"I dunno," Heeseung says, stretching his arms over his head with a theatrical groan. "I'm feeling pretty tired. That table was heavy." "I helped." "You complained the whole time." "I did not—" "And you kept voice memos hidden from me. From all of us. That's a betrayal of household trust." "I didn't hide anything. You're just a nosy degenerate." Sunghoon's grip tightens on the doorframe. "Are you driving me or not?" "Hm." Heeseung taps his chin. "Maybe if you ask me nicely..." Sunghoon takes a breath. Swallows his pride. "Heeseung." He says through gritted teeth, "Can you please drive me?" "Ah, I like the sound of that." Heeseung pushes off the couch and brushes past him with infuriating slowness. "Fine. But you owe me. I wanna hear more of cute-girl's voice notes, so be nice to her." "Okay. Whatever, you fucking pervert." Sunghoon scoffs, watching him snag his keys off the hook by the door. "Just drive."

The library's fairly empty. It's expected, given it's the middle of summer on a weekend, but it's still jarring as ever to walk past empty tables where people would go to war to get a spot during finals season. And, for the first time in a while, he's thankful to be in an air-conditioned building.

"Hi Sunghoon!" you greet him as soon as he enters the room, seemingly startled by the suddenness of his arrival. He watches you for a moment, how your back straightens, and your immediate, almost rehearsed smile.

She's got the voice. Heeseung's words ring in his mind as he takes you in, you know the one that some girls have, that makes you think about what other noises they could—

"Hi," he answers, slipping into the seat next to you, "Sorry for making you wait. Roommate stuff. Had to move a coffee table. Very adult."

You laugh a little too quickly, and he notes the way your hands tremble in your lap. He also notes the way you refuse to meet his eyes.

"That's okay," you glance towards your phone, which was still face-up with its messages open. You fumble with it, tucking it away. "I was just worried maybe, like, you got lost or something."

Lost? He has to resist the urge to scoff. He's late, and instead of being upset, you decided to make up lousy excuses for him. He looks you up and down again. You're cute, like you sounded over the phone. A nervous-looking mess. The type of thing his roommates would call endearing. Sunghoon, on the other hand, finds it frustratingly pathetic.

"So." You're already turning your laptop to face him, "I've been working on the backend structure. I commented everything, so it should be pretty straightforward. Here's the API setup, and the database schema..."

You click through files as you talk, your voice picking up speed, and he doesn't listen. He tries to. He swears, he does. But his eyes instead follow your posture, and how you sit uptight, spine straight. Your hands fumble around, twitching like you can't keep them still, and your knees bounce under the desk like a nervous habit.

Good god, you look like you'll crumble to pieces any moment. He can feel a headache creeping up on him already. It's exhausting just looking at you.

"...What do you think?"

"Huh?" He blinks, taking in whatever you're pointing to on your screen. You're looking at him all bright-eyed and earnest, as if his opinion would add any sort of valuable insight here. "I... think it looks good. You did well."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he shrugs, "Why do you sound so surprised?"

His question catches you off guard. He suspected it would, that's why he asked it. Not that he was trying to prod around in your anxious little head. Just that you seemed predictable. Now he knows you are.

"I just..." You're tapping the desk now. "I wanted it to be up to your standards. I didn't want to disappoint you."

"My standards?" He repeats. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. Not at you—well, maybe a little at you. But mostly at the absurdity of the most competent person in the room, asking for his approval. "You're something else, you know that?"

You blink. "What does that—?"

"Here," He's still smiling. The headache from earlier has faded. He's not sure when. "Let me show you what you're working with."

He opens his laptop and spins it toward you. His frontend code sits there in all its tragic glory—bare bones, placeholder text, a CSS file with plenty of questionable styling decisions. Your take it all in, and for a split second, you forget to hide the horrified expression on your face.

"See? Trash. Actual garbage. I don't even show up to class. I'm not the guy whose 'standards' you should be worried about. Besides..." He leans back. "You're probably the best student in the whole class."

"I'm sure I'm not," you say, almost bashful, brushing it off as if it were a compliment. It wasn't. He was stating a fact. But you're too self-deprecating to know the difference, he supposes. "And your code isn't trash—"

"It is. We both know it's ass. You don't have to be polite."

"It's... disorganized. And a little rushed..." You hesitate, "Were you busy with something—?"

"Oh my god, you have no idea," he tilts his head back, a sigh of frustration leaving him almost immediately. "Regionals. Scrims every night. Coach breathing down my neck. I'm pretty sure I heard someone call for a flank in my dream last night, and I don't even think I was asleep. Or maybe that was just my roommates fucking with me again..."

You nod along as if you understand, though you definitely don't. You probably don't even know what half those words mean, but you're listening, and for some reason, that's less annoying than it was ten minutes ago.

"Anyway. I know it's rough. But like I said. Don't worry your head over anything else. I'll get to it, I swear."

"I'm not worried. I trust you. We still have another week, so it's not like it's last-minute. We just need to clean up some things here," You nod sweetly, then angle the screen toward him and lean in, your shoulder nearly brushing his. "The class labelling in the HTML is messing with the CSS styling. If you restructure the divs here, it should resolve most of the layout issues. And then here..."

You start explaining—specificity, nesting, the cascade. Your voice is steady now, in your element. You point at the screen with a capped highlighter like a tiny lecturer. He catches maybe sixty percent of it.

What he catches more of is your instinctive forgiveness. He shows up an hour late with half-done work that looks like a middle schooler's first project, and you're already pivoting to reassurance mode. It's okay. It's a good start. We can fix it. It's spineless. A little sad, honestly. It's also nice. You're a nice person. No bite, no sarcasm, no passive-aggressiveness, just pure, unearned kindness.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, settling in as you continue. He makes himself comfortable as best he can in his plastic library chair, and subconsciously, his legs spread, his knee drifting outward until it presses against yours under the table.

It wasn't intentional, and he's about to mutter a quick apology and draw his leg back, but then you pause completely. Your mouth is still half-open around whatever you were about to say, but nothing comes out. Your eyes drop to the table. Your fingers freeze over the trackpad.

He notices. He absolutely notices all of it. The way you swallow, the way your lip trembles trying to find your next word, the way you glance at him from the side in a panic, checking to see his reaction. She gets flustered when I touch her, he thinks, filing the thought away like data, interesting. He doesn't move his knee. Doesn't say anything or make any sort of face. He just watches you scramble, suddenly feeling a lot less bored than he'd felt a few seconds ago.

"I—" You shake your head, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. "Sorry, what was I—the bullet points. Right. I'll email you."

You clear your throat. Find your place in your notes again, though your hands are fumbling slightly, your crisp efficiency gone. You're scrambling to recover, to be useful again, to reassert the order you're using as a crutch.

"Anyway," you manage, "That's everything from my end. We're in good shape."

You're already packing up. The laptop closed with a decisive click. Highlighters swept into your bag in a single motion. Notebook stacked on top. The organized girl, reassembling her armour. Trying to pretend the last thirty seconds didn't happen.

"You in a hurry?" He has to hold back a teasing grin as you scramble for your words. "No! I mean—yeah. Just. Gotta go, so... yeah. See you next week. Or something." "Yeah. Or something."

He doesn't move. He's thinking about the bus. The long, slow route across campus. The forty-minute wait. Maybe Jay will pick up if he calls. Maybe Heeseung will text him something unhelpful, like walk it builds character.

You're standing, bag over your shoulder, then you pause, noticing he hasn't gotten up. "You're staying?"

"Hm? Just deciding if I want to beg my roommates for a ride, or suck it up and take the bus."

"Oh..." you adjust the strap of your bag, watching him thoughtfully. Your hand is already at the door, ready to go. But you don't. Your mouth hangs open slightly, hesitating on your next word. "Do you maybe want a ride? I have my car. If you want."

He looks at you. Still shrinking yourself. Still avoiding direct eye contact. And you're offering him a ride he didn't ask for. You're offering favours for him—a stranger you don't know. He files that fact away, too.

"Yeah." He stands, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "A ride would be great, actually."

You smile like he's the one doing you a favour, and he smiles back. Not for the same reason. Just because he's feeling really fucking lucky that his project partner is this nice to him.

What a stupid, stupid idea. Really, what on earth were you thinking? Having him, of all people, in your car? In your passenger seat?

Park Sunghoon. You'd read the name about a hundred times in email threads and shared documents. Now that same man is here, in your car, looking out the window with his jawline catching the late afternoon light like it's trying to blind you. Your blood pressure is rising by the second, trying to keep your focus on the road, while your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

Admittedly, you were annoyed at first. You'd spend an hour in the library, checking your phone, re-reading the room booking confirmation, composing and deleting increasingly pathetic messages. Hey, just checking in! No rush!

You even practiced in your head the polite-but-firm speech you'd planned to deliver. It's a new thing you've been trying to do where you don't let people walk all over you—where you set boundaries and explain that your time is valuable. Then he'd walked in.

To call him hot would be an understatement. That man right there is not simply hot. Hot is a word for attractive people who still seem human. Sunghoon, on the other hand, looks like someone photoshopped a male model into your web programming course as a prank.

His hair is dark and slightly messy, like he just rolled out of bed and somehow falls perfectly into place. His jawline, so sharp it could kill you, and when he flashed that dimpled smile at you—that lazy, unbothered, gorgeous smile—your brain had performed a full system shutdown.

You don't offer people rides. You don't even like having your friends in your car. You get stressed by the thought of someone else in your space, watching you drive, listening to your playlist. And now he's in the passenger seat of your car, looking so gorgeous that you're wondering if he's even real, and you're freaking the fuck out. His knee bounces idly as he stares out the window, and your eyes snag on the movement—the way his hand, large and sprawled out, rests loose on his knee. You snap your gaze back to the road.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, sparing him another glance from the corner of your eye. Stop thinking about weird stuff. Stop being weird. Just make conversation or something.

"So," you manage, and the fact that you manage to say it while sounding almost normal is a small victory. "You said you were busy? With, like, a summer internship or something?"

"Nah." He's still looking out the window, nodding his head slowly to the music. You don't even know what song you have playing. The sound of your own thoughts is too loud for you to notice, but a warmth floods your cheeks at the mere idea that he's enjoying your music. "E-sports. I'm on the school team. We've got regionals coming up."

You blink.

E-sports. You suppose it makes sense. He is in computer science, like you. Most guys in your program are into the whole video gaming thing. It's just hard to imagine him as one of them.

You try to picture it in your head: The E-sports team. A group of socially awkward loners who sit in darkened rooms with headsets, shouting at each other. And then there’s Sunghoon who, beneath the old hoodie and messy hair, looks like he's one photoshoot away from a skincare campaign.

"That's—" You search for the right word. "Cool. I didn't realize the school had an E-sports team."

"Most people don't." He shrugs, glancing over at you. "It's not exactly a spectator sport. But we're good. Made regionals last season. Coach says if we podium this year, we might actually get real funding."

He says it less with arrogance, and more in that matter-of-fact tone he seems to always have. There's something about the way he doesn't perform humility or pride, how he states his truth and moves on. It seems easy. You admire that. You also find it deeply unfair that his voice is making you feel all sorts of things while he's just... talking.

"What game?" you ask.

"Valorant. The shooter. With the agents and the abilities?" He glances at you. "You've heard of it?"

"Oh! My younger cousin plays." You think back, laughing a little at the recollection of the time he made you download it to your laptop. "I'm terrible at it. Like, genuinely embarrassingly bad. I panic and shoot at the floor."

He laughs. It's a real laugh, short and surprised, and a heat creeps to your cheeks. "Everyone's bad at first. It's all just practice."

"Right. Practice." You're smiling now, "I'll add it to my schedule. Between the project and avoiding my parents' calls."

"Your parents?"

"Strict. They mean well, but..." You shake your head, letting your words trail off.

You feel the weight of his stare, a soft hum leaving his lips. The intersection ahead goes yellow. You slow to a stop, grateful for the excuse to look away from him.

"So." You pivot, "E-sports. You must be practicing a lot then, right?"

"It's a lot of pressure," he says, and his voice has shifted slightly. Less casual. His brows scrunch together, and he's looking out the window again, passing streetlights catching the angles of his sharp, beautiful profile. "Coach says if we don't podium, our funding might get cut. Again. So I've been practicing nonstop. Scrims every night. VOD reviews."

Scrims. VOD reviews. Words that do not exist in your vocabulary, but you nod your head along like you understand. You think you get the idea, anyway.

"And then there's this course." He gestures vaguely at you, at the car, at everything. "This bullshit that I have to retake it."

"You failed web programming?"

"I was carrying the team through the playoffs. Sacrificed my homework for practice." He rubs the back of his neck, and your eyes track the shift of his shoulder, the way his fingers press into the muscle there, the brief glimpse of his collarbone where his hoodie shifts. You look away before he catches you staring. "Didn't think I'd end up failing, but. Here we are."

You think about his half-finished frontend. The skeleton components. The CSS file, full of god knows what. He'd shown it to you with the sheepish shrug of someone who knew exactly how bad it was and hated it. He hadn't tried to convince you it was better than it looked.

"But it's okay. It's worth it to make it to regionals." He's smiling to himself, "I'll fucking destroy those losers. They won't know what hit them."

You laugh, but he doesn't. You realize it's not a joke very quickly, and so you clear your throat instead.

"And I'll get my work done, of course," he tips his head towards you, his posture shifting. "Can't guarantee my portion will be as good as yours. But you can blame it on me in the group review doc."

"I'm sure you'll do great," you hear yourself say. "Not just the project. The tournament, too."

He turns to look at you. The late afternoon light catches the side of his face, and you have to force your eyes back to the road.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You clear your throat. "I mean, I don't know anything about E-sports. But you're the captain, right?"

"Yeah."

"So you must be good. Like, actually good."

He doesn't answer right away. When you glance over, he's not looking at the road—he's looking at you, head tilted slightly, like he's trying to figure you out.

"I am. I'm the best player on the team." He says it with that matter-of-fact tone again.

You pull up to his place. It's a student housing unit—one of those rundown ones that nobody cares about enough to fix up. Someone inside is yelling, the way guys yell when they're playing video games. You shift into park.

"Thanks," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "For the ride. And for... You know. Not being pissed about the code. Or the being late thing."

"It's fine," you smile. "Really. Don't worry about it."

He pauses with his hand on the door. Looks at you. There's something in his expression you can't read, the hint of a smile that you think might be lazy amusement, though you're not sure what he's amused by. He stops. Shakes his head slightly. "See you soon?"

"Yeah! I'll send the invite. And the notes."

He smiles. That damn smile. And then he's gone, walking up the path to his door, and you're sitting in your parked car with your heart doing something stupid in your chest. You watch him disappear inside. You're warm all over, and there's no good reason for it either. All he did was sit there and talk to you like a normal person, and yet you're here, feeling a deeply humiliating sort of heat forming in your lower stomach the more you think about it.

Through the front window, you can see movement—someone on a couch, the blue glow of a TV. His roommates, probably. You wonder if he'll tell them about you. You wonder if they even know you exist. Then you realize you're still parked outside his apartment, staring at his front door like a creep, and you pull away from the curb.

You have to drive all the way back to campus. It's a route you know by heart, familiar enough that your brain has permission to drift. And drift it does—back to the study room, the way he'd leaned back in his chair, the way his knee had pressed against yours. You'd frozen. Completely, mortifyingly frozen. You'd forgotten your own sentence and stammered through the recovery. And then he'd smiled at you in the car. And now you're smiling. You're smiling at a red light with no one else in the car, like an idiot, and you can't stop.

It's late, past two in the morning, and the place has gone quiet—Heeseung retreated to his room hours ago, Jake's been dead to the world the moment he got home from his summer job, and Jay's probably doomscrolling, given the amount of Instagram reels he keeps sending to the roommates group chat. The only light is the fridge, a dull white glow illuminating Sunghoon’s tired gaze.

Sunghoon stands in front of it, scanning the contents inside, none of it looking particularly enticing, but he just lost a ranked game, and he needs to eat his feelings. Leftover takeout. Someone's half-eaten burrito. A case of energy drinks. He grabs a container that looks decent enough—day-old noodles, probably Jay’s because nobody else in the house bothers to cook. Deciding that dealing with the aftermath of stealing his food is a problem for tomorrow, he shoves it in the microwave.

"Sup."

The floorboards creak behind him, and Sunghoon turns around to glare. Heeseung. Of course. The microwave beeps, and Sunghoon grabs the container, shoving his chopsticks around. It’s still cold in the center.

"Why do you always choose to enter the kitchen when I'm here?"

"Because we run on the same sleepless schedule," Heeseung moves to the sink, waterbottle held under the faucet and turns on the tap. His hair is a disaster, his shirt inside-out, and he watches Sunghoon eat Jay’s leftover noodles straight from the container, too lazy to comment on it. "And 'cause I wanna hear about your little library date. Was she cute?"

"Not a date."

"She drove you home. So it clearly went well." He turns off the tap and fastens the cap back on the plastic bottle. "Were you nice to her?"

"I was nice."

"You better have been. Most women would've called you a loser for being a grown ass man with no driver's license."

"Whatever."

"No, not whatever. I can't believe you." Heeseung points the water bottle at him, frowning, "I can't believe what I'm hearing. She waited an hour for you. Then she gave you a ride home.”

"I know. Real nice of her, right?"

"Too nice of her." Heeseung stares at him, watching him shove noodles into his mouth. "Jay's right. We really should do a scan of your brain. Admit you to a psych ward or some shit."

He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to think about it. But his brain, unhelpfully, is already thinking about it. The project. He should really start working on the project. That's the thought he keeps trying to hold onto. Not because he actually wants to do it, but because of you.

You'd been kind. Genuinely kind. You'd asked about regionals like you gave a single shit. You'd nodded along while he talked about Valorant, even though you don't understand any of it. Then there was his code—his shitty ass code that he knew was trash, that you knew was trash, too. There was no lecture. No guilt trip. Not even a hint of disdain. You just showed him how to fix it. Carefully explained it, even sent him an email after with an organized bullet-point list of all the steps he needed to implement.

An angel. That's what you are. Or a doormat. It’s the same thing, in his mind. A worse person would take advantage of that, wouldn't they?

His phone buzzes on the counter: One new email. An attachment. Then a second notification—a voice memo.

Heeseung's eyes immediately drop to the screen.

"Is that her?"

"Can you not—?"

Heeseung snatches the phone. Again. Sunghoon is too tired to fight him.

"She sent you another voice memo. At 2am." Heeseung's thumb hovers over the play button. "You know what girls send voice memos at 2am for, right?"

He's grinning as he presses play, and Sunghoon digs his chopsticks further into his noodles, ignoring his crude commentary.

"Hi, Sunghoon. Um. Okay, so I was thinking about earlier—about the whole esports thing, and how stressed you seemed about the tournament? And I just... I had some extra time, so I finished up the code. It wasn’t a big deal, really. Only took a few hours.” There’s a nervous laugh, then a pause like you’d forgotten your next words, “Hopefully, this helps? So you can focus on practice and not have to worry about the project on top of everything else… yeah. Just. Let me know if you have questions. I'm always happy to help. Okay. This is getting long. Sorry. Bye, Sunghoon.”

Heeseung sets the phone down on the counter, the movement slow and careful, like he’d just handled a sacred artifact.

"Dude."

"I know."

"This is insane."

"I know."

"You've got a girl doing all your work for you. At two in the morning. Because you mentioned you were stressed about a Valorant tournament. Said she’s always happy to help."

"I said I know. She's nice. Now leave me alone."

"No, I don't think you understand. Do you even realize what this is?" Heeseung is pacing now, the kitchen too small for his indignation. "This is the literal definition of pretty privilege. You literally just sit there, and she’s doing things for you—Holy shit, it's like when Jake was doing some hot chick's homework for an entire semester 'cause he was begging for a crumb of pussy—"

"Jake was manipulated." Sunghoon sets his leftovers down. "I'm not manipulating anyone. I didn't even—I never asked for this."

"Yeah." Heeseung stops pacing and looks at him. "But you could've. That's the fucked up part. You could  ask her to come over right now and do your dirty laundry, and she'd say yes. She'd probably bring her own detergent."

Sunghoon wants to retort that, but... You would, wouldn't you? He drags two hands down his face, sighing as his roommate's mouth continues to run.

"Life's so unfair." Heeseung throws his hands up. "I send a girl one message. One. And she leaves me on read for three days. You ignore a girl for a week, and she's doing your homework, giving you rides home, and sending you audio porn. What is wrong with the world?"

Sunghoon's looking at his phone.

He should type something. Thanks, maybe. Or sorry—sorry you’re doing his work at 2am, sorry he didn't do it himself, sorry he's probably going to keep disappointing you. His thumb hovers over the keyboard.

thanks. you didn't have to do that. Deletes it. seriously thank you. i owe you. Deletes it.

He pockets his phone and walks past Heeseung, leaving the leftovers container behind.

"Where are you going?"

"Bed."

"You're not going to respond? You're just going to leave her on read?" He half-calls out, "You're really gonna act like you're not interested at all?"

He shuts his door. Sits on the edge of his bed, the room dark except for the blue glow of his monitor in sleep mode and with a heavy sigh, he opens the voice recorder. A hand runs through his hair, and he clears his throat, feeling like an idiot. Then he presses record.

"Hey. Got your email. Thanks. You seriously didn't have to do that." A pause. He doesn't know how to end these things. Your voice memos always ended with ‘bye Sunghoon,’ all soft and hesitant-sounding, but he thinks something like that would just sound awkward in his own voice. He then realizes he’s still recording and stammers, "I'll—yeah. I'll make it up to you. Goodnight."

He hits send before he can delete it and stares at it for longer than he should. Girls like that shit, right? The whole voice memo thing. He's not sure. He just felt like you deserve a little more than a thank-you text for doing his work for him.

He tosses his phone onto his nightstand and lies back on his bed, long limbs stretched out from a long day of doing mostly nothing (apart from moving that damn coffee table). His brain, unhelpfully, drifts back to the library. The way you'd frozen when his knee touched yours. The way you'd stammered through the rest of your sentence and then offered him a ride anyway. The way you'd looked at him in the car, wide-eyed and nervous. It's been a while since he'd seen anyone look at him like that.

Not that he's inexperienced with women—unlike what his roommates' constant teasing would imply. It's a lack of interest, something he had discovered about himself in high school with his first whopping three-month-long relationship. He'd gotten bored of her in the first month, and when she asked him to choose “me, or your stupid game,” it really wasn’t a difficult choice to make.

Then there was the odd fling here and there in his first year of college. Again, never lasted long. He didn't have the time or energy to commit. In his defence, he was upfront about his intentions. It's not his fault they never listened.

He stopped bothering after that. Girls are drama. They get clingy and weird. They pout and whine over not getting enough attention, trying to drag him away from his game. That shit is annoying. And he doesn't put up with annoying shit.

A part of him wonders if you'd be the same. You're cute, but insecure. The type to get attached too quickly, he'd assume. But you also listened when he talked about his game. You did his code so he could practice more and asked for nothing in return. That's maybe the most supportive any woman has ever been of his future E-sports career.

You could probably ask her to come over right now and do your dirty laundry, and she'd say yes. He scoffs at Heeseung's voice in his head. Then, a much crueller thought enters his mind: I could probably get her to do the whole project, too.

It's sharp and invasive—so much so that he's rolling over with a groan, burying his face into the pillows. Sunghoon's a lot of things. A shitty project partner being somewhere near the top of that list, but he is not a freeloading whore. He'll be grateful and move on. He'll do his work, he'll win regionals, and when the semester is done, he'll never see your face again.

Sunghoon did not, in fact, do his work.

He tried to—if opening up an empty file and staring at it for five minutes before queuing another ranked Valorant game counts as trying.

Bless your heart, you even sent him reminders. Texts of encouragement with little smiley faces, offers to help, to which he replied with empty promises. Don't worry, I'm working on it tomorrow. I've got it. All good.

All of that, until he woke up the next week with a calendar notification:

deliverable 2 meeting today

It's a weekday, which means Jay took his car to work. Which means he has to take the bus to the library. Which means he won't have time to string something together at the last minute for when he's supposed to meet you.

Sunghoon: can we meet at my place? Sunghoon: got no ride today You: sure :)

He grins at the text. Perfect. That's perfect. All he has to do is sit down, write some bullshit, and hope that you offer to fix it—which he's sure you will. You're nice like that. You're understanding.

But then he's at his computer, and he's looking at the Valorant icon in the corner of his home screen. And then he's queuing another game. Then another. And another... and— The doorbell rings.

Hours. He'd just spent hours playing instead of doing his work like a fucking idiot. And now he's in the middle of a ranked game, clutching up another round.

"Heeseung!" He yells, "Get the door!"

No response. Of course, there's no response.

Luckily, the last remaining enemy peeks, and he finishes the round with another win. With that, he's sprinting to the door. Swings it wide open. A wave of muggy outdoor air hits him, the summer sun beaming down, and you're there smiling slightly, hands gripping the strap of your bag. He doesn't have time to process you.

"Come in," he gestures, sprinting back towards his room. He calls out over his shoulder, "Sorry, I'm in a game. Ranked. Can't leave. Make yourself at home." He's sliding back into his seat, and your footsteps follow tentatively behind him.

“Ranked?”

“Like, if I leave, I’ll be penalized and lose ranked points.”

“Ah.”

You stand behind him, a polite distance away, still gripping your bag. You shift your weight where you stand, squinting at the screen.

"I'll be done soon, don't worry. These guys are easy."

"Okay..." You sound a little confused, leaning over his shoulder, watching him move through the map.

Somehow, the feeling of your eyes on him as he plays feels like a power boost. And something in him feels the urge to show off just a little bit. You watch him easily take out two enemies with precision, and he smiles, cockily.

"Told you. Easy."

A voice perks up in the lobby chat. The enemy team. "Reported for aimbotting. This is fucking bullshit."

Sunghoon presses the button on his mic to talk, "Nah. I'm just better."

The voice on the other end proceeds to start cussing him out, mouth close enough to the mic that it cuts out every few words, calling him every slur and cuss word under the sun and from the corner of his eye, he sees your face drop in horror. He mutes himself for a second.

"It's just trash talk. Don't worry. Happens all the time."

"All the time?"

“Gaming culture. It’s not for the weak.”

He gets another headshot, and another voice joins in, "Yo, asshole, how does it feel being a basement-dwelling, virgin?"

"Wouldn't know.” Sunghoon quickly unmutes again, firing back, “Why don't you tell me about it?"

A third voice, "Don't bother with him. This guy probably jerks off to his own highlight clips. I guarantee he's never felt the touch of a woman."

Sunghoon's about to respond, but then you're leaning forward in one confident stride.

"Oh? You guarantee that?"

The mic picks up your voice loud and clear, and the lobby explodes. Both the enemy team and his own.

"NO WAY."

“WHO IS THAT?"

"Bro has a whole woman in his room, and he's playing Valorant right now."

"She sounds hot as fuck."

"Dude, I'll forfeit if you get her to moan in the mic."

"Can we get a whimper if we win the next round?" His teammate says.

“Fuck off,” He says immediately, glancing over at you. You’re shifting your weight, your arms around yourself, looking incredibly embarrassed, but you’re grinning proudly. He grins right back, unable to resist the urge to rub this moment in on every other loser in the lobby. “She’s a little busy under the desk right now.” Your eyes go wide at the implication, and the voice chat explodes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE MEAN BY—”

The whole lobby talks over each other, and when he gets his final shot, VICTORY printed across his screen, he leans back in his chair.

"Anyway, she’s waiting for me," He glances over at you, his voice terribly smug, and you visibly embarrassed. "Later incels."

The post-game stats load, and finally, there is silence in his headset. He lets it fall to his neck, still grinning.

"Sorry." You start, "I didn't mean to—"

"Sorry?" He raises a brow, "Sorry for what? That was badass. You just destroyed them. Now those guys have to cope with losing and being bitchless. They're gonna be crying over it for the next year, at least."

"Well... good. They deserve it." You say a little proudly, watching him report the guy who called him slurs for bullying. "I don't understand. How can people get so mad over a game?"

"Sore losers," he says simply, "they're mad because they're bad."

"Or they're mad because you're really good," you offer a smile, "I didn't see you miss a single shot. How is that possible?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but the words don't come. Instead, he’s blinking, really taking you in for a moment, because if his eyes don’t deceive him, you actually seem… impressed. Genuine admiration. The kind he only gets from his teammates and other losers in game.

"Practice," he starts, letting his gaze drop, taking you in. The skirt that rides up your thighs, your hands clasped in your lap, and those wide, attentive eyes of yours. "Years of aim training. Game sense. Good instincts."

Something stirs in him, and suddenly he’s thinking about how good you’d look underneath him, making that same wide-eyed expression for an entirely different reason. How nervous that little voice of yours would sound making other kinds of noises for him, what you’d actually look like if you were under his desk on your knees.

You'd give in so easy.

“Anyone can learn it.” He finally says, the intensity of his gaze half-wiped, replaced with something more polite. “It just takes dedication."

"I'm a lost cause with this stuff. Trust me," you laugh, "Anyway. We should probably get to the project."

Ah. The project. The thing he has nothing to show for on his end because he didn't do anything.

“There's a lot more ground we have to cover this time. There are a lot more features that need to be implemented this time and..."

You ramble on as you seat yourself at the edge of his bed, opening up your bag, and Sunghoon gulps.

He could rip off the band-aid and admit it right now. "Sorry, I'm an idiot, and I played ranked instead of doing my work, but I'll get it done in the next week, I swear."

But you already did his work last week. Already spent a whole week sending him reminders and sending sweet little voice notes—all of which he'd responded to with empty promises. He swears he never meant for those promises to become empty. He planned on doing his work. He just... didn't.

Instinctively, he stands, and mid-sentence, he's placing his headset on your head, adjusting it. You freeze up like last time, and look up at him with the most helpless gaze, all train of thought just gone. His train of thought is rather lost, too, if he's being honest.

"Better idea," he says, "What if I teach you how to play?"

"But—"

"You defended my honour in a Valorant lobby. That kind of bravery deserves a reward.” He pulls out his chair for you, "Sit."

You hesitate. He can see the war happening behind your eyes—the good, responsible side of you trying to fight the flustered one that wishes to give in.

"Just one game. For me?" He reaches out and nudges your shoulder. He lets the touch linger a second longer than it needs to, and he watches your breath hitch.

"Just one.”

The gaming chair swallows your frame, and he pushes it in, hovering just a little too close as he leans over you. He puts you in practice mode to start.

"Alright. Basics first. This is how you move." He guides your hand to the keyboard, his fingers deliberately brushing yours. "WASD. Forward, left, back, right. You know that already?"

You nod weakly, moving around, not quite with ease, but at least you know how to do it. He laughs a little at the jerky movements, and your flustered demeanour from him being this close. He's enjoying this.

"Good. Now shooting." His hand covers yours on the mouse. "Left click. Aim for the head."

The bot appears. You click. Miss entirely. Click again. Hit the shoulder.

"See? You're already better than half my ranked teammates."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not, I swear."

He lets you get comfortable with the practice range. You're clumsy but getting the hang of it, your movements less awkward, your aim less panicked. By the time he queues you into a real match—comms and text chat both disabled, he's not having a repeat of earlier—you're at least facing the right direction.

He drags a chair from the kitchen and sits next to you.

"Real game now. Real players. They're going to be better than the bots."

The first few rounds are rough. You die early in the first. Then the second. By the fourth round, you've done exactly zero damage, and the enemy team is up 3-1. Your teammates are probably flaming you. He's glad he muted them before the round started.

"See? I told you I'm terrible."

"No talking. Just play."

Round five. Your teammates are dropping around you. It's a disaster—your teammates rushed in too soon, leaving you behind. And then it's just you. One versus two.

"Stay behind the corner," Sunghoon says, his voice low near your ear. "Wait for them to come to you."

"But our team is supposed to be attacking, right?"

"Yeah, but these players are stupid. They're playing too aggressively. They'll come to you."

His hand lands on your shoulder, and your hands are trembling slightly on the keyboard.

"Keep your crosshair at head level. Right there."

He adjusts your mouse, and you nod. In your ears, you hear footsteps. Then, the enemy peeks. You click. The headshot sound is unmistakable—a clean, crisp dink that echoes through the headphones. One enemy down. Pings explode from your dead teammates.

"Holy shit!" Sunghoon leans forward, grinning. "Look at that! You got a headshot!"

"I—I did?"

"You did. One tap. Clean as hell," he's beaming, "Now, don't lose focus yet. One more to go."

You're staring at the screen like you can't quite believe it. Your hands are still trembling, but you're smiling now—a real smile, wide and bright and unguarded.

Though you don’t have time to celebrate, because a body shot hits from behind you, not enough to kill you, but enough that you scream. You move behind the wall, frantically moving the mouse around.

"Don't panic. They're coming to you. Just wait—"

The enemy appears, and you click, your bullets spraying clumsily, and by some miracle, you outlive them with barely any health left—but you won. You won the 1v2.

"That's my girl!" He's grinning wide, "You're a natural, you see that?"

You play terribly the rest of the game, but your team locks in, their hope reignited by your clutch up, and carries you to a win. VICTORY. It appears in big letters across your screen.

You take off the headset, your smile unwavering, your cheeks warm. "That was... actually kind of fun."

"See? Told you."

"I still mostly did nothing."

"You won. Stop being humble." He nudges your shoulder, allowing the touch to linger. "Most people don't win their first game. Bet I can help you win your second, too."

"Sunghoon." You laugh, gently moving his arm away as he tries to queue another game. "We have to do the project."

"We can do that another time."

"We can do this another time. We need to work."

"Do we really need to?"

"Yes."

He pauses a moment. A beat of silence passes, and your gaze lingers on him.

"Sunghoon," you say again, gently, carefully. Like you already understand where this is going, "If your work is a little messy like last time, I don't mind. I just want to make sure we're on the same page."

"I just..." He looks at you. Still in his chair, still wearing his headset around your neck now, and the way you're looking at him—half-flustered, half-stubborn, trying so hard to be responsible and even going so far as to push back—makes him realize he'll have to try harder than he thought to distract you. "I just think with you, it's always: Project this. Project that. You work so hard. You know it's okay to relax sometimes, right?"

"I—"

"You know what your problem is? You worry too much. Whenever I see you, you're always worrying. What's up with that?"

He leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. Your eyes follow them, how his biceps strain in his shirt, and his knee bumps yours. He stays watchful, analyzing the way your breathing picks up. The way your eyes go wide again.

"I don't know... I've always been..." you manage, shaking your head, "My parents were strict growing up, so..."

"I don't see your parents anywhere."

"Right. I know it's silly, but sometimes it's like I still hear them in my head," you laugh nervously, avoiding his gaze, "it was always study, study, study. No fun, no friends, no boys—"

"No boys?"

All of a sudden, it clicks for him. The shyness. The stuttering. The way you'd frozen in the library when his knee touched yours—not just flustered, but genuinely short-circuited, like your brain had no protocol for what to do. The way you'd offered him a ride, even though you could barely look at him. The way you'd defended him in voice chat, fierce and uncalculated, with no idea of the attention it would bring.

It all makes sense now. Every single thing. You're not just anxious or sheltered. You're completely, profoundly inexperienced. He's likely the first guy who's ever been this close to you—and you’re here, in his room, wearing his headset. Every reaction you've had, every flush and stammer and nervous laugh, it's all because you've never done this before. He smiles, enjoying the thought more than he should. A lot more.

"No boys," he repeats, and his voice comes out slow and deliberate. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means no boys. Like." You're flustered already, and he hasn't even moved. "No dating. My parents were really strict about it, and I just—I never really—"

"Never really what?"

He knows exactly what you're trying to say. He just wants to hear you try to say it.

"Never really... dated?" he offers, tilting his head. "Never really had a boyfriend?"

You shake your head, barely a movement.

"Never really..." He lets the pause stretch. Watches you squirm. "...anything?"

You can't manage another word, so you don't speak. You don't have to. The silence speaks for itself.

"You've never done anything?"

The question hangs in the air. He watches you process it—the implication, and how you can’t hide from it.

"Never even been kissed?" "No." There it is. The confession, small and brave. "It's embarrassing. I know. I never really—" "It's cute, actually."

You look at him, wordless. Maybe he should feel bad. He should feel guilty for prying this out of you, for enjoying how uncomfortable you are and filing all of this away as useful information. Some distant, rational part of his brain knows that. Instead, he's thinking about how nobody has ever touched you. How he’s the first one now to have been close enough to see you all flustered and vulnerable and completely unguarded.

His hand finds your knee. It's innocent enough, not drifting any higher than above it, his thumb moving in slow circles, and he watches in real time as your mind goes completely blank.

He's going to kiss you. Honestly, he knew he was going to kiss you the moment he understood what "no boys" meant, and while part of him is still trying to distract you from the project by getting you all hot and bothered like this, another part of him wants to do it just because he can. Just because you're there, in his chair, looking at him like that, reacting to his touch like this. That kind of power is a drug. It only makes him want to see just how far he can push you.

"Sunghoon," Your voice comes out thin, breathless. Your hand flutters up, not pushing him away, just hovering, like you're not sure what to do with it. "The project. We really need to—"

"The project." He says it flat, like the word itself is a chore. "The project will be fine. It'll get done. Right?"

He tilts his head, lets the implication hang there: You did the last one. You'll do this one, too.

Your mouth opens, but whatever argument you'd prepared dissolves the second his hand moves. It slides up from your knee to the edge of your skirt, his fingers tracing the hem where it brushes your thigh, and you go absolutely still beneath his touch.

"You look cute today, by the way." His voice is low, and his eyes look you up and down. "I like this."

He toys with the hem of the fabric, his knuckle grazing bare skin. Your thighs press together involuntarily, and he catches it. The movement. The sharp little inhale. The way your hands grip the armrests, fingers curling into them.

A sound escapes your throat, something small and embarrassing. A whimper you clearly didn't mean to make. His eyes flick up to your face. Your lips are parted, and you're looking at him like you've forgotten how words work.

"That's it," he murmurs, "You'll be good for me, right?"

Your eyes drop to his lips. You nod. It's a tiny, helpless movement, and the last of your resistance crumbles.

His free hand comes up to cup your chin, tilting your face toward his. He's close enough now to feel your breath, shallow and uneven. Close enough to know that no one has ever touched you like this before, and you're terrified, but you're not pulling away.

He leans in, slowly inching forward, closer and closer and—

"Sunghoon!" The door bursts open, "Have you seen my charger? I think..."

Heeseung's voice trails off as he takes in the sight. You. Sunghoon. The proximity between you. His hand on your thigh. Valorant open on his PC.

"Well, well, well..." he grins, leaning against the doorframe, "do my eyes deceive me, or is that a girl? In your bedroom? Sitting on your throne?"

"Leave."

"And you're making the poor thing play your stupid game. That's no way to treat a lady," he gestures around, then looks to you, "You. Don't tell me you're pretending to be impressed by his KDA ratio?"

You shrink under his gaze, looking like you wished to flee any second.

"Listen, I get it.” He raises his hands in surrender, “He's a good-looking guy. But his personality?" He shakes his head, "He’s a walking red flag. And not in the hot bad boy way. In like, a discord-moderating, redditor way."

"Seriously, get out."

Sunghoon is on his feet now, jaw tight. But you're already up, already grabbing your bag, already not looking at anyone.

"Actually, I should go."

"You don't have to—"

"I'll see you soon." The words tumble out. You duck past Heeseung, out of the bedroom, into the hall. Your footsteps go fast—past the living room where the coffee table sits in all its carved, solid-oak glory.

Heeseung follows you as far as the hallway, leaning against the wall with the lazy confidence of someone who knows he ruined something, but has no idea what.

"Wait!" he calls after you. "Before you leave, what do you think of the coffee table? Real craftsmanship, right?"

The front door slams. Hard enough to rattle the empty energy drink cans still scattered on Sunghoon's desk.

Heeseung turns back to the bedroom doorway, where Sunghoon is standing rigid, hands at his sides.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sunghoon spits.

"Me? What's wrong with you?" He strides on into his room, taking his lost phone charger from the port near his bedside. The one he took yesterday without asking, "You steal my shit, you get cockblocked. Sorry."

"You know that was my project partner, right?"

"I know who it was." Heeseung wraps the cord around his hand, watching Sunghoon with an expression that's sharper than before. "The one with the voice. The one who did your work at two in the morning. I guess now she comes over to stroke your ego too, huh?"

"I was this close to—"

"This close to what?" Heeseung quips, raising a brow. "Finish the sentence."

"This close to... to taking her mind off of worrying. She's a chronic worrier. It's annoying. It's..." his voice trails off.

Silence. Sunghoon notices the look in his roommate’s eyes: disapproving, doubtful.

"You know what I think?" Heeseung says slowly, "I think you're getting a little too comfortable with the amount of kindness she gives you."

"I don't know what you mean."

“The walls are thin, and I’m nosy. I know what I heard,” he scoffs, heading toward the door. "You’re pushing your luck. And trying to tongue your project partner so she can do your work for you is a new low. Even for you."

Sunghoon then gapes at the offensive, downright defamatory implications his roommate is making towards him.

"I didn't—" Heeseung leaves before he can defend himself. And Sunghoon stumbles to the hallway, calling out after him. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

Sunghoon slams the door shut on him, taking a second to breathe. There's a ping on his phone. A new voice note. He clicks it immediately, your voice rushed, the sound of your car running in the background.

"Hey Sunghoon. Sorry for leaving like that. I got kinda nervous when your roommate walked in. But I had a really good time with the game! And with you. And... oh, and about deliverable 2." You pause, then a sigh escapes you—heavy, but hesitant. "I've thought about it, and I know your tournament is coming up really soon, so I don't mind taking it off your hands. Anyway, goodbye for now, Sunghoon."

Sunghoon sinks into his gaming chair. Relief morphs into glee, a short laugh escaping him. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe you. Whatever guilt Heeseung was trying to make him feel fades instantly—easily. Too easily. He queues another game.

The basement is quiet. Still. Peaceful. Just Sunghoon, the ironing board, and his team jersey, steam hissing in the silence. His gamer tag stares up at him from the back of the jersey, crisp and clean. Tomorrow he'll be wearing it on stage. Tomorrow it's game time. Tomorrow, he's locked the fuck in, with his team at his side and everyone there to watch him take that victory.

He's in the zone. Has been all night. Showered, prepped, head clear. No distractions. No thoughts about the final project deliverable due next week that he definitely hasn't started, or thoughts about Heeseung's accusations, or thoughts about you, and your wide eyes, and the way you looked at his lips right before—Nope. He’s not thinking about it.

The basement door groans open, followed by footsteps. Sunghoon doesn't bother turning around. He knows it’s Jay, judging by the heaviness of the tread, and because he’s the only one of them who regularly uses the washer instead of letting clothes pile up until they smell.

"Game's tomorrow?"

"Yep." Steam hisses. Sunghoon runs the iron along a sleeve. "You're still driving me, right?"

There’s a pause. Too long a pause. Sunghoon turns. Jay's standing by the washer, suddenly fascinated by the lint trap.

"Jay."

"Huh?"

"The tournament," Sunghoon says it slower this time, the iron forgotten in his hand. "The thing I gave you the date for a month ago. The thing you swore you'd drive me to. Ringing any bells?"

"Right, right." Jay shuts the washer door. Doesn't meet his eyes. "Well."

"Jay."

"Thing is," Jay scrubs the back of his neck, "my grandma's moving. Already told my mom I'd help tomorrow morning."

“Dude.” Sunghoon blinks, gaping at him, "You promised me first."

"Sorry, man. Grandma over you."

"I gave you a month's notice."

"And my grandma gave me twenty-two years of birthday money." Jay shrugs, already turning toward the stairs. "Can't put a price on that."

Sunghoon sets the iron down with a little more force than necessary. "You could've said something before tonight."

"It's not the end of the world. Just take the bus."

"It's an hour drive. Longer by bus. On a Sunday. That's—"

"Tough luck."

"Jay." Sunghoon's voice sharpens. "This is the biggest day of my—"

But Jay's already halfway up, and the basement door clicks shut behind him. The washing machine hums into the silence. Sunghoon stares at the empty staircase.

The bus is not an option. Absolutely not. He didn't grind all season to show up to regionals late, all sweaty from sprinting across a transit terminal because the Sunday schedule runs once every forty-five minutes if he's lucky. And his teammates? He could squeeze into someone's car, knee to chest, listening to them argue about team comps and whose mom packed snacks. He'd rather walk.

But… there is another option. Someone who's given him a ride before. Someone who is always happy to help. Someone who did his code, who defended him in a Valorant voice chat, who can't resist him, no matter how many times he's proven himself incompetent.

He pulls out his phone. It seems like a shitty thing to do. He knows that. But, it's mutually beneficial, isn't it? He gets a favour, you get to see him. It's a win-win, really. Besides, it's not like he's only calling for the ride. He genuinely does like the idea of you there, front row, cheering his name. Watching him destroy the enemy team live instead of from his bedroom. You'd get all confused, trying to follow the game, and then he'd win, and you'd be proud even though you don't really understand what you're proud of and—hell, maybe he'd finally get to give you that kiss. Maybe more. It's been on his mind too much lately. Your eager, parted lips, your thigh tense beneath his touch, the way you leaned into it like a good little plaything. Always so desperate to please—you'd make him feel like a real champion, wouldn't you? All nervous and untouched and entirely his. His prize, his to guide, his to take. It's a perverse fantasy. It's also not entirely impossible. Though, he shakes his head at himself, not erasing the thought, but putting it back on the shelf. The ride. That's the priority now. Having a pretty girl at his arm is just a bonus.

You press submit. Deliverable two, done. Your portion, pristine, commented, tested, and complete. His portion—the portion you told yourself you wouldn't do—also complete. Also entirely yours. You close the laptop and sit there in the dark of your dorm room.

This is getting out of hand. You know it is. It's been out of hand, actually, ever since the library and the first deliverable that you fixed—the thing you should’ve never done in the first place but did anyway. He didn't do his work again, and this time he didn't even try to pretend otherwise. He just looked at you with those eyes, said ‘It will be fine,’ and you let the subject drop because his hand was on your thigh, your brain had stopped working, and the only thing on your mind was not wanting to let him down.

But what about him letting you down? It’s happened twice now. Not enough times to call it a pattern of behaviour yet, but enough to imply something about his character and where his priorities lie. He's unreliable. Lazy. Probably manipulative, if your best friend's theories are true. That's not the kind of guy you want. That's not the kind of guy anyone should want. You should be furious, actually. You should send him a firm email. You should stand your ground.

He’s hot, though, your brain unhelpfully reminds you. Stupidly, impossibly hot, and he almost kissed you—you think. Sometimes you replay it in your head, and you're certain of it. Other times, you wonder if you imagined the leaning in, the pause, and the way his voice dropped when he said you'll be good for me, right?

You sigh, hand twitching against your thigh. When you close your eyes, it's like you can still feel him touching you there. Every time you think about it, your whole body goes hot, and you think about it a lot—not just about what happened but what could've happened if his roommate hadn't walked in. You can't even keep track of the amount of times you've lied awake, drenched in your own sweat, thighs pressed together, just thinking about his hand slipping further up your skirt and relieving you of the torturous, wound-up feeling that's had you in a chokehold all summer.

Your phone buzzes.

Incoming video call: Sunghoon

You stare at the screen, still recovering from your fantasy. It takes you a minute to actually process that it is, in fact, him calling you and not a figment of your imagination. He's never called you before. Not once. All summer, it's been voice memos and texts and the occasional thumbs-up emoji.

It rings again, and you fumble reaching for it, nearly dropping it on the floor. You pick up, and as soon as you see the FaceTime video loading, you click to turn off your camera.

Your eyes are glued to the screen as you take in the sight of him. He's lying in bed, his hoodie pulled up over his head, shadows cutting across his jaw, and his hair falls over his eyes. You're almost pissed at the fact that someone can look that good so casually.

"Hey." His voice comes through your earbuds low and rough, and it travels down your spine. Your whole body shivers.

"Hi," you manage, small and a little breathless.

"How's my girl doing?"

My girl. That's the second time he's called you that. The first was during the game, when you landed the headshot. You'd assumed it was adrenaline, or a reflex. Something guys said to their duo partners, like "my man" or "my guy". But he's not gaming now. He's in bed. Talking to you.

"I'm good—fine." You swallow. "What about—?"

"Can I see you?"

"See me?" You glance down at yourself. Old t-shirt. Not a trace of makeup. Yeah. That's not happening. "I'm in bed. It's dark. There's nothing to see, so..."

"Hm," he sighs, and you hear the rustling of fabric as he adjusts himself. "Too bad."

"What's up?" You're trying to sound normal, clearing your throat, "Why'd you call?"

"Just wanted to chat."

His free hand finds the drawstring of his hoodie, twisting it idly around one finger. Your eyes follow the movement, staring at the veins, the size of his hand, the length of his fingers and—you drag your eyes back to his face.

"About?"

"You free tomorrow?"

He shifts again, and the camera jostles, this time a light groan escaping him.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you have—nothing. You have absolutely nothing. And even if you did have something, you'd still say you have nothing because it's him who's asking. Your heart skips a beat, a stupid smile breaking on your face.

"Yes," you say, immediately trying to downplay the eagerness in your voice. "Yeah, I'm free. Why?"

"And you can drive?"

"Sure. Why—?"

"Good." He ignores the question again. "Then I'm taking you out."

Your heart does a full stop. "Where?"

"Surprise.”  He smiles. “Just wear something cute, m'kay?"

Wear something cute. What does that mean exactly? Cute how? Cute like a dress? Or is a dress too much? Maybe a skirt. He said he liked your skirt last week. He toyed with the hem and said I like this and you made a sound you're still embarrassed to remember.

"Sleep well," he then says, breaking the long, silent pause with a slight chuckle, "See ya."

And before you can get another word in, he's gone. The reflection of yourself stares back at you in the darkened screen. Maybe you should call him back and ask what 'cute' means. What kind of 'cute'? Dinner cute? Coffee cute? Hanging out at his house, cute? But after a long time of staring at his contact, debating how to even ask, you decide it's too late.

You shower, scrubbing every inch of yourself. Exfoliate. Shave—you shave everything—carefully, methodically, in places you don't normally bother with because usually you're thinking "who's going to see?" But if his hand travels further than it did last time, you do not want to be stuck in your own head worrying about it, so you do it just in case. Just to be prepared.

Then you stand in front of your closet for forty minutes trying on everything you own, trying to decide what feels like too much, and what feels like not enough. You don't know.

Eventually, you settle. A skirt you usually avoid because it rides up your thighs too much. A top that's nice without trying too hard. You look at yourself in the mirror. You feel pretty. Normally, you feel clean, or presentable, or fine. But today, you feel pretty.

It's a dangerous feeling. You're getting dressed up for a boy who hasn't done a single assignment all summer. You're shaving your legs for him when technically you're still not sure what "taking you out" implies. But your heart is racing, and your cheeks are warm, and you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror like an idiot, anyway.

So what if you dressed up for him? You're allowed to feel pretty. You're allowed to want him. You're allowed to hope.

You're shaking when you pull up to his place. Not visibly, at least, as you’re gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hide it. You’ve been talking to yourself under your breath for the last three blocks. Be normal. Be cool. Which would be a lot easier to do if this weren't the first time a boy had asked to "take you out" and you’ve been alone with your own anxious thoughts for so long now that you're starting to dwell on what that might mean again. Dinner, maybe? The thought simultaneously makes your heart flutter and your stomach churn. You're so nervous, you're not sure you could hold down any food. What if he asks why you're not eating—?

You're getting ahead of yourself. Maybe he's right. You do worry too much. You don't even know where you're going yet, and you're already jumping to conclusions.

Predictably, you're early. Of course you are. You'd left your dorm with an extra twenty minutes because you couldn't stand to pace around your room anymore, and now you're pulling up at the curb feeling like an idiot. But, to your surprise, he's already waiting on the porch.

He spots your car before you even have time to honk, jogging down the steps, and you roll down the window, smiling bright and stupid and probably too eager. Then...

Then your eyes drop to his chest. The jersey. The school's E-sports team jersey, to be precise. You know what it looks like because you've stalked the team's Instagram page about a hundred times just to stare at the photos of him on there until they were permanently burned into your retinas forever.

"Hey," he says, pulling open the passenger door. "Right on time."

"Hi," you swallow, smiling politely. "What are you wearing?"

"Team gear." He slides into the seat, dropping his bag at his feet. "Regionals are today. Didn't I tell you?"

Your blood runs cold.

No. No, he did not. He said I'm taking you out. He said to wear something cute. He said it was a surprise.

"Regionals," you repeat. "Right. The tournament."

"Yeah. It's at the convention centre. About an hour drive." He's buckling his seatbelt, "Coach said we could bring anyone we want. Figured I should bring my number one supporter, right?"

So it's not a date. Not at all what you were thinking when he called you late at night with his voice all low and asking if you were available—asking if you could drive. Still, you smile. You smile because even if your heart has sunk into your stomach, you know it's your own fault for thinking this would be anything more than it was. And, well, this matters to him. This is the thing he's been neglecting the project for. The thing he told you he’d been practicing for, talking about it in the car that first day you met him. He’s choosing to bring you to his thing. That alone must mean something... right?

"That sounds fun," you say, and the words feel like they belong to someone else. "I've never been to an E-sports thing before."

"You'll love it. You'll finally see me play for real. Not just some ranked lobby."

"Yeah." Your smile starts to hurt your cheeks. It strains and fails to reach your eyes. "Can't wait."

The drive is an hour. You spend most of it listening. He talks about the bracket, the teams they're facing, and some enemy team player who's been trash-talking him online. He talks about comps and strats and something called a meta. You nod, you smile. You ask questions. You try to seem engaged.

In a way, you are a little. Not because you care about the game, but because it's hard not to feel warm in the face when you see him like this. He's barely able to sit still in the passenger seat, gesturing with his hands, more animated than you've ever seen him, smirking with the kind of confidence you'd expect a star player to have. This is his thing. This is what he's good at. He invited you.

That has to mean something—you're certain of it now. Even if it's not what you thought. Even if you spent an hour getting ready, shaving everywhere and trying on countless different outfits just to sit in a convention centre folding chair.

