cherrycoupstea

When he first moved into the place he was supposed to share with another tenant, he hadn’t expected it to be a woman living there. If he had known, he would have chosen somewhere else. But it couldn’t be undone, he had already paid the deposit and everything else.

He just hoped his roommate would be okay with a guy staying under the same roof.

Surprisingly, you weren’t upset at all. If anything, you welcomed him warmly and politely. He guessed you were just being nice about it, maybe you weren’t capable of saying no. He figured you were probably a pushover, just like him.

One thing he found odd about you was how quiet you were. There was nothing wrong with that, of course. Like with most roommates he’d had before (except when he lived with Jeonghan), people usually didn’t talk much beyond their day, just brief “good mornings” and “how was your day?”

Still, a simple hey would’ve been nice. He thought you were just shy… or borderline rude, though not intentionally.

That was until one time. He stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped securely around his waist. Water droplets dripped from his damp hair as he dried it with another towel. Then he froze on the spot.

You were in the kitchen, holding a tub of ice cream, staring at him blankly.

He stared back, equally dumbfounded that you had caught him in such a compromising state.

You snapped out of it first, quickly retreating to the couch where your show was playing on the television, knees tucked to your chest, ignoring how your ears burned red.

When he returned to the living room, fully clothed this time, you were already gone. He shut his eyes, mentally cursing at how things had probably become awkward between the two of you.

The next two days were… normal. You didn’t try to talk to him, which wasn’t unusual, but after what had happened, he couldn’t help but feel even more uneasy with the silence. He had imagined he’d try to be nice, maybe take the opportunity to grow closer to you, but you made it harder.

Seungcheol wasn’t the type to give up easily. He did try to make small talk, but you always avoided him, not obviously, but just enough. Every time he thought he had a chance, you slipped away, as if the universe itself refused to let him reach you.

“Men of different principles don’t work well together.”

That’s what Minghao told him about his situation. Seungcheol nearly scoffed at that, not even bothering to ask what he meant. Sure, the two of you lived together, but that didn’t mean you had to get along.

Still, he insisted. He wanted to get to know his roommate.

You both respected each other’s privacy and space. So why was it so difficult to even engage, to maybe form a friendship? Even a little interaction would’ve been nice.

“TOGETHER WITH YOU IS MY FAVOURITE PLACE TO BE.”

The first time you actually talked to him was the day you discovered his shitty cooking skills. He had to admit, he was everything but a cook. He just hoped his future lover would never see this side of him, one he never wanted to be found out.

You stood there, staring at his burnt scrambled eggs, if that’s what he liked to call them. He nearly had a heart attack because of you.

“Looking at you makes me want to strive for better things.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed at that as he tossed the burnt pan into the sink. “What a nice thing to say. Why don’t you read me a bedtime story too, with a warm glass of milk?”

You simply watched him as he tried to clean whatever charred mess was left behind.

“Have you eaten?” you asked, standing beside him as he grumbled, scrubbing at the pan. “Dinner, I mean.”

“Well…” he said, pausing, “I was planning to, but my dinner burned, as you can see. Guess I’m not having it.” He let out a sarcastic scoff.

“I can see that.”

He stopped mid-scrub and turned to look at you, already not in the mood to deal with anything. He was still irritated. Mostly because Jeonghan had cheated during a card game, which led to him being punished by having to get rejected by the hottest girl on campus.

“It costs nothing to be kind,” he said, frowning. “Are you trying to make my day worse?”

His eyes then landed on the box of fried chicken in your arms… then back to your innocent gaze. He immediately realized he hadn’t meant to take his frustration out on you.

“Oh, okay,” you said simply. “I was thinking maybe we could have dinner together. I accidentally ordered extra.”

Now, he felt like an asshole.

That’s how the two of you ended up having dinner together, sitting across from each other as he devoured the food like there was no tomorrow. He might’ve been terrible at cooking, but he was grateful to have you. You even offered side dishes you had stored in the fridge, which meant he didn’t have to cook much, especially since he had agreed to pay half for the groceries. A deal the two of you had made.

It was safe to say you both started talking after that.

Sometimes, he would ask if you wanted to watch a movie with him, and surprisingly, you said yes. There was always a respectable gap between you on the couch, but despite the distance, he felt… comfortable. At ease.

Other times, after coming back from the gym, he’d find a warm meal waiting for him. You’d leave a small note before heading out to your part-time job. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t touch him—more than that, it made his heart flutter.

It slowly became a routine. If you didn’t have time to wash the dishes, he would do it. It felt fair.

You once mentioned that you loved peaches during dinner. He had no idea what possessed him to buy some the next time he went grocery shopping. You had told him you rarely bought fruit because it was expensive, so you usually left it off your list.

But he restocked it anyway, just because you mentioned it once.

And you were happy.

For the first time, you smiled.

It was rare, but seeing it did something to him, something that made him want to see it again.

So he tried.

Eating together became routine. He found himself not wanting to eat alone unless you were there. Movie nights on Fridays. Grocery runs together, waiting for you to finish your shift, brushing it off like he hadn’t adjusted his gym schedule just to match yours.

He liked this domestic life with you.

Seungcheol never imagined that something so simple would become what he looked forward to the most. Maybe it was because it was you.

Seungcheol liked it better when you were there.

“EVERYWHERE I LOOK, I AM REMINDED OF YOUR LOVE.”

At some point in your life, you become aware that some people can stay in your heart, but not in your life.

Seungcheol never bothered to find out about your relationship status. He simply never considered it, maybe because your life seemed so… normal. Going to class, working part-time, and, if you were feeling productive, doing your laundry and cleaning during your free time.

It was during one of your usual dinners together. By then, the two of you had reached a stage where personal topics weren’t off-limits anymore.

“You know, I used to have a crush on you last semester,” you casually mentioned, right in the middle of eating.

Seungcheol almost choked, quickly gulping down his water. “What? I mean—what happened then?”

“What do you mean?”

He blinked, swallowing nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. “Oh, you know… what about now? Do you still…?”

He let the question trail off, trying so hard not to look too eager, the warmth creeping up his neck betraying him.

You laughed. A genuine one as you tried to hold it in.

He frowned.

“I’m sorry,” you said, still smiling at his sulking expression. “I used to, okay? I figured it was just a silly crush. I thought you were cool… charming, even. Well—let’s not go that far now.”

You continued eating, while he just stared at you.

You said everything… except the answer he was hoping for.

“By the way, I don’t think I’ll cook dinner tomorrow. I’ve got plans,” you added casually, as if you hadn’t just changed the topic on purpose.

“Why?” he asked. “Got a date or something?”

You didn’t reply immediately. Then, just as casually, you said, “It’s my boyfriend. I’ll probably be back late. I hope you’re not a light sleeper.”

Seungcheol froze, he watched you continue eating like it was nothing, but something inside him cracked. So you were in a relationship this whole time.

Oh.

Oh.

The realization hit him like a truck. He had never even considered it. Maybe he was upset… or maybe just sad. He couldn’t quite tell.

It explained everything. That your hesitation, the slight distance at the beginning. You had been setting boundaries without ever saying them out loud, and yet, you still treated him with kindness.

It was stupid of him. Because somewhere along the way, he had developed a crush on you.

From the first day he moved in, he thought you were cute. Then the two of you got closer, and he found himself getting giddy over the smallest things. He thought that maybe, one day, you could become something more.

But he never considered this.

—

When he came back to the apartment that night, wasted and drunk after a party with his friends, he was mortified to find himself neatly tucked into the couch with a blanket.

Later, he received a message from Jeonghan apparently, he had run into you outside and helped carry Seungcheol all the way back.

The next time he saw Jeonghan, he was going to strangle him.

It seemed like you had taken care of him while he was a drunk mess. Painkillers and an empty mug sat on the coffee table. He buried his face into the pillow, probably one you had given him.

He didn’t know how to face you after this.

You were already in class by the time he woke up. When he saw the small note stuck on the fridge, he picked it up and read it.

“I made you some egg drop soup. Reheat it before eating. GWS! :3”

Seungcheol pressed his lips together as he reread it.

Your note.

His gaze lingered on the pot resting on the stove.

The headache was bad, but not as bad as the way he felt in class later. That’s when he started avoiding you on campus. What if he had said something he shouldn’t have the night before? He would never live it down.

Still, you found him anyway.

You approached him with a small bottle—something he assumed was for hangovers. “I figured you might not come, but you did anyway,” you said, handing it to him.

He smiled, taking it carefully. “Thanks. You didn’t have to, you know. The soup was great… sorry about that.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” you chuckled. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

The only thing he was ashamed of was that you had to see him like that. He always wanted to look cool in front of you, but he failed miserably.

And that smile you gave him?

It should be illegal. Because it felt like he wasn’t allowed to receive it, not when you belonged to someone else.

Then someone called your name from afar. Both of you turned.

“Oh—I have to go. My boyfriend is calling,” you said, waving as you walked toward him.

Seungcheol watched from a distance as your boyfriend’s hand rested on your back while the two of you walked away together.

This was why he couldn’t hate you.

Even after everything, you were still kind to him. Maybe because he was just your friend, your roommate. Nothing more. It felt so natural when it was just the two of you, but now, it felt like his hopes had been crushed before he even got the chance to dream.

Someone beside him whistled, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Damn, they look good together.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“What?” Jeonghan shrugged. “I mean, it’s Joshua. Everyone likes him.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond. He simply walked away toward his class, leaving Jeonghan behind confused, but aware his friend was in a bad mood.

—

The rest of the day went by as usual.

He thought the crush would fade eventually, but it didn’t.

If anything, it only grew stronger. Of course it did, you lived together. You talked, ate, and shared a life in the smallest ways. Even after everything was revealed, nothing changed on the surface. You both respected each other’s boundaries.

It wasn’t like he wanted this to happen. Sometimes, you have to forget what you feel and remember what you deserve.

But for him… it wasn’t that simple.

The more he tried to forget, the emptier he felt. Even hookups left him hollow. Coming home afterward made it worse, he couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing him like that.

He didn’t want you to think he was that kind of person. How was he supposed to move on, just like that? When you were the one making lunch—not just for yourself, but for him too.

Meals together felt like something precious. On days when one of you wasn’t there, the dining table felt… empty. Sometimes he would wait until you came home from your shift, just so he could eat with you.

If the peaches ran out, he’d restock them immediately just because they were your favorite.

When he asked about your day, you always answered. No matter how tired you were, you never forgot to cook for both of you. And when he said he had only eaten snacks, you’d quietly make something for him anyway.

It reminded him of his grandmother, how she used to dote on him. That familiar warmth… that was what got to him. There was something about this quiet, domestic life with you that felt comforting. You weren’t much of a talker, but you listened to everything he said. Every word, every ramble. He wondered what it would be like if you were the one talking nonstop.