You glance down at your skirt and your pretty top. All that effort you put into looking like you hadn't put in effort now feels wasted. Maybe people dress up nice for these things, you tell yourself. You've never been to an E-sports tournament, so you wouldn't know. At least, that's what you tell yourself, refusing to believe that he chose those words on purpose, knowing how they'd come across, knowing how they'd affect you. "You look pretty, by the way." Your head snaps toward him. He's looking out the window, and the words slipped out of him so casually that you almost don't catch it. Your heart furiously pounds in your chest, all doubt in your mind momentarily forgotten. "You too." The words tumble out before your brain can catch up, and immediately you want to grab them and shove them back in your mouth. You too? "I mean—you look good. The jersey. It suits you." There's a hint of a smile on his lips, and yours tug into one too—something small and hopeful.

You keep driving, trying to focus less on the quiet ache in your chest and more on the fact that he is here right now, in your car, bringing you into his world.

The convention center is freezing, the kind of cold that seeps through your thin top and settles into your bones. The air conditioning is blasting, likely to prepare for the body heat of the crowd that'll pack this place in a few hours. But right now, it's just you and a handful of other early arrivals and staff members scattered across folding chairs, listening to the distant sound of someone testing a microphone.

He didn't introduce you to his team. Didn't even glance back. Just pointed at the front row and said, "Sit there," and then he was gone—swallowed by a cluster of matching jerseys and equipment bags. You'd stood there for a moment, awkward, watching him disappear, arms wrapped around yourself against the cold.

That was hours ago. Hours in a hard plastic chair, scrolling through every app on your phone until you'd seen every post, every story, every notification that wasn't there. You got up once to buy an iced coffee from the convention center cafe—watery, gone in ten minutes. It did nothing to quiet the growling in your stomach.

You're cold. You're hungry. You're bored. You're wearing a skirt and a cute top in a convention centre full of strangers who smell like they don't shower, and you feel stupid. So, so stupid. But when he jogs over to you, twenty minutes before the tournament starts, everything brightens. Like you're not freezing to death where you sit. Like it all makes sense now, why, against your better judgment, you decided to stay.

He's got his headset looped around his neck, and his eyes have that focused, sharp kind of intensity you witnessed the first time you saw him play in his bedroom. He carries himself like he’s already won. It’s the kind of easy confidence—or arrogance, rather—that others would call obnoxious. To you, however, it’s captivating.

"Hey!" He squeezes your shoulder, just once. The warmth of his hand cuts through the chill. "Still awake?"

You blink up at him, smiling before you can stop yourself. Your head is foggy from too much fluorescent light and not enough food, but suddenly none of that registers.

"Barely.” You laugh, “But still alive. What about you?"

"I’m ready." He grins, that cocky, unbothered grin. "More than ready, knowing that you're here."

Your breath catches. Stupid. It's such a small thing yet the warmth that blooms in your chest catches you off guard, and for a moment you forget about the miserable afternoon you've just had. You just smile back at him, helplessly.

"Don't get too sleepy. I want to hear you cheer. Loud."

"I will." You say without hesitation.

"Good."

He flashes you one last smile, and then he's gone, slipping back toward the stage. You call after him, "Good luck!" He doesn't turn around. Just raises a hand in acknowledgment.

You sink back into your chair, still smiling, still warm from the brief press of his fingers on your shoulder. It's pathetic, honestly. You know it's pathetic. One touch, one sentence, and suddenly the hours of waiting and the overpriced coffee and the cold that's still seeping through your clothes don't feel like such a big deal anymore.

When the tournament starts, you come to realize you know a lot less about this game than you thought. There's a lot of terminology that flies past your head. Strategies you don’t understand. Names you don’t recognize. But you know enough that you understand when his team is winning, and when he's the last one alive on his team, wiping out the enemy team like they're nothing, and you definitely understand why the crowd cheers loudly when he clutches a 1v5.

They win. Easily. It’s not even close, and when the final round ends and the casters are screaming, and his teammates are out of their chairs—you're on your feet too. Clapping until your hands sting. Cheering, though you're certain you'll lose your voice for it.

He finds you the moment his team filters off the stage. One second you're standing alone, scanning the crowd of jerseys; the next, his hand is at your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your top, pulling you into his side like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he's done it a hundred times. His palm is warm through the thin material, his thumb pressed just above your hip, and he's wearing the world's biggest grin.

The hall is chaos—people talking in every direction, the music playing too loudly, a coach yelling something across the room. You can't really hear what he's saying, just the rumble of his voice near your ear, the occasional word breaking through: ...killed it... ...see that clutch?... You nod, smiling, hyperaware of the heat of his hand and the way his fingers tighten whenever someone jostles past. He steers you toward his teammates with that grip on your waist, guiding you through the crowd like you're an extension of his victory. The other boys are clapping him on the back, shouting over each other. Every time someone congratulates him, his hand flexes against your hip—not quite pulling you closer, but not letting you drift either.

"...You good with sushi?"

"Hm?" You furrow your brows, not quite catching his words still.

"Post-game celebration. Coach is treating us," he leans in right next to your ear this time, his words a little clearer. He grabs your arm. "Let's go."

The sushi place is in a strip mall across the parking lot from the convention centre. Laminated menus, lighting that's too bright for a celebration, and employees who look like they're regretting every life choice that led them to this shift. The sheer amount of noise coming from the table doesn't help.

The team has been going around making speeches—thanking the coach, thanking their friends, thanking Sunghoon, their number one captain and player. He soaks it up like a sponge, leaning back in his chair with the ease of a star player who knows he killed it. The table goes a little quieter when it’s finally his turn.

"I'd like to thank my team, of course, for putting their best foot forward. Coach, for keeping us in line. But most importantly..." He turns to you. His arm slides from the back of your chair to your shoulders. "I'd like to thank this one right here. For the support. For cheering me on louder than anyone." He squeezes your shoulder. "You made my life a hell of a lot easier this semester."

Easier. You're not sure why that choice of words doesn't sit right. Maybe because it felt too cold, or detached. He could've said you made his life better, brighter, happier… and maybe you're reading too much into it. You’re probably overthinking it and jumping to conclusions that aren’t there, like you always do. But easier implies convenience, nothing else, and you don’t really like the way that makes you feel.

He's being nice, you tell yourself. He’s thanking you in front of everyone. It's a good thing.

"Oh, and I got you something." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a jersey. Identical to his own. "My spare jersey. Since you know. I couldn't have done it without you."

You take it, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar in your hands. You open your mouth to say something—thank you, maybe, or you didn't have to—but nothing comes out.

"Put it on."

You do, and the shirt swallows your frame, the hem only a few centimetres above where your skirt ends. His gamertag is printed in bold letters on the back, and on you, it feels like a brand—a mark of his claim. You hold your breath, too overwhelmed by the scent of him, and your stomach does that flipping thing it always seems to when he gives you crumbs of affection like this, except this time with a newfound heaviness resting uncomfortably somewhere within you.

"Looks good," He hums, pleased, nodding to the rest of his team, "Right guys?"

The team cheers, someone whistling while the guy sitting next to him claps his back, and he takes it all in with pride, while you look down at your lap.

"Hey. Don't be shy." He leans in, voice dropping just for you. His knee bumps yours under the table. "I meant it. You do look pretty today."

The heaviness lifts. Just a little. Just enough to put on your brave face again, and the wait staff starts serving up whatever platters they ordered earlier. The boys descend like hawks, piling their dishes high, chopsticks clacking. Two of them fight over the remaining spicy salmon rolls, and someone orders another round of sake; meanwhile, Sunghoon is already talking about the next tournament.

You stare at your plate. You were hungry earlier. Starving, actually—your stomach had been growling through the final matches, but now you just poke at a piece of nigiri with your chopsticks, turning it over and over, watching the rice fall apart.

This isn't exactly what you had in mind when he said he was taking you out… but he thanked you in front of the team. Gave you a jersey. Called you pretty. And his knee keeps bumping yours under the table, making an embarrassing flush creep to your cheeks every time.

He wants you here. That should be enough. That should make you happy. So why do you still feel so hollow?

"Excuse me," a voice appears behind you both. You and Sunghoon turn to face him. "I'm with the school paper. Mind if I grab a few quotes?"

A guy with a press badge and a notebook is standing beside the table. You'd seen him earlier, sitting in the same section near the front as you. Reserved seating. It makes sense. Regionals are a big deal for your school; this is probably the most interesting story they've had in years.

"Yeah, sure."

"Just a few questions about the match. The clutch in finals—what was going through your head?"

"Oh. Easy. I locked the fuck in," he breaks into a smug grin.

Sunghoon talks about game sense. Instincts. Reading the enemy. The reporter scribbles notes, asks a few more questions. Asks about his training schedule, the responsibilities of being the team captain, and the pressure. You continue to poke at your food, assuming none of it involves you, until he glances at you.

"And I see your girlfriend is here. How does it feel to have that kind of support showing up for you?"

Your heart skips. Sunghoon glances at you, but his gaze isn't nearly as panicked as your own

"Oh. She's not my girlfriend." He says it casually. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the idea had never even occurred to him.

Suddenly, the table is a little quieter, like everyone had hushed their conversations just to overhear. Feeling the weight of everyone's eyes, your fingers tremble around your chopsticks.

"Ah." The reporter looks at you—the jersey, the arm around your shoulder—then offers an apologetic smile, "Sorry, I just assumed—"

"She's more like..." He tilts his head, considering. "My lucky charm."

Lucky charm. Not a girlfriend. Not a friend. Not even my project partner, who gave me a ride here and did all my work for me. A lucky charm. Something you carry around for good fortune and toss in a drawer when you no longer need it. "Or maybe," he starts again, "She's like my prize. You know, you win the tournament, you get the trophy. She's kind of both. Good luck and a good reward. You know what I mean?"

You hear a snicker from across the table, and he laughs too. He laughs. His arm is still around your shoulder, heavy and warm, and his thumb is tracing idle circles against your sleeve like nothing is wrong. Like he didn't just reduce you to an object in front of a reporter and his whole team.

"I'm just teasing. But, really, the closer I keep her, the easier my life becomes. So, you asked how it feels, right? I'd say it feels pretty damn good," he pulls you closer for a second, giving your shoulder another squeeze, "I was telling the whole team earlier. It's all thanks to her."

"Wait, so she's single?" One of his teammates leans over, "Dude, you've been gatekeeping her all night—"

"Fuck off." He snaps, turning back to the reporter, "Next question."

The interview fades to background noise.

Lucky charm. You want to laugh. Or maybe cry.

As if luck had anything to do with it. The only reason he's here, celebrating, getting interviewed, is because of the labour, time and energy that you freely offered him like a fool. And now he's calling it luck.

You sit there in your seat, his arm heavy around you like he owns you. You realize only then that it means nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You slide out from under it. "Bathroom," you murmur, already on your feet.

He doesn't look up. His hand drops to the back of the empty chair without pause, and the reporter is already asking the next question. You walk toward the door, and the bell chimes as you leave.

The parking lot is hot. The heat, humid and suffocating, rises off the asphalt, and the air feels thick in your lungs. Your car is at the far end. Too far away, you think, as you make your way. You walk fast, the jersey still hanging off your shoulders, and it feels like the weight of it is slowing you down. You hate that you're still wearing it.

Behind you, the restaurant door opens, and heavy footsteps follow. "Hey! Hey, wait up—"

You don't wait. Obviously. But he catches up very easily, hand on your shoulder to halt your frantic steps.

"What's going on?" He catches up, slightly out of breath. "You just left. What gives?"

You spin around. "I'm a lucky charm? A prize?"

"What?" His expression shifts—not guilty, but confused. Like he genuinely doesn't understand. He takes a moment to gather himself. "Yeah. Like, it's a compliment. Like, I'm lucky to have you here with me. I mean, what did you want me to say? Project partner? Female friend?"

"Listen." Your voice is shaking. "I'm happy for you. You won. Congratulations. But I want to go home now."

"But why? We were having fun, right? And the team loves you—"

"No." You cut him off. "Your team loves you."

"Yeah, and you're with me."

"I'm with you?" The words catch in your throat. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Your heart thuds, watching him carefully. You hold your breath, hoping—desperately, pathetically—to hear something other than a lucky charm this time. Something meaningful. Something more.

"It means..." his voice is careful, processing every word in his head before he decides to say it, "You're wearing a shirt with my name on it, and I'll be the one taking you home after—"

A laugh escapes you. Not because any of this is entertaining, but because you truly cannot fathom how that is the best response he could come up with.

"You're taking me home?"

"You know what I mean."

"Sunghoon." Your voice drops. The frustration is bleeding out, leaving something softer behind. Something that hurts more. Your hands are trembling. "You told me to wear something cute. You said you were taking me out."

"So that's it?" He asks. You don’t know when he moved closer, or how you allowed him to, but suddenly his hand is at your shoulder again. He rubs it as if to comfort you, and his words tumble out, a little more frantic than he usually sounds, "You wanna go out? We can go out. We can go out right now. Just tell me where you want to go. I'll take you—”

"We aren't going anywhere." You say a little firmer this time, brushing his hand away. "I'm leaving."

You walk toward your car, but he doesn't relent. He came here with you, and his ride is standing in front of him, keys in hand, about to disappear. He can't let that happen.

"Wait."

He grabs your arm, his hand warm and familiar. You hate that it still makes your breath catch.

"Please." His voice is different now. Lower. The arrogance is gone—or maybe just hidden. "Don't go. I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Sorry for what?"

"For..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Calling you a lucky charm? And not taking you on a date? Whatever I did. Just… don't leave me here. Please."

"You don't even know what you're apologizing for," You hiss, your hand curling tighter around your car keys.

"Yeah. Because I'm confused." He tries, "I was being nice all night. I gave you the jersey. I don't know what I did wrong, so tell me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll fix it."

"Sunghoon," you frown, taking in a breath. You're going to do it. This is the moment where you stand your ground. "I am not some doll that exists to give you free rides whenever you want. Or do all your work. Or sit through your gaming tournaments and make you look good in front of your teammates."

"You're not—" his brows furrow, "That's not what you are."

"Then what am I?"

You try to step back, but your back meets your car door. Now you're cornered, and he still hasn't answered. Instead, his hand comes up. Hesitant, not quite sure if he's allowed, or if it's the right choice to make currently in the heat of the moment, but he does it regardless. His fingers brush your jaw, featherlight, just tracing it and his thumb settles under your chin. Everything else around you ceases to exist.

"Tell me what you want me to say." His voice is rough, and he tilts your face up, "What do you want from me? I don't understand what you want."

"Sunghoon—"

"I keep thinking about last week," He exhales, something between a laugh and a breath. His other hand finds your hip, fingers curling into the fabric of the jersey. "What we never got to finish. I know you think about it too."

His forehead nearly touches yours. His thumb still rests under your chin, holding you in place, and his eyes drop to your lips. "One last time," he asks, "What do you want?"

You realize he's doing it again. The thing where you try to talk about something serious—the project, the way he's been treating you—and weaponizes his irresistibility against you. You wonder if he even realizes that he's doing it. Regardless, you can’t help how you stare. He's just so... beautiful. So incredibly irresistible. The warm press of his body, caging yours to the car. The intense look in his eyes. His height, and how he towers over you. It's too much.

"You know what I want,” your voice comes out smaller than you intended. There it is. The part where you give in. You always do. How could you not? You’re just a girl, caged between the hottest man you've ever seen and your car door.

Your eyes drop to his lips. "That's all you had to say," he murmurs.

He kisses you. Your first kiss. It's not gentle. It's hungry, desperate, his hand sliding into your hair, his body pressing against yours. Your brain shuts off entirely. Your hands come up to his chest, and instead of pushing him away like you should, you're gripping his jersey, pulling him closer. You have no idea what you're doing, but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth and his hands all over you has you whimpering under his touch, melting into his arms.

"You're with me." He says against your lips, rough and unrelenting. "Stay here with me."

His hand slides from your hip to the car door behind you.

"Let me make it up to you. I'll treat you so well. I promise."

Your whole body is trembling. He's so close and so warm, and you've wanted this for weeks and—fuck, who are you kidding?

The back seat of your car is cramped, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's above you, his body a warm weight, kissing you, worshipping you with his tongue and his mouth, kissing along your neck. He takes his time, letting you get familiar with the shape of him atop you, his hard cock pressed against your thigh through his pants. You're embarrassed with the amount of slick between your legs and how your skirt has ridden up all the way at your hips to reveal it all. If you thought you could ever try to hide what he does to you before, you certainly can’t do it now.

"Look at you," he murmurs against your mouth. His fingers find the hem of the jersey—his jersey. "You look so good in this. So fucking good."

You can't speak. Your voice is gone. His hand slides up your thigh, pushing the jersey higher. Then he pauses. Looks down. A slow grin spreads across his face. His hand traces over your underwear, smooth skin separated by thin fabric.

"You prepped for this?" Your face burns. "All this?" His fingers thumb the lace edge of your panties, "For me?"

"I didn't—I wasn't—"

"You were expecting something." His voice is teasing. "Weren't you? All dressed up. All smooth." He kisses your throat. "Fuck, that's so cute."

A sound escapes you—a whimper you didn't mean to make—and he chuckles, the vibration of it travelling down your neck. His hand is still on your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles against bare skin just above the hem of your skirt. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers splay wide like he's claiming territory. Your hips shift without permission, angling toward him, chasing the pressure he isn't giving you.

Then his hand retreats. Slides back to your waist. His lips capture yours in another open-mouthed kiss, and you make a frustrated little sound against his mouth—half protest, half plea. Your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide it back down, pressing his palm right where you need it, your thighs parting in invitation.

“Hm?”  He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyebrows raised, lips still slick. There's genuine surprise underneath his evident amusement. "You want—?"

“More.”

The word comes out sounding more certain than you expected. His expression flickers, both taken aback and deeply, thoroughly pleased, then his hand resumes its position, palm pressing flat against the lace of your underwear. He doesn't slip beneath the fabric, rubbing only slow, deliberate circles over it, letting the friction build until your hips are rolling into his touch.

It's a lot. The pressure, the heat, the way he watches your face the whole time like he's studying you. You're so sensitive that even just his hand over fabric has your breath catching in your throat.

"Like that?" he murmurs.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve, holding on.

"I've never—"

"I know." There's a teasing lilt to his voice, his lips curving against your throat. He likes this. Likes the way you're coming apart beneath him, all trembling and flushed and brand-new. His fingers don't slow. "You want to stop?" It's a dare. He already knows the answer. His thumb presses down just a little harder, drawing another broken sound from your lips.

"No." The word is torn from your throat too fast. Stopping is actually the opposite of what you want. You've been dreaming of his touch all summer. Even if he's a complete asshole, he's a beautiful asshole, and the ache between your thighs knows where its priorities lie.

"Yeah?" His voice drops, words brushing against your ear, "Then tell me what you want."

"Sunghoon..." you trail off, his thumb still circling your clit over your underwear, "I don't know. Just touch me more, please."

“Begging already?” He smiles against your mouth, and then his hand slides back down, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers are warm as they brush through your slick folds, gathering the wetness that's been building since he first kissed you. He doesn't push in yet—he circles your entrance lazily, teasing, letting you feel the pressure without the invasion. "You're too good to me."

It's been a while since he's done any of this, but he's always been good with his hands. It’s like facing an opponent: The technique is muscle memory, and the strategy is played by ear. He just has to watch you, learn your weaknesses, and exploit them until he wins. Though when it comes to you, he's learning that you're weak to pretty much everything he does, watching your lips part and your brows scrunch together without his fingers even inside you yet.

“So wet. So worked up. You really wanted this, didn't you?" he whispers, "Don't worry. I've got you."

He pushes one finger inside you—slow, deliberate, sinking deep until his knuckle presses against your entrance. Your back arches, a sharp gasp escaping your throat, and he watches your face as he curls that finger, searching, finding the spot that makes your eyes flutter shut.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's my girl."

He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the wet, slick sound of your body accepting him fills the foggy car. He pumps them in and out, his thumb pressing circles against your clit, and you feel yourself clenching around him, your hips rolling to meet his rhythm. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Feels good?" His voice is in your ear, low and rough. You nod, unable to respond. Breath catching in your throat because you can barely breathe, think or do anything coherent. "Is this all you wanted? Needy girl just wanted my attention?"

In the midst of the fog, it catches your eye again. His cock, hard and untouched in his pants. You want to see him. All of him. And you reach out for the waistband, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands.

"Wanna touch you, too," you manage, and his fingers slow inside you for a moment.

"Yeah?" He grins, watching you pull the waistband down and palm him through his boxers. He just watches you fumble around, looking up with that awestruck, wide-eyed gaze. "You sure?"

You pull him free anyway. And then you stop, staring for what you're sure is way too long. Because he's—well. He's big. Not that you have any real-life experience to compare him to, but still. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he's impossibly, unfairly big. So much that it makes you wonder if the universe just decided to give him everything: the face, the hands, the voice, and now this. Maybe you should've expected that the literal embodiment of the genetic lottery would have a pornstar cock.

"What's the matter?" He laughs, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better view of your face. "Nervous?"

“No.” You swallow, still staring. "You're just really—"

"Big?" He says it for you, clearly enjoying himself. "Yeah. I know."

The bigger the dick, the bigger the ego, huh?

You watch him grin down at you, and you really do want to pretend like you're not affected by it, but it's actually kind of terrifying and a lot more than you bargained for.

“Don’t think about that right now,” He takes his free hand and encloses it around yours, around him, not showing you how to do it. Just guiding you. “I’m enjoying this.”

Your fingers are gentle and trembling and completely unsure, but he doesn't mind. He takes in the sight, watching you try to please him with your hand while you fall apart on his fingers. You clench around him as he presses inside, finding the right spot that makes your eyes roll back, and you can't help the cry that leaves your parted lips.

"That’s it," he murmurs. "Good girl. Just let go."

You unravel around his fingers, back arching off the leather seat, and he has to press his free hand flat across your hipbones to keep you from bucking against his palm. Your thighs clamp around his wrist, trembling, and his name, broken and breathless, catches in your throat. It’s the most beautiful sound he's ever heard you make. He watches it happen, watches your mouth fall open, and your lashes flutter, watches the tension seize through your body and then release, all at once, around his fingers.

When you come back to yourself, you're still gripping him. Your fingers are wrapped around his cock, loose now, your palm slick with the precome that's gathered at the tip. He's still hard and aching. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving, and for a long moment, he doesn't move—just stares down at the way your hand looks wrapped around him, your delicate fingers against the flushed, heavy weight of his length. Then his jaw tightens, and his hand closes over yours, repositioning your grip.

"Like this," he guides you, pumping your hand up and down his shaft. He tries to show you the rhythm, the pressure, the speed. And to your credit, you're trying. You are. And if he were in the mood to be a little more patient, he'd let you play with him. But currently, he doesn't have it in himself to torture himself any longer.

He closes his fist around yours, harder. Then he's moving, fucking into your hand with short, desperate thrusts. The sound of it fills the cramped car, skin on skin, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's too fast, too ragged to be anything but pure need. You watch him, still dazed from your own release, still sprawled across the back seat with your skirt bunched at your waist and his jersey twisted around your torso. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, and your eyes—wide, glassy, utterly fixed on where his cock slides through your palm—are the only thing he can look at.

"Fuck, look at you," he groans. His head drops forward, hair falling into his eyes, but he forces himself to keep watching his length disappear and reappear through your grip. "All spread out for me. My cute little reward. My prize. All mine."

His rhythm breaks. His hips stutter, and then he's spilling across the jersey with a low, broken groan, something primal and possessive curling in his gut at the sight. You lie there, still catching your breath, wearing his name and his release.

He braces himself above you, breathing hard. His forehead nearly touches yours. The windows are fogged opaque, sealing you both inside this cramped, humid quiet.

Your skirt is bunched at your hips. The jersey is twisted around your torso, damp and clinging to your sweat. You don't move. Don't speak. Just lie there beneath him, wearing the evidence of what just happened, still recovering.

He exhales, long and slow, and his eyes trace over you.

"Shit," he breathes, sounding almost in awe. "You're really something, you know that?"

You don't answer. You're still catching your breath, floating somewhere between the high and the slow, creeping return of reality.

He doesn't notice. He's too busy looking at you and the jersey he's made a mess of—at the way you're sprawled beneath him with something between satisfaction and wonder. All of his doing.

"So," he murmurs, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand traces a lazy line down your arm. "You forgive me?"

"Hm?" Your eyes finally meet his, blinking up.

"The tournament. The project. The stuff I said. Or did." He presses his lips to your jaw, peppering kisses until he meets the shell of your ear. His thumb draws a slow circle on your hip. "You're not still mad, right?"

Your chest rises and falls, not quite finding the words just yet.

"Because I meant what I said. You're with me. This—" he gestures between you, "—this thing we have. I like this."

His eyes are on you—his unfairly beautiful eyes.

It would be so easy to forget the whole night ever happened. Your hands twitch where you hold onto him, warm and solid, and the part of you that's still deeply infatuated with the sight of him like this wants so badly to pull him back down and discover all the other ways he could take you to heaven and back.

But then you look down at the jersey. His jersey. At the stain already drying on the fabric. He'd marked his territory and tried to present it to you as a gift, and you think the worst part of it all is that he really, truly does believe it's something to be grateful for.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes. Your throat tightens. For a moment, you almost let it go. You almost fall back in.

"Also, like... you’ll still drive me back, right?"

Your eyes snap open.

You glare up at him. At his perfect, oblivious face. At the faint smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. He's still braced above you, still warm, still inside the afterglow you were both supposed to be sharing. And for a moment, you wonder who’s more stupid: him or you.

"Get out."

He lifts his head, "Huh?"

"Get out of my car."

"We just—hold on," He pushes himself up, still dazed. "I made you—you literally just—"

"You made me cum. Great job." You shove at his chest until his back hits the door, and he fumbles with his pants. "You’re still an asshole. Now get out of my face."

"You're kicking me out?" He gapes, "You can’t do that to me.”

"There's a bus stop nearby."

Your hand reaches for the door behind him, shoving him out, and he stumbles onto the asphalt. His brows furrow.

"I'm not taking the fucking bus."

"Not my problem." You yank the jersey over your head. Ball it up. Throw it at his chest, and he catches it on reflex—his own name, crumpled, damp, ruined. "Find your own way home."

You slam the door and climb into the driver's seat, ignoring the way he pleads outside the window, knocking on the glass. He's frantic, still recovering from the whiplash, but you don't stop.

You start the engine and back out of the parking spot, speeding away and in the rearview mirror, he's still standing there. Jersey in one hand, watching you disappear.

The ride back to your dorm is quiet. Radio off. Just you and your thoughts, the sun bleeding orange across the horizon.

People always say your first kiss is supposed to be special or that your first time is supposed to mean something. Meanwhile, your first kiss was followed by getting fingered in the backseat of your car in a strip mall parking lot with a boy who treats you like trash, wearing his cum-stained E-sports jersey.

It's a tale as old as time: a girl who doesn't know any better gives everything to a boy who couldn't care less. Maybe you should feel used or ashamed. Maybe it should feel wrong, or cheap, or degrading. Yet, it doesn't really. Because honestly? You'd wanted it all summer. His hands on you, his voice in your ear, touching you in places you've never been touched before. It wasn't special. It wasn't romantic. But it was yours, and you took it.

There is a heaviness in your chest. You can't deny that. But there is something else that shines brighter, that courses through your veins, head to toe. Satisfied. You feel satisfied. A little giddy, even.

Park Sunghoon. Brilliant esports player. Terrible project partner—and terrible person, really. But fuck, if he wasn't good with his hands. And body. And words. And face.

You grin to yourself at the memory of it all, free of the anxiety that used to cripple you every time you thought of him. All those hours you'd spent wondering what he thought of you, if he liked you back. You don't give a shit what he thinks anymore.

He debated for a while who to call. Not Jay, obviously. Jay would take one look at the crumpled fabric in his hand and drive in the opposite direction. He could've called Jake—Jake wouldn't judge him for his sexual failures, given his pathetic history with women, but Jake would certainly judge everything else about the situation. Also, there’s no way he would drive an hour out on a whim just to pick him up. That left Heeseung. The one most likely to actually pick up, only because he’s a nosy little shit and he'll absolutely never let Sunghoon live it down.

Sunghoon finds himself sitting in the passenger seat, jersey crumpled in his lap, staring out the window, and Heeseung takes a loud, dramatic sniff.

"You smell like jizz." He glances at the jersey. "The fuck did you do with that?"

"None of your business."

"None of my business, my ass." Heeseung pulls out of the lot. "I'm doing you a big favour. Think I deserve to know."

Silence.

"Sunghoon. Spill."

Sunghoon exhales. Long. Slow. Staring straight ahead.

"I don't get it. I mean, I don't get her. I was doing everything right. I gave her the jersey. I told the team I couldn't have won without her. I made her feel good. Really good. Like, screaming-my-name kind of good." He pauses. "Not to brag. But I blew her fucking mind. And then suddenly it's 'get out of my car,' and she throws the jersey at my chest and drives off." He turns to Heeseung, genuinely bewildered. "What am I missing?"

"Let me get this straight," Heeseung changes lanes. Checks his blind spot. "She drove you to your game? On top of all the project shit she did for you?"

"She wanted to."

"Did she?"

"...Well, she wanted to see me." He folds his arms, "She had a good time. So I don't get the problem—"

"Sunghoon. Dude." Heeseung sighs, "The whole seduction manipulation thing you're trying to do? It only works if you're hot and smart enough to pull it off. You're just hot."

"I'm not manipulating her."

"Sure you're not."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to keep her happy. Which, judging by how hard she came, I thought I was doing my job right."

Heeseung snorts. "Your job?"

"What?"

"You're treating her like a resource. Like a side quest. Keep her happy, get the rewards. She's a human being, not an NPC, dumbass." "That's not—" The denial dies halfway out of his mouth. Sunghoon stops, brows furrowing at his roommate's words. "That's not what she is. No, she's nice to me. Like, genuinely nice." The corner of his lip tugs, almost involuntary. "She's fun to be around. Laughs at my jokes. She listens when I talk about Valorant. She has this look, like she's all impressed, even though she probably doesn't understand any of it. And man, you should've seen the way she cheered for me. It was like... the best feeling in the world."

He stops a moment, sighing, the memory of you beneath him in the car resurfacing itself. You, falling apart for him. "She's cute," he says, and the words feels a little too innocent for what he actually means, but he probably shouldn't say anything more in front of Heeseung anyways. "She's really cute." He stops. Blinks. His own words catch up to him, and suddenly the inside of the car feels very small.

Suddenly, he feels warm. These days, he always seems to feel that way when he thinks about you. It's annoying. It's distracting. It's—

"Hold the fuck on." The car comes to a screeching halt at a red light, and Heeseung turns. "You like her."

"What?" It comes out too fast. "Yeah, right. You know I don't do dating. Or any of that bullshit. It's a waste of—"

"I didn't ask if you wanted to marry her. I asked if you liked her."

Sunghoon looks out the window, streetlights passing.

He thinks about you. Your laugh, your smile, the voice notes you always leave and how he sometimes finds himself listening to them late at night when he has nothing better to do. He thinks about the way you looked in the crowd, sitting there for him. The way you always show up when he needs you and let him treat you like trash.

For a while, he told himself he was only getting close to you for convenience. Though there’s nothing convenient about the jittery feeling in his stomach right now, is there? He shoves it back down.

"No," he folds his arms. "Obviously no."

Heeseung gives him a long look. A very long look. Then he turns back to the road.

"Then stop bothering the poor girl and do your damn project."

Heeseung turns up the radio. The highway hums beneath them.

Sunghoon stays silent. The jitteriness in his stomach fades into something new. Something that aches. A terrible feeling—an awful one. He wonders how you might feel right now. Worse than him, he's sure.

"I will," he suddenly says. "I'll stop."

He'll do his work. He'll make things right. And next time, when you inevitably come back around, he'll apologize properly.

Sunghoon opens the project folder. Stares at the empty files, the frontend he never built. The CSS that's still mostly placeholder comments.

This should be easy. He'd always told himself I could pass this class in my sleep if I actually tried. But now he's trying, and his brain is a blank wall.

He types a line, deletes it, types again. Wrong syntax. The error at the bottom of the screen glares red and refuses to explain itself. He opens google, checks Stack Overflow, which presents and answer he doesn't understand. He copies the code anyway, slots it in, and five more errors bloom where one used to be.

This is bad. Severely bad. If he fails this course again, his GPA risks dropping below the minimum threshold for athletic eligibility. No GPA, no team. No team, no playing next season. And if Sunghoon can’t play next season, the team loses the tournament, and they lose funding. No funding means the program folds, which means he can kiss his E-sports career goodbye.

His hand twitches toward his phone. It's become a reflex now—reach for you the moment something goes wrong, except now you won’t help him. Because he fucked that up and asked for too much too quickly and made you feel used. And now he’s stuck, watching the errors keep piling up, knowing the deadline is three days away.

Leave the poor girl alone. He grabs his phone anyway.

He can't do it without you. He doesn't know the syntax, doesn't know the structure. You were always there, filling the gaps, smoothing the edges, making it look easy. And he let you. He counted on it. He counted on you, and he didn't even realize it until you were gone.

He needs you. He opens your chat and looks at his messages. Still unanswered. Still unread.

Sunghoon: hey. i'm sorry. Sunghoon: i know you're mad but Sunghoon: idk how to do this without you sent three days ago Sunghoon: hey Sunghoon: i don’t wanna bother you again Sunghoon: but i really am trying Sunghoon: and im stuck Sunghoon: please sent two days ago

"Hey. It's me. I don't know if you're listening to these anymore." He clears his throat, eyes on the timer of the voice recording. He’s sent a lot of these over the past few days, and he’s long since stopped hoping you’ll respond. He treats it almost like a confessional instead. "I'm sorry. For everything. I really am. I tried to do the project. Like, actually tried. And I can't. I don't know how. I never went to class, and I never—I know it's all my fault. And that I've dug my own grave. Just... I hope you know I'm trying. And..." A long silence. The recording meter ticks. "...I miss you—fuck. Sorry. Just. Yeah. Sorry"

He hits send, immediately shoving the device aside and burying his face in his hands. He keeps telling himself he doesn't want to bother you. That he can figure this out on his own. That he should leave you alone. But the cursor's still blinking on an empty file, and his phone's still dark, and the lie is getting harder to hold onto every time he reaches for it. He needs you.

Sunghoon waits outside the lecture hall.

He's never even been to this building before, even had to look up the room number, the time, and the building itself. But now he’s there, leaning against the wall, hood pulled over his head, arms crossed, watching the doors like he's holding an angle. Students trickle out in pairs and clusters. He scans every face.

Then he sees you.

You're near the back of the crowd, and you're not alone. Some guy is walking beside you—boring and forgettable. He's leaning in as you talk, nodding at whatever you're saying, and smiling at you, and Sunghoon wants to call him pathetic, but you're smiling back at the guy. His jaw tightens.

You haven't noticed him yet. You're still talking, gesturing with one hand, your bag slung over your shoulder, looking strangely relaxed. You never looked like that with him. He only knows you as the flustered girl who froze in the library when he knee touched yours. You, who melted into his touch in the backseat of his car. Not... this.

The guy says something, and you laugh, making Sunghoon's fingers dig into his own arm.

Then your eyes sweep the hall, landing on him. You hold for half a second before immediately looking away, starting to walk faster. You brush past him like he doesn’t exist, but Sunghoon’s already pushing himself off the wall, falling into step beside you.

"Hey." His hood falls back over his shoulders. "Can we talk?"

"I have somewhere to be."

"Five minutes. Please."

"Pretty sure she said no," The other guy frowns, then looks at you. "Everything okay? You know him?"

"She's my project partner," Sunghoon practically seethes, not looking at him. His eyes are on you. "Now leave us alone."

"Think that's up to her to decide—"

"She's with me." Sunghoon's voice is flat and final. "Right?"

You stop walking. Your shoulders square and you turn to face him, chin lifting, and for a split second, there's something almost amused flickering at the corner of your mouth. Like you'd been expecting this. Still, your eyes are cold, your jaw set. You’re pissed. He’s never seen you truly, completely pissed. You always hid it beneath a smile.

"It's fine," you say to the guy, your voice calm. "I'll catch up with you later."

The guy hesitates. Looks at Sunghoon, then back at you. He's probably weighing his options, and Sunghoon watches him do the math in real time.

"Yeah. Okay." He scoffs, walking off, "Later."

Sunghoon turns back to you immediately, his jaw still tight from watching that guy disappear around the corner.

"Who was that?"

"Classmate." You say it flat. You’re already walking again, your pace hurried.

"Yeah, right." He scoffs, falling into step beside you. "Does he know that? That he's just a classmate?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"You're ignoring my messages." He avoids the question.

"Okay." You don't slow down. Don't even glance at him. "And?"

"And I'm kind of desperate here," His voice is rising now, frustration bleeding through the cracks. "I've been trying to reach you for days. I need your help."

You stop at the stairwell door, hand on the push bar, and finally, you look at him. Your expression is unreadable, but there's something almost pitying in the tilt of your head.

"You always need things, don't you?"

He blinks, and you're already pushing through the door, your footsteps echoing up the concrete stairwell. He hesitates for half a second, one hand braced against the doorframe, watching you climb, and then he's following, the door slamming shut behind him.

"You're greedy, Sunghoon. I've already given you so much."

"I know." His own footsteps fall heavy behind yours. "I know I don't deserve anything."

"Then stop wasting my time." You snap back.

You shove through the fire door at the top of the stairs, and suddenly you're both outside—the heat hitting him like a wall after the stale cool of the lecture hall, sunlight glaring off the sidewalk. You cut across the quad, weaving between clusters of students without slowing, and he stays on your heels like a shadow. You know he’s there, but you keep walking. Past the fountain. Past the library.

By the time you reach your dorm building, you're both breathing harder from the pace, and when you push through the glass doors into the air-conditioned lobby, he slips through behind you. Slowly, you turn.

"Why are you still following me?" Your frown cuts deep, brows furrowed. "Seriously, this is stalker behaviour."

Sunghoon doesn't flinch. Doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed.

"I won't leave until you help me."

"I dare you to tell that to campus security." You retort, chin tilted up, eyes locked on his.

Then you exhale through your nose, sharp and dismissive, and turn on your heel toward the elevator. You jab the call button with your thumb, harder than necessary.

"I dare you to call campus security." Suddenly, he stands beside you, hands in his pockets, shoulder nearly brushing yours, a ghost of that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You won't."

The elevator dings, soft and cheerful, utterly indifferent to the tension coiled in the tiny space between your bodies. He steps in and stands close enough that you catch the familiar scent of him, and the doors slide shut, sealing you both inside.

"Because you don't scare me," you say, prodding a finger at his chest. He glances down at it, then back up at you, eyebrow raised. "You're like a whiny little toddler. Throwing a tantrum just because I won't give you what you want this time."

He doesn't step back. If anything, he leans into the prod, just slightly, letting your finger press into the fabric of his hoodie.

"Please," he says, and his voice has shifted—lower, stripped of the smirk. "The project is due in three days. None of my code works. I tried. I actually tried. I wanted to do better. But I don't know how to do this. I never learned, because you were always—"

"Always doing it for you." You stare at the elevator doors. "Yeah. I know."

"I'm sorry, okay? I know I fucked up. The tournament. The jersey. The lucky charm thing. All of it." He huffs, a short, humourless laugh at his own expense. "It wasn't very feminist of me. I shouldn't have treated you like an object, or something."

"No." Your voice is flat. "You shouldn't have."

The elevator dings, and you step out fast, keys already in your hand. Still, he's right behind you. His footsteps fall heavy on the carpet, matching your pace, refusing to give you even a stride of distance.

"Stop following me." You say again, firmer this time.

"I told you I won't."

"Well, you can cry in the hallway, then. I'm not dealing with this." You reach your door, and the keys jingle sharply as you slot them into the lock, missing the first time because your hands are not quite steady. You twist the knob and slip inside, already rolling your eyes, already swinging the door shut. "Bye—"

His hand catches it. Palm flat against the wood, fingers curling around the edge, arm braced. The door stops dead, half-open, and you're left gripping the handle on your side.

You stare at his hand. Then at him.

He pushes, though not very hard, and he steps through the gap, his body filling the frame and then clearing it. The door clicks shut behind him, and he leans back against it, his chest rising and falling with breaths that are just a little too fast to hide, like he’s equally as shocked as you are that he just forced himself inside your dorm room.

Your keys are still in your hand. Your knuckles are white around them, and you back up a few steps. Your chest is rising and falling to match his now, and the room feels suddenly very, very small.

“Listen, I just want to—”

"Get the fuck out of my room, or I swear to god I will actually call security."

"What do you want from me?" His voice comes out raw, louder than he meant. He pushes off the door, one step forward, then stops himself. "I apologized. I've tried to do my work. I'm trying to make things right. You want me to get on my knees and beg? 'Cause I will. I'll fucking do it."

"Sunghoon—"

He drops.

The movement is sudden and unceremonious. His knees hit the carpet with a dull thud, and for a second, he just stays there, head bowed, hair falling forward into his eyes, probably in need of a haircut. Then he looks up at you from the floor, hands clasped together.

"Please." His voice cracks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

You stare down at him, distraught. A little horrified. Kind of cringing to yourself, honestly. And for a moment, you just watch him apologize over and over again. He mutters the same things he texted you about already. Missing you. Wanting to be better. Wanting to fix things. Needing to pass the class.

You drop your keys on your bedside table. The clatter breaks the rhythm of his apologies, and he goes silent. His head lifts, tracking the sound, tracking you as you take a step toward him. Then another. He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe, it seems like.

Stopping just in front of him, his clasped hands loosen, fingers uncurling, and then he's reaching for yours instead—slow, uncertain, like he's not sure he's allowed. His palms are warm, a little clammy. His fingers wrap around your knuckles and squeeze, and you can feel the tremor in his grasp. You think this is the first time you've ever seen this man experience any sort of real fear.

You lift his chin with your free hand, fingers pressing into his jaw, tilting his face up. The movement isn’t gentle or kind, as if the frown on your lips wasn't indicative enough of your displeasure with whatever this display is.

"You're pathetic."

"I know."

"You're an entitled, egotistical, manipulative loser."

"I know."

"Get up."

He does, and now you're the one craning your neck to look at him.

"For the last time." You say it slowly, "Leave me alone."

He doesn't move. His eyes trace your face. Your throat. The line of your collarbone. Your lips, still pulled into a tight frown.

"I can't do that." A silence follows. "You don't want me to do that either."

"I do."

"Maybe you do," he clarifies, hand finally reaching out until his fingers meet your throat, grazing your skin until they meet your chin. You lean into the touch. It’s your weakness. Your fatal flaw. You can say whatever you want, but when he has his hands on you, you crumble in his grasp. "But your body wants something else."

His thumb brushes your lower lip. Your mouth parts without permission.

You hold his gaze. Your breathing is shallow, your pulse hammering at the base of your throat where his fingers just were. You hate the way you can't pull yourself away. “Tell me what you want,” He rests leans in closer, his voice rough. "I can make it up to you. I'll make you forget what you were even upset about. You just have to—" You kiss him. Hard enough to shut him up. Hard enough that he makes a small, surprised sound against your mouth before his hand tightens in your hair and he kisses you back. It's different from the parking lot. Slower, a little hesitant because you're still learning how this all works. Desperate still, but less immediately urgent. His hand cradles the back of your head, and his lips work yours like they have something to prove. Your hands come up to his chest, and this time you don't push him away. When you break apart, you're both breathing hard. His forehead presses to yours, his eyes dark and a little dazed. The look of someone who knows they're about to get exactly what they wanted. You despise it.

"Are you really whoring yourself out for grades?" Your voice comes out breathless, undermining the bite you'd intended.

He laughs, low and warm against your mouth.

"If I'm whoring myself out for anything, it's forgiveness." His hand drops to your waist, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip. "I meant it when I said I missed you."

"Oh, I'm sure you do." You laugh bitterly, but his lips are already trailing down your jaw. "I'm sure you miss the way I did all your work and drove you around and—"

"I miss when you were mine." He says it against your throat, the words vibrating against your skin. His hand tightens on your hip. "And not laughing at some other asshole's jokes."

You can feel the shift in him, his possessiveness bleeding through the charm.

"Seriously, who was that guy?"

"Told you. Nobody." Your head tips back as his mouth finds the hollow beneath your ear. "Just a classmate."

"Did you do anything with—?"

"No. Obviously, no." The sigh that escapes you is half-frustration, half-surrender. "Just you. You know it's just you."

"That's right." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and there's satisfaction in his eyes—warm and smug and entirely undeserved. "Just me."

His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

"What we did in the parking lot was just the start." His lips brush your ear, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. "I can do so much more for you. You know I can."

Your back suddenly hits the mattress. You didn't feel him walking you there—didn't register the steps, the turn, the careful way he lowered you down. But now he's above you, braced on his forearms, looking at you with a kind of hunger and hope.

"Let me apologize properly." He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles. "Will you?"

You look up at him. At his jaw. His mouth. His dark, beautiful eyes. You nod without questioning it.

His lips find your throat first. Soft. Slow. He traces the line of your pulse with his mouth, feeling it flutter beneath his attention. Then lower—your collarbone, the hollow at the base of your throat, the warm skin just above the neckline of your shirt. He pushes the fabric aside, just enough, and presses a kiss there. Then another. Then lower.

His hands move with the same precision he brings to his game, but slower. Like he's memorizing the landscape of you as he strips you of your clothes. His mouth traces a slow path down your stomach. You’re near-bare when his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, and he pauses, looking up at you through his lashes.

"Just lay back."

You nod again, not trusting your voice.

He pulls the fabric down. His breath is warm against the inside of your thigh. Then his mouth is there—gentle at first, testing, learning what makes you gasp and what makes you go still. His hands hold your hips, thumbs tracing circles into your skin, steadying you.

"Too much?" He murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver up your spine.

"No," You swallow. "Don't stop."

With that, he's grinning, lowering himself between your thighs.

He takes you apart slowly. Thoroughly. His tongue works in patterns you can't track, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, his voice a low murmur of praise against your skin. So good for me. So pretty. Just like that.

When he feels you getting close, he doesn't speed up. He holds the rhythm steady, deliberate, drawing it out until your hands are fisted in his hair and your back is arching off the mattress and his name is the only word left in your vocabulary.

"Who's making you feel this good?" His voice is rough, muffled against your skin. "Tell me."

"Sunghoon."

"Say it again."

"Sunghoon—please—!"

You shatter. The wave crashes through you, and he works you through every second of it—his mouth never stopping, his hands grounding you, holding you together even as you fall apart. When the last tremor leaves your body, you're gasping, your fingers still twisted in his hair.

He kisses his way back up. Your hip. Your ribs. The curve of your shoulder.

"All mine," he murmurs against your skin, pressing the words into you like a claim.

Finally, his lips find yours. Still slow, none of that frantic hunger that had him pressed against you before you could think in the back of your car. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and his mouth moves against yours like an apology he doesn't know how to put into words.

But you're not done with him yet. Not even close.

Your hands drop from his chest to his waistband, fingers finding the drawstring and tugging. You fumble—too eager, too impatient—and the knot catches, your knuckles pressing into the hard plane of his stomach as you work at it. His abs tense under your touch. He pulls back, eyes wide, lips still swollen.

"What are you doing?" His voice is rough, caught between surprise and something else. His hand hovers over yours, but doesn't stop you.

"Want you." You meet his eyes and hold them, your chin tilting up. "Inside me."

He nearly groans at the sound of that, dick twitching in his pants. But, for the first time, he hesitates. Even now—even with you laid out beneath him, even with the taste of you still on his lips—there's a flicker of concern in his expression. "You sure?"

"You want forgiveness." Your voice is steadier than you feel. "Show me how sorry you are."

He stares at you for a beat. Something in his expression shifts—surprise giving way to something darker, more amused, thoroughly impressed. A low chuckle escapes him, warm and rough, and he shakes his head like he can't quite believe you.

"You want it that bad, huh?"

You push his hoodie up over his shoulders, suddenly self-conscious of how much skin you’re showing compared to him. He finishes the job for you, peeling off the hoodie and shirt beneath it in one motion, and then he’s reaching for the waistband.

You barely notice how his sweatpants are gone in a single impatient shove, too focused on him; the broad sweep of his chest, the tight lines of his stomach, the way his arms flex as he braces himself above you. Your hands flatten against his chest without second thought.

"How the hell are you so..." You trail off, too stunned to finish.

"Gym. Sometimes." He shrugs, "What? I'm not a complete loser."

"You're worse than a loser." You retort, but your words betray your actions as you find the waistband of his boxers.

"I am?" He's grinning now, watching your hands fumble, "You don't seem to mind."

He shifts his weight as you pull them down, and then you have him—hard, bare and intimidating, grinding against the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches.

"I'm serious, though." His voice drops. His forehead presses to yours, and his hips still. "You sure you want this? It feels sort of wrong. Like..."

"Like what?"

He doesn't answer right away. His thumb traces a slow line along your hip, grounding himself, grounding you. Like you should save it for someone else, he thinks. Someone more deserving. The thought makes him shudder. He can't stand it—the image of someone else's hands on you. Someone else seeing you like this, all flushed and open and unguarded. He's too obsessed with the way you react to his touch. Too greedy to give it up.

"Sunghoon," you sigh, "I literally don't care. Just put it in."

He sucks in a breath.

"Well, I care." He presses closer, and you feel him at your entrance. He doesn’t push in yet, just rests there, heavy and warm. His eyes find yours. "So tell me if it hurts. Tell me—" He pushes in just barely, just the head of him, and your mouth falls open. "—fuck, you're gorgeous."

He's not fully in yet—just working his way inside, pausing to let you adjust to each inch. His thumb strokes the back of your hand in slow, soothing circles. And yet still—

"So big," you whimper, glancing down between your bodies, almost disbelieving. You already feel so impossibly full of him. Your fingers squeeze around his, your other hand gripping the back of his neck. "So much..."

"I know." He whispers it, and you catch the corner of his mouth twitching—trying not to smile too smugly, trying not to let it get to his head. But he's still just a guy, and the way you're looking at him, all wide-eyed and overwhelmed, is doing things to his ego he can't quite suppress. "Too much for you?"

You shake your head in denial, your nails pressing little crescents into his shoulder blade as he sinks in deeper. The stretch is intense, almost too much, but the thought of him stopping is worse.

"I know it's a lot." There's a trace of that smugness in his voice now, but it's tempered by something softer. Something almost tender. "But it feels good when you get used to it, angel. I swear."

He's fully in now. You feel him everywhere—a deep, satisfying fullness that borders on overwhelming. His palm presses flat against your lower belly, and you watch his jaw go slack as he feels himself there, buried inside you, just beneath his hand.

"Fuck," he breathes, almost to himself. "Feel that? That's me. Right there."

You can't speak. You can only nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your body still adjusting to the size of him.

You feel him in your guts, an almost unbearable fullness that borders on pain before it tips into something else. When he starts moving, shallow and careful, it's like your whole body shakes with the sensation. Want. Need. Anticipation. You've wanted him so badly. All summer, every night, every time his knee brushed yours or his voice dropped low. And now here he is inside you, above you, finally, and you're barely able to handle it. The frustration prickles at the edges of your bliss.

A strained sound escapes you with each shallow thrust. Your face is still tight, your body still struggling to accommodate him, but you are so, so determined.

"More," you manage, the word half-demand, half-plea. "You can go harder. Faster. I won't break."

He just laughs, Low and warm.

"Not yet." He purrs. "Not this time. You'll take it like this."

He fucks you slow and deep. His thumb finds your clit and circles it in a lazy rhythm, matching the roll of his hips. The discomfort lingers at the edges from the stretch of him that still borders on too much, but then he shifts, angling your leg slightly higher, and something inside you ignites.

A raw, involuntary noise escapes you, and he catches it immediately.

"Right there, huh?" He does it again, same angle, same depth. You bite back a cry. "Feels good?"

"So good." Your nails rake down his back. "Fuck, it’s so—"

You don't finish the sentence. You cum around him, rather abruptly, a broken cry on your lips, your back arching. He groans, low and strained, and rocks you through every pulse of it, his hips rolling gently, letting you ride out your high.

When your eyes blink open, hazy and unfocused, you stare up at him. At the sharp cut of his jaw. His mouth, still slightly parted. The dark hair falling over his gorgeous eyes. He looks like a fucking pornstar—it's actually unbelievable. Every inch of him is perfect, and it just makes you even more pissed.

And he hasn't finished yet. Still hard. Still inside you. Still watching you with that smug, knowing look, like he's got all the time in the world.

That also makes you pissed.

With a single-minded focus, you’re pushing him to his back, mounting him, your legs still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm.

“What are you—” His voice is genuinely startled. His hands come up to your hips on instinct, not guiding, just holding, like he's bracing for impact. His eyes are wide, fixed on your face.

You lower yourself onto him, slowly. Sinking down until you’re fully seated there. It’s a lot. A lot more than it was trying to take him from just lying down. You feel all of him, even deeper than before, filling you to the brim, and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to swallow the slight discomfort that still lingers.

“I don’t know if you should—” His voice is strained. He's trying to be decent. Trying to hold still. You can feel the tension in his thighs beneath you, the effort it's taking him not to thrust up into the heat of you.

You start to move. Mostly to shut him up. There’s no rhyme or rhythm. No technique. Only directionless desire. Your hips rock in a shallow, uneven pace because you can't really handle what you're trying to take—the angle is different, and every downward stroke punches a gasp from your lungs. Your thighs burn with the effort. Your balance wavers. But you don't stop.

"Fuck." The word tears out of him, strangled and reverent. He's leaning back against your pillows now, propped on his elbows, watching you with helpless awe. "Just take it. Take what you want. It's yours."

Your nails drag down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake. The sting makes him hiss, but he doesn't stop you—doesn't grab your wrists, doesn't flip you over. He just watches, enthralled, as you claw at him like you're trying to leave a mark he'll feel for days.

You're cursing at him under your breath. Asshole. Entitled. Selfish. Using me. Words he can't quite catch but definitely deserves. Your rhythm stutters and breaks, your hips faltering as the pleasure builds too fast, too intense, and you can't keep the pace steady when every nerve in your body is screaming.

Maybe he should feel terrified that you're clawing at him like an animal, cursing his name with the same breath you use to moan it. But he's captivated. He's never been more attracted to anyone in his life. Your lips are parted, your chest bare and heaving, and you're riding him with zero grace and a summer’s worth of pent-up fury and sexual frustration.

"Shit," he breathes, his hands sliding up from your hips to your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your hipbones. "Look at you. So fucking hot when you're mad. Maybe I should—"

You slap him across the face.

As hard as you can.

It shocks you, even.

It’s not very hard—he's basically a wall of muscle—but the sting is real, and the crack of it echoes in the room.