The only time he had seen it was when you mentioned baking with your mother before casually adding that she had passed away. He felt awful, trying to cheer you up when your expression dimmed.

He guessed that’s where your love language came from. So he changed the subject, told you that you should start baking again.

And you did.

The first thing you made was a bunny-shaped bun, which you shared with him. You couldn’t stop talking about your dream of opening your own bakery, and he let you ramble on.

That was probably the second time he had ever seen you talk that much.

“I’m sorry, I talked too much, didn’t I?” you laughed, setting aside your baking gloves. “Usually Joshua’s the one who listens to me. I guess I don’t do that with others.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol said, forcing a small smile. “So he’s a listener, huh? That’s nice of him.”

He didn’t want to say anything more. Because what could he even say?

He was here, watching you bake while your boyfriend wasn’t. He wondered if Joshua even knew another man was living under the same roof as you.

But he didn’t ask. It wasn’t his place.

You had the awkward tenderness of someone who had never been loved properly and had to improvise. And somehow, despite having someone else, you still found your way into his heart, without even trying.

Words didn’t matter when it came to love. He remembered a show he used to watch as a kid, Mr. Bean. He barely spoke, but he never left Teddy behind.

That’s what you were to him. Quiet, but always present. Filling the space around him without saying much.

He used to believe that happiness came from enjoying your own company. But how was he supposed to do that now? When you were the one who had touched his heart?

Sometimes, the smallest things take up the most space in your heart. Although he never planned to fall in love, it’s because of you that he decided to fall in love.

“FATES BRINGS PEOPLE TOGETHER FROM FAR APART.”

Seungcheol is a patient man. He always has been, but with you, he becomes even more careful. More attentive and more considerate.

Almost delicate.

And yet, you don’t seem to notice at all.

At first, he didn’t mean anything by it. When he first met you, he simply found himself spending time with his roommate. Then somehow, you both started talking more about small things, then about yourselves. He really tried to break it. Tried not to get attached to you.

There was something about you he couldn’t ignore. Not just because you lived together, but because you lived together, and he found himself wanting to know if you were okay. All the time.

The only thing he really knows about you is that you had a boyfriend, and that you were a physiotherapy student, working part-time somewhere downtown near your shared apartment. He was amazed that you managed to keep it up. He knew it wasn’t easy.

And yet, your life just seemed…

Peaceful.

For someone so busy, he couldn’t help but wonder how you even met your boyfriend. Like, how did it turn into something more? People always said no one is too busy for love. They make time for it. He supposed that was true.

Until one day, he noticed something. You were staring at your shoes longer than usual. Then you brushed it off, standing up like nothing had happened, ready to leave.

It only happened once, then it happened again. And again. Eventually, you started asking him questions, like what shoe brands were good for daily wear. Which, in a way, meant you were asking him to go shopping with you.

“Huh?” he looked at you, slightly dumbfounded.

“I was asking if you can help me pick out a new pair of shoes,” you said, showing him the worn-out pair you were wearing. The once clean white had faded, no longer polished. “I figured it’s time to get a new one.

In the end, he agreed to accompany you on a quick shopping trip (not date) for the rest of the evening. He didn’t think much of it at first. Still, a part of him kept wondering if this was really okay, him being out with you like this. But you had told him it was fine. It wasn’t like you were sneaking around or anything.

You were in public. You even asked why he was being such a worrywart about the two of you being seen together. He didn’t say much in return, just stayed quiet, because there was no way you were that gullible.

When Seungcheol thought about it, if he were the boyfriend… wouldn’t you just ask him to come with you instead of your roommate? He wasn’t trying to be dramatic. He was just putting himself in the boyfriend’s shoes. Of course he’d feel a little upset if his girlfriend didn’t ask for his help.

But from  what he observed, you seemed completely normal about it.

You were calm. Too calm.

He didn’t want to assume that your relationship was… you know. From what he had heard from Jeonghan, Joshua was a likable guy. The kind of gentleman everyone admired. A dream, really.

And it wasn’t like your relationship with Joshua seemed strained. If anything, you sounded happy. Content. Maybe there were things he just didn’t know. Or maybe it was none of his business.

Damn it. 

Why did he care so much? It was almost like he was hoping something would go wrong.

“I don’t know which one suits me,” you said suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “What do you think?”

“How about this one?” he suggested, pointing at a pair of NB530s.

You shook your head. “That one’s expensive. I’m not spending all my money on that.”

“What’s your budget, then?”

You didn’t answer right away, hesitating.

Seungcheol caught onto that and didn’t push. “It’s okay. You can try a few first. We’ll figure out the price later.”

It took less than an hour for you to finally choose. But there was something he noticed. While he was at the counter, he glanced over and saw you trying on another pair. You stood in front of the mirror, turning your foot slightly, checking how they looked. It was such a small thing, but he found it… endearing. 

Then, after one last look, you sighed, almost dejected. You handed them back to the staff with a quiet thank you. You clearly liked those shoes, but you didn’t buy them. Instead, when you joined him at the counter, you paid for a simpler pair, the same comfortable sneakers you had settled on earlier.

—

You both decided to take a break afterward, stopping by a café. You sat across from each other, each with your own drink.

“I was wondering,” Seungcheol started, “is it really okay for your boyfriend… for you to hang out with me?”

You sipped your mango smoothie thoughtfully. “I don’t think he minds that much. It’s not like I go out with people often anyway.”

He blinked. “So… he’s okay with it?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I rarely hang out. He probably thinks I’m just running errands—which is technically true.” You shrugged casually.

Seungcheol didn’t want to seem nosy. He just didn’t want to end up being that guy.

A homewrecker, to be exact. “Bros before hoes,” his friends always joked. It was stupid, really.

Your eyes met him again, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I meant it when I said I don’t really hang out with people,” you added. “This is actually my first time in a while… other than with Joshua.”

Now it was his turn to blink at you. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to go out,” you explained. “It just costs money. So I usually don’t join—I try to save instead.”

“I get that.”

You smiled at him, relieved he didn’t find it strange. “That’s why Joshua doesn’t really mind if I go out… as long as it’s not all the time.” You paused, then added, “But he did ask about my roommate. When I told him you were a guy… he didn’t seem too happy about it.”

Seungcheol swallowed. He had seen that coming.

“I told him it was fine—you’re nice and respectful,” you continued softly. “He even offered for me to stay at his place. His mom bought him an apartment.”

You paused, absentmindedly twirling your straw. “It’s not that I don’t want to live with him… it’s just… complicated.”

There was it again, that familiar look he once knew. That quiet way you kept things to yourself.

“Joshua comes from a well-off family,” you said. “I don’t want to feel like I’m taking the easy way just because he’s my boyfriend. Even if I’m supposed to feel lucky he chose me.”

Seungcheol listened carefully. This was probably the most you had ever opened up to him. He just wished you’d do it more often, stop keeping everything bottled inside. It was hard to understand you when you hid so much.

“That’s why I brought you instead of him,” you added. “He would’ve insisted on paying.”

Seungcheol thought for a moment before replying, choosing his words carefully. “He’s your boyfriend,” he said. “If he wants to treat you well, you deserve that.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You wouldn’t understand. He already pays for everything whenever we go out. I can’t ask for more. It would be too much.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when you love someone.”

You didn’t reply to him, only smiled at his words. And somehow, that smile felt… distant. Maybe you wanted to agree deep inside in your heart, but reality had a way of reminding you where you stood.

Seungcheol wouldn’t understand it. Maybe one day he would.

—

Love is an illness to a woman with many goals. 

There’s no exaggeration behind that. It’s not something bitter people say after a failed relationship. The moment you experience it, you understand it, and the weight of those words hits harder than you expect.

You’ve spent your whole life longing to be seen, but you’ve also come to realize that when people look too closely, they inevitably notice the ugly part too. To be in a relationship means you have to be vulnerable with your partner, it’s normal. Yet, you’ve never really been able to do that. Not until Joshua becomes your boyfriend.

It’s not that you’re incapable of being in love. Love takes so much energy, emotion and costs a lot of sacrifice to be one. You’re not sure if you’re mentally or physically ready for all that. For someone as goal-driven as you, it was easy to fall for him. Joshua made it easier for you, he never asks for things in return. Just you, unconditionally.

To Seungcheol, you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love.

He saw you that Wednesday at the café where you worked part-time. He waited for you to finish after his gym session, just so the two of you could walk back to your shared apartment together.

When you finally closed up and said goodbye to your coworkers, you spotted him waiting under a lamppost.

He straightened up, offering you a small smile. “Hi. Ready to head back?”

You smiled back, nodding as you walked side by side. “You didn’t have to wait. You could’ve gone back earlier.”

He hummed, hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced up at the night sky. “I can’t do that. It’s dark, and I saw you were almost done. We live together, after all.”

Together. 

For some reason, the word felt… wrong. As if it meant more than it should, because you already had someone.

“So, how was your day?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“It was okay,” he replied simply. Then, after a beat, “It’s my birthday today.”

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. He turned back when he realized you weren’t beside him anymore.

“No way.”

He smiled. “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t tell you. Nothing much happened—my friends celebrated earlier at some grilled place.”

Without another word, you turned and hurried back toward the café. Seungcheol blinked in confusion at your departure. A few minutes later, you came back out, holding a small box.

“Don’t tell me…” His expression softened as you smiled.

Back at the apartment, you managed to find a spare candle from the cabinet. A small cake sat between the two of you—white frosting, strawberries on top.

Seungcheol blew out the candle, while you clapped softly. “Make a wish.”

He chuckled, clasping his hands for a brief moment before opening his eyes again. “Any heartfelt speech for me?” he teased.

You thought for a second. “I just wish for your happiness,” you said softly. “That you stay healthy… and succeed in everything you do.” You gave a small smile, and that smile alone made him want to sigh.

Something about how pure you were—it got him. It was such a simple wish, but it softened him in ways he didn’t expect. He had to remind himself that you belonged to someone else, before he got ahead of himself.

Still, he appreciated you, respected you, and admired you for simply being… you.

He reached out something beside him, a paper bag and handed it to you. You tilted your head in confusion, before peeking inside. Your mouth parted slightly, to find inside were the same pair of shoes you had tried on before, the soft butter yellow and baby blue.

“I can’t accept this—it’s your birthday…” your voice softened, your gaze flickering between him and the shoes.

Seungcheol only smiled, watching the way your fingers traced over them. “Do me a favor,” he said gently. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy too. Just take them. Think of accepting it as your gift to me.”

You looked up at him, for the first time—it felt like you were really seeing him. That smile of yours grew just a little wider. And that alone was already too much for him.

Later on, you sat on the couch, trying them on.  He offered to tie the laces for you, and after a brief hesitation, you ended up letting him. As he knelt in front of you, focused on tying them, you found yourself staring at the top of his head.

“I always wondered what it would feel like to have an older brother,” you said softly. “When I look at you… it feels nice having you around. Is this what it’s like?”