For one suspended second, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. His head is still turned from the impact, a faint pink bloom already rising on his cheek. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you—the girl who stutters over her words and whimpers from a single touch—just slapped him across the face while riding him.

His eyes find yours.

"Shut the fuck up." You hiss.

He should probably feel pissed, right? Offended, maybe? He's never been slapped in his life—not by a girlfriend, not even by his roommates, though he’s sure sometimes they want to. And yet the sting on his cheek is radiating down his neck, into his chest, settling low in his gut where it twists into something insatiable.

His dick twitches, and a sound he's never made escapes him—which he does not have the time to unpack currently. He'll think about it later, probably, when he's alone and confused and trying to figure out what the hell just happened to him.

A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Make me."

You slap him again, and his smile only widens.

His cheek is definitely pink now. He can feel the heat of it, the slight throb, and it's doing something to him. His hands tighten on your hips, not to restrain you, just to keep you there, like this. Steadying your hips.

You're breathing hard, staring down at him, the stretch of him wearing you thin. He splits you open in a way that borders on too much, your body still struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him even now, even after everything. Every inch is a presence you can't ignore, and for a dizzying second, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be completely consumed. Still, you take him. You take what you want.

You finish with a broken cry, your rhythm shattering completely. Your hips stutter, lose their pace, and then you're collapsing forward, forehead pressed to his chest, your whole body seizing and releasing around him in waves that don't seem to stop. His hands find your hips and hold you steady through it, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your hipbones, grounding you while you shudder apart on top of him.

For a moment, he lets you rest there. His hand cradles the back of your head. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek. He's still hard—achingly, painfully hard—and the feeling of you fluttering around him, spent and trembling, is almost enough to finish him right there.

But not quite.

He flips you onto your back.

It's fast. One arm wraps around your waist, and then the world tilts, and suddenly you're beneath him again, your back sinking into the mattress, your legs falling open around his hips. He doesn't give you time to adjust—doesn't give himself time to think. He just drives back into you, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust.

"Hoon—!”

"Take it," he chokes out, hand reaching for your neck, "Don't tap out on me, now. Fucking take it like a good girl."

The pace is different now, a lot less considerate. He's been holding back all night—letting you adjust, letting you set the rhythm, letting you take what you wanted. But now he's wound too tight, every thrust driven by a pure, animalistic need.

His breath goes ragged. His jaw clenches so tight it aches. The hand around your neck tightens, not enough to choke you, but enough to keep you in place, and he fucks into you like he's trying to outrun something—the guilt, the fear, the dawning realization that this isn't just about getting off anymore and that it probably hasn't been for a while.

"I'm—" His rhythm breaks, stutters, and then he's pulling out at the last possible second. His hand wraps around himself. He finishes on your stomach with a low, broken groan that sounds like it's been dragged out of him against his will, and he stares at the image of it all: You, covered in his cum. Finally his again.

He stays there for a moment, braced above you, his arms trembling. His head hangs low, breath coming in ragged gasps. The mess between you is warm and slick, pooling on your skin, and neither of you moves to clean it up. Not yet, anyway.

The room goes quiet, the two of you only breathing.

He blinks down at you. At the mess. The way you're still catching your breath, still flushed, still looking up at him with those wide, unreadable eyes. Something flickers across his face—something almost tender, almost frightened—and then it's gone, replaced by the ghost of that infuriating grin.

"Shit," he breathes, and it comes out half-laugh, half-apology. "Come here."

He kisses you. Soft. Gentle. Nothing like the desperate, driving intensity of a few minutes ago. This kiss says something different—something he can't quite put into words and isn't sure he's ready to. His lips linger on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he pulls back. "You got anything to clean up with?"

You point him to the drawer at your bedside, and he reaches over. A pack of wet wipes. He cleans you up with careful, methodical hands, wiping the mess from your stomach, between your thighs, his touch efficient but gentle. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he's done it a hundred times.

He tosses the wipes toward the garbage bin in the corner. It lands short. He doesn't pick it up. Instead, he climbs back onto the bed and lies down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" He turns his head on the pillow to look at you. His hair is a disaster, still damp with sweat at the temples. "I was trying to be careful, but you were kind of intense. You were a virgin, like, two hours ago."

"A little sore." Your voice comes out hoarse. "I'll survive."

"You sure? I can get you Advil." He's already half-propped up on one elbow, ready to go searching through your bathroom cabinets. "I don't know where you keep your Advil."

"I'm sure."

He nods, settling back down. His arm finds its way around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rests against his shoulder. His hand traces idle patterns on your hip—slow, absent shapes, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"You're staying?"

He looks down at you. The question catches him off guard—not the words, but the way they sound to him. Soft and Uncertain, like you're bracing for him to leave. Clingy already, he thinks, but the thought makes him smile, rather than feel annoyed.

"Come on." He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm not a complete asshole."

"You're not?"

"I'm staying." Another kiss, softer this time. "I'm not going anywhere."

You hum, a sigh leaving your body, head settled against his chest. His heart does something inconvenient in his ribcage—a flutter, a stutter, something he refuses to name. He pulls you a little closer anyway.

"I mean it," he says, and the words start coming faster now, tumbling out in a ramble he hadn't planned. The afterglow loosened something in his chest. "I'm gonna make it up to you. For real this time. Not like the parking lot. I know I said that then, but I mean it now. I'm gonna take you out. An actual date. No tournaments. No sushi—unless you want sushi? But a nicer place than that one. Just you and me. A real restaurant. Not some strip mall junk."

You're quiet, your thumb drawing lazy circles against his chest. It's a soothing, steady rhythm that has his eyes growing heavy.

"And I'll stop calling you a lucky charm or prize or whatever. That was stupid. I shouldn't have said that. I don't even know why I said it. I was just—the reporter was there, and I was still hyped from the match, and my teammates were all listening." He presses another kiss to your hair. "You're not any of that. You're good to me. Really good to me."

Still no response. Your thumb keeps tracing those slow circles, but you haven't looked up at him. You must be tired. Poor thing.

"Oh, and I'll teach you," he adds, a chuckle escaping him. "How to ride me. Properly. Not that I'm complaining. It was cute watching you struggle up there."

A yawn cracks his jaw. He tries to smother it, but it's too late. His body reminds him that he got zero sleep trying to work on the project, and that he just made you finish three times. The adrenaline is gone. What's left is heavy, dragging exhaustion. Almost peaceful.

"Anyway," he mumbles, eyes closing. "I'll be better. I swear. Actual date. No name-calling. Riding lessons. Sunghoon 2.0. The redeem—" Another yawn. "The redemption arc."

You turn your head on his chest. Your voice cuts through the haze of his exhaustion.

"Sunghoon."

"Mm?"

"What did I say about shutting up?"

He blinks. The question catches him off guard, and then a laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest—genuine, surprised, a little bit giddy. A laugh only you seem to be able to pull out of him.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, grinning. "Shutting up now."

You settle back against his chest. Your hand resumes its position over his ribs, but the circles have stopped. He doesn't notice. He's already sinking, the warmth of you pulling him under.

He closes his eyes. The weight of you against his chest is warm and solid and real. His, some quiet, possessive part of him whispers. And the taste of you still lingers on his lips, tasting a lot like victory.

It's been two weeks. Sunghoon has learned a few things about you. He's learned that you're insatiable—and that Heeseung was right when he said something about the innocent ones being the freakiest in bed. He's learned that you like it when he pulls your hair—not hard, just enough. He's learned that you like to pull his hair and dig your nails into him and cuss him out, while begging him to go harder and faster. He's also learned that you still won't let him take you on an actual date. And trust him, he's tried.

"Let me take you out," he'll say, and you're cutting him off with your sweet, irresistible lips. "I'm serious," he'll insist, and your hand is down his pants, teasing him for being hard already. "I'll buy you dinner. Anything you want," he'll try, and you're sinking to your knees, taking his dick down your throat like it’s nothing. Then he forgets whatever he's arguing about.

It bothers him. Not the sex part, obviously—he enjoys that more than he's ever enjoyed anything—but he doesn't want you to think that's all he wants. He's been trying to prove otherwise. Trying to show you that he actually gives a shit. That he's not an asshole. That he's changed. You don't seem to believe him—that's the only reason he can think of why you keep avoiding his advances, anyway. Every time he brings up a real date, you dodge, distract and deflect with your hands and your mouth and the warm press of your body. He's determined to prove you wrong.

Today is no different. You're in his bed, head pressed into the pillows as he fucks you from behind, and he's covered in a layer of sweat. "Shit," he seethes, watching himself disappear inside you, your greedy cunt taking all of him. "So fucking gorgeous." "Faster," you whine, predictably. He almost laughs. "Let me take you out." He slows deliberately, his cock dragging along your walls at an agonizing pace—so slow you can feel every inch of him, the thick ridge of his head catching on just the right spot before he pulls back again. "Tomorrow. Dinner. Real restaurant." "Sunghoon." His name is muffled against the pillow, half-moan, half-protest. Your fingers twist in the sheets. "Somewhere nice." He rolls his hips, just barely, just enough to make you gasp. "No sex. Not before. Not after. Not even a little. Just talking." "You're already talking right now." You push back against him, trying to take him deeper, but his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still. "And it's very annoying." "I'm serious." "So am I. Now faster." "No."

A squeal escapes you as his palm connects with your ass—not hard, just a sharp little crack that makes you jolt forward. The sting blooms warm across your skin. He rubs the spot immediately, his palm soothing over the heat he left behind, and the contrast makes you shudder. "Just say yes." He leans over you, his chest brushing your spine, and you can feel the heat of him, the slick slide of his skin against yours. His lips find the shell of your ear. "Lemme hear it, and I'll fuck you right." His hips rock forward—barely an inch—and you moan at the shallow stretch. Then he pulls back again, leaving you empty and aching. "Fine," you huff, "Maybe." He stops moving entirely. You wait for the next thrust, the next tease, but nothing comes. Then he's pulling out completely, his hands leaving your hips, and the sudden absence of him is so jarring you actually whimper. "What are you—?" "No date, no dick." You crane your neck to glare at him over your shoulder. He's kneeling behind you, cock slick and ready, one hand wrapped lazily around himself. He strokes himself, just watching you squirm. "That's not fair." "It's completely fair." Trying not to grin, seeing the look of frustration on your face, "Seriously, what am I, a piece of meat to you?" "Yes," you don't even hesitate, "So put your dick back inside me and stop talking." "So demanding," he raises a brow, hands leaving his cock to return to your hips. You whine when you feel the tip of him tease along your slick heat, absolutely dripping for him. You huff, dropping your forehead to the pillow. Your body is aching. Empty. You can feel how wet you are, how ready, and he's just kneeling there, smug and gorgeous and utterly infuriating. "Please." Your voice drops, softening. "Please give it to me." He bites his lip, hands gripping your hips tighter as he grinds against you. The begging. You know he can't resist the begging. He sucks in a breath. Don’t give in, don’t give in, don’t— "Want it so bad." You push back onto your elbows, arching your back, presenting yourself to him. "Need you inside me. Need you to fill me up. Please, Sunghoon. Please." "Fuck." He stutters and lines himself up, the head of him pressing against your entrance—just barely, just enough to make you gasp and push back—and then he sheathes himself in one brutal, devastating thrust. "So fucking needy." You cry out, face buried in the pillow, your whole body jerking forward as he sheathes himself to the hilt. He doesn't give you time to adjust, nor does he give himself time to be careful. His hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the mattress, and his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The headboard slams against the wall in a frantic rhythm, his pace punishing. Your fingers curl into the sheets, twisting the fabric, trying to anchor yourself against the force of him. Every thrust punches a broken sound from your throat—half gasp, half moan, muffled by the pillow. He watches himself disappear into you, the slick glide of his length, the way your body stretches to accommodate him, the way you push back against him even now, even pinned, even helpless. "That's it," he grits out, his voice wrecked. "Take it. Take all of it." You're babbling something into the pillow—his name, maybe, or just incoherent pleading. He can feel you tightening around him, your walls fluttering, the telltale tremble in your thighs. He reaches around, finds your clit, and the sound you make when he touches you there is almost enough to finish him on the spot. "Come for me," he breathes, his rhythm stuttering as his own control starts to fray. "Let go. I've got you."

You shatter. He feels it—the clench, the pulse, the way your whole body seizes and releases. Your cry is muffled by the pillow, but he hears it anyway, feels it in the way you grip him, in the way you shudder beneath him. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release now, and when it hits him, a low, broken groan is torn from his chest as he spills inside you.

He collapses forward, bracing himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. His forehead presses to the space between your shoulder blades, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your damp skin. Beneath him, you're still trembling—small aftershocks rippling through you. The room is quiet now, just the sound of breathing and the distant hum of his PC.

He stays there for a long moment, letting his heart rate settle, letting the sweat cool on his back. Then he shifts, pressing a kiss to the center of your spine. Then another, higher. Then another, at the nape of your neck. He works his way up slowly, reverently, like he's memorizing the landscape of you.

"Come here." His voice is wrecked, barely more than a rasp. He eases out of you gently and tugs you down onto the pillows with him, pulling your back against his chest. His arm drapes across your waist, heavy and warm. His nose brushes the curve of your ear. But then he’s watching you slip from the bed, and he can’t help but frown. The sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, reaching for you. His fingers catch your arm before you can stand.

"Where are you going?" "Back to my place?” “Why?” “Because.” You break from his grasp, “I’m busy.” "With?"

"Studying. Work. Social life." You're pulling on your clothes with that efficient, no-nonsense energy he's come to recognize—underwear, shirt, the quick twist of your hair into something presentable. "Some of us care about our lives." He ignores the jab, tugging you back toward him. You stumble, one knee landing on the mattress, and he takes the opening—his mouth finding the curve of your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your throat.

"Sunghoon..." Your voice wavers, a warning and a surrender all at once. "I want to take you out." He murmurs it against your skin, his hand sliding up your arm. "Wanna do more than just this. Wanna do this right." You pull back just enough to look at him. Your expression is hard to read—something between exasperation and something softer you won't name. "This is fine. I like this." "I know. I like it too." His thumb traces your jaw. "But—" "I have to go." You lean down and kiss him. Brief. Almost dismissive. Then you're pulling away, grabbing your bag, and he's left in the bed, still warm from your body, still tasting you on his lips.

He groans, dragging himself upright. Hastily, he’s tugging his sweatpants on, and throwing a hoodie over his head, and he follows you down the hallway, catching up just as you reach the living room.

The usual suspects are in position—Heeseung on the couch, Jake in the armchair, Jay sprawled on the floor doing something on his phone that's making him smirk. Three heads lift in unison as you pass.

"Leaving so soon?" Heeseung calls, not looking up from his phone. "Not even cuddling? Sunghoon, man, don't tell me you fumbled that bad?" "I have places I need to be," you reply simply, not breaking your stride, "Bye, guys—"

He catches you at the door. His hand finds your waist, spinning you back toward him, and then he's kissing you—not the brief, dismissive peck you tried to give him in the bedroom, but something a lot more intentional.

He ignores the wolf whistle from the couch and the “get a room!” comment, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, and when they part on a surprised breath, he deepens the kiss without hesitation. You make a sound against his mouth—half embarrassment, half something else—and he grins into the kiss, pleased with himself.

"Sunghoon—" You pull back, hand pressed to his chest. "Next time." His voice is low, meant only for you, his forehead nearly touching yours. "I'm taking you out. Even if I have to keep my hands to myself the whole night." "Sure," Your smile is unreadable, but you don't pull away. "Next time." Then you're gone. The door clicks shut, and Sunghoon turns to face the room. Three stares bore into him.

"Bro," Jake says, "That was disgusting." "Downright pornographic," Jay agrees from the floor. Heeseung just shakes his head slowly, "You're down bad. Like, down bad, down bad." "Catastrophically down bad." "You guys don't get it." Sunghoon flops onto the couch. "She's perfect. Like, actually perfect. She's smart, and she's funny, and she puts up with my shit. And..." he cracks a smile as he gestures to his bedroom, "You know." "We know," the three of them say in unison, flatly.

His head falls back, and he sighs, the scent of your perfume still lingering on him. The one trace of you that stays behind whenever you leave too soon. "But," He pauses, his brows scrunched, "I don't think she believes me when I say I want more. I think that she thinks that I'm just trying to get in her pants." "To be fair," Jake says, "you have been in her pants. Multiple times." "And you literally spent the first half of the summer ignoring her while she did your coursework," Jay adds. "And you made her take you to your E-sports tournament, then came on her—" Heeseung starts. "I know. I did a lot of shitty things I regret." He stares at the ceiling. "It’s different now. I want to show her I actually care. That I'm not using her for her body or something. But every time I try, she changes the subject. Or distracts me. Or—" "Distracts you with sex?" Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "That must be terrible for you. Imagine that? Trying to take a girl out for dinner, and she just wants one order of your load down her throat instead. How awful." "I’m serious." "Sunghoon." Heeseung puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're complaining that a girl who's hot and smart and good in bed won't let you take her to Olive Garden. Do you hear yourself right now?" "She's got you whipped," Jay says, not looking up from his phone. "Never thought I'd see the day. The guy who once said 'relationships are a debuff' is now begging for a dinner reservation." "I'm not whipped." He retorts. "I just want her to know that I care. That's all." "Simp," Jake coughs. Sunghoon's head snaps toward him. "Oh, you did not just say that—" "Right message, wrong messenger," Heeseung interrupts him, "You are objectively a simp now. You, the guy who famously chose video games over his last relationship, who once said 'dating is a distraction from the grind'—" "The grind is still important." "—is now begging a woman to let him buy her overpriced appetizers."

Sunghoon would normally fire back with some well-aimed jab about Heeseung and Jay's own nonexistent love life or Jake's shit show of a dating history. But he's distracted. Thinking about you. About next time. About how he's finally going to convince you that he means it. "I am," he says simply, a smile on his face, "I'd buy her everything on the menu if she asked me to." A beat of horrified silence passes, the three boys sharing glances with each other. "Seriously, what happened to him?" Jay whispers to Jake, who shrugs in response, matching his look, "This is terrifying." "I'd almost rather hear him screaming at his ranked teammates." "Or cry over a broken Nintendo Switch controller." "Or talking to himself in the mirror before games. 'You got this, Sunghoon. You're him. You're cracked.'" "It's hard to believe," Heeseung says, lowering his head between them and pulling them into an impromptu huddle, their voices dropping to stage whispers, "but maybe love really did change him." "He's not in love," Jake rolls his eyes. "He's in heat or something." "Yeah, well, it's the closest he's gotten to love in like, what, years?" Heeseung replies, "Look at what he's wearing. That's a brand new hoodie. Clean, pristine condition, not a single stain or wrinkle. When's the last time you saw him in something that didn't come out of the laundry pile?" "It’s like when male birds start doing those weird dances to impress the females," Jay shudders, "Puffing up their chests. Spinning in circles. Except it's Sunghoon doing it. Which just feels—" "Gross?" Jake offers. "Unnatural.” "Wrong.” "A crime against nature." "You know I can hear you guys, right?" Sunghoon deadpans. "Literally everything." "We know," Heeseung says without turning around. "We don’t care. Go back to daydreaming."

Sunghoon opens his mouth to fire back, but his phone buzzes on the cushion beside him. A notification. He glances down, expecting your name on the screen—a text, maybe, or one of those voice notes he's learned to listen to the moment they arrive. His lips quirk up. Then he reads it.

Transcript Updated: Summer Semester — Web Programming Final Grade: F

The smile freezes on his face like a video paused on a single frame. "What?" Heeseung leans over, trying to see the screen. "What's that face? You look like you just watched your favourite vandal skin get vaulted."

Sunghoon doesn't answer. He opens the grade portal. Opens the project submission page. There it is: The final project. Submitted. Your name, alone. His? Nowhere to be seen.

"I failed." His voice is small, hollow. "The class. She took my name off the project." Silence.

Then Jay starts laughing. A sharp, incredulous bark. Heeseung joins in, his shoulders shaking. Jake sets down his controller with the slow deliberation of a man who wants to fully savour what's about to happen.

"No way," Heeseung manages between breaths. "She didn't." "She did." "Oh, this is beautiful." Jay wipes his eyes. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed." “So dicking her down didn’t get you anywhere after all,” Heeseung is grinning widely, “Tried to use her for grades, then caught feelings.” "That's not—” "You thought you had it all, huh? The A, the tournament win, the girl—" He wheezes, "You thought you were out here playing her, and she played you." "I told you it wasn't like that—" "Bro." Jake sets down his controller. "It was exactly like that." Sunghoon stares at the screen. At the F. At your name, alone on the submission page. His chest feels strange. Hollow. Like someone reached in and scooped something out and left a Sunghoon-shaped shell on the couch. He doesn't even have the energy to fight his roommates anymore.

He stands up from the couch, words dying on his lips. One moment he’s there, staring at his phone, and the next he’s walking—feet carrying him down the hallway toward his room. The laughter of his roommates fades behind him, muffled by the closing door.

His room is dark except for the blue glow of his monitor. The Valorant home screen stares back at him, waiting for a queue that won’t come. He sits at the edge of his bed and stares at the transcript notification again, as if looking at it long enough might change the grade.

His thumb hovers over your contact. The last message from you—a short, simple text from earlier that day. On my way. He'd smiled when he read it then. He presses the call button. "Sunghoon." You pick up after a few rings, "What's up?" "What's up?" His voice comes out strangled. "You failed me. You took my name off the project. I thought—I thought we were—" There’s a laugh on the other line. "You thought what?" You ask, clearly amused. "You really thought that because you fucked me, suddenly I'd decide to let you keep your name on a project you didn't contribute to?" "No, I—" He's stammering. "Not like that. But you made me think—" "I didn't make you do anything." "You let me believe—" He runs his hand through his hair, pacing. "Had me under the impression we were good. With each other. That things were fixed. That I apologized and you forgave me." "Oh? Do you feel misled?" You tease, a content sigh, then leaving you, "I never promised you anything, Sunghoon. It's not my fault you assumed things."

His stomach drops. He sits there, in the middle of his dark room, phone pressed to his ear, and the silence stretches long enough that he's not sure why you haven’t hung up on him yet.

"I like you." The words tumble out before he can stop them, earnest and vulnerable and nothing like how he usually is. "I wasn't just trying to get in your pants. I want to take you out. I've been trying to take you out for weeks. I wanted to show you—"

"Oh, I know. You made that very clear." "Then why—" "But I'm sorry to break it to you," you continue, "I don't date guys who can't fix their own broken code." He swallows, phone trembling in his grasp. "Call me when you want to fuck again, 'kay? That's all you're really good for." You say. It’s not smug or cruel. It’s just honest. "Bye, Sunghoon."

note ✰.ᐟ this work exists in the same au as this fic here

🏎️ jay's series | previous

a/n: ok but no disrespect to all the tokens and jobies out there???? KJBWDH. anyways!! i want to thank u for all the love and support u gave the first update, i lowkey thought it was going to flop and i was so scared 😭. also! the taglist is closed (? i reached the user limit per post (50) and i'll try to tag the rest under the comments but idk if that will work... pls lmk if u get the notif!! 😭🙏🙏

➛ After years of being buddies, Park Sunghoon can’t seem to see you as anything more than one of his bros despite you being his girlfriend.

Park Sunghoon hasn’t been himself ever since you died in winter.

Not that there’s much left of him to be.

Most of him perished when you did, and the other part that remained became a lifeless body trying to pass the time day by day. The color disappeared from his life once you did, and now all that’s left of him are bleak, monochromatic snapshots of his grief weaving into his everyday routine. Time became indistinguishable without you. Two years of his life were structured around your dates, your classes, and spending time with you. But now, his life became a repetitive cycle of waking up, going to class, and going home, where he rotted with your visage behind his closed eyes as he lied in bed until the next day broke.

Winter left, and Spring came, yet Sunghoon still felt like he was stuck in the cold season. 

In your shared apartment, your things were still there as if you never left. Your puffer jacket was still hanging on the coat rack, unwashed and chilly to the touch. Your toothbrush was still right next to his in the bathroom, the bristles bone-dry from the lack of use. There was an empty space on the full-sized bed, a perfect fit for where your body was supposed to lay right next to him. If Sunghoon closed his eyes and breathed in hard enough, he could still smell the remnants of your lingering, sweet shampoo clinging to the fibers of your pillowcase. 

His friends tried hard to help him move out of his cycle of grief. Sunghoon loved them for it, but he couldn’t help but remain where it was safe, in the little domain where your presence was missing, but your life was still there. Where your pictures hung on the walls, your bright smile lighting up the darkness of each room. Where your lucky pendant mocked him as it hung off the backpack you left on the stool of the kitchen island. Where you still were alive, even if you weren’t physically there.

Jake came in first after you died, letting Sunghoon have his peace for two weeks. Jake was the type to worry so much that it was overwhelming. For the past two weeks, he had blown up Sunghoon’s phone everyday, not letting him have a moment to himself on the device. (Sunghoon was grateful, honestly. Because he had spent the past two weeks looping every video of you until he could memorize the timestamps of every action you took.)

Jake checked on Sunghoon by knocking on his door and bringing him food. “Sunghoon, I brought pyeonyuk from your favorite place…” He gently breached the silence with a careful lilt to his voice, afraid that Sunghoon would snap if Jake said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Sunghoon begrudgingly got out of bed, clutching his phone tightly in his hand, and met Jake in the living room, his hair flying on his head and body dragging across the floorboards.

“I’m not hungry…” Sunghoon muttered in response, the same answer as the day before and the day before that.

“You should eat something, Hoon…” Jake frowned, setting the food on the dining table anyway and opening the takeout bag. Sunghoon didn’t respond. He knew Jake was right, but didn’t have the energy to say anything back. “She wouldn’t want you like this–”

“Don’t talk about her like you know what she wants,” Sunghoon snapped, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. The words stayed in the air, with regret settling into Sunghoon’s guilt-adled mind. But Sunghoon didn’t take them back, he couldn’t.

Jake was your friend before Sunghoon even knew you, so he knew that Jake was still mourning. Sunghoon knew it was wrong for him to say that, but he couldn’t help himself. Jake didn’t know you like he did. He didn’t know the soft murmurs of your sleep and the look of affection in your eyes.

Sometimes, he was angry at Jake for being able to smile after you passed. Other times, he was envious that he could move on so easily and continue living as if you were never there. But in the privacy of your apartment, Jake’s sniffles would merge with Sunghoon’s as they recounted the sides of you only they knew.

Jay came in after to help organize your apartment, more persistent than Jake. “You can’t keep staying like this, Hoon. You’re gonna get bugs, or something…” He murmured, bending over to pick up stray debris on the wooden floors. When your death was still fresh, and your messes were still around, Sunghoon loathed Jay’s help. How dare Jay come in and taint the memories of your existence by cleaning up what you had left behind?

“Jay, stop…” Sunghoon murmured as he helplessly watched his friend reach for the zip-up jacket that you had left on the couch, the cotton material still holding onto your perfume.

“It’s just a jacket, Hoon. It’s gonna smell if you leave it here–”

“I said stop! Just– just fuckin’ leave it where it is, Jay!” Sunghoon’s voice cracked as the volume rose. He stood up without realizing, in Jay’s space, and gripping onto your jacket like it was a lifeline. Jay startled, the jacket slipping from his hands and into Sunghoon’s protective grasp.

“Why does it matter?” Jay had shot back, frustration finally slipping through. “She’s not coming back to wear it, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon’s heart steeled, and he could only whisper back to Jay as tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Get out.”

Sunghoon was still embarrassed about the amount of screaming and sobbing he did to Jay, but he’s sure that they’re fine now. Apologies flew between them, but Sunghoon had already let go of the anger in his chest. After all, it was only swallowed up by the grief he was feeling for you.

When both of his friends noticed it wasn’t helping, they would take him out on the town, shoving milkshakes in his hand and laughing louder than they usually would. They talked about everything and nothing all at once, carefully avoiding your name as if he would break upon hearing it in public. After a while, Sunghoon didn’t want his friends to feel like their efforts were in vain. So he learned to force a smile, puffing up his cheeks and curling up his lips as Jake made a stupid joke to Jay like he always did. (When Jake and Jay looked triumphant about their victory, turning away to silently celebrate, Sunghoon would let his smile falter.)

The night was like the others. Jake and Jay took him to this diner far out of the way, with an American retro vibe. Red and white stripes lined the walls, and the tiles gleamed in the bright overhead lighting. There were only a few patrons in the restaurant, as it was late. The smell of meat cooking on the grill wafted through the air, permeating the atmosphere with smoke and seasoning. The three men were munching on burgers, updating each other about their courses for the next semester. But mostly, it was just Jake and Jay speaking to Sunghoon. The youngest of the three remained silent for most of the meal, only responding when he felt like he really had to.

But the sight of the cheeseburgers and fries on his platter only made him think of you even more. Even if he knew his friends were trying to distract him from you, he could only be reminded of the countless dates you had at the burger joint next to campus. Reminded of the way you used to get ketchup on the corner of your lips, and how he would wipe it off with his thumb. He used to complain about how you always ate so messily, but he couldn’t help the wide smile from growing on his lips. Can’t you come back? He’d never complain again…

“Guys, it’s getting late. I think we should go now…” Sunghoon spoke up after a while. Truth be told, he was spacing out for most of the time and just wanted to bury himself under the covers. Jake looked at him and smiled, not wanting to push anything.

“Sure, man, we can go back now.” He stood up, dusting off the crumbs from his thighs. He looked at Jay, who simply nodded and stood up to let Sunghoon out of the dining booth they were sitting in. Jay drove them back home, not forgetting to tell Sunghoon to text him in the morning. Sunghoon only nodded in response before going back up to your apartment.

When he opened the door, the silence greeted him as always. Not your cheery voice yelling his name or your padding footsteps eagerly running towards him. There was only a suffocating absence waiting for him. The wooden door clicked shut behind him, and with that sound, his composed act dropped.

Sunghoon’s shoulders slumped. He tried. He really tried. But when his breath hitched, his emotions began to unravel uncontrollably, unfurling like a roll of ribbon. His keys slipped from his fingers, clattering against the floor. His vision blurred as quickly as he blinked, tears filling up his eyes, and his throat closing up as a sob threatened to rise from his chest.

“Fuck–” His word broke apart as soon as he let it out. He collapsed to the ground, his body not strong enough to carry him and the weight of his emotions anymore. He felt ugly– so ugly. His figure practically folded into itself as his knees hit the ground, his chest pressed against his thighs and his arms awkwardly crossed. He uncurled his body, crawling like a baby as he thought to the only thing he wanted.

You.

But you weren’t here. So his hands desperately sought out the closest thing he could get. Your jacket, the one that he still hadn’t moved even though Jay tried to many, many times. He bunched up the fabric in his fingers, the cloth wrinkling under the force of his tight grip. He buried his nose into the fabric, inhaling the sweet smell of your perfume– from the bottle that was still at your vanity, macerating as it went unused. A choked sound tears from his throat as he inhaled sharply, like maybe if he breathed your scent in deep enough, he could fill the hollow space you left behind.

“Please…” His voice was barely there now, worn thin from crying. “Just—just come back.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and the memories came flooding in. Your bright laugh that lifted any weight off his shoulders, your warm eyes always seeking to stare into his, and your heavy hand that slipped effortlessly to slot into his. Then, the quiet moments that you both lived, the meaningless ones, the ones he never thought he’d have to remember like this. They all hit his brain at once, bringing on a throbbing headache for him. But even though it ached to think of you, he still clung to these memories desperately, replaying them over and over on loop.

If he stopped and let them fade even a little, then it would be like losing you all over again.

Your voice wasn’t there to comfort him like it always used to be, and if he took out his phone to play a clip of your sweet voice messages that used to encourage him, he wasn’t sure how he would react. His sobs eventually silenced, faltering into desperate gasps of air. Exhaustion pulled him down as his breathing became uneven. He curled into himself on the floor, still clutching what little of you he has left as his body tumbled to the side. The last thing he felt before he passed out was the faint scent of your perfume and the hollow ache in his chest that never seemed to go away.

Winter had long passed, allowing flowers to bloom over the frigid grass. Yet, Sunghoon remained frozen in the cold weather, trapped in the season you left him in.

Sunghoon didn’t remember setting his alarm, but the shrill sound of it woke him up from his deep sleep.

He kept his eyes closed as he pouted, squirming around as he patted around for his phone. But, instead of meeting the cold floor, his hands brushed up against warm bedding. He shot upright, eyes wide and head throbbing. Who the hell moved him from the floor to the bed?

For a moment, Sunghoon sat still, disoriented and trying to piece together the puzzles of last night through his dazed head. He remembered having a breakdown and the sweet aroma of your perfume. His vision was blurry, and he thought that it was from his tears from last night, but even after blinking for a few seconds, his eyesight didn’t gain any clarity. His hands shot up to rub his eyes, but his sight was still fuzzy. He remembered passing out on the floor, holding your jacket. But he surely didn’t remember this.

He looked down, realizing he was on a twin XL bed. He squinted his eyes as he stared at the bedding. It looked way too familiar. The way that the blanket hung off the edge, and the striped pillow was resting up against the wall, compressed into a flat piece of cotton. It looked all too familiar, too similar to the navy blue set that he used during his freshman year of college.

A chill ran down Sunghoon’s spine as he realized where he was. He was in a freshman dorm.

As he glanced around, his bleary eyes still didn’t clear, but the room around him became a little more concrete. The cheap white paint peeling on the ceiling, the shaky frame of his wooden bunk bed, and the pile of unfolded laundry sitting right in the middle of the floor in a blob of mixed fabrics. The mini-fridge was humming next to his closet. It was all there, exactly the way he remembered two years ago. He would’ve mused at the fact that it looked so identical if he wasn’t so freaked out about being in some random freshman dorm.

Fuck, what did I do last night? I probably look like a creep! In the dorm of some random freshman kid when I’m a junior… He nearly sprained his ankle trying to jump off the bed, scrambling to leave as soon as possible. But as soon as he jumped down from the top bunk, the door opened, revealing Jay.

“Dude, you good? You jumped off the bed mad hard.” Jay snickered, running a hand through his wet hair. Sunghoon blinked. This had to be a dream, a prank, or a grief-induced hallucination. Maybe he cried himself so hard that he lost his fucking mind. Because there was just no way he was staring at freshman year Jay in his freshman year dorm.

Jay was supposed to have short black hair with a strictness that only college and a two-year unpaid internship could instill into him. He was supposed to be wearing button-ups and polos with tight trousers and a fancy belt. But this Jay had longer, dyed silver hair with his teenage features still ghosting his face. This Jay was wearing a soccer team jersey with baggy shorts and his silver conch piercing still looped through his ear.

“Sunghoon, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…” Jay nervously laughed, throwing the towel around his neck into his hamper. “Did you have a nightmare or something?”

Sunghoon’s throat was dry. He tried to swallow, but instead he broke out into a coughing fit. Jay scrambled to pat his back, grabbing a cold water bottle from the shared mini-fridge. “Th– Thanks…” Sunghoon wheezed as he greedily gulped down the entire bottle. “Uhm, I’m– I’m okay…” He whispered, trying to find his voice. Jay frowned, concerned.

“Are you sure? You sound weird as hell, man.” Jay smiled again, his expression dry and one of concern. Sunghoon cleared his throat and nodded again, turning around to look at himself in the mirror. He was faced with the younger version of himself from two years ago, too. Instead of his ripped figure, his muscles were just beginning to bulge with the beginnings of his consistent workouts. His hair was dark as usual, but he could see the overgrown appearance framing his eyes.

“I– I think ‘m gonna be sick!” Sunghoon gagged, before running to the communal bathrooms and flinging open the closest stall door. He yakked in the toilet, sick to his stomach. The sour smell of vomit filled the claustrophobic space of the stall, and Sunghoon nearly threw up again as chunks of undigested food sputtered out from between his lips. Jay came in a minute later, standing awkwardly next to the open door.

“Are you good, man? You’re worrying me… Did the dining hall fuck you over, too?” Jay snickered. Sunghoon flushed, leaning heavily against the wall as cold sweat clung to the back of his neck. His whole body felt wrong. Jay lingered outside for a moment before speaking again, voice softer this time. “Seriously, Hoon. Did something happen?”

Sunghoon stared at the tiled floor for a moment before flushing down his puke. Everything had fucking happened. You were dead, and he had buried you. But he couldn’t say that to Jay. So instead, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and forced out a weak response.

“Bad dream.”

Jake had been talking about you for weeks before Sunghoon met you.

The puppy-like boy had been yipping his ear off about you, but Sunghoon didn’t even know what you looked like. All he knew you as Jake’s hometown friend who’s known the man since high school. Yet Jake talked about you like Sunghoon was already integrated into your friendship, like you were apart of their routine too.

“Yuck, this dining hall food sucks.” Jake scrunched his nose as his fork penetrated the dry chicken, the metal tearing into the strips of meat. Sunghoon snorted as he dug his spoon into the “soup” that had animal fats coagulating on the surface of the bowl. “Should we take the bus downtown and get sushi?” Jake licked his lips, eager for the change of meal.

“We already used a meal swipe, Jake. I don’t want to waste it.” Sunghoon frowned, but he himself was about to lose his appetite as he stared into the abyss of the tomato soup that bubbled and popped, spurting tiny droplets of thick tomato onto the table. When Jake didn’t respond, Sunghoon assumed that Jake had conceded and began eating his dry chicken, but when he looked up, Jake’s eyes were somewhere else.

Sunghoon followed his eyes to see that Jake was staring at a girl grabbing a cookie. “Ohh, you think she’s cute?” Sunghoon teased. Jake’s lips then curled up in disgust, his entire face contorting to express his repulsion to Sunghoon’s words. The younger boy frowned, disappointed. “Jake, don’t look like that. She may not be your type, but she’s a cute girl.”

“What? Dude, that’s Y/N. My friend from home.” Jake snickered. “So you think she’s cute, huh?” The chestnut-haired boy leaned across the table immediately, grin widening like he had just been handed the greatest entertainment of his week.

“No, Jake, I didn’t say all that.” Sunghoon groaned, knowing that he had just walked himself into a trap.

“Nah, don’t lie. You think she’s cute, huh? She’s single, I can set you up…” Jake smirked, wriggling his eyebrows. Sunghoon groaned, the tip of his pale ears turning red from the embarrassment he was feeling. He covered his face to hide his expression.

“Stop, Jake…” He whined. Jake snickered and pushed Sunghoon’s elbow.

“Be cool, man, she’s coming.” Jake winked, biting his lip at Sunghoon. The pale boy’s face was so red, he was sure he looked like a stop sign at that point. Behind Sunghoon, he heard the steady sounds of footsteps against linoleum. It was when the footsteps were directly behind him that he decided to turn around, not wanting to look too snappy or weird.

Sunghoon was blown away. He thought you were cute from a couple of feet away, debating whether to grab either the cookie or the brownie as you tapped your foot in a rhythmic motion. But you were even more breathtaking up close. You had a soft, warm smile gracing your lips, making you look approachable. Your cheeks were dewy from the humid air that resulted from the smokiness of the chicken charring behind the dining hall bars. You were wearing sweats and a hoodie, dressing warmly for the cool temperatures that began to settle in the atmosphere during September. He absolutely couldn’t hide how smitten he was with you, so much that Jake began lightly kicking his foot under the table.

“Hi, Jake.”

God, even your voice was like honey. Smooth, silky, and thickly sweet. “Hey, Y/N. Did you finish eating, or did you just get here?” Jake asked you, not bothering to hide the wide, mischievous grin that began to spread across his lips.

“Mmm, I ate with my classmate, Chaewon. She left to go back to her dorm already,” You answered, circling the table to stand behind Jake. Your face came into full view of Sunghoon, and he had to remember to swallow so that he could prepare his mouth to speak.

“H– Hey.” Sunghoon’s voice cracked as he greeted you. Jake pursed his lips, biting them to stifle his laughter. He cleared his throat and looked down, embarrassed.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Jake’s friend.” You giggled, melodic and charming. Sunghoon shyly smiled up at you, gathering the courage to look up at you directly. You took the seat next to Jake, maintaining your friendly grin as you stared at Sunghoon. “Aren’t you in my CS class?” You asked, tilting your head. Sunghoon gulped. He didn’t even realize, but you remembered him so easily. He felt a little guilty.

“Uhm– Uhm, yeah, ‘m– ‘m in CS 1010… Monday, Wednesday, Friday lectures from 12:15 to 1:30… You– you too?” Sunghoon stammered out his question. You giggled again, seemingly amused and endeared by his bashful demeanor.

“Yup, that’s me too! Hey, sit next to me in lecture next time! I sit in like, the middle back. And I’m going to be honest with you, the guy who usually sits next to me… he’s a bit obnoxious…” You leaned in to cheekily whisper to him, as if letting him in on a secret only you both knew about. (And Jake, he guessed…)

The conversation began flowing into a natural river of meaningless talks about dorm life, classes, and unshared stories of Jake that you both had. Honestly, Sunghoon barely remembered what you guys talked about. All that was stuck in his mind was the way you kept glancing at him with your bright, wide eyes that squinted with your cheeks as you smiled and giggled.

At the time, Sunghoon thought it was just a lucky afternoon, stumbling upon a pretty girl and even scoring a friend in a class. He didn’t know then that it would become coffee dates and late-night study sessions, shared bus rides, first kisses, and apartment keys. He didn’t know that one day, he would be whispering “I love you” to you every night before you both fell asleep after long days of cramming for Data Structures and Algorithms. He didn’t know then that you would become home.

And he definitely didn’t know that one day, years later, he would sit on the floor of that very home, begging the universe to let him have you back.

Back then, all he knew was that you smiled at him, and for the first time, he was excited to attend CS 1010.

Sunghoon had finished hyperventilating twenty minutes ago. Or maybe thirty. Time felt fake now, so he honestly couldn’t tell.

All he knew was that he had woken up in his freshman dorm, thrown up in the communal bathroom, cried for a little bit more until Jay awkwardly told him he had to leave, and then kneeled down on the (very disgusting) floor of the stall trying not to pass out or cry again. Either grief had sent him into some form of delusion or psychosis, or genuinely sent him two years in the past. Neither option was looking like an optimal answer to his question of why the hell he was in his freshman year self.

After managing to get up, he went back to his dorm to search for anything that could help his predicament. (As if his dingy gaming laptop could send him back into the present…) He entered his room to grab his morning essentials, splayed out in a cup on his white dorm cart. His vision was still blurry, and it finally clicked to him as to why when he noticed a foreign object on the same cart. He picked up a glasses case and opened them to reveal a pair of glasses. He put them on and stared at himself in the mirror secured on the front of his closet door. 

They were black, wide, and thick-rimmed, pressing up against the sides of his nose and nudging into the fluffy skin of his cheeks. But Sunghoon never wore glasses– he had perfect 20/20 vision. Sunghoon freaked out– who wouldn’t freak out after losing their after a night’s sleep?

He took his cup of essentials to the bathroom, cringing at the loadout. He had a dingy, plastic toothbrush and a cheap tube of toothpaste. He didn’t own his usual mixsoon skincare, so he couldn’t wash his face with cleanser. He brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth with purple Listerine, and splashed his face with water.

“God, this is sick. This is actually so sick,” he muttered to himself, patting his face dry with his sleep t-shirt and putting on the glasses. Now that he could properly see his reflection in the dusty and streaky mirror, he was staring at the younger version of himself that had softer features, longer, dark-brown hair, and a pair of fucking glasses now.

He looked like a loser, and his present-day brain wanted to fight himself for not taking care of himself properly until he began talking to you. He checked the time on the old and unnecessary clock hanging over the door of the communal bathroom, whispering a curse as he realized that it was almost 8:30AM, his class was at 9AM, and the walk was 20 minutes away from the dorm. 

He ran back to his dorm room to change, throwing open his closet door with a resonating slam against the wooden sideboards. Instead of the expensive and sleek monochrome clothes he meticulously spent two years curating into his fashion style, he was greeted with vibrant colors overtaking any monotone hue that could have hidden in his hangers. He pulled each hanger back, revealing neon green, a bright yellow, and a shirt with Detective Conan on it. He groaned, internally cursing his freshman-year self for buying whatever he could get his cheap hands on. He picked out a green sweater and a clean pair of blue denim jeans. He wanted to accessorize, but when he dug through his other drawers, he couldn’t find anything. There wasn’t even a watch or necklace or bracelet. He shook his head and exhaled in frustration.

Sunghoon checked the calendar on his desk promptly, throwing on a jacket and grabbing a random apple on his desk. It was November, three months after university had started for him. But when his eyes landed on the color-coded events, he was confused. Because instead of CS 1010 and CALC III, the usual courses he took on Monday, he was looking at CHEM 1010 and BIOL 2100. He remembered taking the chemistry course his freshman year, but he definitely remembered not taking anything biology-related in his college career. Hell, he was a Computer Engineering major. What would a CS student need Biology for?

Ignoring the weird nostalgia blooming in his chest and the odd discrepancies that just continued to pile up, Sunghoon went out to go to his classes. Instead of the green trees and blossoming flowers welcoming him outside, he was met with the warm leaves and moderate temperatures of Autumn. Students passed by in a haze, chattering about their classes and walking way faster than Sunghoon remembered. The cold breeze drifted through the campus, inflating his sweater as it crept under the fabric. Jay had already left to attend a mixer for his pre-law frat, leaving Sunghoon to try to stimulate his own brain so he could ignore his weird time flashback or time-travel or whatever the hell this was…

He checked his phone, inhaling a big breath of air and holding it in, as if bracing himself for the impact that he was seeing his screen two years in the past. When the screen brightened, Sunghoon was greeted with Patrick Bateman laughing maniacally at him with blood splattered across his face. He instantly shut his phone off out of embarrassment. “Hell no.” He grunted.

He inhaled again and opened it to check his text messages. He expected to see your name at the top, but instead, it was Jake followed by Jay. He scrolled through, expecting to see your name at least somewhere. After all, it’d been three months since you’ve met. You should’ve at least talked about the CS midterm by now, right? But instead, he scrolled through to see his parents, his sister, and some random high school friends Sunghoon hadn’t thought of in years.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a headache coming on, and his heart was twisting into itself, wringing out all of his worries about his time-travel to soak up the anxieties of you. If he was here—if this was really freshman year, really November, really two years ago— then where the hell were you?

Sunghoon stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk, students brushing past him with annoyed mutters, enunciated scoffs, and eyerolls. His fingers trembled around his phone as he opened your contact again, except… there was no contact to open. Your name didn’t exist in his phone, and there was nothing to remember you by. His stomach dropped to his feet, and from his feet, crept up the nauseous nagging of… what if you didn’t exist at all now, these two years ago that he was in?

“No, no, no…” he muttered under his breath, swiping faster like your name might magically appear if he looked hard enough. But it didn’t. All that stared back at him was the image of fucking Christian Bale laughing at him, jeering at him as if making a mockery out of Sunghoon.

Could… this not have been his timeline entirely? Instead of going back to the past, did he somehow fall into a world where you never even existed?

Even the beginnings of the thought was enough to make Sunghoon keel over, steadying his body on a nearby tree and focusing his eyes into the nearby bush. Was this world not the version where you sat next to him in CS 1010 and whispered gossip to him during lectures? Because if so, then this wasn’t the version where he walked you home after late-night study sessions and fell in love with you under fluorescent library lights. This wasn’t the version where he kissed you outside your apartment in the snow for the first time.

The version of him that had met you.

Sunghoon’s breathing started to shorten again. He had one hand pressed flat against it the thick and textured trunk of the tree, as if it could keep the world from tilting. The autumn air began feeling suffocating instead of crisp, and the stray threads inside his stupidly bright green sweater began scratching at the hairs on his arms, penetrating through to itch his skin.

think think think think think

Jake? Jake knew you first, didn’t he?

He couldn’t give less of a fuck about his stupid CHEM 1010 class, not when the idea of you not being in his life again was wrapping heavy hands around his neck and choking him. His thumb fumbled as he opened Jake’s contact and scrolled through his messages. Most of it was stupid nonsense, with the most recent text being Jake begging him to skip class for food. Then, buried between them, secluded amongst the sheer amount of back-and-forth texts, was a diamond in the rough.

jake: bro r u coming to the library tmrw nite? jake: y/n’s gonna be there too jake: bro please be normal this time 😭🙏

Sunghoon choked out a broken sound, a cacophony of laughter and sobbing. His knees nearly gave out from the release of tension in his muscles. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, digging it into his eyes to steady himself. Sunghoon didn’t care that he looked like an idiot in the middle of campus while students walked around him. After all, they were ignoring him like his spectacle was an everyday occurrence. He couldn’t care less.

you existed here you were here alive breathing here here in this world not six feet under but above ground walking talking breathing living

Sunghoon stared at the message until the words blurred.

y/n’s gonna be there too

alive alive alive

You were no longer trapped inside of the pictures hung up on the walls. Not reduced to old voice messages and the lingering scent on the piles of clothes you left around the apartment and in your hamper. Not a mere name carved into stone and buried under the solid, winter dirt.

alive.

Sunghoon’s chest caved in on itself. If he had not met you like he did two months ago in the dining hall, then would you both be starting from square one now? Does that mean that he had another chance to start from the beginning? To love you again, wholeheartedly, and make sure that you wouldn’t die? That instead of two measly years, he could love you for an entire lifetime? Or were you destined to meet the same fate again?

He didn’t hesitate to decide. No matter what lifetime he was in, he would make the same decision. He would choose you again, every time, even knowing how it ended. Grief this devastating could only exist because love had once been so kind, and now that he had a chance to experience your living love again, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Sunghoon: r we still on for the library?

“I didn’t think making a grade calculator would be this fucking hard, oh my god.”

You and Sunghoon were both deep into three Red Bulls, eyes bloodshot and accessorized with grey and purple bags hanging under them. Sunghoon exhaled and slammed his laptop shut, before immediately pulling it open again to reveal the same piece of coding that had been mocking the both of you for hours. Meanwhile, you were slumped over your own laptop, fingers tapping away at your keyboard meaninglessly. Honestly, you weren’t even trying to fix the code, you were just typing a bunch of bullshit into the program.

“Seriously, why did I choose CS?” Sunghoon sulked, about to begin reflecting on every decision that led him there, before you snapped him out of it with a few delicate taps to his arm.

“How about we take a study break, hm?” You tilted your head, smiling up at him. Even though you look exhausted, you still managed to muster up a warm grin on your lips that instantly quelled his anxieties about your project. “Where should we go… it’s pretty chilly outside…” You thought aloud. The way your eyes flicked up and your hand dramatically stroked your chin endeared him, blossoming an aggressive affection in his chest. He squeezed his hands into a fist, trying to resist pinching your cheeks.

“What time is it now? 2AM? Is anything even open?” Sunghoon yawned. You thought about it for a second before gasping. Sunghoon could almost visualize the lightbulb flashing above your head.

“Let’s eat ramyeon at the convenience store on the main road!” You suggested. The brown-haired boy hummed in agreement, standing up abruptly to stretch before putting on his coat. You both abandoned your things and put your trust in student honor as you began your 10-minute walk down the street, leaving the warm and humid library in favor of the chilly autumn weather.

“Sunghoon, have I ever asked you about your lore?” You suddenly asked. Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows.

“Lore? What does that mean?” He responded, confusion puppeting his eyebrows into a furrow. You puffed up your cheeks as you thought about how to explain the term.

“Like– your cool anime backstory, or whatever…” You answered, embarrassed at the way you chose to describe it. Sunghoon snickered, shaking his head.

“Uhm, I don’t think I have a cool anime backstory, or whatever…” He started to think. “Well… I have a younger sister and then I used to figure-skate. Nothing really interesting, I don’t think…” You gasped at his downplaying of his abilities.

“You used to figure-skate? That’s so cool! When did you start?” You smiled, eyes sparkling at looking up at him with wonder. Sunghoon’s face flushed even harder.

“Uhm… when I was pretty young… I was pretty good at it, other people tell me. But I didn’t have many friends when I was a kid because I was the only guy who did figure-skating,” he continued. You tilted your head curiously.

“Do you have any pictures, Hoon?” You perked up. He tried to ignore the flutter in his heart with the usage of your sudden nickname, instead opting to fumble for his phone. He hid away the Patrick Batemen lockscreen he forgot to change before flashing you a photo of his younger self.

Child Sunghoon was round and soft, with a cute and awkward smile on his face. He wore a flashy costume, a white button-up with silver glitter lining everywhere that it could trace. In his hands was a trophy and a bouquet of flowers. A coo immediately erupted from your throat as you took it in. “Sooo cute, ohmygod!” You gasped. His shining pupils disappeared as he smiled, bashful as he looked away. He turned off the phone, causing you to whine.

“Nooo~ Hoon, send me the photo! I’ll make it your contact!”

As much as he didn’t want to give in, ultimately, he did. He airdropped the photo to you, which you received with a delighted squeal. Sunghoon peered over your shoulder, trying to subtly look at what you were going to do. Just as you said, you immediately went to change his assigned contact photo to the child version of his picture. But as you opened his chatbox, his heart stuttered. His number was saved under ‘hoon <3.’

He immediately jerked his head away, blushing profusely as he tried to ignore the steady and rising thumping in his chest. You looked up at him, oblivious to the motions his body was going through.

“Soo, what ramyeon should we eat?”

Sunghoon didn’t know shit about biology, so he left his lab as soon as the class ended.

His labmates were very obviously frustrated, not-so-subtly glaring at him as they passive-aggressively shot their DNA samples into the wells of the gel electrophoresis. One of his lab mates, a nice boy named Sunoo, leaned in to whisper into his ear, “Are you okay? You’re normally never this slow?” And after a reassuring nod, Sunoo pouted and looked away. Sunghoon guessed that meant he was actually skilled in biology, but he knew for sure that this Sunghoon, the one who wanted to pursue cybersecurity, didn’t know jackshit about DNA, RNA, and whatever the Central Dogma was.

Sunghoon was hungry, his brain was overloaded with too much new information, and all he could think about was the thought of seeing you. Breathing, alive, and here. So as soon as the TA dismissed everyone, he sprinted out of the lab and across campus to the library. He didn’t care if he looked stupid, clutching his backpack strap and punching his shoulders backwards and forwards in order to gain more momentum as he ran for his life. All he cared about was you. you you you

As he neared the library, waiting for the crosswalk to turn green for pedestrians, he whipped out his phone to text Jake.

Sunghoon: Hey Jake. Where are U sitting. Sunghoon: What floor are U on? Sunghoon: Where R U located. jake: ???? jake: were on the fourth floor in a cubby jake: why r u texting so weird LOL when dod u use punctuations n caps? Sunghoon: Uhhh trying out a new style of texting. jake: wtv man just dont act like a weirdo with y/n LOL jake: dont tell her i said this but she said shes excited to see u

Sunghoon’s heart was pounding, and he was sure it wasn’t because of the intense cardio. He looked back and forth on the road, tapping his foot impatiently as the crosswalk was still red. As soon as the street was cleared of cars, he began rapidly walking across the road, ignoring the protests of the crossguard with an embarrassed expression on his face.

He practically bolted across the small lawn in front of the library in order to enter it, panting as he climbed up the large flight of stairs leading up to the main entrance. He pushed the doors open, his feet rapidly clicking against the tiled floor as he raced to find you and Jake. He rounded around the entirety of the fourth floor, ignoring the pointed and obvious stares of the other people trying to study. Soft chatter and giggles filled the wide floor, as well as the sounds of keyboards clicking under pressure and Apple pencils tapping against screens. But one particular sound stood out to him.

The sound of your sweet, sweet laughter.

He nearly tripped as he rounded the corner, only to see the glorious sight that his heart had been searching for forever.

You.

You were sitting cross-legged on one of the seats in the cubby, your laptop balanced on your thighs and a Red Bull cracked open beside you. The same, sugar-free flavor that you always liked when you both studied together and that Sunghoon conditioned himself into loving, too. Jake was next to you, saying something dramatic with his hands, and you were laughing at him– your head tipped back slightly, eyes squinting, your smile so bright that it was the only thing he could see.

For a moment, the entire world went silent until his ears began ringing. There was nothing else in the world except you.

Just you.

Alive.

Not framed in a photograph, not buried under frozen dirt, and not simply reduced to a voice memo he replayed at three in the morning because he was afraid he’d forget the exact cadence of your laugh.

You were here.

You were breathing, laughing, smiling, moving, existing. Alive.

Sunghoon stopped walking.

His body forgot how to function, rooted to the tiled floor as if one more step would shatter the fragile miracle in front of him. His vision blurred almost instantly, tears gathering so fast it embarrassed him.

Because you were there, right in front of him after the seasons had changed and months had passed since he last saw you.

Wearing some oversized hoodie he recognized from years ago, sleeves covering half your hands. Your hair slightly messy, your lips wrapped around the straw of your drink, your foot absentmindedly bumping against Jake’s chair.

You were so alive.

Sunghoon’s throat closed as the tears wouldn’t stop. He hurriedly brought up his sleeves to wipe his eyes. He had spent months begging the universe for this. Whether he was in the kitchen, pleading to have you back so you could wash your dirty dishes. Or buried in the side of your bed, his face smothered by the scent-heavy fabric of your pillow case. At your grave, where your name engraved into the stone mocked him and the dates of your birth and date blending in together. In every quiet second where grief became too heavy to carry, and Sunghoon’s body would collapse from the sheer weight of it all on his back.

Yet now, here you were, as if no time had passed at all and Sunghoon was back to day one. 

Jake noticed him first, standing outside the cubicle like a weirdo. To be fair, Jake thought Sunghoon was a weirdo until he recognized the vibrant fashion choice. “Dude, finally—” Jake started, the beginnings of a laugh about to escape his throat, but the words died in his throat when he saw Sunghoon’s face, because Sunghoon looked like he was seeing a ghost.

Your eyes followed Jake’s, landing on him, and Sunghoon’s breath hitched. He had your eyes on him, and they hadn’t changed from the last time he saw you. They were as bright as he remembered, with the stars of the night filling them with a shine so breathtaking that Sunghoon couldn’t believe that this was real.

And then you smiled, the same smile that always instantly calmed him down, alleviating him of any negative thoughts. You smiled like you hadn’t fucking died, and Sunghoon was almost angry at how naive you looked, oblivious to the suffering that he had gone through for months without seeing that beautiful visage. But as soon as your lips curled, they faltered.

“Sunghoon?” you said, tilting your head a little. “Are you okay?”

God, your voice was as melodic as he remembered. So softspoken per usual, with a tune that was like angels were singing. A broken sound left his throat before he could stop it— a half laugh and a half sob mixing together to produce something ugly and raw. His hand came up to cover his mouth like he could physically shove the emotions and sound back inside of his throat. But he couldn’t. because you were looking at him finally after months of going without it.

alive alive alive youre really alive and youre really here and youre smiling so pretty so beautiful my sweet girlfriend my y/n mine mine mine youre mine

Tears spilled over despite every humiliating attempt to stop them. Your expression immediately shifted, your weak grin fading into a concerned look as you stood up too quickly, chair scraping against the floor.

“Dude— are you crying?” Jake asked. You hissed at him, silently scolding him for his dumb question. Sunghoon couldn’t help but laugh because that was such a you thing and you were doing it like you always did before and he can’t stop crying you’re you you’re you you’re you

“I’m fine,” he lied instantly, voice cracking so badly it made Jake wince.

You took another step closer. You were so close, so close that he could smell the same sweet perfume that you always wore. The one that he kept on your nightstand to let macerate after you died. The one that was masked by the putrid smell of formaldehyde at your funeral. The one that he spent the last couple of months trying to get a whiff of out of your dirty clothes and unwashed pillowcase.

This was torture. You were standing there looking so beautiful but so painfully not his. Because at this point in time, you didn’t know him yet. Not the way his you did. No, this you didn’t know the shape of his hands in the dark, or how he took his coffee, or the way he only liked sleeping if the weight of his leg was thrown over his. You didn’t know about the apartment that you both lived in until it was just him, alone, with the broken promises of forever and eternal love left to remember you by.

Sunghoon’s fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to reach out to at least brush his fingertips over your arms. He wanted to hold your face. He wanted to hear your heartbeat to make sure that it was beating. He wanted to bury himself in your arms and stay there until the last few months faded until it didn’t exist to him anymore, so he could at least pretend like your death had never happened and he finally got his happily ever after. But he was scared. So scared that if he touched you, he was afraid he would never let go, or you’d vanish and disappear, or he’d wake up from this beautiful dream that was your world.

So instead, he just stood there sobbing and shaking his head like an idiot in the middle of the library.

Sunghoon was inconsolable for an hour.

He honestly thought that an hour was too short for his whiplash of relief and anguish to stop, but he was fine.

Nope, he wasn’t. You patted his back and he began sobbing again.

“Dude, are you okay? What’s wrong, man? I’ve never seen you like this before…” Jake asked, worry laced in his accent-heavy voice. You looked at Jake, your eyebrows knitted in concern for the poor boy sobbing his heart out in front of you.

“Are you having a hard time because of midterms? It’s okay, Sunghoon, it’s okay to cry… let it out, you’ve probably had a stressful week… don’t worry, you’ve worked hard…” You tried to comfort him, but he only sobbed harder because this was something that you would definitely say. Sunghoon sniffled, but let out a few coughs instead. Jake unsuccessfully stifled his snickers as the younger boy began to cough excessively, before crying harder.

“Jake…” you silently hissed, thwacking his shoulder with a heavy hand. His mouth opened as he flinched back. Sunghoon finally calmed down after a while, staring at you with wide eyes. Your hand was still resting lightly against his back, warm through the thin fabric of his sweater, and he thought he might start crying again just from that alone. It was after he processed your body heat that he realized you were touching him. You weren’t a memory or a dream anymore, and most importantly, this is real. Not some cruel hallucination his grief-ridden brain had conjured to keep him from completely falling apart.

Jake looked between the two of you like he was watching a live drama unfold in front of him. “Okay,” he said slowly, dragging the word out. “So, uh, what happened, man?”

Sunghoon opened his mouth.

Nothing. Because what was he supposed to say? Sorry, I watched the love of my life die, spent months rotting in our apartment, cried myself to sleep holding her jacket, and then apparently got thrown backward into freshman year like some sick cosmic joke?

He knew Jake believed in the idea of multiple universes. He knew that from his constant rant about physics and the laws of the galaxy or whatever the hell Jake yapped about– it wasn’t like Sunghoon didn’t care about Jake’s interests. He just didn’t understand. But Sunghoon wasn’t sure that Jake would be so open-minded to find out that he had time-traveled two years into the past from a future that you died in.

Sunghoon simply swallowed hard and just looked away. “I just…” His voice came out hoarse. “I had a really bad dream.”

Jake blinked. “Dude, that bad?” He grimaced.

Sunghoon nodded with a small frown. Your expression softened immediately, and Sunghoon immediately noticed the shift in your face. Because you were giving him that unbearably gentle look you always gave him when he was trying too hard to pretend he was okay, the same look that Sunghoon got when he failed his CSO midterm in sophomore year and when he almost flunked Prob Stat. It made his chest ache with a comforting nostalgia.

“Sunghoon,” you said softly, pulling your chair out beside yours, “you should sit down before you pass out or something. You look like you ran here.” You giggled. Sunghoon sniffled, his plump bottom lip jutted out in a pretty pink pout. His cheeks were now streaked with the dried-up stream of his tears and his entire face was flushed and puffy. You sounded so pretty when you said his name. Sunghoon let out a weak, embarrassed laugh and sat where you told him to, because your voice still had the same authority over him that it always would.

Jake shoved a tissue packet toward him across the table, the plastic messily torn open, as if Jake didn’t care for tabs that instructed him. “For our sobbing Sunghoon…” he snickered. You and Sunghoon both smacked his arm.

“Shut up,” Sunghoon croaked, his voice still ruined from crying. You laughed softly at that, and the sound nearly made him start all over again. He pulled off his glasses and dabbed uselessly at his face while desperately trying to act like a normal person and not a man whose entire soul had just been resurrected by the sight of you alive. When he put back on his glasses, his vision clear from tears and poor eyesight, they landed on your laptop.

The screen was still open beside you, but instead of lines of code and an unfinished project like he expected, he caught sight of anatomy diagrams and a color-coded set of notes. Organs, labeled veins, tiny handwritten mnemonics in the margins. On another tab, a link to register for CNA classes. Sunghoon blinked, confused.

“…You’re not in CS.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Jake snorted immediately. Your eyebrows lifted in confusion before you laughed. “No? Definitely not.” You turned your laptop a little toward him, showing him the mess of biology notes even though you didn’t really have to prove it to him.

“I’m a nursing major, unfortunately,” you sighed dramatically. “Heavy emphasis on the unfortunately this week. I have a poster presentation due for chem lab this week, and my group partners suck… They keep ghosting me… but what can you expect from engineering majors?” You joked lightly. “Hey, did you think I was a CS major ‘cuz I keep hanging out with this stinky loser?” You pouted.

“Hey!” Jake protested in the background, but Sunghoon didn’t care. His word was tilting even more on its axis, and he felt like the laws of the universe were rewriting themselves.

“No– No, sorry… I guess I mistook your major for someone else’s…” Sunghoon nervously laughed. “Uhm… Is– is it hard– Nursing, I mean?” Sunghoon meekly gulped. You smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, but, I guess everything is hard, right? I don’t think I could ever take discrete or linear or anything of that sort.” You giggled. Sunghoon swallowed dryly and nodded. What would you think if you knew you were his tutor in those classes when you guys dated? Would you laugh him off in disbelief, or would you brush it off and claim yourself as a genius…?

Jake rolled his eyes at how awkward you both were. He distracted himself with his Calc III homework, trying to ignore the very obvious attraction looming over the both of your heads. He thought to himself as he made a very hard point to not stare at the both of you guys speaking.

“Man, I hope I don’t have to third-wheel.”

Your number was in Sunghoon’s phone now, saved under your name.

You had input your own contact name, a simple formality of your name, and in parentheses (jake’s friend). But you were more than just Jake’s friend to him, so he changed it as soon as he got back to his dorm, replacing the parentheses with a sweet and simple ‘<3’ instead. He resisted the urge to text you as soon as all three of you left the library.

Sunghoon took a shower as soon as he got back to his dorm. It had been so long since he stepped foot in a communal shower that he almost stepped in barefoot. He almost freaked out when he realized he forgot his shower slippers. He stepped back in, feet now clad in slippers and his shower caddy in hand. The water pressure was harsher than he remembered, the shower spray hitting his scalp like bullets. His caddy only contained a simple shampoo, conditioner, and bar soap, which made him grimace internally. When he did his skincare, he tried to ignore the oily feeling that sat like a film over his skin.

Jay greeted him when he entered his dorm again, his wet hair dripping a pathway into the shared space and his slippers flopping against the wooden floor. “Hey man.” Jay briefly looked up, staring at his laptop as he softly strummed his guitar. “You going to bed soon? I can stop playing.”

“No, you’re good, Jay…” Sunghoon replied, taking off his glasses and setting it back into the case, the magnetized plastic snapping shut. Sunghoon grunted as he climbed onto the top bunk of his bed. Jay smiled and nodded, before going back to playing around with his acoustic guitar.

Sunghoon tucked himself under the covers, letting out a small sigh of relief. His back was aching, and his eyes felt a bit sore. He rubbed at the sides of his cheekbones, trying to relieve the puffiness in his face. Suddenly, his phone pinged, causing the black-haired boy to flinch. He reached for his device, tucked under the pillow, opening it only to see your name in his notification center.

y/n <3: hii sunghoon! did u get back to ur dorm yet? i just got back y/n <3: r u feeling better now? Sunghoon: I got back safe. Sunghoon: Thank U for today. Sunghoon: Sorry for being weird. y/n <3: LOL its okay y/n <3: honestly i was kinda flattered Sunghoon: Flattered??? y/n <3: yeah y/n <3: imagine crying that hard after seeing me y/n <3: my ego is huge now y/n <3: but seriously are u okay?

Sunghoon stared at the message, unsure how to respond. Too many answers began to crowd his throat, and he was certain he was about to start crying again. But instead, he typed:

Sunghoon: Bad dream. Sunghoon: Thats all. y/n <3: aw man i’ve been having weird dreams too… but i hope u have a good dream tnt… y/n <3: come study w me again tomorrow!!!

Tomorrow. There was going to be a tomorrow with you.

y/n <3: OH y/n <3: and dont cry again when u see me pls y/n <3: what if i get bullying allegations…

Sunghoon covered his face with one hand, laughing weakly into his palm. God, you were just like how you were back in freshman year of college. Always so approachable and kind, so sweet and patient. Sunghoon bit his lip to stifle his tears, not wanting to interrupt Jay’s peaceful strumming.

Was this a chance from the universe to win you back? To have you back in his arms where you were supposed to be? Were the stars realigning for your love to reconcile? To give you a chance at the life that was taken away from you too early?

Because if so, then who was Sunghoon to deny the universe’s gift?

He vowed it there and then– that he would make you his once again.

The next few weeks blurred together for Sunghoon. Time did feel fake, after all.

At first, he thought being around you again would continue hurting. He’d thought that every time he’d seen you after your first encounter, he’d start crying over and over again. He thought every glance at your face would reopen the wound inside his chest until he bled out from the sheer amount of grief that had welled up in his hollow chest since that fateful winter morning.

But instead, Sunghoon got used to you again.

Between your late-night study sessions and meaningless unproductive chatter in the library, you slipped into his life as naturally as you did the first time around. And now, you managed to sew yourself into the knittings of his daily life cycle again. Your “study nights” turned into convenience store midnight snacks. You invited him to your dorm to “fix the wallpaper” which ended up with you guys reminiscing about your high school days. Your texts became routine too, and every single notification still made his heart jump. Some nights, you’d call him instead. (But your sleepy voice through the speaker sounded too much like the nights in your shared apartment when you’d mumble nonsense into his chest before falling asleep.)

Sunghoon didn’t realize it until late, but he began to notice he was listening and watching you pre-emptively. When you told him about the guy you had beef with for talking back to the teacher back in high school, Sunghoon already knew that. Before you told him you had a bad habit of chewing on the sides of your fingernails when nervous, Sunghoon had already told you to stop. He already knew everything about you. From the way you’d subtly eye the way he took bites of food even after insisting you weren’t hungry to the way your nose would twitch before you started crying– Sunghoon knew every single minute detail about you.

You never commented on it. Sunghoon hoped you just chalked it up to him being observant rather than looking like a creepy stalker who cried whenever he saw a pretty girl. 

“Hoon? Helloooo? Earth to Hoon?”

Your hand was waving in front of his face, a pout on your lips. “Zoning out again?” You huffed. He smiled, cheeks puffing up as he looked at you. You both were in the convenience store again, looking for a late-night snack amidst your endless studying for finals.

“Yeah, just thinking what to get,” he replied, following you around as you scoured the aisles. You kept whipping your head back and forth, scanning each item meticulously as you thought about what you were craving. Absentmindedly, you rubbed your tummy over your hoodie, pouting slightly. 

“I dunno what to get either. Should I get a drink too? ‘M kinda thirsty.” You hummed, pinching a drink pouch between your fingers as you examined the flavors. Sunghoon watched as you looked around. He suddenly reached out to give you a green grape flavored drink pouch. You looked at him, confused but still smiling.

“Thanks, Hoon, but I don’t really like green grape.”

What?

Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “Really? You don’t like green grape?” His tone was wavering, and you were puzzled. He sounded so torn up about the fact that you didn’t like green grape.

“Are you a green grape superfan, Hoon?” You laughed, reaching for the lychee pouch instead. Sunghoon’s face remained confused, his eyebrows knitted and lips twisted up into a weird pout. He shook his head, making you laugh.

“You’re so weird sometimes, Hoon…” you said, giggling as you picked up an ice cup. Sunghoon followed you, still perplexed as you continued to pick your late-night meal.

Because you loved green grape and hated lychee.

He remembered when you told him about how you hated lychee. It was too sweet, but green grapes were just right for you— a perfect balance of sour and sweet in a small fruit. He remembered laughing at you about it, teasing you for being so nitpicky with your fruit, so why were you here eyeing every sweet fruit flavored pouch?

Your fingers skimmed across all of the ramyeon cup noodle packages, your head tilting as you tried to find the perfect one. Sunghoon was still behind you, but his footsteps became slower and more mechanic as his brain was racing. “What about this flavor?” Sunghoon picked up your favorite, Carbonara Buldak. You scrunched your noise and picked up the 2X Spicy Buldak instead.

“I like really spicy things, Hoon! The carbonara isn’t spicy enough for me!”

His mind was clipped, as if everything he had been thinking of suddenly disappeared. Sunghoon could excuse the change of majors— hell, his own major changed when he woke up in the past. But the few little things that he had grown to love were even changing in front of his own eyes.

“Ah? Really… this flavor is good too…” he mumbled, nearly incoherent. You laughed, furrowing your eyebrows before going to pay for your food. He followed behind, mindlessly tapping his card to pay for your things, his racing mind drowning out the sounds of your whined protests.

It was after that when Sunghoon began watching you closely.

During movie nights, you happily stole bites of Jake’s mint chocolate chip without even batting an eye, but you hated mint chocolate chip ice cream because your cousin threw it up on you when you were seven. You sucked at chemistry and nearly cried over memorizing all the molecular orbital structures, but now you could solve a retrosynthetic analysis question with a single glance, as if you were adding one plus one. You told him one late night walking back to the dorms that you became a nursing major because your mother was a nurse, but Sunghoon remembered his “future-mother-in-law” actually worked in an IT department, which led to your passion for computer systems.

This version of you didn’t scrunch your nose at sickly sweet candle scents anymore. This version of you didn’t like wearing cute pieces of jewelry that framed your body like an art piece. This version of you didn’t like dogs. This version of you hated rom-coms. This version of you wasn’t exactly his.

The more time Sunghoon spent in this world, the more wrong everything felt. You were still here, and that’s all that he believed he cared for. But everything felt wrong enough to keep him up at night, recounting all of the true memories he shared with you. This place looked like his world, his universe, but every day, more tiny differences revealed themselves like cracks in glass to the point where the fragile world that Sunghoon wanted to believe in was about to collapse.

You’re still Y/N. Sunghoon couldn’t deny that. But you didn’t feel like the same Y/N that he fell in love with sometimes. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from loving you again. Sunghoon could ignore the minor changes in your life if it meant having you all over again, right?

“You’re staring again.”

Sunghoon blinked, immediately looking away from you across the table. Where was he again…? He glanced around, taking in his surroundings that was the study area on the first floor of your dorm building. Sunghoon briefly looked at the multitude of formulas you had written on the whiteboard of the small room before directing his gaze back at you.

“I am not,” he muttered.

“Soo we’re lying now…?” you laughed, spinning the whiteboard marker between your fingers. “You always stare at me, Hoon. Do you know that? It’s like you know something I don’t… like you know everything, or something, or whatever… You’re so suspicious sometimes….” Sunghoon shrugged awkwardly and looked back down at his laptop screen.

“It’s not that, promise. You’re just hard to look away from,” he mumbled before he could stop himself, the reply coming easily to him. It was something that he used to tell you all the time.

Your face flushed immediately, and Sunghoon felt warmth crawl up his own neck too. But unlike before, he didn’t panic under your gaze anymore. Sunghoon used to be scared of moving closer to you. Was it too bold to constantly sit next to you? To comfortably lean into your space as if it was his too? He was itching to have you be his again.

But over the past month, you had become comfortable around him too. Comfortable enough to lean against his shoulder during late-night bus rides. Comfortable enough to nab food off of his dining hall plates. Comfortable enough to text him first thing in the morning and last thing before sleeping. Comfortable enough that sometimes, when you laughed too hard, you’d instinctively grab onto his arm.

You’re too cruel. You were unknowingly becoming his again. But Sunghoon didn’t know what to think. All his mind could conjure was the question of how fast you could be his again– should he confess now? But instead, he continued to stare as you worked through your chemistry practice exam questions.

One evening, the three of you ended up stuck in the library until nearly midnight because Jake refused to finish his Calc assignment anywhere else. Sunghoon had long stopped pretending to study. Instead, he watched you again. He couldn’t care less if you thought he was staring again. To be fair, you were half-asleep beside him, cheek squished against your folded arms while pretending to read anatomy notes. It’s not like you could exactly call him out when you were on the verge of passing out.

Your highlighter slipped from your fingers. Sunghoon picked it up before it rolled off the table. Your eyes fluttered open tiredly. “…Thanks,” you mumbled softly. Even exhausted, you looked beautiful. A dangerous tenderness spread through his chest so intensely that it almost scared him. He felt like he was falling harder this time, especially knowing how you both would end up anyways.

“Sunghoon.”

He blinked out of his thoughts. You were staring at him again, your hooded lids fighting to stay open to look at him properly. “Yes?” He replied softly, not wanting his loud voice to puncture you out of your sleep-filled daze.

“You were zoning out...” You frowned slightly, your voice slurring slightly from how exhausted you were. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

Every time he looked at you for too long, memories overlapped. You laughing in the library became you laughing in your apartment kitchen. You falling asleep beside him at a study table became you sleeping on his chest during thunderstorms. Your warm fingertips caressing his soft cheeks before leaning in to press your lips against his–

Sometimes the timelines blended together so badly he forgot which version of you he was seeing. But Sunghoon couldn’t say that, so instead he lied, “I’m okay.”

You looked unconvinced. Then, after a moment, your hand slowly slid across the table toward his. It was a decision that you carefully made– Sunghoon could tell by the way you suddenly spaced out and looked left to right as if physically weighing the choices between touching and not touching him. It was barely anything– a pebble of physical touch that pebbled in comparison to the boulders of love that he used to share with you. It was just your pinky lightly touching his, tentative and careful. You looked shy immediately after doing it, eyes darting away. But Sunghoon felt love blossom in his chest nonetheless.

“…You don’t have to tell me if something’s wrong,” you murmured. “But I hope you know you don’t have to deal with everything alone.” The warmth of your skin against his nearly killed him.

Fuck, so what if some things changed? You were still you in every universe. So kind and gentle and always reaching for him, noticing almost intuitively when Sunghoon was about to lose himself. He carefully hooked his pinky around yours under the table, sending you a reassuring and small grin. Your breath caught slightly, not expecting him to so confidently touch you back.

Jake looked up from his homework. “…Am I interrupting something,” he deadpanned, already knowing the answer despite still asking.

“No,” both of you answered immediately. Jake narrowed his eyes, but didn’t reply. He just let out a quiet sigh before going back to scribbling on his iPad again. You finally closed your eyes to go back to sleep, a subtle and content smile lingering on your lips. Your pinky was still tightly interlocked with his while your other arm relaxed.

Maybe the universe had rewritten details. So what your majors changed or your histories changed? Who cares if this wasn’t his original life?

Because all that mattered to Sunghoon was that you still found your way back to him anyway.

“Hey Hoon!”

Jay entered the dorm in a ruckus, hissing as his guitar case nearly slammed the doorframe and cursing when he stubbed his foot against the wooden plank of the actual door. Sunghoon rushed to hold the door open for his roommate, wincing as Jay slammed his backpack to the ground.

“You okay, Jay? I haven’t seen you in awhile.” Sunghoon took note of the slightly older boy’s appearance. He looked disheveled, with eyebags accessorizing his face and sunken-in cheeks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been busy looking for internships and studying for finals— shit— and these networking events are kicking my ass. They’re like, ‘oh, you need at least 3 years of experience!’ But it’s a fucking entry-level position!” He ranted. Sunghoon smiled softly at the familiar ramblings— at least Jay didn’t change.

“What a tough life you live, Jay.” Sunghoon sighed.

Jay dropped face-first onto his bed with a loud groan, one arm dangling off the side dramatically. “I’m serious, Hoon. If one more recruiter tells me to ‘circle back next semester,’ I’m actually gonna lose it.”

Sunghoon huffed out a quiet laugh from his desk, spinning a mechanical pencil between his fingers. He had chemistry notes spread out in front of him, though he hadn’t processed a single word in the last couple of hours. His brain had been occupied by you since the moment he woke up. “Whatcha doin, man? Homework?” Jay peered over the railings of his bed to look down at Sunghoon’s desk. The younger boy ran his fingers through his silky hair, tilting his head.

“Yeah, just reading the textbook for my Chem discussion. I’m not going to lie, I don’t really understand anything right now…” Sunghoon laughed. The side of Jay’s lips crooked up into a teasing smirk, like he knew something that the other boy didn’t.

“Oh? Chem discussion, huh?”

“What does that mean?” Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Jay wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, licking at his bottom lip in a weird display that made Sunghoon squirm with discomfort.

“OKAY, don’t tell Jake that I told you this but… he’s been texting me about you and Y/N…” Jay let out, sounding exasperated as if he just lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. He didn’t expect Jay to say this to him, but he was sure that Jake was telling at least some other person about the rapid development of friendship between you and Sunghoon.

“Really? What is he saying?” Sunghoon acted nonchalant, trying to appear relaxed to coax Jay into spilling more. Jay looked around briefly, biting his lip before leaning in closer.

“Okay, basically.. he’s saying that you and Y/N have been hanging out a lot like— one-on-one without him…” Jay excitedly rolled. Sunghoon nodded. “But you know how Jake is– he tried asking Y/N about you and she thought he was acting weird because he sucks at being subtle… so can I ask you about it? Like, are you guys talking or…” The silver-haired boy trailed off awkwardly, waiting for Sunghoon to finish his question.

The raven-haired male tilted his head. “Uhm… I guess so…” he sheepishly replied. What else was he supposed to say? “Nah, I’m actually trying to get my girlfriend back after she died in another universe???”

“I’m happy for you man, really.” The sincerity in Jay’s voice was almost worrisome.

“Oh, uh, thanks, Jay…” Sunghoon smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond to the genuine pride that Jay had carried in his tone. The silver-haired man nodded, seemingly content before rolling back into bed. But seriously, what the hell did he mean by Chem discussion?

“I never expected you to make the first move, honestly. I heard from Jake that you were the one who initiated your first hangout together, right?” Jay spoke, his eyes glued to the ceiling that had white paint falling off the bone. Sunghoon hummed in agreement, but was getting impatient. Couldn’t Jay get to the point already? “Man, I remember when you first talked about her to me. They grow up so fast,” he continued to ramble, his speech slurring as sleep began hitting him. Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows. When did he ever talk to him about you?

“Jay, I think I just met the love of my life in Chem discussion!”

Sunghoon froze. He shot up in his seat, nearly tripping as he ran to the side of Jay’s bunk. His fingers curled into the railings protruding from the frame of the bed, his warm skin cooling against the frigid metal material. “What? Jay, what? When did I tell you this?” He rapid-fired at the older boy. Jay yawned, rubbing his eyes.

“Remember? When school started? You went to Chem discussion annoyed with the readings and came back like a lovestruck idiot.”

“What? When school started back in August, Jay?” Sunghoon sputtered out. Jay nodded with another yawn.

“Yeah, man, remember? You woke up so annoyed about all the readings you did, but when you came back you were like, head-over-heels. You said it was love-at-first sight.” Jay snorted quietly at the memory, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. “Dude, it was actually kinda insane. You came back to the dorm and wouldn’t shut up about her.”

Sunghoon stared at him, pulse beginning to pound against his ribs.

“…What did I say?” he asked carefully.

Jay grinned immediately, already amused by the memory. “You were acting crazy, man. Like genuinely gone.” He pushed himself up slightly on his elbows. “Jay, I think I just met the prettiest girl ever. Jay, I think I’m in love. Jay, she smiled at me and I forgot what I was saying!” He exclaimed, trying to imitate Sunghoon’s unique tone.

“You’re exaggerating,” Sunghoon muttered weakly, but his head was slowly began to pound with the thought of him gushing about you before he met you. As if his consciousness existed before he woke up in the past.

“Swear, I’m not.” Jay laughed. Sunghoon’s stomach twisted. “You told me she sat two rows ahead of you during discussion, that she had these little charms hanging off her pencil case, that she kept pushing her hair behind her ear while talking to her discussion group—” He suddenly paused, staring at Sunghoon suspiciously. “Wait, why are you acting like you don’t remember this?”

Sunghoon’s throat tightened immediately. He didn’t. This wasn’t the right beginning or the right way of meeting you. He could’ve excused the minor changes about your preferences, discrepancies in your life, but now there were too many that his head couldn’t keep up. And now, your entire story was beginning to collapse in front of his eyes, through his ears, even if he wasn’t there to experience it.

“I dunno,” he lied quickly. “I think I’m just tired. I– I have a headache…” Sunghoon stumbled to his side of the bed.

Jay looked unconvinced for a second before shrugging. “Well, anyway, after that you started acting weird as hell,” he continued.

“Weird how?”

“You kept dressing up for Chem discussion.” Jay barked out a laugh. “Like suddenly you cared about your appearance. You asked me if your hair looked okay before class.”

Sunghoon nearly recoiled in horror. “I would never ask you that. I always look good.”

Jay furrowed his eyebrows, but barked back accusingly, “You did. And then after discussion ended, you’d come back looking all devastated because you never talked to her.”

Sunghoon’s chest ached strangely. He felt as if he could picture it so vividly. Him sitting in chemistry discussion secretly staring at you. Getting nervous. Fixing his hair in the reflection of his phone screen. Trying to work up the courage to speak to you. Falling in love slowly and naturally without grief or death or memories of a future that already happened clouding every rational thought in his brain.

Jay continued rambling, oblivious to the way Sunghoon’s expression had begun to fall. “And then one day Jake mentioned his hometown friend named Y/N and you literally interrupted him mid-sentence.” Jay laughed harder now, fully awake from recounting the story. “‘Wait— Y/N? Nursing major? Chem discussion on Thursdays?’ Dude, your face was priceless.”

Sunghoon felt sick. He didn’t know you were a nursing major until that fateful night he had seen you in the library. “Oh my god, dude I feel like I’ve been holding this in. Remember the first time you guys talked?” Sunghoon’s heartbeat was thudding loudly in his ears, and he’s sure that they were about to ring. He remained silent, and Jay took it as a sign to keep rambling.

“You said she asked to borrow an EXPO marker during discussion because hers was out of ink or something.” He snorted. “You kept replaying the conversation like a loser, saying that her voice was like descending from the angels.

Sunghoon’s grip tightened around the railing of Jay’s bunk. He agreed, but he wouldn’t ever verbalize is like that so shamelessly. He honestly thought saying something like that was a little corny, and then the realization began to sink in.

He wouldn’t say that. No, not him. Another version of him.

It was then when it dawned about Sunghoon. God, he hadn't even considered the possibility that another version of him existed before he became conscious. But that meant something that Sunghoon didn't even want to even think about considering– some empty timeline where he had conveniently slotted himself into a vacant life, or where he went back into the past two years with just a few butterfly effects changing the outcomes. This universe already had a Park Sunghoon who liked you before future Sunghoon ever woke up here. And Sunghoon had stolen it.

Jay kept talking, unaware of the devastation crawling across Sunghoon’s face, like a spider mapping out its web of a trap. “Then.” Jay cackled. “You literally flopped face-first onto your bed and said– hold on, I remember this exactly–” It seemed like talking about you energized him or woke him up, because he cleared his throat dramatically, trying to imitate Sunghoon’s voice again.

“Jay, I’m actually gonna marry her.’”

Sunghoon’s breath hitched. He had said that before, two years into the future, when he was drunk off two bottles of Original Soju as he was eating barbeque with a much more mature Jay and a burnt-out Jake. He had never brought up marriage before until that night, a few days after you guys moved into your apartment together.

But apparently, this version of him had said it too before any of that happened, even with only knowing your name and that you were Jake’s friend.

Was loving you inevitable in every universe?

Jay blinked suddenly, his teasing grin faltering slightly as he finally noticed how pale Sunghoon looked. “…Hoon?” Sunghoon looked away quickly, swallowing hard. “You okay?”

No. No, he really wasn’t.

Because Sunghoon’s entire world and entire universe was collapsing. His fate was twisting, and the red string that threaded it together was tangling within itself. Was the universe fucking with him now? After giving him so much hope with your presence in his life after losing you? What’s the point of him going back in time if not to reclaim his love story?

Because now, it felt like he was interrupting someone else’s.

“It’s snowing!”

Your voice was cheery, lilted so lightly that it instantly spread a feeling of warmth across Sunghoon’s body despite the cold air penetrating through his heavy puffer. You were both outside the library, about to trek to the convenience store when the sudden weather inclement put a hole through your plans. Delicate snowfall began raining upon the campus, fluttering down beautiful in a flashy array of flakes.

“It is,” he acknowledged, following after your hyper footsteps that began tracing a circle in the translucent sheet of snow that had already fallen onto the ground. You ran around, whooping and cheering as you basked in the icy sensation of snowflakes landing on your skin. Sunghoon could only watched, endeared by how excited and energized you suddenly were.

Suddenly, you ran up to him, burying your open fingers under his arms and around his waist. He laughed, caught off-guard by your abrupt hug, stumbling back a little. “What’s with you, hm?” He softly crooned, wiping your hair out of your face. You smiled up at him, eyes shining despite the overheard dark sky looming over you.

“It’s so pretty, Hoon! I didn’t think it’d snow this year!” You cheerfully exclaimed, eyes curling into crescents as your mouth parted with the sheer excitement coursing through your body. He pulled you in closer on instinct, and you let out a small “oomph!” from the impact of your bodies colliding into a tighter embrace.

“You know what they say, Hoon? If confess during the first snowfall, your love will last forever!” You spoke up. Your speech was murmured, but Sunghoon had heard every word perfectly.

“Yeah? Do you believe in that?” He looked at you fondly. You nodded.

“Sunghoon, I like you so much, let’s go out!”

His mouth fell agape as your confession rang through the snow air. You looked horrified immediately after, but Sunghoon had pulled you in impossibly closer, tight enough to where you almost couldn’t breathe. “Hoon,” you whimpered miserably, hiding your face inside your scarf. “This is so embarrassing…”

“You like me?” he breathed out incredulously before bursting out into laughter. Snowflakes landed in his dark hair as he laughed, falling off as quickly as they came from how hard his body was shaking.

“You’re so mean!” you accused.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he insisted between breaths.

“Then why are you laughing?!”

“You’re just so cute,” Sunghoon confessed, his voice so tender and blossoming with the unsurmountable affection he had for you. “I like you too,” he admitted softly, “ever since I saw you in the dining hall.”

You smiled, but when he blinked, suddenly he was in the middle of his apartment. The cold air dissipated, bringing in the warmth of the heater he left on in the living room. His arms were still wrapped around something, no, someone. No.

Nothing.

His hands clenched around empty air, and the snowfall transformed into the city lights outside of the apartment windows. Your scarf that was in between his fingertips disintegrated into the dust that he never cleaned. Your laughter was still ringing in his ears, so elated and bright and it was mingling with something so sharp jarring annoying–

His ringtone?

The sound grew louder and louder until it drowned out everything else, until your smiling face started blurring at the edges. You were still standing in front of him beneath the snow, cheeks dusted from the cold with flecks of flakes littering your face.

“Hoon?” you laughed softly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His phone kept vibrating.

“Hoon?”

The screen lit up across the dark apartment with an unknown number, and under the bold white digits in grey was the name of the university hospital. His breathing turned ragged instantly. His body moved before his brain could catch up, fumbling for the phone with trembling hands. But when he looked back up, you were still there. Snowflakes still landed in your hair. You were still smiling, cheeks puffed up and smile lines indenting your skin.

“I like you too,” he heard himself saying again, the memory replaying against his will. “Ever since I saw you in the dining hall.”

“Hoon?”

But this time your voice sounded farther away. His thumb shook over the accept button, and  when he pressed the green button, everything crashed together all at once, creating a collision in his mind. Your confession beneath the snowfall. Your wet toothbrush beside his in the apartment bathroom. Your warm hand in his while crossing the street. Your cold hand dangling under the white sheet in the morgue. Your voice whispering goodnight. The casket being lowered six feet deep in a hole that seemed too big for you.

Sunghoon doubled over violently, nearly dropping the phone as nausea twisted through him. It felt like someone had reached into his skull and ripped every memory apart before shoving them back in the wrong order. His head was pounding, throbbing violently as each memory churned in his head like butter. Then it curved into a dull ache, static on a television screen. 

“Is this Park Sunghoon?”

And just like that, the snow was gone, and the only cold he felt was the absence of your warm body.

“Sunghoon, you’ve been acting weird lately.”

“Oh, hm?”

Your face was suddenly in front of his, and you had a concerned pout on your lips. “You’ve been zoning out so much, it’s really worrying me… I know it’s just your personality, but you’ve been doing it so much…” You frowned, leaning forward, your shoulders hunching into your sides.

“I’m sorry– there’s– there’s just a lot going on…” He weakly replied. You let out a soft sigh.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? Me or Jake… I care for you a lot, you know. I hope you really know, Hoon…”

Sunghoon forced a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “I know,” he responded, his words sharper than intended. Your eyes were staring right into his, and before, Sunghoon would’ve felt the warmth. But now, all that he felt was the chills that Jay had instilled into his body. You stilled, before pulling away from the conversation, instead opting to grab your straw. Instinctively, he picked it up before you could, punching the plastic out of the wrapper and puncturing your drink for you.

“Oh, thanks Hoon. You really didn’t have to do that.” A sweet giggle escaped your lips, and the sound instantly grounded him.

“It’s not a big deal, let me do these things for you,” he easily said in response, the reply leaving his mouth naturally as it used to do.

“Sunghoon, do you act like this with everyone?” You suddenly asked. He looked at you, confused. “I mean– like, do you always act so sweetly towards everyone? Or is it just me…” you almost seemed embarrassed asking him this. 

“No, it’s just you?” He retorted, as if it was common sense that he would treat only you with the utmost care. Your face was warming up, and he could tell that you were flustered by his response.

“Really? So like, uhm, there’s no other girl that you’re, uhm… acting like this with, right?” Your voice was timid as you asked another question. Sunghoon scoffed, taken aback by how ridiculous your inquiry was. From the future and now in the past, you were the only girl for him, so why were you being so ridiculous now?

“Of course not,” he nearly snapped. He regretted it as soon as he saw your face falter and your posture shrink. No, what was he thinking? You didn’t know that. Of course you would ask. “I’m– I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me ba…” He trailed off as the nickname nearly slipped from his lips, so naturally that it was like calling you by your name. “Uhm, Y/N. I’m sorry. I think I’m just having a tough week. I promise you.”

You nodded, so patient as always, as you sipped on your drink. “It’s okay, Hoon. I hope things get better.” You smiled. He nodded, biting tentatively into the pastry. He didn’t like this cafe, and he knew that you didn’t like it either, but he didn’t want to ruin your first experience here. He half expected you to actually like the cafe if the past weeks were anything to go by, but he was pleasantly surprised when you instead scrunched your nose.

“This matcha is too milky…” You whispered. He smiled and nodded.

“Yeah? This pastry isn’t too good either. Wanna try?” He lifted up the dessert to your mouth, letting you take a bite right where he had previously taken one. You bit into it, lips curling into disgust.

“Should we just go and toss our stuff somewhere else? I don’t want to waste it, but it’s really not that good…” You whispered. Sunghoon laughed and nodded, holding out his hand. You hesitated, but took it, letting him lead you outside the cafe. You threw your drink and his pastry into the nearby trash can, just as you did before in Sunghoon’s original universe.

“Are you still thirsty? Should we get something from the convenience store instead?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No, I’m okay. Can we just walk a little?” You asked. Sunghoon nodded automatically.

You both began walking side-by-side down the sidewalk, your shoulders occasionally brushing together from how close you were. Autumn had left too soon, now bringing in the frigid weather of winter. The city was quiet, with everyone buried inside of their comforters during the early chilly morning. Some joggers and dog-walkers passed by, but it still only felt like you two were the only ones existing in that peaceful morning atmosphere. For a while, neither of you spoke. Sunghoon shoved a hand into the pocket of his coat while the other was still holding yours. He was trying not to stare at you again, but it was difficult when you were right there beside him, looking so soft beneath clouded skies.

“What I said back in the cafe… you’ve been treating me so differently,” you murmured suddenly. His stomach tightened.

“…Differently how?” He carefully asked back.

You slowed your pace slightly, looking down at the pavement. “I don’t know.” You laughed nervously. “You just… take care of me a lot. I remember when I first met you in Chem discussion, you were so shy. It was like you were scared of me. Then, you started crying in the library when you saw me… and now… it’s like you’re so much more mature than me… Does that make sense?”

“Is that bad?” he asked quietly.

“No– no, of course not. But, I don’t know Hoon. You stare at me… kinda weird,” the words carelessly slipped from your lips, and it was obvious with the way you let out a gasp and a flurry of apologies, before stumbling onto what you mean to say. “God, that’s not what I meant–! I meant… I don’t know. Like you take care of me so naturally, and you seem to already have a good sense of like–” you laughed nervously, rubbing at your face in embarrassment, “I don’t think you’re weird or anything, Hoon. I actually really like how caring you are.” Your voice softened at the end. “It’s just…” You slowed to a stop beneath the awning of a closed convenience store, your joined hands swinging slightly between your bodies.

Sunghoon turned toward you quietly, and you looked conflicted, with your mouth screwed and lips pressing up against each other so hard that the skin was jutting out uncomfortably. “Sometimes I think you’re so confident about knowing me that you forget there are still parts of me you don’t know yet? Is that too deep?” His chest tightened instantly, and he inhaled before he knew it, trying to regain the breath that you had just knocked out of him.

You kept talking before you lost the courage. “Like… you always know what I need before I say it. Like when I’m cold, when I’m tired, when I’m not feeling well…” You smiled faintly. “And it makes me really happy. It does.”

“But?” He pressed on, trying his best to hide his impatience.

“But sometimes it also feels like you’ve already decided who I am, in a way? Like, you seem to expect something differently than what I give you, Hoon. And sometimes…” you continued hesitantly, “I’ll say something that surprises you, and you get this look on your face like I said the wrong thing or something– and it’s kind of… okay, I’ll be honest, it’s kinda weird…” You laughed again, and the noise seemed like it was punched out of you like a soundboard.

“Like, you always try to guess what I like or what I don’t like or what I prefer– and at first I thought it was endearing, but it’s almost always wrong. And that’s fine, I guess. But sometimes you sound so confident that it’s– I dunno. That’s why I asked if there was another girl. Like, I don’t know, are you thinking of someone else?” You breathed out.

No, no, no, never. He always thought of you. He could never stop thinking about you. He inhaled and opened his mouth, wanting to defend himself, but you sputtered out something else so rushed like you were forcing it out of your throat, “I– I really want you to know me, Hoon.”

Sunghoon wanted to throw up. He had spent so much time trying to preserve the memory of the girl he lost that he had started overlooking the girl standing right in front of him. His skin was itching with the lovebugs crawling up it. He felt selfish. And suddenly, the image of him, nerdy and lanky and gushing to Jay with a flush on his pale cheeks struck his mind, hitting him bluntly on his noggin.

His fingers loosened around your hand before tightening again like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go completely. You looked nervous after your confession, eyes darting away from your intertwined hands immediately. “Sorry,” you laughed weakly. “That sounded way harsher than I meant it to.”

“No,” Sunghoon answered as soon as you stopped speaking, his voice coming out rough. “No, you’re right.” Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. He looked away before he could see your expression fully. “You’re right,” he repeated quieter this time. 

I really want you to know me. Not her. No. You? This version of you, the one standing beside him now. He looked at you, but was met with the sight of your side profile. The side profile that belonged to the same woman who he met at the dining hall, who moved in with him, who cooked him soup in the shared kitchen when he fell sick– memories hit him so violently he almost staggered, and he couldn’t tell where the lines were anymore.

Your favorite drink, your laugh, your habits. Were they yours? Hers? Was he loving you because you were you, or because he was desperately trying to keep the you that he remembered, alive?

Sunghoon felt sick. He felt saliva rapidly rise under the muscle of his tongue, and he kept swallowing and swallowing to keep it down. He felt like he was going to throw up.

“Hoon?” Your voice softened instantly at the sight of his face. Concern replaced your apprehension immediately. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he muttered. You blinked. “You were honest.” He swallowed hard, nearly gasping for air as he opened his mouth to speak. “I think… I needed to hear it.” Your expression slowly softened, though puzzlement still lingered behind your eyes. Sunghoon stared down at the pavement.

For the first time since waking up two years in the past, his brain turned to mush, soft enough to let a thought penetrate his mind that he had been avoiding. Was loving you here ever supposed to be about getting his old life back with you? What was he here for? Images of him– not him, the him that you knew, came crawling back into his neurons.

Things wouldn’t have been like this if he had come. You and the right Sunghoon could’ve been where he was. The guilt began creeping down his throat and accumulating in his chest, weighing down his lungs with every shortened breath he took in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to anymore. To you? To the girl he loved in the future? To himself? Or the other version of himself that he was living through?

You shifted slightly beside him, worry crossing your expression. “Hoon…? Sunghoon…?” You quietly spoke up, hesitant as your palm gently brought itself up to cup his cheek. He instinctively leaned into your warmth, but squirmed as his face rested in his palm. The ink of his guilt began to spread further as if his body was just dipped into water. He tightened his grip on your hand again on instinct, but it felt wrong, like was still trying to anchor himself into an ocean with waves that were too crashing upon each other.

“I didn’t…” his voice broke. “I didn’t mean to–” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. What was he trying to say? What was he even freaking out for, apologizing for? Because as much as he wracked his brain, he couldn’t grasp onto an answer still. For loving you wrong? For loving another version of you? For erasing you because you were right here, all alive and happy and oblivious? Sunghoon exhaled sharply, almost choking on it.

His hand finally loosened. “…I’m sorry,” he said again, but softer this time. You gently stroked his face with your thumb.

“Hoon, please don’t cry on me again.” You tried to lighten the mood. His eyes were shimmering with tears that built up in his ducts, but he simply shook his head, whispering out another apology.

“I’m not okay,” he admitted finally. You flinched, and the honesty honestly surprised him too, but you didn’t pull away. You just continued to comfort him, just as you always would. No. Sunghoon closed his eyes for a second. He shouldn’t think like this anymore. When he opened them again, he was looking at you. Just you, standing there, as you were.

“I think…” His voice cracked slightly, so he paused, forcing air back into his lungs. “I think I’ve been… confusing things.” Your expression softened, but you didn’t interrupt. “I thought I came back to something I lost,” he continued vaguely, “But I think I’ve just been standing in front of someone I never took the time to understand.”

His feelings felt like it finally had somewhere to go, not onto you, or even to him, but somewhere where Sunghoon couldn’t reach. It felt freeing, unraveling a tight knot of emotions that he didn’t have the energy to release before. Your hand lowered, as if drawn to pull off of his face. He let go of your other hand, finally loosening his grip.

“So then let me help you,” you whispered. His heart dropped. “Hoon…” Your voice trembled slightly now, heavy with the weight of the emotions pulsating between the both of you. “I know you’re confused right now, but I–"

He already knew what you were going to say, because you had the same hopeful look on your face that fateful winter night when you confessed under the snowfall. And before, selfishly, he would’ve let you. He would’ve let you pour out his feelings to him, accept them as easy as reciting ABC, and live without the burdens of the future weighing him down.

But this time, the words felt too important to take from you and from the other him that had been waiting for you.

“…Don’t,” he whispered. The hurt on your face was immediate, and he had to will himself to not take back his words. “No, no– not like that,” he corrected quickly, voice cracking. “I just… I don’t think I’m ready to hear it yet.” Snowy breath escaped your lips slowly into the cold air. “You deserve someone who can listen to you properly,” he said quietly. “Someone who can know you for who you are now. And I don’t think…” He inhaled shakily. “I don’t think I’ve been doing that.”

“Hoon…” You softly spoke up, but he interrupted you as soon as your mouth opened.

“I want to,” he admitted immediately. “I really do.” He wasn’t lying. Every part of him still wanted to hear you confess, to keep you close, to selfishly pretend like nothing was wrong. But loving you like this was beginning to feel cruel, so instead, he took a small step back.

“Will you…” He paused. “Will you meet me again another time?”

Your expression crumpled slightly in confusion. “When?” You whimpered. Sunghoon pondered for a moment, before he felt like he found the right answer.

“When I’m finally able to see only you.” He smiled. He had walked you back to your dorm, letting the silence loom over the both of you. He left you with an adjustment to your scarf and an endearing pat on your head.

That night, when he slept, he dreamt of your funeral.

The sky had been gray that day, with cumulonimbus clouds blocking any trace of sun. Just as your death had obstructed the access to the light of his life. People were crying around him. Jake had been sobbing openly beside Jay, shoulders shaking violently as he kept wiping at his face with trembling fingers, but Sunghoon remembered standing there completely still.

He hadn’t believed it yet.

Even as your framed photograph sat in front the altar. Even as your parents bowed their heads. Even as people whispered about how young you were. Even when he received consolations from everyone, telling him about how much you loved him. He remembered thinking absurdly as he stared at your altar.

How could you look so happy when his entire world had just ended?

The question echoed through the dream as Sunghoon stood frozen before your altar. Then slowly, memory after memory began surfacing around him. The first night you basked in your love after moving into your apartment, cuddling together so tightly that separating you guys would’ve been like pulling magnets apart. The night where you comforted him after his research symposium when he felt like he was the biggest failure in the world. The mundane moments where you laughed at him after burning rice and the soft moments where you whispered “I love you” so much that it was like you were reaching a quota.

The memories came so quickly that they stopped hurting individually. Instead, they melted together into something warm and alive. And suddenly, Sunghoon understood something he had been too devastated to realize before, that your death wasn’t the biggest thing about you. Your life was.

Not the funeral or grief, but just you as you were. The way you smiled, laughed, cried, and loved. The way you existed so brightly that even now, after death, you still filled every corner of him. Tears finally slipped down his face in the dream, but he wasn’t drowning in them anymore.

And standing there in the stuffy funeral home, Sunghoon quietly laughed to himself. “You’d be so mad that everyone’s crying this much,” he murmured. And he could hear the echoes of your voice scolding him for being so torn up when he should be moving onto better things because he was so young (just as you were.) The thought made him smile through his tears. Your memory no longer felt like a wound splitting open inside him. It felt like hands pressed gently around his heart. 

And when Sunghoon finally opened his eyes, he was no longer standing in the funeral home. He was home, in his apartment. Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, warm gold spilling across hardwood floors and untouched, uncleaned furniture. The silence was familiar now. It wasn’t as sharp and reverberating against emptiness like it used to be, but quiet in the way winter mornings were quiet.

For a long moment, he just layed on the couch. The blanket you used to complain about because it “shed fuzz everywhere” was still draped over his body. One of your hair ties still sat around his wrist from weeks ago. The apartment still carried traces of you in every corner, soft remnants of a life that had once intertwined with his so naturally that even death couldn’t fully unravel it. Sunghoon slowly sat up after a while. For the first time since you died, the ache in his chest did not immediately make him want to chase after you. It only made him miss you.

A framed photo caught his eye from across the room. A snippet of a beach date where you both were smothered in sand and shattered seashells. He remembered that day now without feeling like his ribs were caving inward. He remembered it and smiled.

The sunlight continued pouring into the apartment little by little, warming spaces that had long felt frozen over. Sunghoon looked toward the empty side of the couch beside him. Then quietly, he whispered your name into the stillness, but for the first time, it wasn’t a plea to the Heavens. 

Winter took you from him, and Sunghoon spent the cold months treating his grief like something sacred, afraid that healing meant betraying you. But Spring came quietly, melting ice from sidewalks and blooming flowers through the cracks, and he finally learned that acceptance didn't mean loving you less.

You’ve been having strange dreams lately.

They felt so vivid, so clear to your vision that it felt like you could reach out and touch them. In these dreams, Jake’s cute nerdy friend, Sunghoon, was in them. He was in all of them, actually.

Visions of Sunghoon and you, on a date sipping on cola floats together. Visions of you both curled up in the library cubicle, giggling and sharing secrets instead of being productive. But oddly enough, he wasn’t wearing his thick-rimmed glasses and features grew into a more mature version, with a stronger jawline and deeper eyes. In these dreams, you could see the warmth in his eyes, hear the sounds of his soft laughter, and feel the intimacy of his affection.

Sometimes, the dreams were absurdly specific. Like mundane captures of you both arguing in the grocery store over what meat to buy, snapshots of an apartment you’ve never stepped foot in, and images that you don’t remember taking.  Sometimes, the dreams hurt. They echoed with the sound of anguished cries that made your chest ache when you woke up, made you feel empty like something was hollow from inside and like you were missing something that mattered so dearly yet you couldn’t remember. 

All he was to you was a boy in your Chem discussion and Jake’s close friend, so why did your dreams think differently, as if he was the most important person in your life?

You went to the library one night with Jake, and Sunghoon came later, only to end up crying as soon as he saw you. And for some reason, your heart signaled to your mind that, maybe he was, for some reason, because your chest began to ache with an odd sense of familiarity and endearance. So, it was only natural that you began to form a crush on him. But sometimes, your feelings felt deeper than just a mere crush, as if your feelings had roots that stretched somewhere your thoughts couldn’t reach.