Seungcheol froze just for a second. Then he continued tying the laces. “Is that so?” he said lightly. “That’s nice to hear. But my brother’s pretty dull and quiet, so… it’s not that exciting.” He looked up with a small smile.

“Really? That’s disappointing,” you laughed. “I only have a younger brother and an older sister.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?” he asked, leaning back against the couch while sitting on the floor.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Nothing, really. It’s just… nice to be taken care of. You know what I mean?”

“What about your boyfriend?” he asked. “I’m sure he takes care of you.”

You laughed softly, swinging your legs. “That’s different,” you paused for a moment before continuing. “With you, it feels… more platonic. Maybe you won’t get it. It’s like a family. You’re just… there. Always caring.”

It was hard to explain. You couldn’t exactly say that the way he cared for you felt almost like something deeper – like something safe. Something steady. It was almost close like home. Joshua was affectionate, warm, everything anyone could ask for. But Seungcheol, he cared without needing to say much. Without needing to touch.

His affection was quiet and gentle. And that made it feel even more real.

You appreciated him for that.

For you, it was easy to be transparent with him, open up a little without feeling insecure about your situation. Because he felt closer like home. Somehow, without either of you realizing it, you had already become home to each other.

“A BROKEN LOTUS ROOT IS CONNECTED BY ITS STRINGS”

If you’ve ever eaten lotus root, you’ll know that when you bite into it, thin strands still cling between the pieces.  Even when it breaks, it doesn’t fully separate. People are like that too. Even after a breakup, something always lingers, an invisible thread tied between hearts.

Seungcheol liked to believe that he was connected to every person in his life by an invisible string. His friends, his family…. and there’s you. It didn’t always have to be romantic. His last relationship had been… normal. Something he thought could become serious, but it ended anyway. Then again, what had he expected from someone he met through a hookup?

That was when he realized he wanted something real. After that, he stopped fooling around. And now… he wondered if this was karma. Falling for you, unrequited. Maybe this was him tasting his own medicine, if that’s what you want to call it.

He told himself that he shouldn’t get attached. But who the fuck is he kidding? He was beyond attached at this point. You were already in his head, running through his fucking veins, settling into whatever was left of his heart – whether he likes it or not.

Seungcheol thought it was already a win that you had started opening up to him. Except that he failed to notice one thing about you. You were loyal to the bone. Everything about you made it clear that your attention belonged to one person. The man you chose, and it wasn’t him.

He wasn’t angry. This was the boundary he was supposed to respect. Still, there were things he couldn’t ignore. Like the way you struggled to open a bottle cap but never asked him for help. You didn’t say anything, but your body language made it clear. You wouldn’t let him.

Or that one Thursday night, when you were having dinner together. Your phone rang, as you excused yourself mid-meal to answer your boyfriend’s call, leaving him alone at the table. Not that he minds, your boyfriend came first. Of course he did. Other times, he would catch glimpses of you on campus with him. And there, he saw it clearly—you let Joshua open the bottle cap for you. You let him do everything.

It wasn’t about the bottle cap. 

It was the fact that you made it an exception. Everything about you—your attention, your care, the way you spoke about Joshua, it was all reserved for him. Exclusive and undivided, just for him. And  somehow, that drove Seungcheol insane.

Because no matter how much he tried, he simply wasn’t him.

It only got worse when he realized your boyfriend probably didn’t like him. Or at least what it felt like. There was one time Joshua came over. Seungcheol hadn’t expected it. He had just gotten back from training when he saw him in the kitchen. You and Joshua went straight into your room. The door was closed but the voices didn't stay quiet. He didn’t mean to listen, but he heard enough. You were convincing your boyfriend, telling everything was fine. That staying here with Seungcheol was okay.

That’s when it hit him. You always make him feel seen, and then, just as quickly, remind him that everything you have to give belongs to someone else. Your life revolves around Joshua, and maybe that’s what hurts the most. Not that you love someone, but that you love him so completely. You always made sure your boyfriend came first, always reassured him, always chose him.

Seungcheol decides maybe it’s time to find a new place.

—

A knock on his door, as he opens it to see you wearing a soft yellow blouse, paired with baby blue jeans. For a second, he just looks at you. He had to admit that yellow looks good on you. Too good. He pushes that thought away.

“You look lovely,” he says instead. “A date, I assume?”

You nod, smiling, holding up a blue ribbon clip. “Can you help me put this on?”

Seungcheol has to quietly suck in a breath, he takes it as you turn around. You let him. That alone feels new. He’s never really touched you before—not like this. Carefully, gently, he gathers your hair. Clips it the way you asked, slow and precise. Like it matters more than it should.

You turn back around, fingers reaching up to touch it. “Does it look okay?”

“Oh, trust me,” he said softly, smiling, “you look very, very lovely.” The way your face lit up after that, it wasn’t for him. It was for the person you were about to meet.

Watching you like this feels… strange. Like a father trying to let go of something precious. Like trying to let go of something that was never yours to begin with. He knows his feelings didn’t start as romantic. He just… liked having you around. Just appreciated you. Found you endearing. Adored you, in ways he couldn’t explain. Loved you – in the same quiet way he loves his family, his dog… the things that simply mattered, something soft, something contestant, something that doesn’t need words. He hopes his actions were enough to show it, but no matter how much he wants to do more, he knows you won’t let him. Even if you never say it out loud.

—

The rest of the night, Seungcheol spent his time snacking while watching a romcom movie, one that Jeonghan had dragged him into watching every Saturday night at his place. It’s not like he had much else to do. Just a miserable single guy, knowing you were probably enjoying your date with Joshua… maybe even staying over at his place.