You began hanging out with Sunghoon so much that you barely saw Jake anymore. Not that the Australian boy complained– after all, he was too busy trying to survive whatever war engineering majors had to go through that he didn’t even have time to hang anymore. But the more frequent your hangouts were, the more frequent the dreams were. You dreamt of tiny domestic things, like him stealing bites of your food and folding laundry terribly while you laughed at him. Falling asleep on his shoulder during movie nights. Listening to him hum quietly in the kitchen while making late-night ramen.

Eventually, you stopped trying to suppress what your heart already accepted. You liked him. (Maybe too much for someone you technically barely knew.)

So when the wintry season hit its peak, you saw Sunghoon again after texting him to meet you near the cafe where he initially rejected you. You both still hung out, but after that morning when you failed to confess properly, he seemed different. He looked lighter and full of life. Before, he seemed like a shell that was carrying an invisible burden that you couldn’t begin to understand. But now, he acted naively, as if there was nothing in the world that could dare drag him down.

“Hoon?” you called softly. He turned toward you immediately, expression warming the second he saw you approach. He smiled widely and adjusted his glasses. It was obvious he took some time to look good, with his hair styled up and his fashion seemingly taken from another closet. (Jay’s, you presumed. You heard his roommate had good fashion taste.)

“Hey, Y/N! Why did you want to meet me here?” He asked cheerfully.

You smiled as your fingers tightened around the straps of your bag before you finally blurted, “I’ve been having dreams about you.” His expression froze, and his eyebrows knitted together so adorably. You swallowed hard as you continued abruptly, realizing how bad that could’ve sounded. “Not wet dreams– shit, I mean, like– They’re weirdly specific. Like… really specific.” You laughed awkwardly. “Like dreams of us. Together. Dating…” You shyly trailed off.

Sunghoon stared at you silently, kindly waiting for you to finish as he listened intently.  “And sometimes,” your voice softened, “they’re sad.” Something flickered painfully across his face. You continued carefully, “In one of them, you were crying. Really badly.” Your chest tightened at the memory. “And I remember thinking that I wanted to comfort you more than anything, like that day you cried to me in the library…”

The breeze carried the scent of frost between you both. Sunghoon’s eyes began glossing over as he watched you, looking conflicted and a bit more confused. “I don’t really understand why this is happening.” You smiled faintly despite your nerves. “So…” You laughed softly.

“Maybe this is crazy, but I think I like you, Park Sunghoon. Do you want to go out with me?” You shyly asked. His mouth fell agape as his eyes widened.

“You– You like me? Like me, as in Park Sunghoon?” He sputtered out in disbelief, pointing a gloved hand at himself. You giggled and nodded.

“Yes, you idiot,” you laughed, cheeks warming from how genuinely stunned he looked. “How many Park Sunghoons do you think I know?” You teased, tilting your head to the right. His lips parted as stutters spilled from them unintentionally. And then, to your complete shock, his eyes immediately began watering.

“H-Hoon?” you gasped. “Oh my god, are you crying again?!”

“A– Again? When did I– snnfffh– When did I ever cry in front of you?” He choked out, sniffling away the snot that began to run down his philtrum, his voice cracking into two. He ripped his glasses off quickly, furiously wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. You burst into laughter at how offended he sounded despite the tears visibly collecting on his lashes. Sunghoon groaned softly under his breath, embarrassed, before hiding his face behind one hand.

“This is so humiliating,” he muttered miserably, “Yes– God, a million times yes– I want to go out with you. Please go out with me,” his voice curved into a plea. You giggled, slotting your body into his to form a warm lock of an embrace.

You looked up at him, and it began to snow.

Maybe that's why dating never quite worked for him. Every time he tried, he felt like he’d missed a tutorial somewhere. He could talk, sure, and he could be funny when he wanted, but halfway through a conversation he always drifted, like thinking about assignments or projects or that interesting research thread he'd meant to look into. People would smile at him politely, the kind of smile that told him they’d already made up their mind: sweet guy, but not for me.

The last time he'd tried going on a date, he’d barely made it through an hour. He’d checked the timestamp afterwards and realized he’d spent exactly forty eight minutes pretending he wasn't thinking about a bug he’d found in his graphics project. He’d texted Jungwon: "bro i think i fumbled bad." Jungwon had sent back a voice note where he laughed so hard he hiccuped. Comforting, in its own way.

Jungwon was one of like three people Heeseung could be around without keeping a mental checklist of normal things to say. They’d been friends since first year when they got paired on a project and realized they both worked better at two in the morning with no one else around. Jungwon was quiet in the same way Heeseung was, but also completely unhinged when it came to code. He’d get an idea and just lock in for days. So one afternoon, while Heeseung was in the lab pretending to fix code he’d actually broken on purpose because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t understand it, Jungwon walked in with that mischief look. He sat down next to him, opened his laptop, and said, "ok, don’t make fun of me, but I made something."

Heeseung didn’t look up. "Is it stable this time?" which was generous, because Jungwon’s projects were never stable.

"Define stable," Jungwon said, clicking through a folder that had way too many warning icons. "Anyway, it’s a dating sim."

That finally made Heeseung look. "A dating sim? Why?"

"Research." Jungwon always said that when he’d clearly done something for fun and wanted it to sound academic. "It’s called Girlfriend Simulator."

Heeseung stared at him. "That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."

Jungwon didn’t even blink. "Yeah, I know. But I need someone to test it, and you're the only person who’ll actually give me notes instead of lying to make me feel better."

Heeseung wanted to argue, but he was tired and they had a midterm coming up and honestly he didn't care enough to fight. So he sighed and pushed his chair closer. "Fine. Show me." Jungwon grinned like that was all he’d wanted since morning. He opened the build file, and the screen filled with placeholder art, branching choices, and a character slot labeled "y/n_default." And Heeseung, who was too distracted to think twice, just shrugged.

He had no idea that saying yes to that stupid looking game would end up being the most disastrous decision of his entire academic life.

He only agreed because Jungwon wouldn't shut up about it, and because even with all his complaints, he had this soft spot for him that made it hard to say no. Also, he didn’t have anything better to do on a friday night; the rest of their friends were out, and he wasn't in the mood to socialize. And, honestly, he liked games where he could pretend to be slightly less single than he actually was. It was pathetic, sure, but it wasn't like anyone needed to know.

So later that night, Heeseung sat on his bed with the lights off and his switch on max brightness, which was probably not great for his already questionable sleep schedule but whatever. Jungwon had sent him the build file with a message that just said "lmk if it crashes :)" which was not exactly confidence inspiring, but Heeseung had agreed to this so he couldn't really back out now.

The game booted with this weirdly soft 8 bit lullaby that sounded like it was trying to hypnotize him. The title screen was clean, minimalist, just the words "Girlfriend Simulator" in a font that looked expensive. Heeseung snorted. Jungwon had definitely spent more time on the typography than the actual game mechanics, which tracked. Character customization loaded next, and Heeseung had to admit it was smoother than he expected. The interface was intuitive, the options were detailed, and the hairstyle physics were suspiciously good for something Jungwon had supposedly coded in his free time between problem sets.

He made his character half heartedly. Messy hair because that's what he had in real life and he wasn't creative enough to imagine anything else. A hoodie because hoodies were safe. He picked "student" as his class, and when it came to stats, he maxed out "humor" because he genuinely thought he was funny, even if nobody else seemed to agree. Then he looked at "emotional intelligence" and left it at zero. Honesty was important, right?

The loading screen that followed was surprisingly elegant. Just a slow fade to black with some text that read "Your First Meeting" in delicate script. Heeseung settled back against his pillow, expecting the usual dating sim fare: a classroom, a coffee shop, maybe a cherry blossom tree if Jungwon was feeling cliché.

And then the screen flickered. Just once, quick enough that Heeseung thought maybe it was his eyes. But then it happened again and the lights in his bedroom pulsed in sync, like someone had wired his lamp to the game's framerate. "What the hell," Heeseung said to no one. 

The switch started vibrating in his hands. Not the normal rumble feature, but something harder, more insistent, like the controller was trying to shake itself apart. On screen, a figure materialized. The girlfriend character. For a second Heeseung just stared because the sprite work was genuinely impressive. The lighting was too good, the shadows moved wrong. Everything felt almost real in a way that made his skin prickle.

And then the girlfriend, you, turned around. Slowly like you already knew he was watching. Your face came into view and Heeseung's brain did this weird stutter because you didn't look like a game character, you looked like a person, with the kind of detail you didn't get from placeholder art. Heeseung felt this uncomfortable twist in his stomach like he was the one being observed.

Then you spoke. Not with a text box, not with that awkward text to speech voice that indie games always used. Actual audio, clear and warm and way too close for his own good. "You're here!"

Heeseung's hands went cold. The voice didn't sound small or synthetic or compressed. It sounded like someone was standing directly behind him in his dark bedroom, breath on his neck, words in his ear. He whipped around so fast he nearly dropped the switch, but his room was empty. Just his desk and his dying succulent and his pile of laundry that he'd been meaning to deal with for a week. "What the—"

Before he could finish the thought, before he could even process what was happening, the lights in his room popped, like every bulb had blown at once. The screen went pure white, so bright it hurt to look at, and the controller in his hands went from cold to burning hot in the span of a heartbeat. He tried to drop it but his fingers wouldn't move, locked in place like the plastic had fused to his skin. The air pressure in the room shifted. His ears popped like he was in a plane taking off, and he felt this pull, this hook behind his ribs, yanking him forward with a force that didn't make any physical sense. He tried to pull back, tried to let go, tried to do anything, but the world was already dissolving.

The last thing Heeseung managed to think before everything shattered into pixels was that he was going to kill Yang Jungwon.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the world was too bright. The grass beneath him looked like high definition fairy dust, each blade catching light in a way that grass absolutely should not. The sky was blue in that aggressive unnatural way that only existed in concept art. Everything was sharp and vivid and wrong. Heeseung sat up slowly, head spinning, and looked down at himself. His clothes had changed. Instead of his worn out hoodie and sweatpants, he was wearing the outfit his avatar had been wearing. The same hoodie he'd picked in character customization but real now, solid and heavy on his shoulders. His hands looked like his hands but also didn't. The proportions were slightly off, the lines a little too clean.

"What the fuck," he said out loud, and his voice sounded normal, which was worse. Everything else was strange but his voice was still his.

"You made it!"

Heeseung's head snapped up. You were someone standing a few feet away, watching him with this expression that was hard to read. Amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Like you'd been waiting for him and was pleased he'd finally shown up. except you weren't a sprite anymore. You were real, or at least as real as anything else in this place. You looked exactly like the character on screen but with dimension now, depth, the subtle movements of someone actually breathing. Your hair moved slightly in a breeze he couldn't feel. You were wearing something casual but put together in that effortless way that Heeseung had never managed to pull off.

You smiled at him, and he felt something weird in his stomach. "Hi," you said, like this was completely normal, like he hadn't just been ripped through a screen into a video game that shouldn't exist. "Nice to meet you!"

Heeseung opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. His brain was doing this thing where it tried to process too many things at once and ended up processing nothing at all. "What," he finally managed, which wasn't even a complete sentence but it was all he had.

"Sorry I'm late," you said, but you didn't sound particularly sorry. "Jungwon said you might be running behind. He's the one who set this up, by the way. Said we'd get along."

Heeseung blinked. "Jungwon... set this up?"

"Yeah, the blind date?" You looked at him like he was being slow on purpose. "He said you needed to get out more. His words, not mine."

And that was such a Jungwon thing to do that Heeseung almost believed it. Almost. Except he was still processing the fact that the world around him looked like someone had turned reality into a video game filter. "This is insane," he muttered under his breath. "This is the most realistic game I've ever—"

"Game?" You interrupted, and your smile faltered just slightly. "I'm not playing games with you."

The way you said it made Heeseung freeze. It wasn't defensive or annoyed, it was sincere like you genuinely meant it, like you had no idea what he was talking about. And that's when it hit him: You could hear him. Not just the dialogue options he was supposed to pick. Everything. his actual thoughts spoken out loud. "Wait," he said slowly, "you heard that?"

"Heard what?"

"Nothing. Never mind." Heeseung cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. He could freak out later. Right now there was a person in front of him — a very real feeling and cute person — and he was being weird. "So. Blind date. Right. Jungwon's idea."

He really looked at you then. You were pretty, in this approachable, comfortable way that made him think maybe he could actually talk to you without saying something catastrophically stupid. You had this ease about you, like you weren't trying too hard, and your eyes had this spark that suggested you were probably smarter than you let on.  Basically, you were everything he'd ever put on one of those hypothetical "ideal type" list.

"So," you said, cutting through his thoughts. "Jungwon mentioned you're into games?"

Heeseung tried not to laugh at the irony. "Uh, yeah. You could say that."

"Me too." You brightened, and it was genuine, not that polite interest people usually faked. "I've been replaying persona 5 royal for like the third time. I know, I know, it's excessive."

"No, that's— that's actually really cool," Heeseung said, and he meant it. "Most people don't get the appeal of replaying stuff."

"Right?" You gestured as you talked, animated in a way that made him want to keep listening. "Everyone's like 'you already know the story' but that's not the point. It's about the experience, the details you missed, trying different builds—"

A notification sound chimed softly in the air between you. Heeseung jumped. You didn't react. In the corner of his vision, barely perceptible, text appeared: romantic interest +5. common interests discovered.

Oh. Oh no. This was a dating sim. An actual, literal dating sim. And he was living it.

"You okay?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Yeah, totally fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thought I heard something."

You nodded, accepting this easily, and then said, "Do you want to walk? There's this spot by the lake that's really nice."

"Sure," Heeseung said, because what else was he going to say?

You started down a path that looked hand painted, every stone deliberately placed, every flower color coordinated. You reached the lake, which was absurdly picturesque, and sat down on a bench that looked like it had been placed there specifically for this moment. Probably because it had. Heeseung sat next to you, not too close but not weirdly far either, and tried to act like this was normal. "Oh," you said suddenly, looking up. "Look at that." Heeseung followed your gaze. There was a flower growing on a low hanging branch, except it wasn't growing so much as hovering there, pulsing slightly with a soft golden glow. It bobbed up and down in a loop, the universal sign of an interactive object. You didn't seem to notice anything weird about it. "That's pretty," you said. "I've never seen a flower like that before."

Heeseung stared at it. The glow intensified slightly, like it was trying to get his attention, like it was waiting for him to do something. Oh god. This is a prompt. He was supposed to pick the flower and give it to you, that's how this worked. That's how you earned affection points or route progression or whateverJungwon had programmed into this thing. So he stood up. "I'll get it for you."

"You don't have to—"

"No, I want to," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was somehow worse. He reached up and plucked the flower from the branch. It came away easily, and the moment his fingers closed around the stem, the glow faded into something softer, more natural. It looked real now. I mean, it felt real. He turned back to you and held it out, suddenly aware of how much this looked like a scene from every romance movie he'd ever suffered through, not that he suffered through many. "Here," he said.

You took it, and your fingers brushed his for just a second. You looked down at the flower, then back up at him, and your smile was so genuinely happy that Heeseung forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be a game. "Thank you," you said. "That's really sweet."

romantic interest +15. key item obtained: first flower. achievement unlocked: classic romantic gesture.

The notifications stacked in his peripheral vision, and Heeseung felt something between triumph and existential dread. "It's just a flower," he said.

"Maybe," you said, twirling it between your fingers. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" And the worst part was that you seemed to actually believe that. You weren't reading from a script or following programmed responses. You felt real, real enough that Heeseung was starting to forget why that should scare him.

You tucked the flower behind your ear, adjusting it carefully, and Heeseung had to physically stop himself from saying something embarrassing about how that was probably the prettiest thing he'd seen all week. He sat back down on the bench, leaving what he hoped was an appropriate amount of space between you. "So," you said, tilting your head. "What do you do for fun? Besides picking flowers for girls in parks."

Heeseung felt his face get warm. "I don't— that's not a thing I do regularly."

"Shame. You're good at it." You were grinning now, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Come on, tell me. What's your thing?"

"Uh. Games, mostly. I play a lot of games, like Jungwon said."

Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh yeah! What kind?"

"Mostly League. Some RPGs. Anything competitive, I guess." He expected the usual response, the polite nod and change of subject that he got whenever he mentioned gaming to people.

Instead, you leaned forward, genuinely interested. "Wait, you play League? What's your main?"

Heeseung blinked. "You play League?"

"Obviously. Answer the question."

"I mean, I play mid usually. Zed, Leblanc, that kind of thing." He was still processing the fact that you not only knew what League was but apparently played it. "What about you?"

"Support. I'm a Janna main and i'm not ashamed of it." You said it with this defiant pride that made Heeseung want to laugh. "I know, I know, support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."

romantic interest +10. shared interests discovered: league of legends.

Heeseung felt something shift in his chest. He'd never met someone who got it like this. Who understood that games weren't just mindless button mashing but actual strategy and skill. "What rank are you?" He asked.

"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and kind of gave up on the grind." You made a face. "What about you?"

"Diamond 3." Heeseung said, oddly proud of himself but pretending he wasn't.

"Oh, so you're actually good." You looked impressed, which made Heeseung feel ridiculously more pleased with himself. "We should play together sometime."

"Yeah, definitely," Heeseung said, and then remembered that this was a game and there probably wasn't a 'sometime' outside of this moment. The thought made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. You shifted on the bench, getting more comfortable, and somehow ended up closer to him. And just like that, you were off. Heeseung found himself talking more than he had in weeks, and you had opinions, strong ones, and you weren't afraid to argue with him when you disagreed. But it wasn't hostile or competitive, it was fun. At some point, you started talking about other games too. You mentioned playing Stardew Valley when you wanted something relaxing, getting unreasonably invested in Hollow Knight, rage quitting dark souls three times before finally beating it. "I'm not good at souls games," you admitted. "I panic dodge. I know you're supposed to learn the patterns but my brain just goes 'roll roll roll' and then I die."

Heeseung laughed. "That's valid. I did the same thing my first playthrough."

"Really? You seem like you'd be one of those people who does no hit runs for fun."

"Absolutely not. I died to the tutorial boss in Elden Ring."

You gasped, mockingly scandalized. "No you didn't."

"I really did. it Took me like fifteen tries." You were laughing now, the kind of laugh that made your whole face light up, and Heeseung felt ridiculously proud that he'd caused it. There was something about making you laugh that felt like winning.

romantic interest +8. humor appreciated.

You kept talking, jumping from topic to topic with the kind of ease that Heeseung had only ever experienced with Jungwon or Jake at best. Except this was different because you were looking at him like everything he said was interesting, like you actually wanted to hear his thoughts on whether the Death Note ending was satisfying or if Eren from Attack on Titan was justified. The sun was properly setting now, painting everything in warm colors. there were fireflies starting to appear, floating lazily through the air in a way that was definitely too perfect to be natural. Heeseung watched one drift past your face, and you reached out to let it land on your finger. "Pretty," you said softly, watching it glow.

Heeseung was looking at you, at the flower still tucked behind your ear and the way the sunset caught in your hair and the small smile on your face as you watched the firefly. "Yeah," he said. "Really pretty." You glanced at him and caught him staring. For a second, Heeseung thought he'd made it weird, but then you smiled, almost shy, and looked back at the firefly.

romantic interest +15. moment shared.

The firefly flew off, and you watched it go before turning back to him. "Hey, can I tell you something?" He nodded so you kept going. "I wasn't really sure about coming today. I almost canceled, actually." You pulled at a thread on your sleeve, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm not great at the whole meeting new people thing. I always feel like I'm going to say something weird and scare them off."

"You're not weird," Heeseung said automatically.

"You literally just met me. I could be extremely weird."

"Okay, but like, good weird. The kind of weird that's actually interesting." Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Most people just want to talk about surface level stuff, you know? But you actually have things you care about."

You looked at him for a long moment, and Heeseung couldn't read your expression. Then you smiled, soft and genuine. "You're really nice, you know that?"

"I'm really not," Heeseung said, but he was smiling too.

"Yes you are. You're nice and you're a good listener and you have good taste in games." You counted off on your fingers. "That's like, three whole good qualities. Most people don't even have one."

romantic interest +12. compliments appreciated. emotional vulnerability reciprocated.

There was a moment of comfortable silence where you just sat there, watching the fireflies multiply in the growing dusk. Heeseung thought about how easy this felt, how he wasn't checking the time or looking for excuses to leave. How he kind of never wanted this to end.

You turned your head to look at him. "So do you want to do this again? Like, another time?"

Heeseung's heart did a weird jump in his chest. "Like another date?"

"Yeah. If you want. No pressure or anything." You said it casually, but Heeseung could see the hint of nervousness in the way you weren't quite meeting his eyes. "I just think it'd be fun to hang out more. Maybe we could actually play League together or something."

Every logical part of Heeseung's brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. That he should figure out how to exit this game and go back to real life and deal with the fact that he'd just spent hours in a virtual reality dating sim. But the less logical part, the part that was currently winning, wanted to see you again. Wanted to hear you laugh more. Wanted to keep talking about stupid stuff that mattered to him and apparently mattered to you too. "Yeah," he heard himself say. "Definitely, yeah, I'd really like that."

Your smile was so bright it could've competed with the fireflies. "Okay. It's a date then."

romantic interest +20. second date confirmed. route progression: 15% complete.

And then, without any warning at all, the world started to blur at the edges. The colors bled together, the sounds got muffled and distant, and Heeseung felt that same pulling sensation from before. Like someone had hooked a line to his chest and was reeling him back. "Wait— " he started to say, reaching out instinctively. You were looking at him with concern, mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what you were saying anymore. Everything was dissolving into static and white light and that horrible feeling of falling. The last thing he saw before everything went black was your face, still worried, still perfect, with that flower tucked behind your ear. Then he was gasping awake in his dark bedroom, switch controller still hot in his hands, his heart racing. The screen showed a save menu: progress saved. continue tomorrow?

His hands were shaking. "What the hell," Heeseung said to his empty room.

And he barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the park, the fireflies, your smile. he kept reaching for memories that felt too solid to be from a game. By the time his alarm went off, he'd already been awake for an hour, staring at his ceiling and trying to convince himself that he hadn't just experienced the most elaborate hallucination of his life.

He found Jungwon in their usual spot in the computer lab, hunched over his laptop with his headphones on, nodding along to whatever he was listening to. There were three empty energy drink cans next to him, which meant he'd probably been there since before sunrise. Heeseung dropped his bag on the desk with more force than necessary. Jungwon jumped, pulling his headphones down. "Jesus, dude. Learn to announce yourself like a normal person."

"We need to talk about your game," Heeseung said.

Jungwon's face lit up. "Oh my god, you played it! what'd you think? Was she cute? Did you get to the part with the—"

"Jungwon." Heeseung sat down, leaning forward. "What the hell did you put in that thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it was way too real." Heeseung ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain something that sounded insane even in his own head. "It felt like I was actually inside the game."

Jungwon frowned. "Wait, you used a VR headset or something?"

"No, I just played it normally! On my switch, in my room." Heeseung could hear how crazy he sounded but he kept going anyway. "But it wasn't like regular gameplay. It was like the game pulled me in. I could smell things, Jungwon."

Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly took a sip of his energy drink. "Bro. You got that invested in it?"

"I'm not— that's not what I'm saying."

"You literally just described sensory immersion that doesn't exist yet." Jungwon was grinning now. "Holy shit, you're actually down bad. You played a dating sim for like two hours and now you're having full vivid memories about it."

"It wasn't like that," Heeseung insisted, but even he could hear how weak it sounded.

"Dude, you need to get an actual girlfriend. Like, a real one. Made of flesh and blood and everything." Jungwon was trying not to laugh and failing. "Look, I'm glad you liked it. Genuinely. But maybe we should set you up with someone real before you completely lose touch with reality." Heeseung slumped back in his chair. Maybe Jungwon was right. Maybe he had just gotten way too into it. Maybe his brain had filled in details that weren't actually there because he was that desperate for connection. "I'm not judging! Okay, maybe I'm judging a little bit, but I'm also proud. My game is so good it's causing psychological breaks from reality." Jungwon looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Okay, but if you're playing tonight, there's something you should know."

"What?"

"The second date has a mini game. Like, a fight sequence."

Heeseung blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A fighting mini game."

"Why the fuck does a dating simulator have a fighting mini game?"

Jungwon shrugged. "I thought it'd be fun. Adds variety and keeps things interesting."

"That makes absolutely no sense. What am I supposed to be fighting?"

"You'll see," Jungwon said, and his smile was deeply suspicious.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting. I'm not spoiling my own game." Jungwon turned back to his laptop. "Just make sure you've been keeping up with your stats. You're gonna need decent strength and agility."

"I maxed out humor and left emotional intelligence at zero."

Jungwon turned around slowly. "You what."

"What! I was being honest about my abilities!"

"Heeseung. My guy. My dude." Jungwon looked pained. "You're supposed to actually try to build a good character."

"My character is fine."

"Your character is going to get his ass kicked." Jungwon pulled up something on his laptop, clicked around for a second, then shook his head. "Okay, you know what? It's fine. You'll figure it out. The game has adaptive difficulty anyway."

Heeseung really looked at Jungwon. "Adaptive difficulty in a dating sim."

"In the fighting portion, yeah. The dating part is all you, buddy. That's pure skill based."

Heeseung wanted to argue that there was something deeply wrong with Jungwon's game design philosophy, but he also kind of wanted to know what the hell happened on the second date that required combat stats. "Is she going to be there?" He asked. "During the fight thing?"

"Obviously. It's her date." Jungwon was smirking now. "Why, you worried about impressing her?"

"No."

"You're totally worried about impressing her. A girl who doesn't exist."

Heeseung threw a pen at him. Jungwon dodged it without even looking up from his screen. And the rest of the day dragged. Heeseung went to his classes and took notes and nodded at the appropriate times, but his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about the park. About the way you'd looked at him when he gave you the flower. About how easy it had been to talk to you. He knew it was just a game. He knew you were just code, just a really well designed character or whatever that Jungwon had somehow made feel real. But knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to see you again.

By the time he got back to his dorm that night, he'd already decided he was playing regardless of how pathetic it made him look. He grabbed his switch, plugged in his headphones even though he hadn't used them last time, and loaded up the save file. The screen flickered once. Twice. Here we go again, Heeseung thought. And then the world tilted, and he was falling forward into light. When the world stopped spinning and Heeseung's vision cleared, he wasn't in a park this time. He was sitting in a desk chair, his own desk chair. In what looked exactly like his dorm room, except cleaner, way cleaner. His laundry wasn't on the floor and his desk wasn't covered in empty energy drink cans. His monitor was on, displaying his league of legends home screen, and his keyboard had that soft RGB glow that looked way more expensive than his actual setup.

"Okay," Heeseung said to the empty room. "This is new." His phone — or the game's version of his phone — buzzed on the desk. He picked it up and saw a discord notification.

you: you're online! finally you: i've been waiting like ten minutes you: i was starting to think you ghosted me

Heeseung's heart did that stupid jump thing again. He typed back quickly.

heeseung: sorry, just got on heeseung: ready when you are

His discord pinged with an incoming call. He stared at it for a second, then clicked accept. "There you are," your voice came through his headphones, clear and warm and doing absolutely nothing good for his heart rate. "I thought you bailed on me."

"I wouldn't do that," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was concerning considering you were a video game character.

"Good. Because I already said we were playing together and if you didn't show up i would've looked stupid." Heeseung could hear the smile in your voice. on his second monitor — since when did he have a second monitor? — a small window popped up showing your avatar. It was cute, some anime style drawing with the same flower from yesterday tucked behind the character's ear. "Okay, so I set up a custom game. Two versus two," you said.

"Sounds good. Who are we playing against?"

There was a pause. "Okay, so don't freak out, but it's my exes."

Heeseung's hand froze on his mouse. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My ex boyfriends. Both of them. They wanted a rematch from last time." You said it so casually, like this was a completely normal thing. "They're kind of toxic about League. They got really mad when I beat them."

"You want me to play League against your ex boyfriends?"

"Technically we're playing against them together as a team. Bonding activity!" You sounded way too cheerful about this. "Come on, It'll be fun. Plus i really want to beat them again. They've been talking shit in the group chat all week."

quest unlocked: defend your girlfriend's honor (in league of legends) | objective: win the 2v2 match | optional objective: make her exes regret queueing up

The notification appeared in the corner of his vision and Heeseung had to resist the urge to laugh. This was insane. This entire situation was insane. But he went for it anyway. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it." the invite popped up and Heeseung accepted. The lobby loaded and he could see the other two players: "toxicking" and "yourworstnightmare" which were possibly the most obnoxious usernames he'd ever seen. "Those are real people you dated?" Heeseung asked.

"Unfortunately. My taste in men used to be really bad." You paused. "It's gotten better though." Heeseung tried not to smile and failed completely.

The chat lobby loaded and immediately one of them started typing.

toxicking: oh look who showed up toxicking: brought a new victim i see yourworstnightmare: this gonna be quick lol

"They're always like this," you said, sounding tired. "Just mute them if they get annoying."

"I'm fine," Heeseung said. "I've dealt with worse in solo queue."

"Ooh, confident. I like it."

romantic interest +5. confidence appreciated.

You locked in Janna, just like you'd said yesterday. Heeseung hovered over Zed for a second, then switched to Leblanc. If this was going to be a two versus two, he wanted mobility and burst damage. The game loaded, Heeseung cracked his knuckles and adjusted his grip on his mouse. "Okay, game plan," you said. "I keep you alive, you delete them. Simple." The match started and immediately the other team was in all chat. Heeseung checked their champions. Yasuo and Yone. Of course they were playing the flashy high skill ceiling champions. He would've bet money they had mastery 7 emotes ready to spam. "They always play like this," you said. "Super aggressive, trying to outplay everything. It's kind of predictable once you get used to it." The minions spawned and both teams moved forward. Heeseung played it safe at first, watching how the exes moved, learning their patterns. And then suddenly, first blood!

"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," you shouted, and Heeseung couldn't help but grin.

toxicking: wtf toxicking: that was lag yourworstnightmare: ur getting carried yourworstnightmare: ur duo is doing everything

"He's salty," you said, laughing. "This is great." The match continued and it became increasingly clear that Heeseung and you had better coordination. You'd shield him right before he went in. You moved together like you'd been playing as a duo for months. "Behind you," you called out, and Heeseung instantly dodged. It wasn't even close. By fifteen minutes, the score was 15 to 3, and Heeseung had more kills than both of the exes combined.

toxicking: this is bullshit toxicking: whoever this guy is he's probably smurfing yourworstnightmare: yeah no way he's actually this rank toxicking: fucking carried loser

"They're so mad," you said, and you sounded absolutely delighted. "Oh my god, they're so mad. This is the best day of my life."

Heeseung was grinning so hard his face hurt. "Should we end it?"

"Absolutely, yeah. Let's make it hurt." You pushed mid together. Heeseung went in first, deleting the Yasuo instantly. You polymorphed the Yone, and Heeseung finished him off before the polymorph even ended. The nexus exploded.

victory! +50 romantic interest. victory achieved. quest completed. achievement unlocked: better than her exes (at league of legends)

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, feeling more satisfied than he had any right to feel about a video game within a video game. "That felt good."

"Right? God, I've been wanting to do that for weeks." You sighed happily. "You're really good, by the way. You weren't kidding about being diamond."

"I don't really joke about my rank."

"Noted. Confidence is earned." There was a pause. "Hey, want to play another one? Just us this time?"

Heeseung absolutely should not spend more time in this game. He should log off and go to sleep and maybe talk to a therapist about why he was emotionally investing in a dating simulator. "Yeah," he said instead. "Let's play another."

You made a happy sound that did dangerous things to his chest. "Okay! I'll make the lobby.” Your laugh was bright and genuine and perfect. "I knew you were my type."

romantic interest +15. competitive spirit matched.

You played two more games and won both of them. When you finally left the lobby, Heeseung realized he'd been playing for almost two hours. His hands were sore from gripping the mouse and his face hurt from smiling. "Hey," you said, your voice softer now. "Thanks for playing with me. And for, you know, obliterating my exes. That was really fun."

"Anytime," Heeseung said, and meant it. "This was really fun. I don't usually have this much fun playing league."

"Me neither," you admitted. "Usually it's just people being toxic or trying too hard. But this was nice. You're nice." There was a comfortable silence, just the sound of both of you breathing through the discord call. Heeseung looked at his monitor, at the League client, at the clean version of his room that didn't exist in real life. "So," you said eventually. "Same time next week?"

Heeseung's chest tightened. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Cool. It's a date." You paused. "Well, another date. Our third date. Okay. Well. I should probably get going. Okay. Goodnight, Heeseung."

"Goodnight." The discord call ended and Heeseung sat there in the quiet of his too clean room, staring at his monitor. The screen started to blur at the edges, colors bleeding together again. Here we go again, he thought, again.

progress saved. route progression: 30% complete.

And this whole thing it became a routine faster than Heeseung wanted to admit. He'd go to class, take notes he barely remembered, nod at Jungwon when they crossed paths in the lab, and then he'd go straight back to his dorm. Dinner was whatever he could eat with one hand because he was already booting up the switch with the other. Jake, his roommate, asked him once if he was okay, and Heeseung said he was fine, just really into this new game. Which was technically true, even if it didn't come close to explaining what was actually happening.

The third date was at an arcade. Not a real arcade, obviously, but the game's version of one. You showed up wearing this oversized hoodie and jeans and you looked so genuinely excited to be there that Heeseung forgot for a solid minute that none of this was real. The mission was simple: win you a prize from the claw machine. Except the claw machine was rigged in that way that all claw machines are rigged, and it took Heeseung fifteen tries before he finally got the stuffed cat you'd been eyeing. When he handed it to you, you hugged it to your chest and smiled at him like he'd just won you something actually valuable, and the notification that popped up said his charm stat had increased by ten points. He was starting to understand how the game worked now; every interaction mattered and every choice added up.

On the fourth date, you took him to a bookstore, and the mission was to pick out a book for each other. You spent almost an hour wandering through the aisles, pulling out books and reading the backs and showing him things you thought he'd like. You picked him this SciFi novel about time loops and said it reminded you of him because he seemed like someone who'd want to figure out how to break the system. He didn't know how to tell you that he was currently living in something that felt suspiciously like a time loop, so he just took the book and thanked you. He picked you a fantasy novel with a really detailed magic system. When you read the description your whole face lit up and you immediately added it to your reading list. His intelligence stat increased and so did the romantic interest meter, which was now sitting at somewhere close to seventy percent.

Date five was a cooking challenge in your apartment, which Heeseung didn't even know you had until he loaded into the game and found himself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came out of an interior design magazine. You were already there, tying your hair back, explaining that you'd challenged him to see who could make the better pasta. Heeseung had never cooked pasta in his life that didn't come from a box with instructions, but he wasn't about to admit that. The mission objective said to impress you with his cooking skills, which seemed optimistic given his actual skill level, but he tried anyway. He burned the garlic immediately. You laughed at him but not in a mean way, more like you thought it was endearing that he was trying. You ended up helping him, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume, guiding his hands when he didn't know how much salt to add. Your pasta turned out better than his but you ate his anyway and said it wasn't that bad, and his cooking stat went from zero to fifteen which felt generous but he wasn't complaining.

By date seven Heeseung's character stats had changed completely. His confidence was maxed out now, sitting at ninety five out of a hundred. his charm was at eighty. Even his emotional intelligence had somehow climbed to sixty despite him never actively trying to level it up. The game was keeping track of everything, he realized. Every time he listened to you talk about something you cared about, every time he remembered a small detail you'd mentioned, every time he made you laugh, the numbers went up. He was being rewarded for paying attention, for caring.

Date seven was a hiking trail that wound up a mountain to a viewpoint. The mission was just to reach the top together, which sounded simple except the trail was longer than expected. Heeseung offered to take a break but you said you wanted to keep going, you wanted to see the view. So you kept climbing and Heeseung found himself naturally slowing his pace to match yours, offering his hand on the steeper parts, pointing out interesting rocks or plants just to give you reasons to stop and catch his breath, because the game kept showing pop ups of him showing that his hydration meter was almost on 10%. When you finally reached the top the sun was setting and the view was objectively incredible, the kind of thing that didn't exist in real life because real life didn't have rendering engines that could make every cloud perfect. You sat down on the bench at the summit and Heeseung sat next to you and you leaned your head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"This is nice," you said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Heeseung said, and he meant it so completely it scared him.

"You know, when we first met, I wasn't sure if this would work out. I didn't like the idea of a blind date." You were looking out at the view, not at him. "But I think I was wrong. I think we make sense together."

The romantic interest meter hit ninety percent and a new notification appeared: relationship milestone approaching. prepare for confession sequence. Heeseung's stomach dropped. Confession sequence. That meant the game was building toward something, toward an ending. toward him having to either commit or walk away. He'd known this was coming, obviously, this was a dating sim, the whole point was to get to the confession. But now that it was actually happening he wasn't ready. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to keep going on dates and learning things about you and making you laugh and existing in this space where things made sense.

"Hey," you said, turning to look at him. "You okay? You got quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

About how you're not real, he didn't say. About how I'm going to have to leave eventually and you'll just be code again. About how I'm way too invested in something that was only supposed to be a game. "About how nice this is," he said instead.

You smiled and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Yeah. It really is." You sat there until the sun finished setting and the stars came out, which happened too fast because game time didn't move like real time. When the world started to blur at the edges and Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation, you squeezed his hand once before letting go. "See you next time," you said, and your voice was already fading.

Heeseung woke up at his desk again, neck sore, hands cramped around the controller. His phone showed it was three in the morning. He had class in five hours. He should sleep. He should eat something. He should probably shower because he wasn't sure he'd done that today. Instead he looked at the switch screen. progress saved. route progression: 90% complete. next date: confession sequence available.

The next day, Heeseung found Jungwon in the same spot as always, corner desk in the computer lab with three monitors running different programs simultaneously. Heeseung dropped into the chair next to him hard enough that Jungwon jumped. "What happens after the confession?" Heeseung asked without preamble.

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"In your game. What happens after the confession scene. I need to know."

"Oh, you're at that part already?" Jungwon's eyebrows went up. "Uh, I don't know if i should tell you though. Spoilers and all that."

"Jungwon."

"I'm serious! The whole point of a game is discovering it yourself. If I tell you what happens it ruins the experience." Jungwon was grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "You're supposed to go in blind and make your choices based on what feels right in the moment."

Heeseung resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "I just want to know what to expect. Is there a good ending? A bad ending? Multiple endings?"

"There are multiple endings, yeah. Depends on your choices throughout the game and your final stats." Jungwon tilted his head, studying him. "Why are you so stressed about this? It's just a game. If you get a bad ending you can just reload and try again."

"I don't want to reload," Heeseung said, and he could hear how intense he sounded but couldn't seem to stop. "I want to get it right the first time."

Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly set down his drink. "Okay, you need to be honest with me right now. How much have you been playing this game?"

"I don't know. A few hours a day."

"Heeseung."

"Okay, maybe more than a few hours."

"How many hours are we talking? Ballpark estimate."

Heeseung did the mental math and immediately regretted it. "I don't think that's relevant."

"Oh my god, you're obsessed." Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. "Dude, it's a dating sim. A fictional dating sim. With a fictional girl who doesn't exist. You know that, right? You know she's not real?"

"Obviously I know that," Heeseung said defensively, even though there were moments when he forgot, when you felt so real that it didn't matter what you were made of.

"Do you though? Because you look like you haven't slept in three days." Jungwon was trying to be lighthearted about it but there was genuine worry underneath. "I made the game to be immersive but this is kind of next level." Jungwon paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. Do you have the save file on your switch?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Can I see it? I want to check something." Jungwon was already pulling out a cable from his bag. "I've been trying to track some of the game metrics and I want to see how your playthrough data looks. Might help me optimize things for the final build." Heeseung hesitated for a second, then pulled out his switch and handed it over. Jungwon connected it to his laptop and started pulling up files, his eyes scanning lines of code that moved too fast for Heeseung to follow. "Okay so your save file shows you're at ninety percent completion, which tracks," Jungwon muttered, clicking through folders. "Romance points are maxed, most of your stats are really high except wisdom which is still somehow at like twenty, but that's on you for ignoring all the library study sessions —" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait."

"What?"

"Hang on." Jungwon leaned closer to his screen, scrolling through something. his expression shifted from curious to confused to something that looked almost worried. "This doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"These files. There are scripts here that I didn't write." Jungwon opened another window, comparing code side by side. "Like, entire dialogue trees that don't exist in my original build. And these asset files, I definitely didn't create these. The arcade date was supposed to be at a generic arcade but your file shows custom assets for specific machines."

Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Maybe you forgot you added them?"

"I don't forget code I write, Heeseung. That's not how this works." Jungwon was scrolling faster now, opening more files. "And look at this, the dating locations are generating based on your preferences. I programmed like five set locations but your save file has seven different ones and they're all places that align with interests you've demonstrated in gameplay." He clicked on something else. "Oh this is weird. Really weird."

"What?"

"The dialogue system. I built it to pull from a database of pre written responses with some randomization for variety, but this–-" Jungwon gestured at the screen. "This is learning. It's analyzing your responses and generating new dialogue options that don't exist in my database. It's writing its own conversations."

"Is that bad?"

"It's not bad, it's impossible. I didn't program that. I don't even know how to program that." Jungwon looked up at him, and for the first time since Heeseung had known him, he looked genuinely unsettled. "Your game is developing its own code."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the computer lab's ventilation system and the clicking of someone's mechanical keyboard a few desks over. "Is that dangerous?" Heseung asked.

"I don't know. Probably not? I mean, it's still just a game. It's not like it can affect anything outside of itself." Jungwon didn't sound entirely convinced though. "But it's definitely something I need to look into. This could be a massive bug or it could be the framework doing something really innovative that I didn't anticipate."

"But the game still works, right? Like, I can still finish it?"

Jungwon gave him a look. "You're really determined to finish this thing, aren't you?"

"I'm ninety percent through. I'm not stopping now."

"Even knowing that the game is apparently developing sentience or whatever?"

"It's not sentient, it's just adaptive," Heeseung said, trying to sound convincing.

Jungwon sighed and unplugged the switch, handing it back to him. "Okay, fine. But I'm keeping a copy of your save data so I can analyze this more. And maybe after you're done we can talk about what's actually happening here because this is either a huge breakthrough in game design or a really concerning glitch and I genuinely can't tell which." Heeseung nodded, pocketing the switch. "And Heeseung?" Jungwon's expression was serious now. "Be careful with the confession sequence. I know you want to get it right but just remember that at the end of the day it's still a program. It's responding to inputs and generating outputs. It's not actually feeling anything."

Heeseung nodded, but he was thinking about the way you'd looked at him during the sunset on the hiking date or about how your smile seemed genuinely happy when he won you the stuffed cat. "Right," he said. "Yeah, I know that." Jungwon didn't look convinced, and honestly, Heeseung wasn't either.

By the time he got back to his dorm that evening, he'd made a decision. He was going to finish the game. He was going to do the confession sequence. And he was going to be honest, say what he actually felt, because even if you were just code, the feelings were real, his feelings were real. That had to count for something. So he sat down at his desk, picked up his switch, and loaded the save file. the screen showed the usual menu: Continue, Load, Settings. He selected continue and the familiar loading screen appeared with its soft music and the progress bar that now read ninety percent. The world loaded and Heeseung found himself standing in front of a location marker that hadn't been there before. It was highlighted in gold and pulsing softly, and when he walked up to it, a notification appeared.

final date available: confession sequence. proceed?

Heeseung took a breath, his actual physical breath in his actual room, and then pressed yes. The world reformed around him and he was standing outside an apartment building he recognized as yours. The sun was setting, painting everything in warm golden light. His outfit had changed without him doing anything; he was wearing a button up shirt now, dark jeans, shoes that were nicer than anything he owned in real life. His hair felt different too, like someone had styled it properly instead of his usual routine of running his fingers through it and hoping for the best. And then a notification appeared:

quest: the perfect date. objective: confess your feelings. bonus objective: make it memorable. current stats — confidence: 95. charm: 80. emotional intelligence: 60. romantic interest: 90%.

Heeseung looked at the apartment door and a dialogue option popped up floating in his vision.

> knock on the door > text her that you're here > wait for her to come down

He selected the first option because knocking felt more personal, more intentional. He walked up to the door and knocked three times, and there was this weird moment where he could feel his heart actually racing even though he was pretty sure his real body was just sitting in a chair holding a controller. The door opened and you were there, and Heeseung forgot how to think for a second. You were wearing a dress, which he'd never seen you in before. It wasn't overly fancy, just simple and nice and it suited you in a way that made his chest tight. Your hair was down and you'd clearly put in effort and you looked nervous in a way that made him want to tell you that you had nothing to be nervous about. "Hi," you said, and you were smiling but there was something uncertain in it.

dialogue options: > you look really pretty > ready to go? > sorry, am i early?

Heeseung picked the first one without hesitating. "You look really pretty," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected.

Your smile got more genuine, less nervous. "Yeah? I wasn't sure if this was too much. You didn't tell me where we were going."

"It's perfect," Heeseung said, even though he also didn't know where you were going.

romance +5. successful compliment.

You grabbed your bag and locked the door behind you, and when you turned back to him there was this moment where Heeseung almost offered his hand but wasn't sure if that was too much. The game solved the problem for him by providing another choice.

action options: > offer your arm > walk beside her casually > hold her hand

He selected the first one, old fashioned but confident, and held out his arm. You looked at it for a second and then smiled and took it, linking your arm through his, and suddenly you were walking together down the street like this was something you did all the time. "So where are we going?" You asked, looking up at him.

"This place I found," Heeseung said, even though he hadn't found anything because this was a game and the location was predetermined. "I thought you'd like it."

The restaurant, when you got there, was the kind of place Heeseung had only seen in movies. Small and intimate with soft lighting and candles on every table and windows that looked out over the city. There was a host at the front who smiled at them like he'd been expecting them, and he led them to a table by the window without Heeseung having to say anything. You sat down across from him and looked around, eyes wide. "Heeseung, this place is really nice. You didn't have to do all this."

dialogue options: > i wanted to > you deserve it > it's not that fancy

He picked the second one. "you deserve it," he said, and you looked at him with this expression he couldn't quite read but that made something warm settle in his chest. The waiter came by with menus and Heeseung noticed that all the food options had little stat indicators next to them. Ordering the pasta would give a +5 to sophistication. The steak was +8 to confidence. The wine selection had various charisma bonuses. It was surreal, sitting in what looked like a real restaurant while video game mechanics floated at the edge of his vision. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, and Heeseung realized he'd been quiet for too long.

dialogue options: > just trying to decide what to order > thinking about how nice this is > thinking about you

The third option felt too direct, too soon, so he went with the second. "Just thinking about how nice this is," he said. "Being here with you."

You smiled and looked down at your menu, and Heeseung could see the faint blush on your cheeks. "Yeah. It is nice." You both ordered food and fell into easy conversation. You told him about something funny that happened in your class and he told you about nearly falling asleep during a lecture that morning. The food came and it was actually good, or at least the game's version of good, and Heeseung found himself relaxing into the moment.

Halfway through dinner, you reached across the table and stole a bite of his food without asking. It was casual and comfortable and exactly the kind of thing you'd done on previous dates, but this time when you pulled back, Heeseung caught your hand before you could fully retreat.

action options: > hold her hand > let go after a moment > bring her hand to your lips (high risk)

His confidence stat was at ninety five. He picked the first option and just held your hand there on the table, his fingers laced through yours, and you looked surprised for a second before your expression softened into something that looked almost relieved. "Is this okay?" Heeseung asked quietly.

"Yeah," you said, and your voice was just as quiet. "This is okay."

romance +10. physical intimacy initiated successfully.

You finished dinner like that, hands linked across the table, and Heeseung had never felt more present in a moment that he knew wasn't technically real. When the waiter brought the check, Heeseung paid without looking at it, because, well, that wasn't his real money. And you didn't protest, just squeezed his hand once and smiled. Outside the restaurant, the city had transformed into its night version. String lights hung between buildings and the streetlamps cast everything in a warm glow. There was soft music coming from somewhere, ambient and atmospheric. "Do you want to walk for a bit?" You asked. "I'm not really ready to go home yet."

dialogue options: > absolutely > whatever you want > i was hoping you'd say that

Heeseung picked the last one. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, and you laughed and pulled him down the street, still holding his hand.

You walked through the city without any real destination, just moving together, and Heeseung was hyperaware of every point of contact between you. Your hand in his, the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm, the way you'd lean into him slightly when you laughed at something he said. Eventually you led him to a park that Heeseung didn't remember seeing before. It was mostly empty at this time of night, just a few NPCs scattered around looking decorative. There was a fountain in the center and benches arranged around it, and you pulled him toward one of the benches and sat down, tugging him down next to you. You didn't let go of his hand. "Can I tell you something?" You asked, looking at the fountain instead of at him.

"Of course," Heeseung said.

You took a breath. "I really like spending time with you. Like, really like it. You make me feel like I can just be myself and that's enough, you know? I don't have to try to be cooler or funnier or different. I can just exist and you seem to like that."

Heeseung's throat felt tight. "I do like that," he managed. "I like you exactly how you are."

critical moment approaching. romance threshold: 95%.

You finally turned to look at him, and your expression was nervous and hopeful and vulnerable in a way that made Heeseung forget that you were supposed to be code. "The thing is," you continued, "I don't usually do this. I don't usually let people get close like this. But with you it felt easy from the start and now I'm just —" you stopped, searching for words. "I'm really happy you're here."

confession sequence initiated. select response: > i'm happy too > i feel the same way > i need to tell you something

Heeseung knew this was it. This was the moment the whole game had been building toward. All those dates, All those conversations, all those stat increases and romance points, everything had led to this choice. He could play it safe with the first two options or he could go all in with the third one. His confidence was maxed out. He'd earned this moment. So he picked the third option.

"I need to tell you something," Heeseung said, and his voice was steadier than he expected. "I didn't really know what to expect when we first met. I thought maybe it'd be awkward or forced or like every other time I've tried to get to know someone. But it wasn't like that at all." You were watching him carefully, not interrupting, and Heeseung kept going. "You're the first person in a really long time who makes me want to actually try, you know? Like, I want to be someone worth your time. I want to hear about your day and your opinions on League of Legends and game mechanics or how you wanted to live on a farm one day. I want to keep doing this, all of it, for as long as you'll let me." Romance stats were at 98% now. "What I'm trying to say is —" Heeseung paused, and the game provided one final choice, the last decision that would determine everything.

final confession: > i really like you > i think i'm falling for you > i'm in love with you

Heeseung looked at you, at the way you were watching him with your full attention, at the hope in your expression, at how real you felt in this moment. He picked the middle option, the one that was honest without being overwhelming. "I think I'm falling for you," he said quietly. "Actually, I don't think. I know. I'm falling for you and I don't really know how to stop and I don't think I want to."

The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the ambient sounds of the park faded into nothing. You were staring at him with wide eyes and Heeseung's heart was racing and for one terrible second he thought he'd picked wrong, said too much, ruined everything.

Then you smiled, the kind of smile that started small and grew until it took over your whole face, and you said, "oh thank god."

"What?"

"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for like days now." You were laughing, almost giddy with relief. "I kept overthinking it and planning the perfect moment and the perfect words and then you just — you just said it and it was perfect anyway."

romance: 100% confession successful | achievement unlocked: reciprocated feelings.

"So," Heeseung said, because he needed to be absolutely sure. "Does that mean —" You didn't let him finish. You just leaned in and kissed him.

For a second, Heeseung's brain completely short circuited. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. He'd expected more dialogue options, maybe a choice prompt, some kind of warning that this moment was coming. But there was nothing, just the sudden warmth of your lips against his and the way his entire nervous system seemed to light up all at once. It wasn't dramatic or earth shattering or any of the things movies made kissing out to be. It was soft and brief and a little tentative, like you weren't entirely sure if you were doing it right. Your lips were warm and you tasted faintly like the wine from dinner and Heeseung could feel your hand trembling slightly where it was still holding his. He barely had time to process any of it, to kiss you back properly, before you pulled away, looking nervous again.

"Was that okay?" You asked, and your voice was quieter than before, uncertain. "I should have asked first probably but you were taking too long to —"

Heeseung cut you off by kissing you again, properly this time. He brought one hand up to cup your face and he could feel how warm your skin was under his palm, could feel the slight texture of it like actual skin and not polygons. His other hand stayed linked with yours and he squeezed gently, anchoring himself to you, to this moment that felt too real to be made of code. This kiss was different from the first one. Longer, more certain, like now that he knew what he was doing he could actually do it right. You made this small sound against his mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and Heeseung felt it all the way down to his toes. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss and you responded immediately, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

This has too much detail, Heeseung thought distantly. Games didn't work like this. He shouldn't be able to feel the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth. Shouldn't be able to notice how you leaned into him, closing whatever small distance had been between you. Shouldn't be able to smell your perfume or feel the way your hair brushed against his hand when you tilted your head.

romance: 100%. relationship established | achievement unlocked: first kiss | achievement unlocked: good ending route - mutual confession.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, and Heeseung followed without thinking, not ready to stop yet. You laughed softly against his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, and kissed him again. This time it was you who took control, you who pressed closer, and Heeseung let you, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He could feel your heartbeat and that's what finally made his brain catch up to what was happening. His thumb was resting against your pulse point and he could feel it racing, quick and real and impossible. Games didn't simulate heartbeats. Games didn't need that level of detail. But he could feel it anyway, the proof that maybe you were here, that this was happening, even if it shouldn't be possible.

"Okay," you said quietly, and you were smiling. He could hear it in your voice even before he saw it.

Heeseung laughed, the sound coming out rougher than he intended. "That was better than okay."

You opened your eyes and looked at him, and Heeseung's breath caught because the detail was impossible. He could see the exact color of your eyes, could see the way they reflected the light from the streetlamps, could see the slight dilation of your pupils. This wasn't game graphics. This was too real. This was beyond anything Jungwon could have programmed. "You're staring," you said, but you didn't sound upset about it. If anything you sounded pleased, a little shy.

"Sorry," Heeseung said, but he didn't look away. "I'm just — you're really pretty."

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too wide, and Heeseung watched the movement with more attention than was probably appropriate. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wanted to understand how any of this was possible. "Can I ask you something?" Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper because speaking any louder felt like it would shatter whatever spell they were under.

"Anything," you said, and your hand was still pressed against his chest and Heeseung wondered if you could feel his heartbeat too, if the game had coded that detail as well.

"Does this feel real to you?"

You tilted your head slightly, considering the question. "What do you mean?"

"This. Us. Right now." Heeseung knew he wasn't making sense but he needed to know, needed to understand if you felt it too, this strange impossible realness of everything. "Does it feel real?"

You were quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful, and then you squeezed his hand. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt," you said simply. "Why? Does it not feel real to you?"

"No, it does. That's the problem." Heeseung couldn't explain what he meant without revealing that you were in a game, that this was all supposed to be simulation, that none of this should feel the way it did. "It feels too real."

"I don't think something can feel too real," you said, and you leaned in and pecked his lips, soft and quick. "Either it's real or it's not. And this is real." Heeseung wanted to argue, wanted to explain all the reasons why this couldn't be real, why you couldn't be real. Maybe it didn't matter. maybe real was just whatever felt like this. "Kiss me again," you said against his mouth, and it wasn't really a question. So Heeseung did. He kissed you until he forgot where he ended and you began, until the only thing that existed was this: You and him and this impossible moment that felt more real than anything in his actual life ever had.

Eventually though, the world started to glitch again. The colors began bleeding together and the sounds got distant and muffled. Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation and knew his time was up. "Hey," he said urgently, taking both your hands. "I—"

"It's okay," you said, and you were smiling even though your eyes looked sad. "I know you have to go."

"I don't want to."

"I know. But you'll come back, right?"

save data complete. route finished: good ending achieved. new game+ unlocked. additional content available.

"Yeah," Heeseung promised. "I'll come back."

You kissed him one more time, quick and desperate, and then the world dissolved completely and Heeseung was falling backward through light and color and static. He woke up gasping in his desk chair, controller clutched in his hands so tight his fingers had gone numb. The switch screen was showing the ending credits, rolling slowly with soft music playing. His face felt wet and he realized with some embarrassment that he was crying.

congratulations! you've completed the good ending route. relationship status: official couple. total play time: 51 hours, 23 minutes. would you like to start new game+ with additional couple content? yes / no

Heeseung stared at the options, his hands still shaking, his heart still racing. He thought about you, about your smile and your laugh and the way you'd kissed him. He thought about how none of it was real but all of it felt real, which was somehow worse. But there was more content. The game was offering him more time with you. More dates, more conversations, more moments. How could he say no to that?

His thumb hovered over the yes option for only a second before he pressed it. The screen went black. Heeseung waited. The switch made its usual loading sound, the soft hum that meant something was processing. He stared at the blank screen and waited for the menu to load, for the game to boot up, for something to happen. But nothing happened, the screen stayed completely black. No loading bar, no menu, no error message. Just his own reflection staring back at him in the screen's surface. He looked terrible, he realized distantly. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair was a mess and he looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was probably accurate.

"Come on," Heeseung muttered, pressing the home button. The switch menu popped up normally, showing all his other games, his profile, the usual interface. He clicked back into Girlfriend Simulator and the screen went black again. he waited another thirty seconds, nothing. He restarted the entire console. When it booted back up and he launched the game, the screen flickered once, twice, and then showed the title screen. Heeseung felt relief flood through him, almost dizzy with it. He clicked continue. The screen loaded for a moment, and then: game over. thank you for playing.

Credits started rolling. The same soft music from before, the same slow scroll of names and acknowledgments. Heeseung watched them pass in disbelief, his stomach sinking further with each line. When the credits finished, it kicked him back to the title screen. He clicked continue again. Same thing: game over, credits, title screen. "What the hell," Heeseung said out loud. He tried load game instead, pulling up his save files. They were all there, all his progress, all forty seven hours of gameplay. He selected the most recent one, the completed route with the good ending marker.

this save file has been completed |  start new game+ to continue.

He clicked yes. Black screen. Then after a long pause: error: unable to load content. 

"No no no no," Heeseung heard himself saying, clicking frantically now, trying every option, every menu, every possible path to get back into the game. Nothing worked. He checked the time on his phone. 3:29 am. He'd been playing for hours and now he'd been trying to reload for almost thirty minutes. His rational brain knew he should sleep, should deal with this tomorrow when he was thinking clearly, but his rational brain had apparently left the building several dates ago.

He pulled up his recent calls and hit jungwon's name before he could think better of it. it rang once, twice, three times. Then voicemail, Jungwon's voice cheerful and pre recorded telling him to leave a message. Of course Jungwon wasn't answering, it was almost four in the morning. Normal people were asleep at four in the morning. Normal people weren't having breakdowns over video games at four in the morning. Heeseung put his head in his hands and tried to remember the last time he'd felt this hollow about something ending. A relationship, maybe, though his dating history was sparse enough that he couldn't think of a good comparison. This felt worse somehow. The rational part of his brain that hadn't completely shut down was telling him this was ridiculous. Well, it could happen, people got attached to fictional characters all the time. The solution was obvious: take a break, get some perspective, maybe go outside and remember what actual human interaction felt like.

But the rest of him, the larger and louder part, was stuck on the way you'd looked at him on that park bench. The way you'd smiled when he gave you the flower. The way you'd kissed him like you'd been wanting to for a while and were just waiting for permission. The way you'd felt real, impossibly real, more real than most of the interactions he had in his day to day life. "It's not real," Heeseung said out loud to his dark room, his voice rough. "She's not real. It's just code. Just really good code that learned too well."

But his chest ached anyway. And somewhere around six am, Heeseung finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, his switch still sitting on his desk with the title screen frozen on the display. When his alarm went off three hours later for his morning class, Heeseung woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to sleep. His eyes were gritty and his head hurt and his chest still had that hollow ache that he couldn't explain away as anything other than what it was.

Heeseung found Jungwon in the computer lab during lunch, exactly where he always was. "Hey," Heeseung said, dropping into the chair next to him. He pulled his switch out of his bag and set it on the desk between them. "The game broke."

"What do you mean broke?" Jungwon glanced at the switch, then at Heeseung, then did a double take. "Dude, you look terrible."

He decided to ignore that. "I mean I finished it. Got to the end, got the good ending, and then it asked if i wanted to start new game plus." Heeseung picked up the switch and demonstrated, clicking through the menus. "I said yes and then it just stopped working. Look, it keeps giving me this error or just showing the game over screen. I can load old saves but I can't progress forward."

Jungwon took the switch, frowning at the screen. He clicked through a few menus, tried the same things Heeseung had tried, and his frown deepened. "That's weird. The new game plus feature should be fully implemented. I tested it before I gave you the build."

"Well it's not working now."

"Yeah, I can see that." Jungwon was scrolling through something, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "This is really strange. It's like the save file is corrupted but also not corrupted? Like it knows you finished the route but it can't load the post game content."

"Can you fix it?" Heeseung asked, and he hated how desperate he sounded but couldn't seem to help it.

Jungwon looked at him for a long moment. "I can try. I'll need to take this and run some diagnostics, see what's actually happening in the backend. But Heeseung, I need you to manage your expectations here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means this is a test build. That's literally why I asked you to play it, to find bugs like this. If something went seriously wrong with the code, if the file corruption is bad enough, I might have to rebuild the entire post game sequence from scratch. That's going to take time."

"How much time?" Heeseung asked, and his voice came out smaller than he intended.

"I don't know. Could be that I have to scrap this version entirely and start over with a clean build." Jungwon was being gentle about it but firm, like he needed Heeseung to understand the reality of the situation. "This is what testing is for dude, finding the breaking points before release."

Heeseung felt something sink in his chest. Weeks. Or maybe never, if Jungwon had to start over. "Okay," he said, because what else could he say. "Okay, just let me know what you find."

"Yeah." Jungwon pocketed the switch cartridge and gave Heeseung another concerned look. "Seriously though, are you okay? You're acting really weird about this."

"I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just frustrated. I was really into it and now I can't finish it."

"It's just a game though."

"I know that."

Jungwon didn't look convinced but he didn't push it either. "Okay. Well, go get some sleep or something. You look like you're about to pass out."

Heeseung nodded and left the lab, feeling hollow in a way that didn't make sense. It was just a game. Jungwon was right. He'd gotten too invested and now he needed to take a step back and remember that normal people didn't have emotional breakdowns over dating simulators. He went to his afternoon lecture and sat in the back and didn't retain a single word the professor said. He took notes anyway, his hand moving automatically across the page while his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about you waiting in that park, kept wondering if you were still there or if you'd disappeared when the save file corrupted. Kept wondering if code could feel abandoned.

After class he went back to his dorm and tried to do homework. He opened his algorithms textbook and stared at the same problem for twenty minutes without making any progress. Jake came in around six, dumping his bag on the couch and immediately noticing something was off. "You good?" Jake asked, pulling off his jacket.

"Yeah, fine. Just tired."

"You've been saying that all week." Jake sat down at his own desk and spun his chair to face Heeseung. "You've been acting weirder than usual. What's going on?"

Heeseung considered lying but he was too exhausted to come up with anything convincing. "I was playing this game Jungwon made, got really into it and now it's broken and I can't play it anymore and I'm being weird about it."

"Oh." Jake processed this. "Was it one of those games with like, romance options and stuff?"

"Yeah."

Jake nodded slowly, like this explained everything. "Okay, those games are designed to get you attached, man, it's not your fault." He paused. "By the way, there's a party this weekend. Jay's throwing it at his place. You should come."

"I don't know," Heeseung said.

"Come on, it'll be good for you. Get out of your head for a bit. When was the last time you went to a party?"

Heeseung tried to remember and couldn't. "I don't know. Freshman year maybe?"

"Exactly. You need to socialize with actual human beings. No offense but you've been kind of hermiting lately." Jake was already pulling out his phone. "I'm telling Jay you're coming. It's saturday at eight."

"I don't —"

"Nope, you're coming. I'm not letting you sit here and mope about a video game all weekend. That's sad, even for you."

"What does that even—," Heeseung wanted to argue but he was too tired and Jake had a point. Sitting in his room thinking about you wasn't going to fix anything. Maybe going to a party would help. "Okay, yeah, fine," Heeseung said. "I'll go."

"Good. It's going to be fun." Jake turned back to his desk, already texting. "And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone."

Heeseung doubted that but didn't say it out loud. And saturday came faster than Heeseung expected, which was probably for the best because it meant less time to think about backing out. Jake had been monitoring him all day like he was afraid Heeseung would make a run for it, which was fair because Heeseung had definitely considered it at least three times.

By the time eight rolled around, Jake had already gone through Heeseung's entire closet and vetoed most of it. "You can't wear that, it has a stain. That one's too wrinkled. That shirt makes you look like someone's dad." Eventually they settled on black jeans and a dark blue button up that Heeseung had forgotten he owned, probably because he'd bought it for some family thing two years ago and never wore it again. "There," Jake said, looking satisfied. "You look like an actual person now instead of a sleep deprived computer science major."

"I am a sleep deprived computer science major."

"Yeah but you don't have to advertise it." Jake was already heading for the door. 

The party was at some place off campus that apparently belonged to Jay's older brother, which explained why it was bigger and nicer than most student housing. The music was loud enough that Heeseung could feel it in his chest before they even got through the door. Jake immediately got pulled into a conversation with some people from his econ class, and Heeseung grabbed a drink from the kitchen just to have something to do with his hands. He wandered through for a while, recognizing some faces from classes but not really knowing anyone well enough to join their conversations. this was why he didn't go to parties. He always ended up standing awkwardly in corners wondering when it would be acceptable to leave.

"Heeseung!" Someone called, and he turned to see Beomgyu waving at him from the balcony. "Dude, I didn't know you went to parties. Come here." Heeseung made his way through the crowd to the balcony where Beomgyu was standing with Soobin and Riki, and the air was clearer out here, easier to breathe. Beomgyu was holding what was very obviously a joint. "Want some?" Beomgyu offered, holding it out. "It's good stuff."

Heeseung normally would have said no because he had assignments due and didn't really like losing control of his thoughts, but tonight his thoughts were the problem so maybe losing control of them for a bit wasn't the worst idea. "Yeah, okay."

He took it and inhaled, immediately coughed. It felt someone had turned down the volume on all his anxious thoughts. He passed it back to Beomgyu and leaned against the railing. They stood out there for a while, passing the joint around, and Heeseung felt himself relax in a way he hadn't in days. Eventually they went back inside and the party had gotten more crowded. Heeseung got another drink and let himself get pulled into a conversation about the upcoming finals with some people he vaguely recognized from his algorithms class. The weed was making everything feel softer and more manageable, like he could actually handle being around this many people without wanting to escape.

Jake found him around eleven and looked genuinely shocked. "You're still here. And you're smiling. Did someone drug you?"

"I drugged myself, actually. Beomgyu had weed."

"Good for you. See, I knew this would be good for you." Jake clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get another drink. You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

And the weird thing was that Heeseung actually meant it. He was good. He was at a party and he wasn't hating it and he hadn't thought about the game in at least an hour. Maybe this was what moving on felt like, just slowly forgetting to think about the thing that had been consuming you.

He made his way toward where people were dancing, not to join them but just to watch, and that's when he saw you. Or someone who looked exactly like you.

You were in the middle of the crowd, dancing with a group of friends, and Heeseung's brain stopped. Same hair, same face, same smile he'd memorized over dozens of hours of gameplay. You were wearing a black dress and your hair was down and you were laughing at something one of her friends said, and Heeseung felt like he'd been punched in the chest. It couldn't be you. It just couldn't be. You weren't real. You were code, pixels, a character in a dating simulator that didn't even work anymore. But she looked exactly like you, moved like you, had the same mannerisms he'd come to recognize, and Heeseung couldn't look away.

He stood there frozen, drink forgotten in his hand, just staring. The weed was definitely not helping because it made everything feel surreal and dreamlike, like maybe he'd fallen asleep at the party and this was just his brain torturing him with what he couldn't have. You spun around to the music and laughed and Heeseung's heart was doing something painful in his chest.

And then, as if you could feel him watching, you turned and looked directly at him. Your eyes met across the crowd and the world seemed to stop. Your expression shifted from happy to confused to something Heeseung couldn't identify, like recognition but also shock, like you'd seen a ghost. A pretty one, actually. You stared at him with the same intensity he was staring at you, both of you frozen while people danced and laughed around them, completely oblivious to whatever moment was happening. And Heeseung's mind was racing. You seemed to recognize him, but that was impossible because you'd never met, because you were a stranger, because the person you looked like didn't exist outside of a video game. 

Your friends said something to you and you blinked, breaking eye contact. You looked at them, said something Heeseung couldn't hear over the music, and then looked back at him one more time. That same confused, almost dazed expression. Then you turned back to your friends and kept dancing, but your movements were more mechanical now, less loose, like you were going through the motions while your mind was somewhere else. Heeseung just stood there, rooted to the spot, his drink sweating in his hand. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he couldn't tell if it was the weed or the shock or both. Probably both. He was high at a party and he'd just seen someone who looked like a video game character and convinced himself it meant something. He was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Or the weed was laced with something. Or he'd finally actually lost his mind.

He turned and pushed through the crowd, Making his way to the bathroom. He needed to splash water on his face, Needed to get his head straight, needed to stop seeing you everywhere just because he missed the game. Heeseung practically fell inside and locked the door behind him. He turned on the faucet and let the water run cold, then splashed it on his face once, twice, three times. The shock of it helped, made everything feel more real and less dreamlike.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were definitely red from the weed and he looked slightly unhinged, hair messed up from running his hands through it too many times. "You're fine," he told his reflection. "You're high and you're seeing things and you're fine. She just looks like her. Lots of people probably look like her. Jungwon probably based the character on some generic attractive person template. It doesn't mean anything."

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a questionable towel that was hanging on the rack, and tried to pull himself together. He couldn't hide in the bathroom all night. He needed to go back out there, find Jake, maybe go home and sleep this off. Maybe in the morning this would all make sense or at least feel less overwhelming.

He opened the door and nearly ran directly into you. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said quickly, stepping back.

Heeseung froze. Up close you were even more exactly like the character from the game, every detail perfect, from the shape of your eyes to the way you were nervously adjusting the strap of your dress. You looked at him for a second, that same confused recognition flickering across your face, and then you moved to step past him.

"Wait," Heeseung said, turning before he could stop himself. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "I'm sorry, do we know each other from somewhere?"

You stopped and turned back, tilting your head slightly as you studied his face. "No, I don't think so. I think I'd remember if we'd met before." You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly like you'd just heard what you said. "I mean, not that I'm saying you have a particularly memorable face or anything. Wait, that sounds bad. I'm not saying you're forgettable either, you're just— " you stopped yourself and took a breath. "Sorry, I'm making this weird. I don't think we've met but you do seem familiar somehow."

Heeseung just stared at you, his brain trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him, real and solid and rambling nervously in the exact same way the game character had. The same mannerisms, the same voice, the same way of talking yourself into circles when you were flustered. It was you. It was actually you. "Are you okay?" You asked, looking concerned now. 

"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine." Heeseung tried to pull himself together. "You just really remind me of someone."

"Good someone or bad someone?"

"Good someone. Definitely good someone."

You smiled at that, a small genuine smile that made Heeseung's chest ache because he'd seen that exact smile dozens of times through a screen. "Well that's good at least. I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Heeseung."

"Nice to meet you, Heeseung." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, and Heeseung noticed your phone in your hand. The case had a photocard of a character that he recognized immediately — Janna from League of Legends, in her star guardian skin.

"You play league?" He asked before he could think better of it.

Your face lit up. "Yeah! How'd you know?"

"Your phone case."

"Oh my god, yes." You turned your phone to show him properly, looking pleased that he'd recognized it. "I'm a Janna main and I'm not ashamed of it." Heeseung felt something cold run down his spine. Those words. he'd heard those exact words before. "I know, I know," you continued, in the same tone, the same cadence. "Support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."

Heeseung couldn't breathe. Word for word. You'd just said exactly what you'd said in the game, with the same inflection, the same defensive pride. This wasn't a coincidence. This couldn't be a coincidence. "What rank are you?" He managed to ask, his voice coming out rougher than intended.

"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and gave up on the grind." You were fully animated now, talking with your hands. "What about you, do you play?"

"Yeah. Diamond 3."

"Oh so you're actually good." You looked impressed. "We should play together sometime."

The world tilted. Heeseung was pretty sure he was having some kind of break from reality because this conversation had already happened. He'd already lived through this exact exchange in the game, and now it was happening again in real life with a real person standing in front of him saying the same things.

"Heeseung!" Someone called out, and Heeseung turned to see Jungwon pushing through the hallway crowd, looking genuinely shocked. "Holy shit, you actually came to a party. I didn't think I'd see this day." Jungwon reached them and then seemed to notice you for the first time. His expression shifted from surprised to confused. "Wait, you two know each other?"

"You know each other?" Heeseung and you said at the exact same time, then looked at each other in surprise.

Jungwon looked between the two of you, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, Y/N's in my game design class." He turned to you. "And Heeseung's my best friend, we're in the same program."

"Wait, so you're that Heeseung!" You looked at him. "He talks about you all the time, by the way. I know your entire sleep schedule at this point."

"That's concerning," Heeseung said.

"Very concerning," you agreed. "So what brings you to the party?" You asked Heeseung. "Jungwon made it sound like you're basically a hermit who only emerges for classes and food."

"My roommate forced me to come. Said I needed to socialize."

"Same, actually. My best friend is around here somewhere." You glanced back toward the party. "She has this theory that I spend too much time gaming and not enough time experiencing real life."

"Gaming is real life," Heeseung said.

"Exactly! That's what I told her." You seemed genuinely pleased that he understood. "But she's on this whole thing about how I need to make more friends and go out more and whatever. So here I am, at a party, making friends." You gestured between yourself and Heeseung. "Look at me, being social."

"You're doing great," Jungwon said, sounding amused.

"Thanks, I'm trying." You checked your phone quickly. "Speaking of my roommate, she's texting me asking where I went. I should probably get back." You looked at Heeseung. "But seriously, add me on league. I meant what I said about playing together."

"Yeah, I will," Heeseung said, and he meant it even though his brain was still trying to process the fact that you were real and standing in front of him.

"Cool. See you guys around." You smiled at both of them and headed back toward the party, weaving through the people in the hallway.

The moment you were out of sight, Heeseung grabbed Jungwon's arm and pulled him toward the front door, outside where it was quieter and they could actually talk without shouting over music. "Dude, what the hell," Heeseung said the moment they were on the sidewalk. "You used her to make the character in the game?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "What? No. What are you talking about?"

"The character in girlfriend simulator. She's exactly like Y/N. Exactly like her, Jungwon. Same face, same personality, same everything."

Jungwon's confusion seemed genuine. "Heeseung, the character customization is completely random for each player. I'm still working on implementing a proper character creator but I ran out of time, so right now it just generates a random appearance based on some base parameters. I didn't use anyone specific as a model."

"That's impossible. She looks exactly like her."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah! I spent fifty one hours with that character. I know what she looks like." Heeseung could hear how unhinged he sounded but he couldn't stop. "And it's not just appearance. The way she talks, the things she said— it's all the same, like, word for word."

Jungwon was quiet for a moment, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "Okay, I think you need to calm down for a second. I think maybe you played the game too much and now you're seeing patterns that aren't there. Like, you spent all week interacting with this character and now you meet someone who has some similar traits and your brain is making connections."

"Jungwon, I'm not making it up."

"I'm not saying you're making it up, I'm saying your brain might be filling in similarities that aren't actually there." Jungwon pulled out his phone. "Look, I don't even really know Y/N that well. We work on projects together but we don't like, hang out or have deep conversations. I definitely didn't use her as a base for anything."

Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Then how do you explain the game knowing things about her? The league stuff, the personality, all of it?"

"The game generates dialogue based on common interests and gaming culture. Lots of people play league. lots of people main support. It's not that weird that there'd be overlap." Jungwon looked genuinely worried now. "Heeseung, I think the game messed with your head more than I thought it would. Maybe we should scrap it entirely."

"No," Heeseung said quickly. "No, I just — I need to understand what happened."

Jungwon sighed. "Look, I actually gave the game to Y/N to test too. A while back, before I gave it to you."

Heeseung's head snapped up. "You what?"

"There's an option in the loading screen. You can choose to play as the protagonist or as the girlfriend. I thought it would be cool to have both perspectives, make it more replayable." Jungwon was scrolling through his phone now. "You didn't see that option?"

"No. There was just a loading screen and then it started."

"Weird. It should have given you a choice." Jungwon pulled up what looked like a message thread. "Anyway, I gave Y/N a beta version to test like a month ago. But she gave it back to me after one day. Said it was too realistic and kind of freaked her out."

"What do you mean too realistic?"

"She said the immersion was too intense. She said it made her uncomfortable how real the boyfriend character seemed." Jungwon looked up from his phone. "Which, now that I think about it, is basically the same thing you've been saying about the girlfriend character."

Heeseung's mind was racing. "So she played it. She played the game from the other perspective."

"Yeah, but just for a few hours. She didn't finish it or anything." Jungwon pocketed his phone. "Why does that matter?"

"I don't know. It just — " Heeseung stopped, trying to organize his thoughts.

Jungwon was watching him carefully. "You look kind of freaked out right now."

Heeseung leaned against the wall of the building, suddenly exhausted. "I just spent a week falling for someone who I thought was just code. And now I find out she looks like a real person and I've been talking to her for the past fifteen minutes like a normal person and I don't know what to do with that information."

"Well, she gave you her discord. You could message her. Play some League together. Get to know the real her instead of the game version." Jungwon paused. "Unless that's too weird for you."

So when Heeseung was ready to leave the party, Jake and Jungwon looked almost disappointed but didn’t argue. They made their way through the crowd toward the front door, and that’s when Heeseung saw you again. You were standing on the sidewalk with two other girls, you were bent over laughing, that genuine kind of laugh where you forget to be self conscious about it.

Heeseung slowed down without meaning to, and Jake nearly walked into him. But then you looked up, like you could sense someone watching. your eyes met Heeseung’s across the sidewalk and you smiled, a smile that felt almost conspiratorial. Like you two were in on a joke that nobody else knew about. Which was insane because you’d met like half an hour ago and had one conversation in a hallway. One of your friends said something and you broke eye contact, still smiling, and climbed into the back seat of the car. Through the window Heeseung could see you saying something that made your friends crack up again. The car pulled away and you didn’t look back, but Heeseung kept staring at the taillights until they disappeared around the corner.

“Okay, what was that?” Jake asked.

“What was what?”

“That whole…” Jake gestured vaguely. “Moment. You guys were having a moment.”

“We weren’t having a moment.”

“You were definitely having a moment. Who was that?”

“Just someone I met. Friend of Jungwon’s.” Heeseung started walking toward their dorm and Jake followed, still looking suspicious.

“You met someone and had a moment with them? At a party? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, this is unprecedented behavior from you. You don’t do moments with strangers.” Heeseung didn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t felt like meeting a stranger. It had felt like running into someone he already knew, someone he’d been thinking about for days. Which was objectively insane but that didn’t make it any less true.

When they got back to the dorm, Jake immediately went to take a shower, still talking about the party through the bathroom door. Heeseung sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up discord before he could talk himself out of it. He typed your name into the search bar. There were like fifteen results but he scrolled through until he found one account that matched your username, with a profile picture that matched; a cute drawing of what looked like a cat in a witch hat. He clicked on your profile and immediately started going through your connected accounts and activity like some kind of creep, but whatever, that’s what public profiles were for, right?

Steam account: 847 hours in League of Legends, which was honestly rookie numbers compared to his own. Recently played Roblox, which he wasn’t going to judge because he had his own embarrassing game collection. He’d been growing a garden in Grow a Garden for like six months now and his sunflowers were thriving, thank you very much. Stardew Valley with 234 hours, which was extremely respectable and also adorable. Unpacking with a lot of hours, which he’d never played but had heard good things about. And The Sims 4 with an amount of hours that suggested you had a serious problem with simulation games. Which, to be honest, he kind of had it now too.

Your Spotify was connected too and he could see you’d been listening to a lot of bedroom pop and indie stuff. Your about me section just said “life ain't cookies n cream lil fella,” which made Heeseung chuckle. You had a sense of humor, which is something he kind of already knew, even though he only knew the game version of you.

Heeseung realized he’d been sitting there scrolling through your profile for like ten minutes and definitely needed to actually send the friend request before this got any weirder. He clicked add friend and then immediately closed his laptop like it might explode. He tried to do other things. He checked his phone. He looked at his algorithms homework and immediately closed that because absolutely not. He reorganized the pens on his desk. He considered making ramen but wasn’t actually hungry. Until his laptop pinged. Heeseung lunged for it so fast he almost his water bottle off the desk. He opened discord and there it was: you accepted his friend request. His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. It was just a discord notification, normal people didn’t have heart palpitations over discord notifications. But Heeseung wasn't normal anymore.

But before he could stop himself, before his brain could catch up with what his hands were doing, he opened the dm and typed hey and then, because apparently he was determined to embarrass himself, he sent the little waving robot sticker that discord suggested unintentionally. He stared at what he’d just done in absolute horror. The waving robot. He’d sent you the waving robot sticker. “Oh my god,” Heeseung said out loud to his empty room. His fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

heeseung: sorry lol heeseung: idk why i sent that heeseung: the robot i mean heeseung: anyway hi

He watched the three dots appear that meant you were typing. they disappeared. appeared again. Disappeared. Heeseung was going to have a heart attack.

you: no the robot was cute you: very welcoming you: really set the tone

Heeseung couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him or not.

heeseung: the tone being what exactly heeseung: desperate? you: i was gonna say endearing but sure we can go with desperate

Heeseung laughed out loud, an actual laugh that made Jake yell “You good?” from the bathroom. Heeseung didn't answer. 

heeseung: cool cool cool love that for me heeseung: starting strong you: you’re doing great you: so did you add me just to apologize for an emoji or was there something else

Heeseung stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could play it cool, say something casual about League or whatever. Or he could be honest, which was terrifying but also the weed was still kind of in his system making everything feel less scary than it probably should.

heeseung: honestly i just wanted to talk to you more heeseung: the conversation in the hallway was cool

The thing was, Heeseung felt bold saying that. Actually bold. This was probably the most direct he’d been with someone (in real life) in years, and he half expected you to think it was weird or too forward or whatever. But you didn’t. You just said “aw that’s sweet, me too!” with a smiley face and kept talking, and Heeseung felt something in his chest unclench. And you talked for hours. About games mostly, because that was the safe territory, the common ground. You told him about how you had been completely consumed by Pokemon Legends ZA, playing it every free moment you had. He admitted he’d loved Arceus when it came out but hadn’t gotten around to ZA yet, and you immediately started telling him everything he was missing out on, your messages coming in quick bursts of enthusiasm about the new mechanics and the Kalos region and how you’d already put in like sixty hours.

You asked him what his favorite games of all time were and he gave you his top five, and you had opinions about all of them, good opinions, the kind that made him want to keep talking just to hear what you’d say next. Somewhere around 1am you sent: “btw you seem really cool hee. we should play something together sometime if you’re down” and Heeseung stared at that message for long enough. You’d called him hee. You’d given him a nickname. And you wanted to play games together. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he could feel his face getting warm, which was stupid because you couldn’t even see him, but his body didn’t seem to care about logic.

heeseung: yeah definitely heeseung: i’d be really down for that

You sent back a heart emoji and said you had to sleep, and Heeseung said goodnight, and then he just sat there for a minute staring at the conversation like if he looked at it long enough he could figure out what was happening to him. He was down bad, really down bad. Which was insane because he’d been down bad before this even happened, down bad for a video game character that turned out to look exactly like you, and now he was down bad for the actual real you, and his brain couldn’t quite process the overlap. It felt like two separate situations that had merged into one extremely confusing situation that he didn’t know how to handle.

When he finally went to bed that night, he had that specific feeling you get when something really good has just happened and you’re lying in the dark replaying it in your head. That flutter in your stomach, that slight buzz of excitement, that sense that you’ve just met someone who’s probably going to matter. Someone who’s going to take up space in your life in a way you can’t predict yet but can already feel coming.

And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t spend the entire next week looking for you on campus. Not in a weird way. Or maybe in a weird way, but he was trying to make it not weird. He’d just happen to walk past the design building between classes. He’d just happen to take a longer route to the dining hall that went by the areas where Jungwon said you usually hung out. He’d just happen to check the game design lab when he was meeting Jungwon, looking around all casual like he wasn’t actively scanning for your face.

Monday: nothing. Tuesday: he saw someone with similar hair from behind and did a weird half jog to catch up only to realize it was absolutely not you and he’d just chased down a complete stranger for no reason. Wednesday: he sat in the campus coffee shop for two hours pretending to do homework but really just watching the door. Thursday: more nothing. By friday Heeseung was starting to think maybe you were a figment of his imagination, maybe the whole party had been a fever dream, maybe he’d made you up entirely. So by afternoon Heeseung had given up. He was going to the library to actually do the algorithms homework he’d been ignoring all week, and he was going to stop being a weird person who wandered around campus hoping to accidentally run into someone.

Except then he walked into the library and saw you. You were tucked into a corner on the second floor, the quiet study section where people went to actually focus. Your laptop was open in front of you, headphones on, and you were doing that thing where you chewed on your pen cap while reading something on the screen. There were books and papers scattered around you in what looked like organized chaos, and your coffee cup said something in sharpie that Heeseung couldn’t read from where he was standing like a creep behind a bookshelf.

Okay. Okay, this was fine. This was a normal situation. You were here, he was here, both of you were in a library because that’s what students do. He just had to walk over there and say hi. Simple. Easy. Not weird at all. But what if you were in the zone? What if you were working on something important and he interrupted and you got annoyed? What if you didn’t actually want to see him and had just been being polite when you said you should play games sometime? He could just sit near you, not like right next to you, but in the general area. That would be natural. He needed to study anyway, it made sense to sit in the quiet section. So he picked a table that was close but not too close. Close enough that you might notice him but far enough that it didn’t look intentional.

He sat down and pulled out his laptop and his textbook, arranging them very carefully, very normally. Then he just sat there, staring at his algorithms homework. Not doing it, just staring. But five minutes passed and you hadn’t looked up. Heeseung opened his laptop. Closed it. Opened it again. He was being ridiculous. He should just get up and go say hi because that’s what normal people did. Normal people didn’t stage elaborate accidental meetings, they just walked up and said hello. He stood up, sat back down, stood up again. And then you finally looked up. Heeseung froze, half standing, half sitting, in the most awkward position possible. You pulled off your headphones and your face went from confused to surprised to happy in the span of like two seconds.

“Heeseung?” You said, keeping your voice library quiet. “What are you doing?”

“Studying,” Heeseung said too quickly, and then realized he was still in that weird half crouch position and sat down properly. “I mean, I was about to. study. I’m here to study.”

You smiled and Heeseung’s brain stopped for a moment. “Oh cool. Me too, obviously.” You gestured at your chaos of books and papers. "Working on this project that’s slowly killing me.”

“Do you want company?” Heeseung asked, and then immediately wanted to take it back because what if you said no, what if you were here specifically to study alone, what if—

“Yeah, actually that’d be nice.” You started clearing some space on your table, moving books and papers around. “I’ve been here for like three hours and I’m losing my mind. Could use a distraction.” So Heeseung grabbed his stuff and moved to your table, trying very hard to look like this was a normal thing he did all the time, sitting with people in libraries, being a person who had casual study sessions with other people. “So,” you said, once he was settled across from you. “What are the odds we both ended up in the same random corner of the library?”

“Pretty low, probably,” Heeseung said. “Weird coincidence.”

You agreed, and there was something in the way you said it that made Heeseung think maybe you knew it wasn’t really a coincidence, maybe you’d seen him doing his weird laps around the second floor, but you were being nice about it. You settled into studying, or at least Heeseung pretended to study while you actually did work. You’d put your headphones back on but kept one ear uncovered, just in case he needed to ask you something about something, which he definitely wasn’t going to do because he wasn’t actually reading anything on the page in front of him.

Instead he was watching you, maybe in a weird way, but he couldn’t help it. Because sitting there across from you, seeing you up close in the quiet library light, Heeseung was hit with how much you looked like the character from the game. It wasn’t just the face, though that was uncanny enough. It was the mannerisms and the little things, like the way you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating, eyes narrowed slightly at your screen. The way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear every few minutes even though it would just fall back. The way your nose would scrunch up a little when you read something confusing. He’d seen all of this before, dozens of times, in the game. I mean you had done all of these exact things, in the game.

You looked up suddenly and Heeseung’s eyes immediately darted to his textbook, pretending he’d been reading the whole time. He could feel you looking at him for a second before you went back to your work, and Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This happened like four more times. Very smooth. Very natural. Definitely not obvious at all.

Then you checked your phone and made a small sound of surprise. “Oh shit, I have class in ten minutes.” You started packing up your stuff quickly, shoving papers into your bag without any real organization. “I totally lost track of time.”

“Yeah, me too,” Heeseung lied, because he’d been very aware of every single minute.

You stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and then you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Just like that. Casual and quick. Your lips pressed against his cheek for maybe half a second before you pulled back. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you said, smiling. “See you later, Hee.”

And then you were gone, weaving through the tables toward the stairs, and Heeseung just sat there frozen. His hand slowly came up to touch his cheek where you’d kissed him, like he needed to confirm it had actually happened. His face felt hot. His brain felt scrambled. You’d kissed him on the cheek. People did that, right? That was a normal friend thing? Except you barely knew each other so were you even friends? And why did his cheek feel like it was burning? And Heeseung realized he was just sitting there touching his face like a complete idiot and forced himself to put his hand down. He should pack up, he should go to his next class. He should do literally anything except sit here having a crisis over a cheek kiss. But he didn’t move, he just sat there, staring at nothing, replaying the moment over and over. 

“You good, man?” Heeseung’s head snapped up. Jungwon was standing next to the table, looking at him with concern and also amusement, which was a terrible combination.

“When did you get here?”

“Like two minutes ago. You were very deep in thought.” Jungwon sat down and then casually tossed something onto the table. The switch cartridge, the Girlfriend Simulator cartridge. Heeseung stared at it. “I fixed the game.” Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking proud of himself. “You can keep playing from where you left off. It was easier to fix than I thought it’d be, just had to rebuild some of the backend routing for the post game content.” Heeseung picked up the cartridge, turning it over in his hands. "The save file's intact," Jungwon continued. “All your progress is still there. The new game plus should work now. I tested it on my switch and it loaded fine."

"Thanks,” Heeseung said, and his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. He shoved the cartridge into his bag and stood up. “I’m leaving."

“Don’t you have that lecture in twenty minutes?”

“Don’t care. Bye.” He left Jungwon sitting there chuckling and headed straight out of the library, across campus, back to his dorm. Jake wasn’t there, which was good because Heeseung didn’t need any more people commenting on his alleged vibe. He sat down at his desk and just looked at the cartridge for a minute. He should think about this. should consider whether playing the game again was a good idea now that he knew you, the real you. Now that things were getting complicated in a way that made his head hurt. But he wasn’t thinking. He was just plugging in his switch, loading up the game, watching the title screen appear with its soft music and clean typography.

continue from last save? yes / no

Heeseung pressed yes immediately. The world materialized around him in that same disorienting rush, colors bleeding into focus, sounds filtering in like someone was slowly turning up the volume. When his vision cleared, he was standing exactly where he’d left off at the park. The fireflies were still drifting lazily through the air like they’d been paused mid flight waiting for him to come back. And you were still sitting on the same bench, looking at him with an expression that made Heeseung’s chest tight.

“You’re back,” you said, and your smile was so genuinely happy it hurt to look at. You stood up and walked over to him, and Heeseung noticed the way the game rendered every detail. The way your hair moved, the exact shade of your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks. “I missed you.” The words hit him harder than they should have. Heeseung opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out what to say. In the game, no time was supposed to have passed. He’d left right after your confession, after the kiss, and now he was back and theoretically it should feel like seconds had gone by. But for him it had been days. Almost a week. A week where he’d met the real you, talked to you, sat across from you in a library, felt your lips on his cheek.

Dialogue options appeared: > i missed you too > sorry i was gone so long > it feels like it’s been forever

Heeseung picked the first one because it was the most honest. “I missed you too,” he said, and he meant it in a way that felt complicated and confusing.

You stepped closer, close enough that Heeseung could see the individual pixels that made up your irises, except they didn’t look like pixels at all. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “After everything, I thought maybe you’d just… disappear.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Heeseung said automatically, and then felt weird about it because he kind of had done that, he’d been gone for days even if the game didn’t register it that way.

romantic interest: 100% | relationship status: committed | new content unlocked

You reached up and touched his face, your hand warm against his cheek, and Heeseung’s brain short circuited a little because he could feel it. the texture of your palm, the slight pressure of your fingers. This level of detail shouldn’t be possible. “I really like you,” you said, looking directly into his eyes. “Like, a lot. Is that okay?”

Before Heeseung could pick a dialogue option for that, you kissed him. It wasn’t like the first kiss, this was different. Your hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck and you pressed closer, and Heeseung forgot for a second that this was supposed to be a game. His hands found your waist automatically, pulling you against him, and you made this small sound that he felt more than heard. When you pulled back, you were breathing harder and your eyes had this look in them that Heeseung recognized from somewhere, that slightly dazed expression people get when they’re thinking about something they want. “Do you want to come back to my place?” You asked, your voice lower now, and your hand was still on the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair in a way that was extremely distracting.

quest update: relationship progression available | warning: mature content ahead | proceed? yes / no | action options: > yes, i’d like that > maybe we should slow down > are you sure?

Heeseung stared at the options. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This was new, this was definitely new. The game had never had anything like this before. Jungwon had mentioned adding post game content but he definitely hadn’t mentioned adding this kind of content. “Heeseung?” You said, tilting your head slightly. “You okay? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought—”

“No, I want to,” Heeseung said, picking the first option before he could overthink it. “I definitely want to.”

Your smile turned into something that could only be described as pleased, maybe a little mischievous. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and started walking. The park dissolved around you in that smooth transition the game did, colors bleeding together and reforming into a new location, your apartment, and it looked different now, with softer lighting, more intimate somehow. There was music playing quietly from somewhere, something ambient and atmospheric. You let go of his hand and walked further, then turned to look at him. “You can sit down, you know. You don’t have to just stand there.” Heeseung moved to the couch and sat down, hyperaware of every movement, every detail. His hands felt sweaty and his heart was racing. This was insane, this was absolutely insane. He was about to have virtual sex with a video game character that looked exactly like a real person he’d just met and had a weird complicated semi crush on. You sat down next to him, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. “Can I ask you something?” You said.

“Sure.”

“Why did you come back?” Your expression was serious now, searching his face. “I mean, you finished the route. You got the good ending. You didn’t have to come back.”

dialogue options: > i wanted to see you again > i wasn’t ready to say goodbye > because i care about you

Heeseung picked the third option. “Because I care about you,” he said, and it felt true even though it shouldn’t, even though you were code, even though this wasn’t real.

“I care about you too,” you said quietly. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, and this time Heeseung didn’t think about the game mechanics or the dialogue options or any of it. He just kissed you back. Your hands slid under his shirt and Heeseung gasped slightly at the sensation, the feeling of your fingers on his skin. It felt real, too real, like impossibly real. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes dark. “Is this okay?” You asked, your hands still under his shirt, warm against his stomach.

action options: > yes > this is more than okay > [pull her closer]

Heeseung picked the third option and pulled you closer, and you made this satisfied sound and kissed him harder. You shifted in his lap so you were straddling him, and Heeseung’s brain was trying very hard to process the logistics of what was happening. This was a Nintendo Switch game. This was running on a console made for Pokemon and Mario Kart. There was no way this level of content was actually programmed in here. You smiled and kissed his jaw, then his neck, and Heeseung felt his brain dissolve into static. Your teeth grazed his skin lightly and he made a sound that was probably embarrassing but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

intimate scene progression: 45% | continue? yes / no current comfort level: high | romantic tension: maximum |achievement unlocked: relationship deepening

The notifications kept appearing in his peripheral vision and Heeseung tried to ignore them because they were extremely distracting and also kind of killing the mood, if a video game could have a mood, which apparently this one could. “Hey,” you said, pulling back to look at him. Your face was flushed and your lips were slightly swollen and you looked devastating. “You’re thinking too hard. I can tell.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

dialogue options: > nothing’s wrong > this feels really intense > i’m just overwhelmed > i keep forgetting this isn’t real

Heeseung wanted to pick the last option but that felt like it would break something, some unspoken rule about the game. So he picked the third one. “I’m just overwhelmed,” he admitted. “In a good way. You’re just really… a lot. In the best way possible.”

You softened at that, your expression shifting from concerned to affectionate. “You’re sweet, you know that?” You kissed his cheek. “We can slow down if you want. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No, I want this,” Heeseung said, and he did, desperately, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “I’m just trying to figure out how this is even possible.”

“How what’s possible?”

“You. This. All of it.” Heeseung knew he wasn’t making sense but the words kept coming anyway. “You feel so real. More real than anything I’ve experienced before. More real than most things I've experienced in actual life, honestly."

You looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable in your expression. Then you said, very quietly, "Maybe that’s because I am real.”

The world glitched. Just for a second, so quick Heeseung almost missed it. The lighting flickered, the textures of the room seemed to shift and resettle, and there was this sound, like static, like interference. You didn’t seem to notice. You were still looking at him with that same expression, waiting for him to respond. error log: reality sync mismatch detected | warning: boundary deviation exceeding normal parameterssystem status: unknown variable introduced

“What do you mean?” Heeseung asked, his voice coming out strained.

“I said maybe I’m real. Maybe this is real. Does it matter?” You touched his face again, gentle. "Does it change anything if I'm real or not real? You’re here, I’m here, this moment exists. Isn’t that enough?”

dialogue options:> yes, that’s enough > no, i need to understand what’s happening >i think something’s wrong with the game > [kiss her to avoid answering]

Heeseung stared at the options, his heart pounding. Part of him wanted to pick the second or third option, wanted to understand what was happening, wanted to figure out why the game was doing things it shouldn’t be able to do. But another part of him, the larger part, just wanted to stop thinking and exist in this moment with you, real or not real, code or person or whatever you were. So he picked the fourth option. His hands moved before his brain could catch up— one sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your jaw  —  and he pulled you in, kissing you like the question itself might disappear if he just didn't let go. You made a soft, surprised sound against his lips, but it melted into something needier, as you kissed him back just as fiercely.  His hands slid up your thighs, over the soft fabric of your dress, until his fingers found the hem. He tugged lightly, a silent question, and you answered by pressing closer, your body rolling against his in a way that pulled a rough sound from his throat.

action options: > pull her closer > slide hands under her dress > grip her waist and guide her hips > [kiss her neck]

Heeseung didn't even look at the options properly this time. He picked the third one instantly, fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you flush against him, guiding the slow, deliberate grind of your hips. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping lightly down his chest through his shirt, and the sound you made was needy and it went straight through him. "Heeseung," you breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. your cheeks were flushed deep, lips swollen and wet, dress riding up slightly from the way you were moving in his lap. "You feel—"

He didn't let you finish. He kissed you deeper, harder, tongue sliding against yours like he needed to taste every part of you. One hand stayed firm on your waist, keeping the rhythm, while the other slipped higher under the hem of your dress, tracing the bare skin of your thigh. You shivered, thighs tightening around his hips, and he felt you press down harder, chasing the friction. You pulled back suddenly, just far enough to grab the bottom of his shirt. Your eyes locked on his, asking. He nodded once, barely, and you tugged it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, your hands were on him again, palms sliding over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle like you were mapping him out. "Better," you whispered, voice rough now, and then your mouth was on his collarbone, kissing down his chest, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss. Heeseung's head fell back against the couch for a second, eyes squeezing shut, before he surged forward again.

action options: > pull the straps of her dress down > flip her onto the couch > trace her back and pull her even closer > [let her take control]

He picked the third, hands sliding up your back under the thin straps of your dress, fingers splaying wide as he pulled you impossibly closer. Your chest pressed against his, skin on skin now except for the flimsy fabric between you, and he could feel your heart racing just as fast as his. You moaned softly against his neck, hips moving faster, more desperate, and Heeseung matched the rhythm, guiding you with his grip on your waist. Every roll of your body against his made his breath catch, made the heat coil tighter low in his stomach. Your hands were everywhere — his hair, his shoulders, nails dragging down his back— and he was losing it, completely losing it.

action options: > slip the straps down her shoulders > lift the dress over her head > tease the hem higher > [kiss her while undressing her]

He picked the first one, sliding the straps down slowly, watching as the dress loosened and slipped lower, exposing more of your skin. You didn't stop him, instead, you arched your back slightly, helping it along, your eyes locked on his with a look that dared him to keep going. The dress pooled around your waist, and Heeseung's breath caught at the sight of you, bare from the waist up, the soft curve of your breasts rising and falling with each breath. "God," he muttered, voice barely audible, and then he leaned in, mouth finding the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed there first, open mouthed, then grazed his teeth lightly, sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, a low moan escaping your lips that vibrated against his skin. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, and Heeseung felt that coil of tension wind tighter, his hips bucking up instinctively to meet your rhythm. The friction was maddening, too much and not enough, and he could feel himself hardening against you, the thin layers between you doing nothing to dull the sensation.

intimate scene progression: 92% | arousal level: peak | system warning: immersion threshold breached

A faint static hum buzzed in his ears for a split second, the room's edges blurring like a bad render, but it passed as quickly as it came. You didn't notice, or if you did, you didn't care — your focus was on him, on the way his mouth moved down your neck to your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face flushed, eyes glassy with want. "Heeseung," you said, voice husky and breathless, "Do you want to take this to the bedroom? We can… get more comfortable."

The action wheel popped up: action options: > carry her to the bedroom > pull her up and walk together > push her down on the couch instead > [deepen the kiss and decide later]

Heeseung picked the first one without a second thought. In one fluid motion, he stood, arms wrapping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. You yelped in surprise, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. the sudden shift made you cling to him, arms around his neck, and Heeseung kissed you hard as he carried you, tasting the salt on your lips from the heat of the moment. The transition was seamless, the game dissolving the living room around you in that familiar bleed of colors, reforming into your bedroom. Soft lighting from a bedside lamp, sheets rumpled like they'd been waiting, the air thicker somehow. Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, following you down, his body covering yours as he settled between your legs. You looked up at him, hands sliding down his chest to his waistband, fingers teasing the edge. "Now where were we?" You whispered, pulling him closer.

Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, the mattress dipping under your combined weight as he settled between your legs. Your dress was already bunched high on your thighs, and the air between you crackled with anticipation. You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, hands tugging at his waistband, pulling him closer until his hips pressed against yours. The heat of you through the thin fabric was driving him insane — his hands braced on either side of your head, breath ragged as he leaned down to kiss you again, deeper, hungrier.

But just as his fingers brushed the hem of your dress to slide it off completely, everything froze. The world glitched hard; colors inverting for a split second, a low error chime ringing in his ears like a nintendo switch low battery warning. You froze mid motion, lips parted, eyes wide and unblinking, like a paused cutscene. The music cut out. Notifications exploded across his vision in a pop up that took over half the screen:

kink compatibility survey | new content unlock: personalized intimacy  | please select preferences to optimize experience (this will not affect main storyline) > time remaining: 30 seconds

Heeseung blinked, staring in horror as a massive form materialized, checkboxes scrolling down like some deranged tinder profile from hell:

> light bondage (ropes/silk)  > dirty talk  > praise kink  > edging/teasing  > oral focus (giving)  > oral focus (receiving)  > spanking/light impact  > roleplay  > sensory play (blindfold/ice)  > vanilla only  > [custom: type here] slider: intensity (1-10)  | save & continue

His face burning hotter than the tension from seconds ago. "What the fuck is this?" His thumbs mashed the joy cons frantically, heart pounding from equal parts embarrassment and urgency. Thirty seconds? He wasn't even thinking straight — he just spam clicked the safe ones to get it over with. Checkmark on praise kink. Oral focus (both). Dirty talk (why not, he was already losing his mind). Slider cranked to 7 because... yeah. No bondage — keep it simple, game. Vanilla only stayed unchecked because apparently this freakshow had layers.

preferences saved! | compatibility: 92% | resuming scene...

The pop up vanished with a cheerful ding. You unfroze instantly, blinking like nothing happened, your hands resuming their path down his chest. "Hee?" you murmured, voice soft and teasing, thighs parting wider beneath him. "You okay?"

He swallowed hard, brain still reeling. "Yeah, yeah." You smiled, wicked and knowing somehow, and pulled him down into another kiss. His hands finally obeyed, pushing the dress the rest of the way off your hips, sliding it down your legs until you were bare except for your underwear. The sight of you all spread out hit him. He trailed kisses down your chest, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking gently as you arched into him with a gasp. "You feel perfect," he whispered against your skin, the praise slipping out naturally, and you shivered, fingers threading into his hair. His hand slid lower, between your thighs, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your underwear. You moaned his name, hips lifting eagerly, and Heeseung pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had you writhing. "So wet for me already," he murmured, voice rough with want, testing the dirty talk, and god, it worked, because your breath was hitching beautifully.

You tugged at his pants impatiently. "Off. Now." He obliged in a blur, shedding them along with everything else until there was nothing between you. He hooked his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down slowly, eyes locked on yours as he tossed them aside.

action options: > taste her first > enter her slowly > tease with fingers > [let her guide]

He picked the first, Heeseung's mind was a haze of want and disbelief as he settled between your thighs, your legs parting wider for him like an invitation he couldn't refuse. The sight of you — bare, glistening, so ready —made his mouth water. This is a game, he reminded himself, heart pounding. Just a fucking game. I can do whatever I want. Things I'd never have the guts to try in real life. No judgment, no consequences. Just you, writhing under him, and the freedom to indulge every filthy thought he'd ever buried.

He hooked his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer until his face was buried between your legs. His tongue flicked out experimentally at first, tasting you, sweet and tangy, like nothing he'd imagined, but better. You bucked against him with a sharp gasp, and that sound flipped a switch. Heeseung groaned against you, the vibration making you whimper, and he dove in deeper, tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, dirty words spilling out because why the hell not? In real life, he'd be too shy, too careful, but here? He could be filthy. "So wet for me already, dripping down my chin. You like that, huh?"

You moaned louder, hands fisting the sheets, then tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Yes god, Heeseung don't stop." Your voice was wrecked, breathy and desperate, and it fueled him. He sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it in circles, then flicking fast and hard, alternating with long, sloppy licks that had you trembling. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open, spreading you wider so he could bury his face deeper, nose pressing against you as he devoured you like he was starving.

action options: > add fingers > suck harder > tease her entrance > [talk dirtier]

He picked the fourth mentally, because fuck it, this was his chance to let loose. "Tell me how good it feels," he growled, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your slick folds, watching you shiver. "Tell me you want my tongue fucking you deeper."

"Please," you gasped, hips grinding up toward his mouth, chasing the contact. "Heeseung, your tongue— fuck, it's so good. Deeper, I need it deeper."

He plunged his tongue inside you, thrusting it in and out, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock later. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles while he tongue fucked you, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. You were soaking him, face, chin, and he loved it, lapping it up greedily, humming in approval at how messy it was getting. "You're gonna come on my face, aren't you?" He taunted, voice rough and low, pulling back to suck your clit again, harder this time, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. "Do it. Come for me, show me how much you love my mouth on this pretty pussy."

You arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit, waves crashing through you. Heeseung didn't stop, licking you through it, drawing it out until you were oversensitive and twitching, begging him to ease up. only then did he pull away, lips shiny and swollen, grinning up at you with a wicked, satisfied look. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, though he didn't really want to, part of him liked the mess, the evidence. you were panting, eyes hazy as you reached for him. He crawled back up your body, capturing your lips in a kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue, another thing he'd never dare in real life, but here it felt right, hot. "You taste yourself? So fucking dirty," he whispered against your mouth, positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready for more?"

"Yes please," you begged, nails digging into his shoulders, your voice a needy whine that made his cock twitch against you. You were so wet, slick from his mouth and your own release, and Heeseung could feel the heat radiating from you, pulling him in. But before he could thrust forward, the game intervened again again: 

position selection: customize your intimacy  > missionary (classic connection)  > doggy style (deeper access)  > her on top (let her ride)  > against the wall (intense standing)  > [spooning (gentle side entry)]  

Heeseung stared at the options, a mix of arousal and exasperation flooding him. Jungwon, you pervert, he thought, adding a fucking position menu? He timer was ticking— 15 seconds — and you were frozen mid breath, eyes locked on his with that desperate, submissive Gaze that made him want to wreck you. He picked the third option fast, because fuck, the idea of you riding him, taking control but still under his command? Yeah, that was it. The menu vanished with a satisfied beep, and the scene resumed seamlessly. You blinked, as if nothing happened, but your hands were already pushing at his chest gently, urging him to lie back. "Let me... let me ride you," you murmured, voice soft and obedient, like you were reading his mind, or the game's script. "Please? I want to make you feel good."