He didn’t want to think about it. He really didn’t.

What he wasn’t expecting was the sound of the door opening. He blinked in confusion as he glanced over only to see you rushing in, quickly heading straight to your room. 

You didn’t stay over? 

His eyes lingered on your door. He hadn’t caught your expression. Were you upset? Tired? Or something else happens. 

The next three days passed.And maybe it was just his imagination, but… you seemed quieter. Yes, you were quiet, but not like this. He could sense it—something was wrong. He decided not to push, probably you needed space. He just didn’t know how to bring it up without you shutting down… or worse, pulling away even more.

(Not that you’d ever snap at him but still.)

Something must have happened. With someone or… with him. So he waited. Let you come to him instead.

“The lovers are finally together. All shall be well.”

That’s what Minghao had told him once, when he asked about couples fighting. Seungcheol nearly scoffed at the memory. Of course Minghao would say something like that. His previous relationship sucks, but what can do when he decides to date a shitty person? Not every relationship works like that. Not every fight is worth fixing. He should know that.

Seungcheol sat in the living room, staring at the TV. The movie was playing but his mind wasn’t there. His eyes were distant, unfocused. He didn’t even realise you had been standing beside him.

“What are you watching?” 

He flinched slightly, then looked up at you. “Oh—uh… I don’t know. Some romance movie…”

Of course he wouldn’t admit he was watching it because he felt lonely, because he felt… empty.

A moment passed. Then you started to talk. “I didn’t talk with him,” your voice was quiet, pulling your knees to your chest, sitting beside him. “I wouldn’t call it a fight. It’s just… that night—I was supposed to stay over, but his mom came by. Unexpectedly.”

Seungcheol stayed silent. He was listening carefully. That explains why you came back early, but still… the look on your face that night, it meant more than that.

“His mom didn’t look pleased,” you continued. “I mean, she was nice… but…” you paused in between, “it’s just—her expression made it obvious she wasn’t expecting her son to date someone like me. She was polite, but you could still tell…”

Seungcheol turned his head slightly, looking at you. Your expression was small and quiet. It pulled at something in his chest.

“And I accidentally met with her again at my workplace,” you continued, letting out a small breath. “We had some talk and… she told me that she loved her son so much, she hoped that whatever Joshua and I had wasn't that deep and wanted Joshua and me to just… you know.” You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

You buried your face into your knees. “I don’t know… it just feels like the world is against me,” you murmured. “I’m confused, Cheol.”

That look on your face. He’s seen it before, and every time—it hurts. Seungcheol wanted nothing more than to pull you into a hug.

Just once. Just enough to tell you it’ll be okay, yet he didn’t. He couldn’t give you that.

“I’m sorry…” he said quietly. “Is there anything I can do? To make it feel… less heavy?”

His voice always softened when he spoke to you, gentle in a way the world never got to see. Like you’re something fragile. In the end, you didn’t need anything grand. You just stayed there, side by side. Letting the silence fill the space between you. Just... comfortable and somehow, that was enough.

For it to feel a little less heavy.

“I WANT TO BE YOUR FAVOURITE HELLO AND YOUR HARDEST GOODBYE.”

You never noticed when he started watching you more than he should. Only that his gaze always lingered a second longer than necessary. Seungcheol isn’t a fool. He knows you’re sad. The way your shoulders slump after coming back from work. That dejected look on your face like a solemn little puppy. The way you leave your phone lying around, not even bothering to bring it back to your room.

Meals are… still the same, except that you barely eat now. Just picking on your food—so quiet and distant. And he doesn’t try to start a conversation. Not when you look like that, so he just stays there. Even if it hurts. Because seeing you like this so quiet, so… unalive without saying anything about what’s going on. It tears him.

So when he sees you come home one evening, eyes glassy, tears already brimming and then slam your door shut.  He freezes at the sight. That wasn’t like you at all.

He stands there for a moment. Hesitating a bit as he stared towards your door. He knows you need space—he knows that very well, but he can’t take it anymore. He hates this. Hate seeing you like this. So small, so broken and so quiet.

It wrenches his heart.

Slowly, he walks up to your door with a soft careful knock, “...hey.” his voice is low and uncertain, “...come on. Talk to me. What’s wrong?” He leans slightly closer to the door, worry already written all over his face and then he hears it.

Your sobs, it was heavy, you were already holding it back so much. And it makes his chest tighten instantly. Whatever it is, he knows it’s bad. Really bad, because you’re never like this. You, who always seems so calm, so composed, so… peaceful. Seeing you like this does something to him. Like this sudden need to protect you – to fix it and to take it all away if he could.

And he stays there. Right outside your door until you let him in. He’s not leaving you, not this time.

It took almost two hours before he finally got an answer from you. So he decided to take things into his own hands. He turned the doorknob and stepped in, quietly placing a plate of sliced peaches on the drawer. Seeing your back turned to him made him sigh.

He sat at the edge of the bed, close enough. “Wanna talk about it?”

You sniffled. Your voice came out small, flat. “We broke up.”

Seungcheol went still. He wasn’t expecting that, but right now he didn’t want to think about anything else. Just focused on you.

“It started with a talk… then turned into small arguments… it’s not even about that, it’s just…” You slowly sat up, your hair falling over your face as you tried to gather your thoughts. Seungcheol quickly reached for the tissue box, gently dabbing your damp cheeks.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. Take your time,” he murmured. “…you don’t have to say everything at once. Just… let it out.”