Heeseung grinned, dark and dominant, shifting onto his back and pulling you with him until you straddled his hips. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in possessively as he looked up at you, flushed, eager, completely at his mercy. "Yeah? You wanna ride my cock like a good girl?" He growled, the words coming easier now, dirtier, because this wasn't real life. No holding back. 

You whimpered, hands bracing on his chest, your hips grinding down instinctively against his length, coating him in your wetness. "Please, Hee... I need you inside me so bad. I'll be good."

Fuck, he thought, she's so subby, so perfect. The game's kink sync must've kicked in, amplifying everything — your voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading, body arching like you were made to submit. Heeseung's hands slid up to your hips, guiding you, lifting you just enough to position himself at your entrance. "That's my girl. Sink down on me slow— let me watch you take every inch." You obeyed instantly, lowering yourself onto him, the head of his cock pushing past your folds, stretching you open. It was agonizingly slow, and Heeseung groaned low in his throat, feeling the tight, wet heat envelop him inch by inch. You were so fucking real, hotter than any game should allow, clenching around him like velvet, your walls fluttering as you took him deeper.

"Oh god you're so big," you gasped, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted, a shiver running through you. It felt too real, the stretch, the fullness, the way he throbbed inside you, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive spots. Heeseung could feel it all, amplified, like the game had cranked the sensitivity to max. Sweat beaded on his skin, your thighs trembling around him, and for a second, he forgot it was code — this was you, real you, riding him.

intimate scene progression: 98% | dominance level: high | submission sync: optimal | warning: haptic feedback overload

A faint glitch rippled through the air — the lamp flickering, your moan echoing with a digital edge for a heartbeat — but it only made him thrust up harder, hands gripping your ass to pull you down rougher. "Ride me, baby. Bounce on my cock," he commanded, voice gravelly and demanding, slapping your ass lightly to spur you on. "Faster, come on."

You moaned louder, hands on his chest for leverage as you started moving up and down, hips rolling in circles that ground your clit against him. "Like this? Fuck, Heeseung it feels so good— you're so deep." Your voice broke on a whimper, body obeying his every cue, riding him harder, faster, tits bouncing with each thrust.

Heeseung bucked up to meet you, thrusting deep enough to make you cry out, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat gently. "That's it, take it all. You're mine in here, aren't you? My perfect little girl, creaming all over my cock." You clenched tighter, nodding frantically.

"Yes—fuck, Heeseung, I love it. You're so deep, so big...." Your voice was breathy, submissive, breaking on moans as you submitted completely, body moving exactly how he wanted, faster when he slapped your ass, slower when he pulled you down hard.

action options: > thrust up harder > put a finger in her mouth > choke lightly > [pull her hair]

Heeseung picked the second without hesitation, his thumb tracing your lower lip before pushing it into your mouth. You sucked on it immediately, tongue swirling around it like it was his cock, eyes half lidded and locked on his, so obedient it made his dick twitch inside you. "That's it, suck it like a good girl," he rasped, your wet lips wrapped around his finger, drool starting to drip. "Imagine it's my cock in your mouth while I fuck this tight pussy. You'd take both, wouldn't you?" You moaned around his thumb, sucking harder, hips stuttering as the added sensation pushed you closer to the edge. Then, in the corner of his screen, a new notification flickered: partner preference update: increase roughness? yes / no | affinity: high for dominant play

She likes it rougher? Heeseung thought, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mentally selected yes. Wow, this is way easier than in real life. The game adjusted instantly, your moans turning needier, body arching more desperately as he ramped up the intensity. "You want it rougher, huh?" He taunted, pulling his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting it to your lips. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise — if this were real— and thrust up sharply, slamming into you with more force. "Beg for it then. Tell me how bad you want me to wreck this pussy."

"Please—fuck me harder, Heeseung," you cried out, leaning forward to brace on his shoulders as you rode him faster, chasing the roughness.

intimate scene progression: 99% | climax indicator: approaching for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position

The bar flashed red in his peripheral, both your arousal meters pulsing near max. He could feel it too, the coil tightening low in his gut, your body starting to tense and shake. But Heeseung wasn't ready to end it. He selected prolong and switch position, flipping the script. He rolled you both over, pulling out just long enough to maneuver you onto your side, spooning behind you. His chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tight, the other lifting your thigh high. "Not yet," he whispered hot against your ear, nipping the lobe. "Gonna fuck you like this now." You nodded weakly, pushing your ass back against him. Heeseung thrust back in from behind, the angle hitting deeper, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every slow, rough pump. His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your clit fast and hard, while his other arm pinned you close. "That's my good girl," he growled, pounding into you now, the spooning position letting him grind deep. "Taking it so well." Your moans turned into desperate sobs, body arching back into him.

Heeseung's thrusts were relentless, his cock dragging deep inside you with every slow, powerful snap of his hips. You were a whimpering mess against him, back arched, ass grinding back to meet him as his fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles. "Fuck you're so tight like this," he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder, leaving a mark that made you shiver.

intimate scene progression: 99.5% | climax indicator: critical for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position

The meters were flashing urgently now, his own arousal bar teetering on the edge, but Heeseung still wasn't done — he wanted more, wanted to push the limits of this insane game until it broke. One more switch, he thought, selecting prolong and switch position again. The game responded instantly, a soft chime echoing as he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach with rough hands. You gasped at the sudden movement, face down on the bed, ass up as he positioned himself behind you, knees spreading your thighs wide. "On your stomach, baby— ass up for me," he commanded. He slapped your ass hard, the crack echoing, your skin blooming red under his palm, and you cried out, pushing back eagerly like the subby little thing the game had turned you into. "That's right, take it. You love being fucked like this, don't you?"

You nodded into the sheets, voice muffled and needy. "Yes—god, yes, Heeseung." The game's encouragement popped up in his vision — dominance boost: activated | roughness level: max | achievement: total submission unlocked — and it spurred him on, like the system was egging him to go further, deeper into the filth.

He thrust back in from behind, burying himself to the hilt in one rough stroke, the angle hitting even deeper, making you scream into the pillow. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, pounding into you with brutal force, skin slapping loud and obscene. "So fucking wet, dripping all over me," he snarled, spanking your ass again, harder this time, alternating cheeks until they were stinging red. You arched higher, offering more, moans turning into sobs of pleasure. He tangled one hand in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck, lips brushing your ear as he growled, "look at you, taking my cock like a good girl. Beg for more — tell me how much you need me to ruin this pussy."

"Please—ruin me, Heeseung," you begged, voice breaking. The game flashed more incentives — rough play affinity: 100% | continue for bonus immersion — and Heeseung lost it, spanking you in rhythm with his thrusts, pulling your hair tighter to arch your back, fucking you rougher, faster, the bed shaking under the force. Glitches were hitting harder now, but it only made him thrust deeper, the hyper real sensations overwhelming: the sting of your skin under his palm, the tight ripple of your walls around him, your sweat slicked back against his chest.

intimate scene progression: 99.99% | climax indicator: imminent | warning: system overload detected

He was right there, teetering on the edge, cock throbbing inside you, but you twisted slightly, looking back at him with glassy, desperate eyes. "Heeseung — cum inside me, please," you implored. "Fill me up, I need it."

For a split second, his brain stopped. Wait, cum inside? What if— but then reality (or unreality) hit him comically hard. It's a game, dumbass. Pixels can't get pregnant. He almost laughed mid thrust, the absurdity breaking through the haze, but he shoved it aside, diving back. "Yeah? You want me to breed this tight pussy?" He growled, slamming into you harder, spanking one last time for good measure. "Beg for it louder—"

"Yes—fuck, Hee!" You cried, clenching around him desperately, body trembling on the brink. "Cum inside me, please— breed me, make me yours!" That did it. The climax hit like a wave, crashing over you both at once. Heeseung thrust deep one final time, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, feeling the hot pulse of his release mix with your own orgasm, walls milking him dry. You screamed his name, body convulsing under him, the shared peak amplified by the game — sensations exploding, vision blurring with pleasure and glitches alike.

As your body shuddered through the aftershocks, Heeseung collapsed beside you, pulling you close against his chest with a gentleness that felt worlds away from the roughness just moments ago. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand stroking your hair softly, fingers threading through the tangled strands like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. The room was still glitching faintly, but he ignored it, focusing on you, on the way your breaths synced with his, slowing down together.

intimate scene complete | aftercare mode: activated | relationship bond: unbreakable | achievement unlocked: emotional intimacy peak

Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, his voice dropping to a whisper, sweet and caring, laced with concern. "Hey... you okay? I got carried away back there. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

You looked up at him, eyes soft and hazy, a small smile tugging at your lips as you snuggled closer, head resting on his chest. "No, Hee... I liked it. A lot. It was perfect." Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin, voice turning playful, like the dynamic lingered just a bit. "You made me feel so good. Don't apologize."

He chuckled quietly, relief washing over him, and he hugged you tighter, hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Good. I just... want to take care of you now." The game prompted options in his vision, soft and glowing: aftercare options: > hold her closer > kiss her gently > whisper sweet nothings > [offer water/snack] -- he picked the third, leaning down to murmur against your ear, "you're amazing, you know that? So beautiful, so perfect for me. I could stay like this forever." You hummed contentedly, body relaxing fully into his, the contrast hitting him. The glitches were fading, but notifications kept pinging: comfort level: maximum | post intimacy glow: active | save progress? yes / no

You shifted slightly, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Affectionate, but something deeper, almost knowing. "Heeseung..." your voice was quiet. "See you out there."

He blinked, confusion creasing his brow. "What do you mean?" He sat up a little, heart picking up again, but before you could answer — or before the dialogue wheel could pop up — the world started dissolving. colors bled out, the room flickering violently, static roaring in his ears like a system crash.

error log: forced logout initiated | reality sync: restored | session terminated

Everything went black. Heeseung jolted upright in his chair, the Switch still clutched in his sweaty hands, the screen dark and powered off. His room came into focus: the dim light from his desk lamp, posters on the wall, the faint hum of his pc in the background. His heart was racing, breaths coming fast, and then he felt a sticky, warm mess in his pants, soaking through his boxers. "What the—" he muttered, voice cracking as the full reality sank in. His face burned hotter than ever, cheeks flaming red as he shifted in the gaming chair. He'd actually cum inside his pants. For real. Not just some weird dream or an asleep fantasy — no, full on, pants ruining orgasm from a Nintendo Switch Girlfriend Simulator game. "Holy shit."

Heeseung stared at the dark screen in his hands, the console now completely powered off, innocent looking with its cute joy cons and pastel buttons. It looked so harmless sitting there on his lap, like it hadn't just mind fucked him for hours and then physically fucked him back. He finally set the switch down on his desk, pushing it as far away as the cords allowed. He groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

After cleaning himself up in the bathroom — which involved avoiding eye contact with his own reflection because he couldn't handle the judgment he knew he'd see there — Heeseung collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. His body felt loose and tired in a way that should have been relaxing but instead just made him feel deeply, profoundly embarrassed.

The worst part was that he wanted to do it again. That was what really got him. Not the fact that it happened, but the fact that his brain was already thinking about when he could play next, or well, when he could fuck you next. He felt like a teenager who'd just discovered something he definitely shouldn't have and was now completely obsessed with it.

He'd spent most of his Sunday in his room alternating between staring at his Switch and telling himself he absolutely was not going to play it again, which had been moderately successful except for the part where he'd picked it up four different times before forcing himself to put it back down. So on that week, he started walking across campus toward the engineering building, head down and hoodie up because he felt like everyone could somehow tell what he'd done just by looking at him, when he saw you. You were sitting on one of the benches outside the library with your laptop open, clearly working on something, your hair pulled back and you were wearing an oversized hoodie that had some game logo on it he couldn't quite make out from this distance. Heeseung immediately changed direction. 

He took the long way around the building, added an extra five minutes to his walk, and showed up to lecture slightly out of breath. He was very deliberately not thinking about the fact that he'd just actively avoided you. Which was ridiculous. You hadn't done anything, you didn't even know what had happened. You probably hadn't thought about him at all since that day at the library, were probably just sitting there doing homework like a normal person while Heeseung was having a complete psychological breakdown over a video game.

The problem was that every time he thought about you now, his brain immediately supplied images from the game. The way you'd looked at him, the way you moaned, the sounds you'd made, the way you came, the way it had felt so impossibly real that his body had reacted like it was actually happening. And now he couldn't separate that from the real you, the person he'd met at the party who'd been nice and funny and way too easy to talk to. The rest of the week continued like this. He saw you everywhere now, which was ironic because before the party he'd never noticed you once and now you were apparently in every building he entered. Tuesday you were in the coffee shop in the student center. Wednesday you walked past him in the hallway between classes. Thursday he saw you in the library again, this time on the second floor, and he'd actually turned around and walked back out.

His switch was on his desk, fully charged, basically taunting him. He'd managed to avoid playing it all week, had told himself he was being responsible and mature about the whole situation. But he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time his mind wandered, it went right back to that night, to the game, to you. And his body was betraying him too, which was mortifying. He'd be sitting in lecture and think about the game for half a second and suddenly he'd have to adjust his laptop to hide the fact that he was getting hard in the middle of algorithms class. It happened during study sessions, during meals, during completely random moments when his brain decided to remind him that the game existed and he could play it whenever he wanted.

He felt disgusting. He was kink shaming himself, which he didn't even know was possible, but here he was, lying in bed at two am feeling like a creep for being attracted to a video game character who happened to look exactly like a real person he'd met. But he also couldn't stop thinking about playing again. About whether it would be like the first time or if there were other features, other scenarios. His brain kept supplying possibilities and his body kept responding and he felt trapped in this cycle of shame and want that he didn't know how to break.

And then on friday afternoon, Heeseung was in his dorm trying to focus on an assignment that was due monday when someone knocked on his door with the kind of aggressive persistence that could only be Jungwon. He considered pretending he wasn't home but Jake had already opened the door before Heeseung could say anything. "Oh hey Jungwon," Jake said. "He's here but he's been weird all week so good luck."

"Thanks for the warning," Jungwon said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He went to Heeseung's room and looked at him, who was very deliberately staring at his laptop screen. "Okay, we're going to Five Guys. Get up."

"I'm busy."

"No you're not." Jungwon grabbed Heeseung's hoodie off his chair and threw it at him. "Come on. We're getting burgers and you're going to tell me why you've been ignoring me all week."

"I haven't been ignoring you."

"You answered my texts with one word responses and you've avoided me on campus. That's ignoring me." Jungwon crossed his arms. "So either you come willingly or I'm going to make a scene. Your choice."

Heeseung knew Jungwon well enough to know he absolutely would make a scene. "Fine. But I'm not hungry."

"You're never not hungry. Let's go." And twenty minutes later they were sitting in Five Guys with their orders, the place mostly empty since it was that weird time between lunch and dinner.

Heeseung had been hoping the walk would give him time to figure out what to say to Jungwon, but instead he'd just spent it thinking about the game and feeling more and more uncomfortable. Because the thing was, if Heeseung had done what he'd done in the game, that meant Jungwon had programmed it. Jungwon had sat at his computer and coded in all those options, all those scenarios, all those very specific and detailed features that Heeseung had discovered. Which meant either Jungwon was way more perverted than Heeseung had ever given him credit for, or something else was going on.

"Okay, you're doing it again," Jungwon said, interrupting Heeseung's spiral. "You're being weird and quiet and you won't look at me. What's going on? Is it about the game? Did something break again?"

Heeseung knew he had to say something because this had gone too far. Because if the mature content was intentional, then they needed to have a very different conversation about boundaries and warnings and maybe Jungwon's concerning lack of shame. And if it wasn't intentional, if this was some kind of glitch or malfunction, then that was somehow even worse because it meant the game was doing things beyond anyone's control. Either way, Heeseung couldn't keep avoiding this. Jungwon was his best friend. If he couldn't talk to Jungwon about this, even if it was mortifying, then what was the point of having a best friend? So Heeseung admitted: "Yeah, it's about the game."

"Okay, so tell me." Jungwon looked at him.

"Look, you could've just... you could have warned me that it had adult content." Heeseung forced himself to look at Jungwon. "Like, explicit that I wasn't expecting in a dating simulator."

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"I'm just saying, a heads up would have been nice. I know you're trying to make it realistic but I wasn't prepared for how detailed it was going to get."

"Bro, what are you talking about?"

And then it all came out like Heeseung couldn't stop himself. "I'm talking about the fact that the game has very explicit scenes with very detailed options and I don't know if you've ever actually looked at what you programmed but it's intense, Jungwon. Like the dialogue options were insane, I could say basically anything and the character would respond and some of those options were really freaky. And the action options were even worse, there were so many of them and they were all very specific and very detailed and I'm not going to list them but oh my god and then there was a whole section where it asked me about preferences and kinks and I thought that was just for character building but no, it actually used that information! And there were position suggestions. Position suggestions, Jungwon! With fucking diagrams, man. Why did you add diagrams?! And the whole thing was just very immersive and very realistic and I had a physical reaction that I'm not going to elaborate on but I think you can figure out what I mean and I've been avoiding you all week because I didn't know how to have this conversation without wanting to die of embarrassment."

Heeseung finally stopped to breathe and realized Jungwon was staring at him with an expression of complete bewilderment. "Heeseung," Jungwon said slowly. "I didn't add any of that content."

"What."

"I didn't program explicit scenes. There's no adult content in the game. It's a dating simulator not a porn game. The most intimate it gets is like, hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end if you get the good ending." Jungwon set down his burger. "What are you talking about dude?"

"Don't fuck with me right now."

"I'm not fucking with you, I'm being completely serious." Jungwon was looking at him, shocked. "I didn't add any of that stuff. I wouldn't even know how to program half of what you just described. Like what the fuck is even a kink questionnaire?!"

Heeseung felt cold. "Then how did I experience it, man?!"

"I don't know!" Jungwon was still shocked. "But this actually makes sense now. Y/N's been avoiding me too this week, even more than you have. She won't answer my texts and she literally ran away from me in the hallway yesterday. I thought maybe she was mad at me about something but what if she experienced the same thing you did?"

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, last Friday, remember when you were studying in the library and Y/N left suddenly? I texted her right after she left asking if she wanted to try the updated version of the game and she texted back immediately saying yes and that she was coming to get it right then." Heeseung remembered that day, your phone had buzzed and you'd looked at it and your whole expression had changed, you'd packed up your stuff so fast, muttering something about being late for class even though Heeseung was pretty sure you didn't have class at that time. "She took the game and left," Jungwon continued. "I didn't hear from her after that until she texted me the next day saying she was returning it and that she didn't want to play anymore. And now she won't talk to me."

"What time did she take the game?" Heeseung asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

"I don't know, maybe around four? Four thirty?" Jungwon paused. "Why?"

Heeseung felt like the world was tilting. "I picked up the game from you around four forty five. Remember?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So we both had the game that night. We both played it that same night." Heeseung's mind was racing, putting pieces together. "And you're saying there's no adult content programmed into the game. But we both experienced something intense enough that we're both avoiding you. And we both played it at the same time."

Jungwon's eyes widened. "Oh my god."

"What if—" Heeseung stopped, because what he was about to say sounded insane. But everything about this situation was insane. "What if the game connected us somehow? What if when we both played it at the same time and it put us in the same… I don't know, session?"

"That's not possible because I didn't program any multiplayer features."

"You also didn't program explicit content but I definitely experienced it, man!" Heeseung put his head in his hands. "Jungwon, the character in my game looked exactly like Y/N, exactly like her. And you said the character customization was random."

"It is random. I didn't—" Jungwon stopped. "Wait. She actually said something similar. When she gave the game back she mentioned that the boyfriend character looked really realistic, like someone she could actually know."

Heeseung felt like throwing up. "Did she say who?"

"No, she just said it freaked her out how real he seemed."

Heeseung was pale now. His brain was doing that thing where it tried to process too much information at once and ended up just kind of spinning in place. You had played the game, you had seen a character that probably looked like him. You had found it so realistic it freaked you out. And then you'd played it again last friday, the same day he did, probably around the same time. And Jungwon was sitting here swearing he hadn't programmed any of the content that Heeseung had definitely experienced. Which meant one of two things: either Jungwon was full of shit, which didn't make sense because why would he lie about this, or the game had somehow done something it wasn't supposed to do. Connected two players who didn't know they were playing together, made them interact without telling them, let them do things with each other while both of them thought they were just playing a single player game with really good immersion.

And if that was true, if you'd actually been playing together, then the character Heeseung had been with wasn't just some algorithm. It was you, making choices and responding to him. Doing all those things that he'd been replaying in his head all week. Which meant you'd been doing those things with him, or with a version of him, and you probably had no idea it was real either. So Heeseung stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. "What's Y/N's dorm?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"Her dorm. Which building is she in?"

"Uh, west campus. Building C, I think? Room 304, why?"

"I gotta go." Heeseung was already grabbing his hoodie.

"Ho where? Heeseung, what—" but Heeseung was already walking, he heard Jungwon call after him something about texting him later but he wasn't really listening. His mind was too busy spiraling through everything he needed to say to you, everything he needed to ask, everything that didn't make sense.

The walk to west campus took fifteen minutes but it felt both longer and shorter than that. Heeseung's hands were shaking and he shoved them in his pockets. He tried to figure out what he was going to say. Hey, so I think we accidentally had virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch last week and neither of us knew it was real. Yeah, that would go over great. Or maybe, hi, remember how we both played that game? Turns out we were playing together. Surprise! Yeah, also worse.

By the time he got to building C, he still hadn't figured it out. Heeseung stood outside the door and realized he couldn't actually get in without a key card or someone letting him in. He was standing there trying to figure out his next move when the door opened and two girls walked out, laughing about something on one of their phones. Heeseung caught the door before it closed and slipped inside. Probably not his finest moment in terms of dorm security, but he was past caring about minor rule violations.

He stood in front of your door for a solid thirty seconds, hand raised to knock, unable to make himself actually do it. This was insane, he was insane. He should turn around and leave and text Jungwon and let Jungwon handle this because Jungwon had made the game and this was technically his responsibility. But he didn't leave, he knocked. And nothing happened for a long moment. Heeseung was starting to think maybe you weren't home, or maybe you were home but ignoring the door, when he heard movement from inside. Footsteps and then a pause. Then your voice, muffled through the door.

"Who is it?"

Heeseung's mouth was dry. "It's Heeseung."

Another pause, longer this time. He could picture you on the other side of the door, probably frozen, probably panicking, probably wondering why the hell he was at your dorm right now. Then the lock turned and you opened the door. You were pale, like actually pale, but you smiled anyway. "Hi Hee. Is… everything alright?"

Heeseung looked at you. You were in pajamas, soft looking sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with some faded band logo on it. Your hair was up in a bun that was more mess than anything else, strands falling out around your face, no makeup. You were standing there at your door at five pm on a friday looking comfortable and real and so pretty it made his chest hurt. He knew he was down bad already. Had been since the game, since the party, since the moment you'd turned around in that park with a flower behind your ear that he'd picked for you except it hadn't actually been you, or maybe it had been, he didn't even know anymore. But looking at you now, in your actual dorm with your actual face and your actual voice saying his name like that, soft and a little worried, he realized the game version hadn't even come close. This was better because this was real.

"Well, yeah, I mean, technically no," he said. Then stopped. "I mean yes. I mean, I need to ask you something and I don't want to sound crazy but I'm probably going to sound crazy anyway so I don't know how to do this without sounding crazy."

Your expression shifted. Something in your eyes changed, like you knew exactly what he was going to say but didn't want to believe it. You stepped back and pulled the door open wider. "Come in."

Heeseung walked into your dorm and tried not to look around but he couldn't help it. The space was small but you'd made it yours, there was a Janna poster on the wall near your desk, the star guardian skin, same one you had on your phone case. Next to it was a persona 5 royal poster that looked like it had been put up carefully. Your Switch was sitting on your desk next to your laptop, the joy cons that soft pink and blue that came with the Animal Crossing edition. Your bed was unmade, blankets pushed to one side like you'd gotten up in a hurry. There were books stacked on your nightstand, a pair of headphones tangled on top of them. A stuffed cat that looked old and well loved sitting on your pillow. It was so much like the apartment in the game that Heeseung felt dizzy. The colors, the vibe, the way things were organized. But also different and better because it was lived in and messy in ways the game couldn't replicate. 

"Do you want water or something?" You were standing by your mini fridge, hand on the door, looking at him with that same careful expression.

And then Heeseung opened his mouth and everything just came out. 

"Jungwon gave me this game to test Called Girlfriend simulator and I thought it was stupid, like, the most desperate thing I could possibly do, like an actual certificate that I'm way too single for a guy my age. But I played it anyway because I can't say no to Jungwon and also because I was curious and I went on this date with this girl and she liked League of Legends and I had to pick this flower that was glowing and she loved it, and this firefly landed on her hand and she smiled at me like and then we played league together and destroyed her ex boyfriends, and we cooked pasta and she helped me because I was burning the garlic and the game kept giving me dialogue options but then I started just talking and it kept responding like it knew what I was going to say. And then things got really intimate, like really intimate, in ways I'm not going to describe because I'll die of embarrassment but you can probably guess what I mean. And the girl, she... she looked exactly like you. Not kind of like you, exactly like you. same face, same voice, same everything. and i talked to jungwon today And he said there's no adult content in the game, that he never programmed any of that, and that you played it too, last friday on the same night I did. And I think we were playing together and I think we were in the same game, in the same session or server or whatever, and I think the characters we were playing with weren't just game characters and I think they were each other. So I need you to tell me right now, does the boyfriend character in your game look like me?"

You were staring at him. Your hand was still on the mini fridge door but you weren't moving. Your face had gone from pale to flushed and your mouth was slightly open like you wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what. Heeseung's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat and his hands were shaking and he'd just word vomited the entire situation at you without taking a single breath but he couldn't take it back now. You closed the mini fridge. Didn't get water, just stood there looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. Your eyes were moving across his face, his hair, his shoulders, like you were checking something or maybe confirming something.

"Yes," you said finally. Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

The word hung in the air between you. Heeseung felt something in his chest crack open, something between relief and panic and a feeling he didn't have a name for.

"Yes he looks like you," you continued, louder now. "Exactly like you and I thought I was going crazy and I thought Jungwon had somehow used photos of you without telling me, or that I was seeing patterns that weren't there, or that I'd just completely lost my mind. But it was you."

Heeseung took a step closer without meaning to. "You played it last friday."

"Yes."

"Around six thirty."

"Yes."

"And things got—" he stopped, couldn't say it.

"Intense." You finished for him. Your face was completely red now. 

"So it was real." Heeseung's voice sounded strange. "We were playing together. We were with each other and we didn't know it."

You were breathing faster now. He could see your chest rising and falling under your hoodie. "So when I— when we—"

"Yeah." The room got quiet after that. You looked at him and he looked back and there it was again, that pull from the game, except now there was no screen between you. Just him standing in your dorm with his messy hair and that hoodie you'd seen in the character creator, and you knowing exactly how his hands felt even though you'd never actually touched him before. Your breath caught. His did it too, you saw his chest hitch. Neither of you said anything, you both just moved, like someone had pressed play at the same time. He leaned in, you tilted up, and your mouths met in the middle.

You kissed at the same time.

His mind was racing: this is real, this is actually happening. No reset button, no save file, and he could not stop it even if he tried. Your lips were soft and moving against his in a way that made his hands come out of his pockets and find your waist, pulling you in a bit. You felt his fingers press into the fabric of your hoodie, and you responded by sliding your hands up to his shoulders, gripping the soft material there.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushed yours lightly, exploratory, and you leaned into it, your back arching off the mini fridge as he stepped closer, bodies pressing together now. A small sound escaped you, not a moan exactly, but something involuntary, and Heeseung reacted by tilting his head more, his hand moving up your back under the hoodie, fingers splaying against your skin, warm and calloused a little. His hands shook a little on your hips, and thank god there were no pop up flashing with options like "kiss deeper" or "pull away," and no dialogue tree to pick from. 

You broke for air just a second, foreheads touching, both of you breathing hard. "this is way better than the game," he muttered, voice low and rough, with a tiny grin pulling at his lips.

You huffed a laugh, your hands still on his shoulders. "Shut up." 

You pulled him back in before he could say anything else. This kiss was different, harder, more sure. Your teeth caught his bottom lip and he made a noise he'd be embarrassed about later. His hand came up to your face, thumb against your cheek. Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged and he pressed you back against the fridge hard enough that the door rattled. He kissed down your jaw, taking his time, and you tilted your head to give him room. Your breathing was coming in short bursts. He got to your neck and stayed there, face buried against your skin, breathing you in. You made a sound that kinda sounded like a purr and that did something in him. In his head, he was scrambling, piecing together bits from the game, like the survey thing, where things got rough, when he knew you liked it rough. But now? No way, he wanted this slow, careful, the way you deserved. He slowed his kisses on your neck, his thumb tracing small circles on your side under the hoodie. Don't rush, idiot, his brain nagged, you're not on a timer here. 

He pulled back just a bit, forehead against yours, and said, "Sorry, this was kinda... out of nowhere."

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "It wasn't."

He looked at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. "If this is weird for you though. With everything. I can stop."

"No." You said it fast, then quieter. "I want this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." you paused, then added quieter, "I haven't stopped thinking about it. Or… you. I can't stop thinking about you."

His brain glitched hard at that. wWait, she what? Holy shit, okay, don't screw this up. And he leaned in again, kissing you deeper now, hands sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. He nipped at your lip, testing, as things heated back up, his pulse loud in his ears. You pushed him back gently, hands on his chest, guiding him across the room step by step until his back hit the wall with a soft thud. The kiss turned messy then, tongues clashing, breaths mixing in quick gasps, neither of you holding back anymore. Your lips moved to his jaw, nipping lightly, then down to his neck, sucking at the skin there.

He let out an uncontrolled whine, his hands tightening on your hips. That sound made you bolder, so you slipped one hand under his hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You pulled back up to kiss him again, fast and urgent, teeth grazing his lip. He bent his knees a bit, hands sliding down to your thighs, and lifted you up in one smooth motion. Your legs wrapped around his torso automatically, and he spun you around, pressing your back against the wall now. No action option popped up in his head, no prompt telling him what to do next — he'd done it all on instinct, and that made a quick flash of pride hit him, like he was finally off script, just going with it.

Between kisses, you murmured against his mouth, "Hee, you feel so good."

"You too, god" he breathed back, voice rough. He pressed in closer, his body flush against yours, the bulge in his pants obvious now between your legs. You let out a quiet moan, your head tipping back against the wall. He kept you pinned there against the wall, his hips rolling slow against yours in a rhythm that matched your breaths, each grind pulling a small gasp from you. His hands slid up under your hoodie, fingers spreading wide over your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping in like he couldn't get enough. You arched into his touch and nipped at his earlobe, then soothed it with your tongue. He shivered, a low groan escaping him, and you felt him harden more against you, the friction sending sparks up your spine.

He lowered you slowly to the floor, knees bending as he guided you toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. You tugged at his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one messy motion, his hair falling wild as it came off. His skin was warm, flushed, and you ran your hands over his chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they peaked under your touch. He laughed softly, a little breathless, as he peeled your hoodie off next, tossing it aside. His fingers traced the strap of your bra, slipping it down your shoulder before leaning in to kiss the exposed skin.

You pushed him back onto the bed, climbing onto his lap, your thighs straddling his as you ground down slowly, feeling his erection press right where you needed it. His hands gripped your hips, guiding the motion. As his fingers worked the clasp of your bra, letting it fall away, Heeseung's mind clicked into place: this was infinitely better than any simulator. In the game it was all presets, like surveys and options that guessed at what you liked, scripted responses that felt good but flat. Here, he could watch your reactions for real, feel the way your body tensed or relaxed under his hands, discover the spots that made you squirm without a pop up telling him what to do. No algorithms dictating the pace; just trial and error, his lips on your skin, learning from every shiver, every moan. Why settle for a program when he could map you out himself, piece by piece?

Things picked up then, his mouth closing over one of your nipples, tongue flicking slow at first, then sucking harder when you arched into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Hee, yes— like that," you breathed, grinding down firmer, the wet heat between your legs soaking through against his sweatpants. He switched sides, hand cupping the other breast, thumb rolling over the peak. He helped you take your sweatpants off, and then his free hand slipped between you, fingers pressing over your clit through your panties, rubbing in tight circles that had you moaning louder, hips bucking. You reached down, palming him through his pants, feeling the outline of his cock twitch under your hand. "You're so hard already," you said, squeezing gently, watching his face contort. He thrust up into your touch, a whine slipping out as he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and deep. 

His fingers dipped under your waistband now, sliding through your slick folds, one dipping inside you slow, curling just right. "So wet, fuck," he whispered, adding another finger, pumping steadily as his thumb found your clit again. You rocked against his hand, breaths coming faster, and tugged at his sweatpants, freeing him enough to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking slow from base to tip, thumb swiping over the precum beading there. He bucked into your grip, groaning into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. "Keep going," he panted, fingers speeding up inside you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.

You sped up your strokes, matching his rhythm, the slick sound of your hand on him mixing with the wet push of his fingers in you. He dropped his head to your shoulder, mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing skin as his free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks. You rolled your palm over the head on every upstroke, spreading the precum down his length, and he thrust into your fist harder, a low whine catching in his throat. His hips stuttered, thrusts into your hand getting erratic, and you felt him swell thicker against your palm. Suddenly he grabbed your wrist, stopping your movement, chest heaving. "I can't— fuck— I'll cum so fast like this."

"Yeah," you breathed, nodding quick, "Fuck, okay." He kissed you hard once more, then pulled his fingers out slow, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean while looking right at you. You bit your lip, heat rushing lower. You shifted back a bit, still catching your breath. "You got a condom?"

"Oh shit," he muttered, eyes widening. He reached down to his sweatpants, still tangled around one thigh from your handjob. And dug into the pocket, fumbling for his wallet. You leaned in, kissing along his neck slow, tongue flicking the spot that made him shiver earlier, just to keep him distracted. He huffed as he finally pulled out the foil packet. He glanced at it, then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. In the game you didn't need this shit — couldn't exactly knock up pixel pussy. 

He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling it on quick but careful, hand stroking himself once to settle it. Then he nudged you back onto the bed, settling between your legs as you lay on your back. He kicked off the sweatpants fully, nearly tripping when they caught on his ankle, and you both grinned at the awkward shuffle. He hovered over you, one hand bracing by your head, the other guiding himself, tip brushing through your folds once, twice, coating in your wetness. "You okay?" he asked, voice low, eyes locked on yours.

"Yeah, fuck, please," you said, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer.

He pushed in slow, the head of his cock breaching you first, that initial stretch making him grit his teeth; tight, wet heat wrapping around him like a vice, slick from all the buildup, but still enough resistance that he had to ease forward inch by inch. His breath caught sharp in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a second as the sensation hit him full force: warm walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper, the condom dulling it just a bit but not enough to hide how perfectly you fit, how your body gave way but clung at the same time. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed there, pulsing inside you, the fullness making his thighs tense.

This was miles better than the game. In the sim, it was all smooth, predictable friction, coded to feel good but always a step removed, like jacking off to a video. Here, though, buried deep in you, he felt every twitch, every squeeze of your cunt around his cock, the real heat radiating through him, the way your wetness coated him completely, Making each tiny shift send sparks up his spine. It was messy and raw, just the obscene reality of how soaked you were, how his balls pressed between your thighs, heavy and tight, begging for more. He started moving then, slow pulls back and thrusts in, the wet slap of skin filling the room as he found a rhythm. You arched up to meet him, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red lines he could feel stinging already. "Fuck, you're taking me so well," he muttered, voice wrecked, as he snapped his hips harder once, watching your tits bounce with the impact. He leaned down, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise while he ground deep, cock dragging along your walls, hitting spots that made you clench tighter around him.

Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him faster, and he obliged, thrusts turning rougher, the bed creaking under you both. He could hear the squelch each time he buried himself balls-deep, your pussy gripping him. "So fucking wet," he groaned against your skin, one hand sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you onto him harder. You moaned louder, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as he pounded in, the angle shifting so his pubic bone ground against your clit with every thrust.

He flipped you over suddenly, hands on your hips yanking you up onto all fours, and slid back in from behind in one smooth push, deeper this way, his cock curving just right to make you gasp. He started railing you, skin slapping loud, his balls smacking against you with each brutal thrust. You pushed back against him, meeting every snap, your walls fluttering around him, milking him tighter. He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy circles while he fucked you harder.

His mind flashed back to the game then, that kink survey popping up, how you'd picked options that leaned heavy into rough. He wondered if it carried over, if real you craved that edge too. Testing it, he drew back a hand and landed a smack on your ass, not too hard, just enough to sting and make the flesh jiggle under his palm. The sound cracked through the room, sharp over the wet slaps of his thrusts. You moaned low, pushing back harder against him, your pussy clenching tight around his cock like a reflex. That reaction lit him up — okay, she likes it — and he felt bolder, the dom side kicking in without overthinking. "Yeah, you take that so good," he groaned, rubbing the spot he smacked, soothing the heat before landing another, a bit firmer this time, watching your skin pink up. 

He kept pounding in, deep and steady, the angle letting him hit that spot inside you that made your knees buckle a little. Reaching forward, he grabbed your wrists, pulling your arms back and pinning them at the small of your back with one hand, your chest dropping lower to the mattress. It arched your ass higher, letting him drive deeper, his free hand gripping your hip hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The restraint made everything tighter, your walls hugging his cock obscenely, slick dripping down his balls with each thrust. "Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he panted, voice breaking as he felt you flutter around him, the build-up coiling tight in his gut.

"Hee—close, I'm so close," you gasped, face pressed into the sheets, hips grinding back desperate now. He picked up the pace, thrusts turning frantic, skin slapping louder, his balls tightening as he railed you harder. "Come on, let go for me, you feel so good clenching like that," he muttered, leaning over you, breath hot on your back. The friction built fast, your moans turning high and broken, and he felt you shatter first, your pussy spasming hard around his cock, milking him in waves, wetness gushing out and coating his thighs. That pushed him over, his hips stuttering as he buried deep one last time, groaning loud as he came, pulsing inside you, the condom catching every thick spurt while your bodies locked together, shaking through it.

You both stayed like that for a minute, chests heaving, sweat cooling on your skin, the room thick with the smell of sex. He was still buried inside you, pulsing faintly with aftershocks, but he didn't want it to end yet. Slowly, he eased out, the condom slick and heavy as he tied it off and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. His hands loosened on your wrists, letting your arms fall forward as you collapsed onto your stomach with a soft groan. He leaned down, lips brushing the small of your back, tasting the salt there, then lower, kissing along the curve where your spine dipped. His teeth grazed the swell of your ass, biting just hard enough to make you twitch, then soothing it with his tongue. You pushed back slightly, thighs parting on instinct, and he took the invitation— hands spreading you open as he dragged his tongue slow from your asshole down to your entrance, lapping up the mess you'd both made. The taste hit him full: tangy, musky, mixed with the latex from the condom and your arousal, thick and real coating his tongue. He groaned into you, diving deeper, tongue pushing inside your pussy, curling to scoop out more, nose buried against you as he ate you out sloppy from behind.

Your hips started rocking back, muffled moans into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. He kept going, alternating broad licks up your slit with flicks over your clit, then back to spearing his tongue inside, feeling your walls flutter again. His face was soaked now, chin dripping, lips swollen, as he sucked your clit into his mouth, humming low. You tensed hard, thighs shaking, and came again with a broken cry, pushing back against his face, wetness flooding his mouth as he licked you through it, not stopping until you sagged limp.

He pulled back finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but mostly just smearing it, face shiny and wrecked. He flipped you over gentle, onto your back, and just looked; your cheeks flushed deep red, hair stuck to your forehead, neck and thighs dotted with fresh bruises from his mouth and grip, chest rising fast. You looked completely fucked out, eyes half lidded, lips bitten raw. His gaze dropped to himself: cock half hard again already, hanging heavy, the used condom on the floor bloated with his load, cum visible through the latex. This was nothing like the game. There, everything reset clean, no mess, no lingering taste on his tongue, no actual bruises blooming on skin. Here, he could smell you on his face, feel the ache in his jaw from eating you out, see the evidence of how hard he'd fucked you. Way better. Infinitely better.

He crawled up beside you, collapsing half on top, one leg tangled with yours, hand resting on your stomach as you both caught your breath again. The air was still thick, sheets twisted around your ankles, and Heeseung shifted a little closer, propping his head on one hand to look at you. He picked up your hand, fingers tracing over your knuckles before bringing them to his lips, kissing each one slow, like he was checking they were real. "Hey," he said soft, "was is... good for you?"

You glanced away for a second, cheeks heating up again, then nodded. "Yeah. Really good." Your voice came out quieter than you meant, thumb brushing his wrist. He smiled small, relieved, and pressed another kiss to your fingertips. You swallowed, still coming down, and mumbled, "want some water?"

"Yeah I'll get it," he said quick, already pushing up. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, then paused mid step, one hand going to his lower back with a quiet "Ow—shit." He stretched a bit, wincing. Last time he'd moved like that was... well, in the game and pixels don't pull muscles. He huffed a laugh at himself and shuffled over to the mini fridge, the floor cool under his feet.

He grabbed two bottles, cracked one open for you first, and came back, sitting on the edge of the bed close enough that his knee bumped yours. You sat up a little, taking the water, and he reached out, fingers threading through your messy hair, smoothing it back gently while you drank. His touch was light, almost absent minded, but steady. You lowered the bottle and just looked at him— hair sticking up, lips swollen, a faint red mark on his neck from earlier. You let out a soft laugh, nose scrunching. he raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Hi."

"Hi," you said back, still smiling.

He tilted his head, thumb brushing your cheek. "You need to pee."

You snorted, covering your face with one hand. "Yes, I know." He didn't even hesitate, just slid his arms under you, one behind your back, the other under your knees, and lifted you up like you weighed nothing. You yelped quietly, arms looping around his neck on reflex. "Hee—"

"I got you," he muttered, carrying you across the room to the bathroom door, stepping carefully around the clothes scattered on the floor. He set you down gentle inside, kissed your forehead quick, and pulled the door almost shut behind you. "Take your time." You heard him flop back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, probably rubbing his back again, and couldn't help smiling to yourself in the mirror.

When you came back, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, boxers pulled on, knees apart, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up as the bathroom door opened and gave you this small, lopsided smile, half awkward, half couldn't-hide-it-if-he-tried glad. His hair was still a mess, sticking up where your fingers had been, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn't know where to put his hands now. You walked over and sat next to him, close enough that your thighs touched, the mattress dipping a little under both of you.

For a second neither of you said anything, just the quiet hum of the mini fridge and the faint rustle of sheets when you shifted. He glanced at you sideways. "So... that happened."

You huffed a small laugh, pulling your knees up. "Yeah. It did."

He was quiet for a moment. "Was it—" he stopped, started again. "I don't want you to think that's why I came here. Or that I expected—"

"I know."

"Because we don't really know each other. Like, actually know each other. And I don't want you to feel like this was too much or—"

"Don't we though?"

He looked at you. "What?"

"Know each other." You tucked your hair behind your ear. "I lived all of it with you. In the game."

"Yeah but that wasn't—"

"The date in the park," you said. "You picked that flower for me. The one that was glowing.” Heeseung was very still now, watching you. "And we played League together," you continued. "Destroyed my exes, even though they don't even exist in real life. Also, you were so smug about it, kept emoting after every kill, I thought you were so cute. And then we cooked pasta at my place and you almost burned the garlic and I had to help you and we ended up just—" you stopped, smiled a little. "It felt easy and natural like I'd known you forever. And the dates after that. Like the arcade, that hiking trail." You were looking at your hands now. "And then the park again at night. You told me you were falling for me. I remember it all too well. It was the most real thing that's ever happened to me." You finally looked at him. "And when I met you at the party and realized you were an actual person, I freaked out. Because how was I supposed to deal with the fact that I'd already fallen for you before we'd even met?"

"You—" his voice cracked slightly. "You fell for me?"

"Yeah." You said it simple, like it was obvious. "In the game. I didn't know it was you, but I felt everything. And then when Jungwon texted me about the update, I couldn't — I had to play it again. I had to see you again, even if it was just in the game. I thought it was just the game being really immersive and really realistic and I didn't think you were actually there."

Heeseung let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I thought the same thing but I couldn't figure out what else it could be."

"And then we both avoided each other for a week." You laughed, dropping your head against his shoulder. "We're idiots."

"Complete idiots." He leaned his head against yours. "But like, in our defense, how were we supposed to know we were accidentally having virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch?"

You snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Please never say that sentence again."

"Which part, the virtual sex or the Nintendo Switch?"

"Both. That whole thing."

He was grinning now. "But it happened."

"Ynfortunately yes."

"And it was—" he stopped.

"Really good," you finished.

He pulled back a little, just enough to look at you, his fingers sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, thumb brushing your cheek. "Yeah. It was. But this way is better." You smiled, he did too. But then he paused, and said quieter, "We don't have to figure it all out right now, you know. The whole... what this means. But," he swallowed, hand dropping to lace with yours on the sheet. "If you want to. If you're down... I'd really like to try this for real. Like, dates that don't require a Switch cartridge. Real hiking and a real arcade. And the boring real stuff too."

You turned your hand over, squeezing his fingers. "Boring real stuff sounds good."

"Yeah?" His smile went soft, relieved, and he shifted closer, knee bumping yours. His free hand came up to your waist, pulling you gently until you were half in his lap, legs tangled again. He kissed you slow then, nothing rushed, just lips moving soft, his hand splaying warm on your back. You kissed back, fingers threading through the hair at his nape, tugging lightly when he deepened it a bit. He pulled away just enough to breathe, lips still grazing yours. "This okay?"

"More than okay," you murmured, chasing his mouth for another quick kiss. He smiled into it, then another, hand sliding up your spine, thumb tracing lazy lines. You broke apart for air, but stayed close, foreheads together. "So," you said, poking his chest. "First real date. You picking or me?"

"I owe you that glowing flower," he said, fingers playing with your hair. "But like, from an actual field this time."

You laughed softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Deal. But you're still helping with the garlic."

He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow and pulling you with him so you landed half on his chest. "Fine. But no emoting when I burn it."

You settled there, ear over his heartbeat, his arms wrapping loose around you. "We'll see."

And you did see, because you saw him burn garlic three more times over the next month, and you emoted every single time, just to watch him get flustered and defensive about it. And the dates weren't like the game. There were no perfectly timed sunsets or fireflies that landed on cue. 

Your first real date was at a diner near campus at two in the afternoon because that's when you both had free time between classes. He ordered pancakes and you stole half of them. The syrup was too sweet and the coffee was burnt and it was perfect anyway. You went to an arcade on a Tuesday night because you both thought it would be funny and all the good machines were broken. Heeseung spent twenty bucks trying to win you a stuffed cat from the claw machine and failed every time, just like the game. You ended up buying one from the prize counter with your own money and he carried it around for the rest of the night looking mildly offended. The hiking trail he took you on wasn't the picturesque mountain path from the game. It was a local trail that was mostly flat and next to a highway. You could hear cars the entire time. He tripped over a root and almost took you down with him. But he held your hand the whole way and pointed out a bird he thought was cool, and when you sat on a bench to rest, he kissed you and it tasted like the granola bars you'd been sharing.

You learned things about him that the game had never shown you. That he was grumpy in the mornings and needed at least ten minutes of silence before he could form coherent sentences. That he had a specific way of organizing his desk and got stressed when things were out of place. That he laughed at his own jokes before he finished telling them and it was the most endearing thing you'd ever seen. Meanwhile, he learned that you talked to yourself when you were concentrating, narrating your own thoughts out loud without realizing it. That you had strong opinions about which anime openings were skippable and which were sacred. That you stress baked at midnight and would show up at his dorm at one am with cookies that were still warm and slightly misshapen.

You played League together and he actually did run it down once and you flamed him for fifteen minutes straight. He took you to his favorite boba place and you hated the drink you ordered but drank it anyway because you didn't want to admit you'd made a mistake. He noticed and switched cups with you without saying anything.

And the domestic stuff was better than any game could've captured: grocery shopping together and arguing about which brand of ramen to buy; him falling asleep on your shoulder during study sessions in the library; you stealing his hoodies and him pretending to be annoyed but leaving them at your place on purpose. The way he'd text you random memes at three am just because he thought you'd find them funny. The way you'd save the last bite of your food for him without thinking about it. It was real and messy and nothing like the perfect dates the game had generated. It was so much better.

Three months in, Jungwon decided he wanted to do a pizza night at his place. Make-your-own-pizza, he'd said. It'll be fun, he'd said. He'd assigned everyone tasks and you and Heeseung got stuck with grocery shopping because apparently you were the only ones who could be trusted not to forget something important. Which is how you ended up in the pasta sauce aisle of the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, having an increasingly heated debate about pizza sauce. "This one has basil already in it," Heeseung said, holding up a jar.

"But that one's too sweet. We need the plain one so we can add our own seasonings." You grabbed a different jar.

"Nobody's going to taste the difference."

"I'm going to taste the difference!"

"Yeah, that's because ou have the most specific opinions about things that don't matter."

"Excuse me, pizza sauce matters. This is important." He looked at you, standing there in your hoodie and jeans with your hair falling out of your bun, holding a jar of pasta sauce like it was a matter of life and death, and he felt something in his chest shift. You'd been arguing about groceries for ten minutes. Before that it had been flour — he'd grabbed all purpose and you'd insisted on bread flour even though Jungwon probably wouldn't care. You had strong opinions about olive oil brands. You'd spent five minutes reading the labels on different types of cheese. It was so mundane and domestic and real and he was so gone for you it was ridiculous.

Heeseung caught your wrist and pulled you back. You turned, surprised, the jar of sauce still in your hand. "What?" He just looked at you for a second. The fluorescent grocery store lighting was terrible and someone's kid was screaming two aisles over and the store radio was playing a compressed version of some pop song from five years ago. Nothing about this moment was romantic or special or anything like the game would've generated.

"You know," he said, "if this was a cooking game, you'd be picking all the wrong action options right now."

You laughed. "What?"

"The wrong sauce. Insisting on fresh garlic when the jarred stuff is right there. Making this way more complicated than it needs to be." He was smiling now, pulling you closer. "You'd be failing the efficiency route."

"Good thing this isn't a game then."

"Yeah." His other hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Good thing." You were looking at him with this soft expression, waiting for whatever he was going to say, and Heeseung realized he'd been waiting for the perfect moment for weeks now. The right time, the right place, the right words. But standing in a grocery store on a random Saturday arguing about pizza sauce felt more right than any perfectly rendered sunset could've been. "I love you," he said.

You went very still. "What?"

"I love you." He said it again, steadier this time. "And I want to finally beat fuck ass Girlfriend Simulator. Make it official."

"Heeseung—"

"I want to complete the Girlfriend Simulator route," he continued, and he was grinning now because he could see you trying not to smile. "Get the good ending. Unlock the girlfriend achievement."

You laughed. "You're such a nerd."

"Yeah, I know. so?" He squeezed your hand. "Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"

You set the jar of sauce down on the nearest shelf, not even checking if it was the right spot, and kissed him. Right there in the middle of the grocery store with terrible lighting and screaming children and elevator music playing overhead. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were both grinning like idiots. "Yes," you said. "Obviously yes.” 

And you kissed him. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. You pulled back just a little, hands sliding up to rest on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. The kiss turned slower then, softer, your lips brushing his again and again like you couldn't quite stop. He made this quiet hum, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking the skin there while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you close. Some lady pushed her cart past you both, wheels squeaking on the linoleum, but neither of you moved.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads still touching, you were both breathing a little harder. "I love you too," you said, voice low but steady. "Obviously. And I'm really glad I beat Boyfriend Simulator."

He laughed soft, nose bumping yours. "Wait." His face went serious all of a sudden, eyes narrowing. "That was the name of your game? Boyfriend Simulator?"

"Yeah." You bit your lip, trying not to grin too big. "Jungwon said it was different from Girlfriend Simulator because this one has a multiplayer option."

He shook his head slow, arms still around you, holding you there in the aisle like he wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. You both just stood there, wrapped up in each other between the shelves of pasta sauce, carts rumbling by, some kid yelling about cereal in the distance. Heeseung stared at you, processing, then let out this quiet groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "I'm going to kill Yang Jungwon."

You laughed into his hair, fingers threading through it at the nape of his neck. "Get in line."

[GAME COMPLETE] GOOD ENDING UNLOCKED: REAL LIFE ROUTE ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: GIRLFRIEND.EXE NEW GAME+ AVAILABLE: THE REST OF YOUR LIVES

taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff  @gh9sty @xoenhalover @bambiens @hoonsocks @jaeyunflix @yvampyr @wonmuse

Jay and Jake were in something of a social exile, their messy, years long deception finally curdling their reputations but who really cares about people being gay these days? But Sunghoon was a victim, he was the noble boyfriend who had been betrayed by his girlfriend and his best friend. The narrative was perfect and the rewards were even better. His gaze shifted to the door of the ensuite bathroom, you were in there probably fixing your makeup, moving with that quiet, tentative tread you'd adopted lately. For four weeks you’d become a shell of yourself, so consumed by the guilt of your mistake with Jay that you had become a servant to Sunghoon's every whim. You cooked for him, you anticipated his moods, always looking at him with such desperate eyes that it almost made him want to laugh. You were working so hard to earn back the trust of a man who had never actually lost it because he had never been faithful to begin with.

Then there was Leah.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand with a text that he didn't even need to open to know it was from her. Leah was a different kind of fun. Where you were desperate for forgiveness, Leah was oh so desperate for supremacy. She was obsessed with the secret they shared—the adrenaline of cheating right under your nose made her crazy in a way Sunghoon was oddly attracted to. She wanted to be his number one and she was willing to degrade herself in ways you wouldn't dream of just to prove she was more loyal than you.

He had you both exactly where he wanted you, you in his bed seeking redemption and Leah in the shadows seeking a title.

The door opened and you stepped out wearing one of his oversized shirts looking so small and fragile. "I made you coffee," you told him, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to touch his hand like you were afraid he'd recoil. "What are your plans today, Hoon?"

Sunghoon reached out, tangling his fingers in your hair to pull you closer. He didn't answer immediately, he liked to let the silence stretch until you looked like you were on the verge of tears.