You looked up at him, lips trembling. He panicked a little at the sight of your crumpled expression. Quickly, he handed you a fork with a piece of peach.

“Slowly… I’m here, okay?” 

You nodded, taking a small bite. “I don’t know… I just… I kind of saw it coming, but I didn’t expect it to end like this.”

You continued, and he listened. “I remember when my mom passed away… three days after the funeral, my sister and I argued. I was never the type to get angry easily, but… our relationship was never good. Even when our mom was still alive.”

You paused, chewing absentmindedly. “I got so mad at her… she didn’t do anything when Mom was sick. I was the one taking care of her the whole time.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, his hand finding yours. His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles. 

“We almost got into a physical fight,” you continued softly. “We were teenagers back then… I didn’t know any better. Maybe I was just holding everything in.” You let out a breath. “Our uncles had to separate us. My sister went with my aunt… and I went with my dad.”

A faint smile touched your lips. “My dad was never really expressive… but that was the first time he comforted me like that. He asked me what was wrong, and I just… broke down. Told him everything.” You exhaled softly. “Sometimes I can still feel his hand on my head… the way he comforted me. That memory alone makes me feel so…”

Seungcheol smiled gently. “How do you feel now?”

“A little better… I guess.” you shrugged.

He nodded. “Then… can I ask what’s making your heart feel so heavy?”

You hesitated at first then looked at him. His fingers still softly tracing over your hand, grounding you. So you told him.

“When your mom dies… it leaves a big hole inside you.” You placed your palm over your chest. “I still have mine here. It’s… huge.”

Seungcheol’s expression softened. He knew grief didn’t just disappear. It stays—maybe changes shape but it will always remain there. 

“The grief is still there… even after ten years,” you continued. “People say I’ve moved on… but I think we just learn how to live with it.” You breathed out slowly. “All I can do is live my life without regrets. Make new memories. I know my mom is still with me… here.”

His chest tightened. He felt himself getting emotional. Sniffing slightly. Before he could think too much, he leaned forward and pulled you into a hug. When life gets too heavy, he wishes you would always come to him. Tell him everything. The bad days and the good ones too.

His arms wrapped around you gently, one hand soothing your back, the other resting protectively at your head. And for the first time, you’d let him. You leaned into him, relaxed.

“The reason we broke up…” you murmured after a while, your voice softer now. He slowly pulled back, but stayed close. “…it’s probably me.” you sighed in between. “Even though things were… okay, he told me that he and his mom talked about us.”

You swallowed. “His mom gave us the green light. But the way she said it… she mentioned he’s a one-time kind of guy,” frowning slightly, “and I don’t know… it made me think—does that mean he’s only dating me until he finds the ‘perfect’ partner his mom actually wants?”

Seungcheol listened, every word you pour out.

“I’m like that too,” you continued. “I don’t just date anyone. If I love… I give everything.” Your brows furrowed, “but even if we worked out… I don’t think his mom would ever truly accept me.” your eyes looked down on your palms, “I don’t want to be in a relationship where I have to walk on eggshells all the time.”

There’s a pause, then you continued, “My life’s already been hard enough. My family… my dad loves me.” Your voice softened again. “I don’t even want him to know I’m struggling like this.”

Lips trembled slightly. “I’m sad because… for the first time in my life, someone chose me.” A small, broken breath left from your lips, “…but I guess it was just foolish hope.”

—

Three months passed, just like that. The new year came and went. You didn’t really have any plans during the semester break. Your part-time contract had ended, and you were still considering whether to continue working there, especially with your clinical posting coming up soon.

For now, you just let it be.

Seungcheol had offered for you to join his family’s celebration. (though, notably, he didn’t invite Jeonghan, something about his whole family gushing over him.) It’s not like anything was exciting about going back to your dad’s house anyway. You’d probably just end up bed-rotting.

“Are you sure they won’t mind me coming over?” you asked, closing the car door as you glanced at his parent’s house.

“Yeah, I already told them about you,” he replied, taking your luggage out of the trunk. “Don’t worry about that pretty little head of yours.”

You followed him inside. The moment he stepped in, he was greeted warmly by his parents. And then, his mother’s gaze landed on you. Her smile paused for a moment.

“Oh.” That was the first thing she said.

You swear you could feel a sense of deja vu there, feeling it creeping in. Instinctively, you shifted slightly behind Seungcheol, avoiding her gaze.

“You didn’t tell me your friend is a girl,” his dad mused.

Seungcheol groaned immediately, grabbing both his parents and pulling them aside. You blinked, left standing there awkwardly, fiddling with your fingers. 

“Okay, I can explain,” he whispered, like it was some kind of secret mission. “She’s just… going through something. She’s had a rough time lately. So—just help me make her feel comfortable, okay?”

His mother smiled knowingly. “So… you’re sure you’re just friends?”

He buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t start.”

Before anything else could happen, another voice cut in. “Oh my, it’s Cheol!” His grandmother came padding over, immediately squishing his cheeks. Seungcheol groaned in embarrassment, clearly not thrilled about being babied in front of you.

Then she turned  to you, her eyes lit up instantly. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed, taking your hands in hers. “I never thought I’d see the day Cheol brings his lover home.”

Your eyes widened, her touch was warm and gentle. She cupped your face, brushing her fingers over your cheeks affectionately. You smiled without realizing it.

“Halmeoni!” Seungcheol whined, face flushed. “She’s not—okay, everyone, don’t make it weird. She’s staying with us for the week, so no weird questions.”