"I’m not sure yet," he finally murmured, his voice smooth and devoid of the hurt he had been weaponizing for the past four weeks. He felt a surge of power, Sunghoon had cheated, he had lied and in the grand scheme of things he had won. He was the only one who knew the truth and as long as he kept you and Leah spiraling in your own competitions, he would never have to pay for a thing, he would never pay for the consequences of his actions.

"You're a good girl," he added, loving the way you visibly melted at the words. He caught his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed, feeling utterly untouchable.

He trailed his hands to your waist and adjusted you so you were now straddling him, his face buried for a moment in the crook of your neck. He breathed you in, savoring the way you stayed perfectly still, as if you were yielding to him completely. This was his favorite part of the game, he loved the absolute submission born from your misplaced shame.

The relentless vibration of his phone against the nightstand broke the silence. He reached for it and immediately let out a hiss of annoyance, tossing the device back onto the mattress as if it had burned him and rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful.

"What is it, babe?" you asked, your hand tentatively smoothing the hair at the nape of his neck. "Did something happen?"

"My father," he spat the name like a curse. "He wants another one of those miserable family dinners tomorrow. God, I hate that word. He always uses it like it's supposed to mean something."

He leaned back again, the mask of the composed victim was slipping to reveal the raw edges of his elitism and if you weren't so blinded by your own consuming guilt, you would've noticed it immediately. "Those people aren't my family. They're more like intruders. That woman is nothing but a gold digger and a whore who caught my father at a weak moment, and her son—" He cut himself off with a bitter laugh. "Jungwon is the most arrogant, insufferable brat I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. He walks around that house like he owns the fucking floorboards and father just eats it up."

You stayed quiet, just letting him vent and tracing soothing circles against his skin until the tension in his shoulders finally began to bleed away. You were the only one who could tame him like this, or at least he let you believe you were. He felt a smug sense of pride watching you work so hard to fix his mood.

His phone buzzed again and this time he snatched it up, you watched his lip curl in disgust as he read the second message. "How fantastic. It gets better, baby. Apparently, the little prince wants to introduce his new girlfriend to everyone. My father expects us to be there to welcome her into the fold."

Sunghoon tossed the phone aside again and pulled you flush against his chest this time, sliding his down to grip your hips possessively. "I can already see her," he scoffed with condescension. "Some airhead who's fallen for Jungwon's perfect gentleman act. Probably some flavor of the month socialite who doesn't have two fucking brain cells to rub together. Jungwon has zero taste, he just picks whoever is going to look best in a photo op."

"But I have to go. I'd rather endure a night of staring at whatever bimbo he's brought home than deal with my father's lectures about unity and him dangling my trust over my head. You're coming with me, of course. I need you there to remind them what a real woman looks like."

His lips nipped at your earlobe, a dark smile spreading on his lips. "And besides...I want them to see how much you adore me. It'll make Jungwon's little debut look pathetic in comparison."

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words

"Hoon...I can't tomorrow. It's my sister's bridal shower remember? I told you about it last week, I'm supposed to be there all day."

Sunghoon's hands on your hips went rigid the second the words left your mouth, he didn't say a word at first, he did stare at you with those piercing eyes that made you feel like a specimen under a microscope.

"A bridal shower," he repeated. "So your sister's party is more important than my father's command? More important than supporting me through a night with those vultures?"

"Hoon, please, I've been planning it for months," your heart already beginning to race. "I'm the maid of honor, I can't just—"

"I bet if it were Jay asking, you'd find a way to be there," he snapped. It was his favorite weapon these days, the ultimate trump card he pulled whenever he wanted to remind you of your place.

"No! Hoon, that's not fair, you know I—I'll do anything to make it up to you, I promise. I'll come over right after, I'll stay the whole weekend, I'll—"

"Shut it," he muttered, his hurt victim act vanishing to reveal the cold tyrant beneath. "I don't want to hear your excuses. You're all the same. You claim you want to earn my trust but the second I actually need you, you have plans."

He stood up abruptly, roughly shifting his weight so suddenly that he tossed you off his lap. You landed on the mattress with a soft thud, scrambling to sit up as he looked down at you with utter disdain. He wasn't even looking at your face anymore; his gaze was fixed on your legs, his expression almost transactional.

"If you're going to be useless to me at dinner, you might as well be useful to me now," he said with no affection in his tone. "Take your panties off. Now."

You looked at him, searching for even a flicker of the boy who used to love you so much but all you saw was the man who held your reputation in his hands. Shaking, your fingers moved to the waistband of your lace underwear, slowly sliding them down your legs while he watched you with a bored look on his face.

He stood there enjoying the sight of your submission. "You're going to stay just like that until I'm satisfied," he murmured as he pushed his pajama pants down slowly. "And maybe, if you're good enough, I'll consider forgiving you for being so selfish."

──.୨ৎ

Sunghoon killed the engine of his car but he couldn't bring himself to move yet, he needed the time to gather himself so he sat in the silence of his leather trimmed sanctuary, gripping the steering wheel until his fingers started to tingle. Outside, the sprawling driveway of the Park estate was bathed in the warm, mocking glow of the mansion's exterior lights but then the his eyes caught the baby blue G-Wagon parked crookedly just a few yards away.

The vehicle seemed to be rocking on its suspension in a rhythmic, almost violent motion that made Sunghoon's lip curl in a snarl of pure disgust. Even though the windows were tinted, the silhouettes were unmistakable.

Of course, Sunghoon thought. The venom in his mind dripping over every word. Of course the little prince couldn't even make it through the front door without acting like a rutting animal.

He stepped out of his car, the click of his shoes against the gravel was sharp and as he drew closer to the car to head toward the front steps, the soundproofing of the luxury SUV failed to drown out the noise. The girl's moans were high pitched and entirely too loud for a residential driveway.

"Do you like that?" His step brother's voice drifted out, it was muffled but recognizable with ghat smug arrogance that made Sunghoon's stomach turn. "Tell me you love my cock. Tell me who you belong to."

"Yes! Yes, I love it! Please, Wonie!" the girl screamed, her voice hitting an airheaded crescendo that echoed off the stone walls.

It made Sunghoon stop in his tracks, his frame rigid and his expression a mask of frozen disdain. Disgusting. Utterly primitive. He looked up at the darkened windows of his father's study, wondering how the man could be so blind. This was the boy his father was constantly comparing him to—a boy who had zero respect for the family home, zero dignity and apparently, zero standards as well.

Jungwon's new girlfriend was exactly what he expected—a loud, brainless girl with no sense of decorum, willing to be bent over the console of a car like a common street whore. To think his father expected Sunghoon to sit at a table to break bread and play nice with a girl who was currently screaming her lungs out in the driveway was an insult to his very existence.

She isn't even worth the effort of an introduction, Sunghoon thought, smoothing his jacket with a sharp motion. She's a placeholder, a toy for a boy who doesn't know the first thing about power or restraint.

He had just spent his whole day yesterday making you beg for a scrap of his grace and here was his step brother, practically begging for the attention of a girl who sounded like she had the depth of a light rain puddle.

He reached the front doors and the heavy oak door swung back to reveal the sterile, golden grandeur of the foyer. He would literally give anything for his father to see the contrast between the son who arrived with composure and the boy who was currently staining the interior of a Mercedes.

He didn't even have his coat off before the sound of heels clicking against marble announced her arrival. "Sunghoon! You're finally here," she chirped, smelling of expensive perfume and desperation—a combination he'd learned to identify long ago.

She reached out, arms opening for a motherly embrace that smelled just as shallow as her wedding vows, but Sunghoon didn't break his stride, he side stepped her instead. Not even a flinch and she was left hugging the air where he had been a second before, her hands awkwardly clutching at nothing, she was quick to catch herself though.

"Where is my father?" Sunghoon asked not even looking at her, too busy adjusting his watch, as if her proximity alone had somehow knocked his perfection out of alignment.

"He's in his study with—"

"Perfect," he interrupted, finally sliding his eyes toward her with the kind of look he usually gave Leah when she cried too loudly. "Try not to hover. It's unbecoming."

"Now, now, Sunghoon," his father's voice boomed from the top of the stairs, bouncing off the walls with that easy confidence that only comes with a high net worth. He descended the steps with a soft smile, looking every bit the patriarch he was. "Don't be so cold to your mother. She's just happy to see you."

He didn't even look at the woman standing there but he felt her presence like a smudge on a clean window. "She's not my mother," the words barely leaving his lips. It was like reflex to him now, a small piece of truth he threw out every time they decided to do this dance. His father swept past him but not before clapping a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "Let's sit. I'm starving and I have a feeling the kitchen has outdone itself tonight."

"Jungwon is just a little late," his step mother sang out. "He'll be here any second, I'm sure of it."

Little late, Sunghoon thought, his eyes focused on the dust motes dancing in the light of the chandelier. Jungwon is fucking some bimbo in the driveway and he's going to walk in here soon and pretend nothing happened. He pulled out his chair, imagining you sitting there beside him, then he remembered why you weren't there, he remembered you were at your sister's bridal shower and it made a bitter taste flood his mouth.

"Oh, Sunghoon! You really should have met the lovely girl Jungwon brought over last weekend," her voice rising in excitement as she began to pour the wine. "She is just the sweetest thing. So polite and wholesome. She's exactly the kind of girl Jungwon needs."

Sunghoon's gaze stayed fixed on the silver fork in front of him, polite and wholesome. He wanted to laugh at the thought of a girl who could debase herself in the front of her boyfriend's family home as polite and wholesome. He wondered if Jungwon's girl had any idea what kind of animal she was dating or if she was just another prop in his step brother's own twisted theater.

"I'm sure she's a delight," Sunghoon said sarcastically. "I look forward to seeing how long she lasts before she realizes what kind of man your son is." He smiled at her but that smile quickly dropped when he heard his father's raised voice. "Park Sunghoon!" "You will not speak about your brother like that! We respect each other in this house." Those words unfortunately led to a lecture that somehow pivoted to his college education, "Law school isn't just about the pedigree, Sunghoon," his father continued with his usual steady drone of expectations. "It's about the endurance. Your grades are stable, but I need to see more focus. Less time at those campus parties, more time in the archives. You need to understand that once you graduate, the grace period is—"

The heavy dining room doors groaned open cutting the words from his father short. Sunghoon didn't even look up at first, his mind had drifted back to the annoyance he felt toward you for choosing a bridal shower over him. He was ready to watch Jungwon stroll in with some mindless girl he'd picked up from a sorority house, he was simply prepared to be unimpressed.

"Sorry for the wait," Jungwon's voice rang out, making the hair on the back of Sunghoon's neck stand up for some reason. "We got a little...distracted."

Sunghoon's eyes finally snapped up and for a second the world tilted, the grandeur of the room seemed to bleed into a blur of sickening realization. There, standing on Jungwon's arm, was you. You weren't at a bridal shower, you weren't wearing some floral sundress or helping your sister with ribbons and party games. You were wearing something sharp, that made you look expensive and sinful and your lips were slightly swollen—the exact same way they looked when Sunghoon finished with you.

The girl he had been internally mocking for being wholesome, the girl Jungwon had just been fucking in the driveway while Sunghoon watched with clinical disgust from the window.

It was you.

"Oh, sweetheart! You're back!" Jungwon's mother gushed, already on her feet with a beaming, smile. She crossed the room to you and took your hands in hers as if you were already her daughter. "It's so good to see you again. Jungwon hasn't stopped talking about how much he adores you since last weekend."

Sunghoon felt the air leave his lungs, his vision tunneled until all he could see was the way Jungwon's hand stayed firmly planted on the small of your back in a possessive touch that screamed of intimacy.

His mind quickly became a violent loop of contradictions. You told me you were with your family. You told me you were guilty. You're my toy. You're the one I broke. Across the table, Jungwon caught Sunghoon's eyes and he didn't look away when a smirk made its way to his face. Jungwon had been playing a much deeper game than Sunghoon ever realized.

"Sunghoon hyung," Jungwon said, his voice dripping with politeness that really just felt like a slap. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Don't tell me you forgot to say hello to my girlfriend?"

"It's nice to see you again, Sunghoon," you say with no usual tremor in your voice, you even offer him a small smile, the type someone gives a person they’re not close to, or a loser. Every instinct he has is screaming at him to lung forward, to grab your wrist and drag you out into the hallway and demand what the hell you're doing. The bridal shower? The lie tasted like ash in his mouth.

But his father is watching.

"You two know each other?" his father asks, clearly interested in the silence radiating from his eldest son

"We go to the same university," Jungwon quickly answers for you, pulling out your chair at the same time. "Small world, right?"

Sunghoon forced a breath through his nose and looked at you, trying to find a flicker of the girl who had been begging for his forgiveness for the past four weeks but all he could see was the sweetheart his stepmother had praised…Jungwon’s girlfriend.

"Small indeed," Sunghoon finally managed to say.

"Anyway," Jungwon's mother chirped, oblivious to the silent war happening across the centerpiece. "Tell us everything! How did you two meet? It must have been so romantic."

Sunghoon's eyes locked onto yours, like he was still trying to see if he could control you, to have you show some fear or even some shame but you just looked away and answered her question. "It was actually very sweet, Ma’am."

"He helped me when I was really in need and I couldn’t help myself—I fell for him. Jungwon really is a darling. You’ve raised him well."

Jungwon really was sweet to you, well maybe not in the beginning at least. The silence of the library was usually your sanctuary, it was the one place where the suffocating guilt of that night didn't feel like it was actively crushing your chest. For two weeks, you had been living in a state of self inflicted pain. You had replayed that night a thousand times, from the look on Sunghoon's face, to the sound of Heeseung and Calista’s laughs and without even realizing it, you had let Sunghoon turn that guilt and pain into a collar.

You were trying so hard, you’d even gone to Leah for advice, finding solace and comfort in her from time to time, genuinely believing she was your best friend.

Your phone buzzed on the table with a notification.

Unknown Number: [1 Video Attachment]

You thought it was a scam or perhaps another cruel joke from Heeseung but then you pressed play.

The video was in high definition, filmed from a distant balcony view. You immediately recognized the blue shimmer of the pool in Sunghoon’s family estate from when you’d spent weekends there. He told you he was traveling out of town for family business, he had ben insinuated it was a somber trip he needed to take alone to clear his head from the stress you had caused him.

In the frame, Sunghoon wasn't working or relaxing to clear his head. He was on a lounge chair by the pool, his head tilted back and his hands gripping the waist of a girl who was straddling him with practiced ease.

You dropped the phone like it had burned you when said girl threw her head back and you saw Leah’s face. You began to tremble right there in the library thinking of all the times you’d confided in her, yet here she was—fucking your boyfriend. You picked up your phone again with shaking hands and watched him pull her down for a kiss in that same way he kissed you and you felt your world fracture. The guilt that had been your shadow suddenly vanished, replaced by a cold clarity. Through your blurry eyes filling with tears you see two more notifications.

Unknown Number: He thinks he's alone. Hyung’s always been bad at checking corners.

Unknown Number: It’s Jungwon btw. I believe we have a mutual interest in making sure Sunghoon doesn't get everything he wants. Give me a call if you're tired of being the only one holding the debt.

You hesitated before managing to walk out of the library to dial the number. Jungwon answered on the first ring. "I wondered how long it would take you to watch it," he said sounding entirely too amused with himself.

"Why are you showing me this?" you whispered with a rage you didn't know you had.

"Because my brother has a habit of collecting things he doesn't appreciate," Jungwon said to you. "He likes the way he can make you cry and then make you thank him for it. And I find it so fucking boring. Don’t you think it's insulting to someone with your...potential?"

"What do you want?"

"I just want to see the look on his face when his perfect life finally collapses." You could’ve sworn you could just sense the evil radiating through the phone. "He hates me, you know? He thinks I'm some intruder in his house. Imagine how he'll feel when he finds out his broken little girlfriend is actually mine."

"I'm not yours," you snapped.

"Not yet," Jungwon countered, he really did have alluring energy about him. "But think about it. I’m pretty sure you want revenge and I want to replace him. We could be useful to each other."

You could’ve gotten nominated for an academy award with the way you acted in the weeks leading up to tonight. You played the part of the guilty girlfriend so perfectly, there was no doubt you had him fooled, you nodded when he ranted about his useless problems. You watched him get angry when you told him you couldn’t come to dinner with him, you watched him use your mistake to try and manipulate you into canceling. And for the first time it didn't hurt at all, it just made you want to see him burn even more.

When you first met Jungwon for dinner, you no doubt had your guard up. You fully expected a younger, maybe louder version of Sunghoon. Instead, you found a natural born predator who knew how to hide his teeth really. He was the perfect gentleman, pulling out your chair and listening with an intensity that Sunghoon only ever reserved for his own reflection. He didn't lecture you on your how you’d made a mistake by getting with his step brother in the first place, or that you trusted him too much but by the end of the night you felt like you were the only person in the room.

You had to keep repeating the mantra in your head—they aren't blood, they aren't related. It was the only way to keep the vertigo from taking over. Jungwon was supposedly the intruder in Sunghoon's life, their relationship was simply a byproduct of a second marriage and that distance was exactly what made the idea of him so dangerous.

You didn't intend to go home with him that first night, in fact you didn’t intend to ever go home with him at all and you certainly didn't intend to let him touch you. But then you were in the parking lot and the city lights were blurred by the tinted glass of his car, the air between you turned electric. You quickly found out he had a thing for fucking in cars, maybe it was the claustrophobia of the leather seats or the risk of being seen, you had no idea, all you knew was that it was primal and messy. You also quickly found out you had a thing for how easily he could unravel you.

Sex with Sunghoon always felt like an audition, you were constantly performing for him, having to say the right things so he would be satisfied. Jungwon didn’t care about any of that, he was too focused on the way your face looked when he was bouncing you on his cock, he always made sure you lost your voice and wouldn’t stop until you were shaking and begging.

And tonight in the driveway, he was exactly the same. Pinning you against the backseat and reminding you of exactly what you were about to do. He made you cum so hard you nearly forgot your own name, let alone the fact that you were a mere thirty feet from his family.

"Think of how much he thinks he owns you and then tell me how good this cock feels." It damn sure felt better than anything Sunghoon had ever given you.

Now, as you sit across from Sunghoon at his father's table, you can still feel the faint ache in your thighs, along with the ghost of Jungwon's touch under your dress. You look at Sunghoon, he looks pale as he vibrates with a repressed fury and you realize the debt has almost been paid in full.

As the main course is served and the clink of silverware is the only sound in the room, Sunghoon finally speaks in a voice so low it's almost a growl. "So, Jungwon...exactly how long has this romance been going on? You've been rather quiet about her."

Jungwon takes a slow sip of his wine, his eyes dancing in delight as he looks at you the back at his step brother. "Long enough for me to know she’s the one," he says, reaching under the table to slide his hand up your inner thigh, mere inches away from where Sunghoon's eyes are fixed. "She's so full of surprises, Hyung. I absolutely adore her." He finishes placing a kiss on your cheek at which his mother gushes in excitement.

From then on the night becomes full blown psychological torture for Sunghoon. Every time you laugh at one of his father's dry jokes or offer some soft words to Jungwon’s mother, it’s like you can feel Sunghoon's pulse drumming from across the table. He looks like a man watching his own house burn down while being forced to applaud the flames. The irony is thick enough to choke on. His father, who he has spent his entire life trying to impress is completely charmed by you.

"Sunghoon," his father says, leaning with a rare look of genuine approval on his face. "You should take notes. Jungwon has finally shown some discernment. You'd do well to find a girl just like this lovely lady right here. Not like those...distractions you usually surround yourself with."

Sunghoon's knuckles are white with how hard he’s trying not to scream. He wants to stand up and roar that you are his girl, that you belong in his apartment and under his thumb, drowning in the guilt he spent a month cultivating. But he can't because to speak up now would be to admit he lost control, it would be him admitting that Jungwon, the arrogant intruder, took something right from under his nose.

When dinner finally ends and you and Jungwon reach the doors of the foyer, ready to leave, Sunghoon doesn’t just follow you, he marches towards you and lunges forward, grabbing your wrist with so much force that you wince.

"What the fuck is this, Y/n?" he hissed, his eyes darting between you and his step-brother. "What are you doing here? The bridal shower? You think you can just lie to me and walk into my father's house on his arm?" He turns his anger toward Jungwon. "And you. You think this is some fucking game? You think you can just take whatever—"

"Woah, woah," Jungwon interjects, stepping forward with a lazy calm, not looking the least bit intimidated, he just looks like he's enjoying every second of Sunghoon's meltdown as he places a firm hand on Sunghoon's forearm, forcing him to loosen his grip on you. "Please don't talk to my girlfriend like that, Hyung. It's a bit ungentlemanly, don't you think?"

Sunghoon's eyes go wide as his chest heaves. "Your girlfriend? Jungwon, you have no idea what you're talking about. She’s not—"

"Are you lost, Hoonie?"

You step closer to him, tilting your head and pouting up at him with the same innocence he used to mock you. The look in your eyes is stone cold though, you’re looking at him like he's a stranger and a pathetic one at that. "You seem really confused. Maybe the stress of law school is finally getting to you."

Jungwon chuckles, pulling you back against his side, his arm draping possessively over your waist. "Seems like he is, princess. He's completely lost it."

Jungwon looks his brother up and down, "Tell you what, hyung," he starts. "Why don't you pull up to my penthouse tonight? I feel like I missed out on all the fun the other night. Let's play another game of paranoia. I have a few questions of my own...and I’m sure you want answers."

Sunghoon stands there frozen in the doorway of his own home, as Jungwon leads you toward the car. He even watches the taillights fade until the silence of the estate settles over him like a shroud.

The drive to Jungwon’s place was a blur of neon lights and tight knuckled grips for Sunghoon. His mind was a chaotic mess of logic and jagged anger, he had managed to convince himself he was going there to talk sense into you, to drag you away from the toxic influence of his step brother and remind you of the debt you owed him. But as he stepped out of the elevator and into the sleek entryway of Jungwon's apartment, the air felt different and he began to doubt if he could actually pull it off.

The heavy bass of the music didn't sound like a party to him, it sounded like a taunt.

He walked right to the living room and expected to find you and Jungwon alone in some twisted confrontation. Instead, he was met with a scene that felt like a curated nightmare.

The usual crowd was scattered across the plush sofas. Jake was leaning against the bar, looking entirely too comfortable in Jay’s arms. The litmus test from a month ago had clearly reached its conclusion and Sunghoon was the only one who hadn't been invited to the reveal.

Leah was also there tucked into the corner of a sectional, looking like she wanted to completely disappear. The second Sunghoon's eyes found her, she flinched and dropping her gaze to her hands in her lap. She couldn’t look him in the eye in a way that had Sunghoon wondering if they’d been caught.

Then, he saw you perched comfortably on Jungwon's lap, your fingers idly playing with his chain as if it was the most natural place in the world for you to be. Ume was leaning in close, letting you whisper something into her ear that made her throw her head back in a genuine laugh.

You wouldn't have been brazen enough to invite Calista or Heeseung but this group of people felt more intimate somehow.

"Well, well," a voice chirped, breaking through the ringing in Sunghoon's ears. Jake straightened up as he looked Sunghoon up and down. "Look who decided to show up. You've been a very bad boy, Hoonie. Keeping secrets, hiding away...I didn't think you had it in you to be this messy."

Sunghoon didn't even acknowledge him, his eyes were locked on you, burning with a question he couldn't ask out loud in front of them for fear of humiliation.

Jungwon tightened his hold on your waist and pulled you a fraction closer as he looked up at his brother. The lighting in the penthouse was dim, casting long, predatory shadows across his face. "You're late, Sunghoon," Jungwon said, his voice smooth and almost welcoming, if Sunghoon didn’t know what Jungwon was like, he wouldn’t have noticed the edge his voice carried.

"But don't worry. We haven't started the game yet. We were just waiting for the guest of honor to arrive."

You finally looked at him then, observing his disheveled hair and his erratic breathing with a detached sort of pity that hurt worse than a slap.

"Sit down, Sunghoon," you said mirroring the exact tone he had used on you for weeks. "You look tired. You should have a drink before we start. You're going to need it."

As everyone settled into the makeshift circle, you were clearly the center of gravity on Jungwon's lap, while Sunghoon was an island of his own misery on the far edge of the room.

"Everyone remembers the rules, right?" you asked, your voice cutting through the low hum of the music. You didn't wait for an answer, you immediately leaned into Jungwon, letting your lips brush against the shell of his ear to whisper the first strike. "Who here is a lying, cheating bastard?"

A dark, amused huff escaped him as he looked directly across the space. "Sunghoon."

The silence that followed was deafening. Sunghoon didn't argue, he simply reached for his glass, willing his hand to stop trembling and drained it in one jagged motion. Jungwon's smirk widened as he revealed the question to the room, watching the realization sink into the group like lead.

When the turn moved to Sunghoon, he stared at his empty glass, before muttering a, "Pass."

The room erupted in mock boos and biting whistles. "Afraid of the truth, Sunghoon?" Jake teased before leaning back into Jay's touch. "Golden boy can't even play a party game?"

Jungwon didn't let the momentum die. He leaned toward Ume, whispering a question that made her eyes go wide. She gasped as her hand flew to her mouth. "No way! I don't know—who is it?"

The curiosity in the room spiked while Ume looked around the circle. "The question was...Who here is pregnant?"

Jay and Jake exchanged a stunned look while Sunghoon's gaze darted around frantically, if you weren't reacting, if you were sitting there with that calm smile then it wasn't you. And Ume had already denied it, so that left only one person.

Leah.

Who was sat perfectly still, eyes fixed on a spot on the rug as her face continued to drain of color.

Sunghoon looked at her then at you, feeling the bile rising in his throat. From the pool lounge chair, to the laundry room and every other place he had had sex with her—it all crashed down on him at once, he looked like he was about to be physically sick.

"Leah is pregnant," your voice rang out with a terrifying lack of emotion. The words hit Sunghoon like a physical blow, he had spent a month trying to make you pay for cheating on him with Jay, all while he was planting the seeds of his own destruction in a girl he treated like a toy.

"Is it true?" Sunghoon asked her with his voice sounding like it was being dragged over broken glass. He looked at Leah, eyes wide with a mix of horror and disgust. "Leah, she’s just fucking around, right?"

The silence was her confession.

"Sounds like hyung has some responsibilities he forgot to mention to the family," Jungwon mused, "I wonder what father would think about his future law student starting a family a little ahead of schedule?"

Jake, ever the catalyst of drama leaned into Leah’s space to whisper in her ear, who looked like she was vibrating, a single sob catching in her throat as she forced out a name. "Sunghoon."

Sunghoon didn't even wait for the reveal, he immediately reached for the bottle this time, not a glass to take a desperate swig.

"The question," Jake announced with terrifying cheerfulness, "was, Who here is your baby daddy?"

"You're a lying bitch!" Sunghoon roared, finally losing the mask of superiority he'd worn like a shield for years. He surged forward, his finger pointed at Leah like a weapon. "You're lying! You're trying to trap me because you're obsessed with what Y/n and I have—you'd say anything to stay in my life!"

Leah finally looked up and the fear was gone, now replaced by an intensity that made her eyes burn. "I'm not lying, Sunghoon! I have never been with anyone else! You were my first and only one. You know I'm not lying! Did you ever wear a condom with me? You took everything from me and now you want to call me a liar?" "Screw you."

The silence that followed was so heavy that Jay and Jake couldn’t even mock him anymore, all they could do was just watch the car crash with satisfied expressions. Sunghoon looked around the room with wild eyes, looking for anyone to defend him but he lost all hope when you snorted, "What Y/n and I have is crazy, Sunghoon."

You looked at him with a gaze so filled with fake tenderness that it felt like a twist of a knife.

"Oh, Hoonie," you cooed, echoing the way he used to comfort you after making you cry your eyes out. "Don't be like that. This is a blessing, isn't it?"

"Think about it this way," you continued, "A little girl who looks just like you or maybe even a boy with your grace. You, Leah and the baby. You're going to make such a beautiful family. I can already see the Christmas cards. I'm sure your father will be so proud to see his legacy continuing so...unexpectedly."

Sunghoon looked at you as the realization truly sank in, the realization that the girl he thought he'd broken was the one who had choreographed his funeral.

"I'll even help with the baby shower," you added, the pout returning to your lips. "Since I missed my sister's bridal shower, I have plenty of free time now."

Jungwon let out a low chuckle, his hand sliding up to the back of your neck to tangle his fingers in your hair. "Hear that, Hyung? My princess is even offering to help. You really should be more grateful." He said to him before leaning to Ume to whisper in her ear but she immediately threw her hands up in frustration, the constant whispering finally getting on her nerves. "Seriously? I don't know! Why am I the one getting the hard ones?" She pouted, turning to the circle with her voice loud and fed up. "How am I meant to know who here has lost their inheritance? What does that even mean?"

Sunghoons head snapped toward Jungwon, the defensive look in his eyes was replaced by a sudden dread. He didn't reach for the glass this time, he could barely move.

"What the fuck are you on about, Jungwon?" Sunghoon's voice was a ghost of its former self, all thin and terrified. Jungwon, on the other hand didn't even look up from where he was tracing patterns on your thigh.

"Don’t tell me you didn’t read the fine print, Hyung?" Jungwon asked, "I guess you were so busy being a manipulative cunt that you didn't read the updated trust clauses father had us sign last year."

Jungwon finally looked at him. "It's a purity clause. Father is obsessed with the family image, you should know that better than anyone. It's written in black and white tha any son who produces an illegitimate child, especially one that creates a social scandal, automatically forfeits their entire inheritance. Every cent. The trust, the property, the firm...it all funnels into a single beneficiary."

Jungwon explained and pulled you closer against his chest, "And since I'm currently the only son without a pregnant side chick...it looks like I'm about to become very, very wealthy."

Sunghoon looked like he was seconds away from passing out. His eyes shifted between you and Leah, who was still trembling and clutching her stomach area. One, the girl who had been his broken possession and the other girl who was now the only thing standing between him and complete ruin—and you were sitting comfortably in the lap of the man who was taking his whole life away.

"You knew," he whispered, his gaze landing on you. "You both knew."

"Knew that what, Sunghoon?" "No one asked you to cheat and get a girl pregnant."

"I’d check your pocket if I were you, Hyung," Jungwon said. "I’m pretty sure you’re about to get a call. And you know Father—he hates being kept waiting."

Right on cue, the sharp ringtone of Sunghoon’s phone cut through the sound of Leah’s crying. The name on the screen was enough to make Sunghoon’s knees buckle. He answered with a trembling hand. "Father—"

"You fucking embarrassment!"

The shout was so loud it echoed through the silent room making Sunghoon flinch as if he’d been struck.

"Tell me Jungwon is mistaken!" his father roared over the line. "Tell me you didn't get some girl pregnant! Tell me you haven't been dragging our name through the mud while I was planning your future!"

Sunghoon looked at you as you slowly pressed a lingering kiss to Jungwon’s lips that made him smile.

"Father, please, she’s...she’s a liar," Sunghoon choked out as he looked at Leah. "She’s trying to trap me, I swear—"

Leah’s sob broke into a scream at the word liar but no one moved to comfort her. In the background, Ume was busy gushing over Jay and Jake, her voice a cheerful anddistorted contrast to the carnage. "Oh my god, you guys are actually the cutest! Why did you wait so long?" She pouted at them, watching Jay nuzzle his face deeper to Jake’s neck

"I don't want to hear it!" his father’s voice got louder and louder. "If you’re man enough to play these games then I suppose you’re man enough to fund them. You’re cut off, Sunghoon. Don't bother coming back to the estate to beg for anything! As of right now, you do not exist to me."

The line went dead before he could even think of any sort of explanation to give the man.

The phone slipped from Sunghoon’s fingers and clattered on the floor. He looked at you, then at the happy couple Ume was currently asking a million questions about how they first got together, and finally he looked at the pregnant girl in the corner.

He had spent his life trying to be a masterpiece of calculated moves and manipulative counters but in the end, he was just a footnote in your story.

"Time to go, Hyung," Jungwon said to him with a voice filled with satisfied pity. "You’ve got a family to take care of now."

Before the words could even reach Sunghoon’s ears properly, Jungwon moved with a sudden burst of energy, he hooked his arm around your waist and hoisted you up.

A startled squeal escaped you as you were flipped over his shoulder, your legs kicking out instinctively. "Jungwon! Put me down!" you laughed a mocking laugh that echoed off the walls.

Jungwon didn't listen to you, tightening his grip on your thighs instead as he began to stride toward the hallway. You looked back over his shoulder one last time to see Sunghoon standing frozen like a ghost in a room full of people who had already forgotten him.

"Bye bye, Hoonie!" you called out sweetly with a final dose of irony.

When the heavy door to Jungwon’s bedroom clicked shut, it instantly muffled the sounds of Leah’s crying and the silence of the foyer. Jungwon set you down gently against the door, his hands immediately finding your waist. "So, how did that feel?" he whispered as his eyes searched yours and his thumb traced the line of your lower lip. "Seeing him lose everything?"

"Exhilarating," you breathed, sliding your hands up to cup his face. It wasn't just about the revenge or the power shift anymore.

Jungwon’s expression softened as he looked at you. He didn't just see a partner in a scheme, he saw the only person who truly understood the darkness he had grown up in.

"Good," he murmured with a genuine warmth he saved only for you. "Because from now on, you don't ever have to play for second place again."

He leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss that wasn't for show or for an audience. It was slow, deep, and filled with a real affection—a promise that while the rest of your world was built on paranoia and lies, what was happening in this room was the only thing that was real.

nene’s note ── posting this from the hospital cause my mama didn’t raise no bitch! i loveeee feedback and i hope this met the expectations of everyone who was anticipating it! enjoy💋💋💋

You shift your feet on the carpet, your knees brushing against Jake on your left and Heeseung on your right. You're still trying to wrap your head around the rules Calista just laid out, her voice sweet but carrying an edge that suggests she's played this game to destroy people before. Your palms are already sweating against your jeans, as you look around the circle at Heeseung, you, Jake, Calista, Sunghoon, Leah, Jay, and Ume all sat in a circle. It feels like a predatory loop, you’ve always thought you were the observant one, the one who passes all her classes while everyone else is out partying, and being thrust into this dynamic feels like being a lamb at a wolf's dinner table.

"I'll start then," Jay says, his voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioner.

He leans over toward Leah, his silver rings glint in the light, as he whispers something into her ear, his expression stays unreadable. You watch Leah's face, she bites her lip and her eyes flicker around the circle before they land on someone. "Jake," she says clearly.

The room goes silent and Jake, who is sat right next to you lets out a dry chuckle. He doesn't hesitate for a second though, immediately reaching for the bottle of vodka in the center of the circle, pouring himself a heavy measure into the shot glass.

"I'm not staying in the dark for that," Jake says, looking straight Leah before tossing the drink back and slamming the glass down. "What was the question?"

Leah clears her throat, looking sheepish. "The question was...who here is most likely to not graduate?"

A few people let out oohs and light laughter, the tension breaking just enough for the game to feel tame. Jake rolls his eyes, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Harsh, Leah. I'm literally passing three of my labs right now."

But your heart is still beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The game is moving clockwise, so now it’s Jake's turn to whisper to you, he leans in so close that his shoulder presses firmly against yours and the scent of the alcohol on his breath mixes with his expensive cologne. His hand brushes your arm as he anchors himself to whisper in your ear. "Who in this room," he murmurs, his voice is so low it sends a vibration down your spine, "would you cheat on your partner with?"

A landmine of a question, and stupidly your eyes instinctively flick toward Jay and then toward Sunghoon, whose posture has gone unnervingly rigid beside you.

Your throat feels tight, your palms are slick with sweat. You know can't hesitate too long or you’ll look suspicious, so you take a breath and try to keep your voice steady. "Jay," you say.

Jay's eyebrows shoot up as a grin spreads across his face. He doesn't even look at the shot glass, going straight for the bottle instead, tilting it back for a throat burning swallow. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

"I definitely need to know the question for that one," Jay rasps, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "What did you ask our girl, Jake?"

Jake leans back. "The question was…who here would you cheat on your partner with?"

You feel the heavy silence that immediately falls over the circle, it’s suffocating in a way that precedes a storm. You feel Sunghoon's gaze burning into the side of your face, you don’t need to look at him to know his mouth is set in that angry line.

Suddenly the silence is broken by Calista’s sharp laugh, her face lit up maliciously. "Wait," her voice cuts through. "That's a bit redundant, innit? I mean, didn't you already do that?"

Fucking Calista.

You feel like you're shrinking into the floor as Leah and Ume exchange a wide eyed look. Before you can even think of what to say Sunghoon's voice snaps out, "Shut up, Calista," he says with a terrifying authority. He doesn't even look at her, he just stares straight ahead, his knuckles white where they're gripped around his own knees. "It's your turn to whisper to Heeseung." Well it’s not, by the rules of the game it should be Jay’s turn but no one bothers to correct Sunghoon.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat and pretend you can’t sense the tension vibrating between you, Sunghoon and Jay.

Heeesung next to you is sat with a deceptively relaxed look on his face, his eyes betray him though, they remain sharp, tracking the fallout of the last round with interest.

You lean in, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance, "Who in this room," you whisper, "do you think is secretly an alcoholic?"

He stiffens for a split second before a raspy laugh leaves his chest. He pulls back with a smirk dancing on his lips as he scans the faces in the circle, lingering on the glass in Leah's hand. "Leah," he says, his voice clear and resonant. "Obviously."

Her name lands with a dull thud but Heeseung doesn't stop there, he leans back on his elbows and continues. "I mean, the whole party girl aesthetic is a great mask, right? It's easy to hide the shakes when everyone expects you to have a drink in your hand twenty four-seven."

You had expected Heeseung to answer Jay, everyone always talks about how he drinks too much but Heeseung being the shit starter he is just had to pick her.

Leah's face pales immediately and her forced smile from earlier completely vanishes. She looks down at the half full shot glass in front of her and her fingers trembling slightly. Everyone is watching her, waiting for her to reach for the bottle and demand to know what question would make Heeseung make such a pointed comment.

But Leah doesn't move. "I don't want to know," she says, "I'm staying in the dark."

"Oh, come on, Leah," Jake groans from beside you, his voice dripping with agitation. He's already tipsy and his competitive streak getting soured by the heavy atmosphere. "Don't be boring. It's a game. Just drink and get it over with."

"Leave her alone, Jake," you snap, the words come out of your mouth before you can think. You feel the heat of Sunghoon's gaze on you, probably surprised by your sudden sharp tongue. You look over at Leah and offer a small nod. "She said she doesn't want to know. Let's move on."

Leah looks up at you with her eyes glassy with unshed tears, she shoots you a look of gratitude.

The bottle is slid toward Heeseung now, he has to whisper to Ume but you can't help but feel like the vibe in the room has shifted from a party game to a battlefield.

"Can’t I just pick who I want to whisper to instead?" He asks and Calista being as equally aggravating as he is agrees with him. "Sure you can!"

So instead, Heeseung gets up and hands over to Ume, crowding her space, his lips almost brushing her ear. Whatever he whispers is a long string of murmurs that lasts just a few seconds too many. You watch the playful smirk on Ume's face fade, her nose wrinkled in a display of revulsion. "God, Heeseung," Ume spits out, her voice sharp with a mix of shock and genuine disgust. "That's actually disgusting. You're such a weirdo."

Jay shifts forward, clearly intrigued by the sudden spike in hostility, while Sunghoon's jaw remains tight. Ume looks around the circle, her eyes landing right back on the man who whispered to her.

"It's him," she announces, pointing a finger directly at Heeseung. "The answer is Heeseung."

Heeseung lets out a mocking laugh that makes your skin prickle, he tilts his head to the side as he stares Ume down with a terrifyingly calm intensity.

"Funny," Oh God. "Because you didn't seem to think it was disgusting three days ago. In fact, you didn't seem to need any help at all when you were begging me to fuck you in my car."

Ume's face goes from flushed to a sickly white very quickly, she opens her mouth to retort but no sound comes out.

Heeseung on the other hand, just smirks while the question remains unrevealed, it's now a toxic secret sitting between them that has everyone else exchanging uneasy glances.

Someone should really call it now, call it a night but instead someone just murmurs that it's Ume's turn and now you're hyper aware she's about to ask Sunghoon—who's been a ticking time bomb since Calista brought up your lore—a question.

Ume, looking for any way to deflect the humiliation Heeseung just heaped on her, leans into Sunghoon. You can see the tremor in her hand as she tucks her hair back, her eyes narrowed with a vengeful glint.

She whispers the question to Sunghoon and for the first time tonight, you see a flicker of a smile cross his face. He doesn't hesitate his answer, "Heeseung," Sunghoon says and of course Heeseung wants to know, so he reaches for the bottle and takes an aggressive swig from it. "Reveal it," he commands, "What's the question?"

"The question," Sunghoon says, leaning forward so he's eye to eye with Heeseung, "was who here is definitely not as rich as they pretend to be?"

You nearly snort, that's not just a jab or a joke, it's a strike at the core of Heeseung's carefully curated image.

"Rich coming from you, Sunghoon," Heeseung sneers, his gaze flickering toward you before snapping back to his former friend. "At least I'm not the one who's so pathetic he took back a girl who already went through half the guys in this room. You're sitting there acting all protective of her, but we all know you're just the guy who cleans up the mess everyone else left behind."

The insult is so raw, it’s so unearned and cruel, so Heeseung. You hate how quick with it he is but you're quick too. Quick to connect the back of your hand with his face, the sound of your hand connecting with his cheek is like a gunshot in the small living room.

His head snaps sharply to the side and your hand starts to sting with the force of the blow as tears of pure rage blur your vision. Heeseung stays frozen for a long beat before his hand slowly comes up to touch his reddening face.

"Don't you ever," you choke out, your voice trembling with a fury you didn't know you possessed, "speak about me or Sunghoon like that again."

You don't even realize you've started heading for the door until you hear a pair of frantic footsteps following behind you. The stinging in your palm is nothing compared to the acid burning in your throat. You burst out into the cool night air, you're crying so hard you can barely see.

"Wait! Just—stop for a second!" Sunghoon's voice echoes behind you, his hand gently but firmly grasping your wrist to pull you into a quiet corner of the stairwell.

"Get away from me," you sob, trying to yank your arm back, the adrenaline from the slap finally crashing into a wave of pure humiliation. "He's trying to make me look like a whore, Hoon. In front of everyone. He's sitting there acting like I'm some...some conquest for the whole group."

Sunghoon doesn't let go, his face is red too and his eyes are filled with a mix of hurt and protective fury. "He's an asshole who's lashing out because he got called out for being broke. Don't listen to him."

"But he's making it sound like—" You choke on a breath, your voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Jay was one time. I was drunk, baby. You know that, I told you I didn't even know where I was. It wasn't half the guys, it was one mistake that almost killed me to tell you."

You look up at him with your tear stained face, you’re searching his eyes for any sign of the judgment Heeseung just spewed. "You believe me, right? Hoon, you know me. Or do you secretly think I'm just a whore, too?"

His face softens a little, right as he moves his hands to cup your face and wipe your tears, "I believe you," he says, finally letting your heart stop its frantic racing. "I know who you are. I didn't take you back because I'm pathetic. I took you back because I'd rather have a complicated life with you than a perfect one without you." "Let him talk. He has nothing and I have you."

The moment you and Sunghoon step back into the room, you realize the game didn’t even stop. You sit in Sunghoon’s lap instead of next to Heeseung again. Jay is whispering into Calista's ear now and whatever he says makes her eyes light up with glee that she literally cackles, a sound that grates against your raw nerves.

"Sunghoon. For sure," she says, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

"I don't want to know. Move on." He says, tightening his hand on your hip.

"Are you sureeeee, Hoonie?" Calista taunts, leaning forward so her cleavage is on display. "It's a really juicy one. Don't you want to know what Jay thinks about your...habits?"

"He said move on, Calista," you say, your irritation showing on your face clear as day.

She rolls her eyes but since it’s her turn now, she leans over to Heeseung. You can’t help but think of how the two of them have always shared a certain level of toxicity and as she whispers to him, the damn near evil smile that spreads on his face makes you want to throw up, even though the read mark from your slap still so visible on his cheek like a badge of dishonor.

Heeseung looks around the circle, first at Leah then at you. "Leah and Y/n," he answers.

"Wait, what the fuck?" Jake interjects, his brow furrowing. "The rules are one person, Hee. Don't be a dick and break the flow."

Heeseung doesn't even look at Jake, he looks like he's out for blood now. "Oh fuck the rules. I'll just tell you the question," Heeseung announces. "So Calista here, asked me who here would I have a threesome with?"

Fucking disgusting.

"I picked Leah because word on campus is she gives the best head when she's blacked out drunk. So efficiency, right?"

He turns his gaze to you, he’s so hellbent on destroying the little peace Sunghoon just gave you.

"And I picked Y/n," he continues, ignoring the way Sunghoon is literally vibrating with rage beside you, "because Jay told me that he's never seen an ass bounce on cock quite like hers. I figured I should see what the hype is about."

The room explodes and Sunghoon is up from under you, pushing you off him before Heeseung can even finish his sentence, his fist flies towards Heeseung's jaw as Jake tries to scramble out of the way.

The living room erupts into a violent blur of motion and anger. Jay and Jake lunged forward, trying to haul Sunghoon off Heeseung but he is a whirlwind of unbridled rage and he’s too strong for both of them, his heels skidding on the hardwood as he punches Heeseung one two three times square in the face.

"Get off me!" Sunghoon roars, his voice cracking with the intensity of his fury.

"Hoon please! You’ll kill him!" Leah cries and in the midst of the chaos, Calista decides now is the perfect time to give her unsolicited opinion. Just as Jake and Jay finally manage to drag Sunghoon off the now bloodied Heeseung, she stands up and smooths her skirt with a sickeningly calm demeanor that irritates you so quickly. "I don't even know why you're getting so defensive, Sunghoon," she starts, "It's not like he lied. You did cheat on him with Jay. It's public knowledge at this point. Why act like she's some untouchable virgin when everyone already knows how passed around your girlfriend is?"

Take it to hell then.

"Public knowledge, huh?" you repeat, "Is that what we're calling it now, Calista?"

You take another step, deliberately trying to invade her personal space until she's forced to lean back against the sofa. "Since we're so happily sharing public knowledge," you continue, "is it public knowledge that you spent seven months last year practically begging Sunghoon to take your virginity? That you sent him dozens of nudes he never asked for, crying and pleading with him to be the one because you were so obsessed with his fucking reputation?"

She tries to interrupt you, maybe to get you to shut up but you don't give her the air. "And when he wouldn't even look at you—when he told you he wasn't interested in a girl who tried that hard—is it public knowledge that you finally settled for Heeseung just so you could feel like you were part of the group?"

It’s almost laughable how the whole room is suddenly silent. Heeseung, who was wiping blood from his lip, freezes before his eyes snapping to Calista with a look of pure realization.

Jay and Jake slowly loosen their grip on Sunghoon, their eyes wide as they look between you and the trembling girl in front of you. She really looks like she’s about to faint. "You...you don't know what you're talking about," she stammers.

"I have the screenshots, Calista," you announce. "Sunghoon showed me everything the day we got back together. So if I were you, I'd stop talking about public knowledge before I make sure everyone on this campus knows exactly how little dignity you actually have."

Despite the blood from his split lip, the black eye and bruises forming all over his face, Heeseung laughs, looking at Calista then at you with some kind of twisted admiration. "Damn," his voice scrapes against the silence. "That's harsh. Even for this room."

Leah, who has been sitting in a crumpled heap of tears and humiliation since Heeseung brought up her blackout reputation, finally snaps. The gratitude she felt when you defended her earlier has fermented into a courage. "Oh, fuck off, Heeseung," "You're really going to act like you're worth more than that? Settlement is the best word for you. Honestly, it's the best you can do seeing as you can't get anyone sober to actually touch you."

Jake and Jay look at each other, realizing the night has moved past a game and into a total social execution. You wince at Leah’s words cause you know Heeseung, he has no problems being dragged through the mud, as long as someone is being dragged with him and that’s exactly what he does.

"Ouch, Leah. You're hurting my feelings," he pouts, looking directly at Ume. "But you're wrong. I get plenty of sober pussy. Right, Ume?"

She shakes her head, almost like she’s begging him to stop but Heeseung is long past mercy.

"Ume fucks me. A lot, actually," he says with a voice so casual, you’d think he was discussing the news. "You'd be surprised how many pregnancy scares we've had just this semester. I think we're on what? Three now, Ume? Or did you forget to tell me about the one last week because you were too busy pretending we don't know each other in the halls?"

Ume lets out a choked sob, covering her mouth with her hands. The revelation is a nuclear bomb, Heeseung is burning every bridge in the room just to stay warm.

Sunghoon's grip on your waist tightens, you hadn’t even realized he was behind you. He looks down at you, his eyes silently communicating that this has gone too far. The game has completely turned into a search and destroy mission and of course Heeseung is leading the charge with a bloody lip and a terrifyingly calm smile. He ignores the sobbing Ume and the trembling Calista, turning his predatory focus toward the one person who has stayed unnervingly silent during the chaos. "Jongie," Heeseung coos, tilting his head. "You've been awfully quiet while everyone else's skeletons are falling out of the closet. Why is that? I know it's not because you're worried about our girl over there—we already established you've been there, done that."

"Shut the fuck up, Heeseung," Jake snaps, "You're clearly just high on the drama. Stop it."

But Calista, sensing a chance to shift the target off her own humiliation, lets out a hysterical laugh. She wipes the tears from her eyes that are already shining with a manic triumph.

"Oh, wait! I know this one!" she chirps, her voice trembling but eager. "It’ll all make sense now but Jay here didn't sleep with Y/n because he wanted her. He used her as a litmus test."

Sunghoon's grip on your waist becomes painfully tight as the room goes dead silent.

"He was trying to figure out if he was actually gay or not," Calista sneers, pointing a manicured finger between Jay and Jake. "Because Jay and Jake haven't just been best friends since freshman year. They've been fucking since the first week of classes. Jay just needed to see if a girl could still do it for him, and you were the easiest target because you were drunk and vulnerable."

This can’t be happening. Why? Why did you agree to even come to Jay’s house tonight?

The two boys don’t even move, it’s like they can’t. Sunghoon’s hands fall from your waist as he looks at Jay—the man he thought was his best friend, the man who had supposedly betrayed him out of a moment of drunken weakness, not a cold blooded experiment.

"Is that true?" Sunghoon asks, his voice dangerously low. "You used my girlfriend to see if you could still get your dick hard for a woman?" But Jay can’t answer, he can’t even look Sunghoon in the eye.

Before you realize you’ve moved, you’re right in Calista’s face again, moving without thinking. Without a word, you bring your hand up and deliberately swipe your index finger right under her nostril. When you pull your hand back, you look at the faint white residue on your finger before looking back at her with pity.

"Aw, Cali,"

"I knew you did coke but I didn't know it was this bad. Is that why your heart is racing so fast? Or is it just the sniffles?"

You want to dismantle her credibility, her sanity. How dare she? You don’t even care about what Jay allegedly did. How dare she attempt to out two people who clearly weren’t ready for that.

"Are you just making up shit now because you're scared?" you ask, tilting your head. "You’re scared that everyone will finally find out you're nothing but a coke whore who trades blowjobs for a gram?"

A strangled sound escapes her throat, she looks around the room, searching for an ally but everyone—even Heeseung—is looking at her with a new level of disgust.

"News fucking flash, Calista," "Everyone knows. We've always known. We just didn't care enough about you to say it out loud until you decided to make yourself everyone's damn problem."

You turn your back on her, grab Leah’s hand and heading for the door, you’re sure Sunghoon is right behind you. "We're done," you say. "We don’t need these toxic people."

──.୨ৎ

The laundry room basement of Jay’s house is a stark contrast to the polished, expensive chaos neither Sunghoon nor Leah are expecting to unfold in about an hour. Down here, the smell of the laundry detergent is strong, paired with the rhythmic thrum of the m washing machine, it’s enough to make anyone overstimulated in this situation.

Sunghoon has Leah propped up against the vibrating metal of the washer, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he drives his cock harder and harder into her.

The machine’s cycle is loud but it’s still not loud enough to drown out the wet sounds of their bodies meeting or Leah’s loud moans.

"Hoon...Sunghoon," Leah whimpers, her fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders as he thrusts into her with a mechanical intensity.

"Quiet," he shushes, pressing his palm over her mouth for a second, his eyes dark and devoid of the softness he usually keeps reserved for you. "The others are going to be here any minute. You want them to hear you?"

Leah shakes her head no, her eyes glassy with a mix of pleasure and a desperate need for him to look at her with something other than detachment, for him to look at her the way he looks at you. She pulls his head down, pressing her lips against his before whimpering when he brushes her sweet spot.

"Oh fuck! I love you!" she moans, the words suddenly slipping out like a confession she can’t hold back. "I love you so much, Sunghoon."

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate, kissing her to shut her up, his tongue invading her mouth with a possessive hunger that felt more like a conquest than an embrace. "I love you too," he mutters against her skin, the words sound practiced, they’re even mean in their delivery—a hollow comfort he’s offering only to keep her compliant.

He shifts his grip, hooking his large hands under her thighs to pull her closer, "Are you close?" he demands, his breath hot and erratic against her neck. "Fuck—Your pussy’s so good, babe. You’re gonna make me cum right now."

Leah lets out a frustrated breath, lolling her head back against the cold laundry shelf. "No...no, I'm not. It’s okay, baby." She wraps her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in as deep as he could go. "You can cum, Hoonie. Just...cum inside me. Please."

Sunghoon lets out a grunt of appreciation, she doesn’t need to tell him twice before he buries his face in the crook of her neck, his thrusts become faster and more desperate until he finally stiffens, his entire body shudders as he fills her. "Mm yes, Sunghoon. Gimme your cum."

He stays there inside her for a long moment, before pulling back to start fixing his clothes with a terrifyingly quick efficiency.

"Clean yourself up," he says, not looking at her as he heads for the stairs. "We need to be upstairs before the rest of them get here."

nene’s note ── is it just me or is heeseung HILARIOUS in this? lmao (cause i’m not on the receiving end) also poor ume (right?👀) did you expect the twist? i loveeee feedback! please enjoy!💋

taglist i ── @fancypeacepersona @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @gabrielinhaa @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon @yazmike @ravenslocked @enhxlvr @mangoescrazy @hees-h0e @stayalittlelonger143

© nephynes 2025

"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.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

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.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

"…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.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

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…"