You remembered that he’s the youngest in his family. Which means, he’s the baby in the family, and you could totally see it. But more than that, it felt nice being here. The way they welcomed you, even in their own chaotic way. It felt warm like you were meant to be, like close to home.

The whole trip, his family welcomed you warmly. His mother prepared countless dishes, always making sure you ate enough more than enough. His family was loving, gentle in a way you weren’t used to. Especially his grandmother.

Now you understood where his clinginess came from. Cheol once mentioned that his mom had been expecting a baby girl but instead, it was him. It made sense, the way they adored him.

It felt… different. Back then, when it was just the two of you, Seungcheol carried this sort of macho charm. But here, that completely disappeared—replaced by something softer, boyish and loved.

And strangely, it made you feel that sense of deja vu again because Joshua was like that too. He’s someone important and precious to his mother.

You eventually let him go, not because you weren’t compatible but because you were too selfless. No matter how much he begged you to stay… you just didn’t have it in you. He was an only child, and the thought of his mother’s words stayed with you. You couldn’t bear the idea of taking him away for yourself. Like you were stealing something precious. When he asked if you ever loved him, you said yes. Because you did, but you loved yourself more. And you knew you deserved to be someone’s happiness. Someone’s precious person, not someone who had to hesitate.

That was it. Your story with him ended there.

You’ve always been alone independently. Everything should be fine. Just like it was before he ever came into your life.

The sound of water echoed softly. Seungcheol made his way down the small path toward the waterfall, careful with his steps. Then he saw you. Standing there alone.

“What are you doing here all by yourself?” he called out, approaching you as the cool breeze passed through. “My dad’s already grilling—I hope you don’t mind stuffing yourself again.”

You turned, smiling and that’s when you noticed it. His hair has got shorter with a clean cut. It suited him. “You look great,” you said. “Did you get it cut recently?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the undercut as he smiled shyly. “Really? I had to. I’ve been applying to be a trainer lately. After this trip… I might get posted somewhere for my practical.”

“Oh…” you trailed off. You didn’t expect that. “…you mentioned it before, I think.” there’s a pause. “How long?”

Seungcheol thought for a moment. "About five months.”

You nodded, quiet again. Your eyes drifted to him still standing there, hand lingering at the back of his neck.

“Do I really look okay with this?” he asked again, a little unsure. “Feels too short.”

“Yeah,” you said simply. “You looked handsome.”

His lips curved. “Really?”

“Very,” you added. “Very handsome and manly.”

That did it. His smile widened, the tips of his ears turning red. You didn’t notice it. He let out a quiet breath, trying to calm himself before he got too carried away. You really had no idea what you did to him.

“Alright,” he said finally, stepping down first and turning back to you. “Let’s head back.” He extended his hand for you.

You hesitated, just for a second.

He noticed it and smiled, soft, coaxing. “Come down, baby. I’m just making sure you don’t trip on the rocks.”

The nickname made you smile. Without thinking too much, you reached out and took his hand. Instead of just holding it, he lifted you. You stiffened slightly in his arms, caught off guard. It was quick and careful. And before you could react, he set you down gently. 

“It’s dangerous,” he said casually. “Had to do that.” His hand came up resting on your head. The gesture alone felt soft and affectionate. 

You swallowed. Something tight forming in your chest. Then you blinked, and started walking beside him not even realizing that his fingers had already slipped into yours. Interlaced, like it belonged there.

“WHEN I LOOK AT YOU, I SEE THE REST OF MY LIFE IN FRONT OF MY EYES.”

You heard a soft knock on the door before it slowly creaked open.

“Hi,” Seungcheol peeked in with a small smile, closing it gently behind him. “Sorry to bother you… were you about to sleep?”

You shook your head, shifting under the comforter as you sat up against the pillow. “No, you’re not bothering me. This is your room, after all… do you need something?”

He walked over, settling himself beside you on the bed. Close to you. His room had been your place for the whole week. It smelled like him. Felt like him too.

“How was dinner?” his hand found yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world, his fingers slipped between yours.

“It was nice,” you hummed, letting your hand rest in his. “I think I might gain some weight after this trip.”

“More of you to love, then.”

You smiled instantly. He always had a way with words. It was soft, effortless and almost close to dangerous. Everything he did made your heart flutter. Somewhere along this week, you had forgotten the heartbreak from three months ago.

“You should sleep,” you told him gently, still playing with your intertwined fingers. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long drive.”

“That’s exactly why I’m checking on you,” he replied.

You raised a brow. “Says the one who’s driving. Four hours isn’t a joke, you know.”

He chuckled, leaning just a little closer. “Call me ‘oppa’ first. Then maybe I’ll listen.”

“No way.”

You both laughed. It was light and easy. Like nothing in the world could touch this moment. And then it faded slowly. The laughter softened as well as the air suddenly shifted. He was still looking at you. He has been looking at you the whole time. You tried to hold his gaze but ended up looking away, suddenly shy. When did it become like this? Because when did he start looking at you like that? You never really thought about how you saw him. All you knew was, he was someone you grew to care for. Someone you chose to keep in your life. 

“I really like having you by my side,” Seungcheol said quietly.

You looked at him again, and smiled softly. “...me too.”

You didn’t realize when it happened, when suddenly he was closer, much closer to you. You didn’t move. You just let him. Your fingers tightened slightly around his, breath hitched as his lashes brushed against yours. The tip of his nose touched yours.

So close. Too close.

Your heart was racing very loud and unsteady.

“I mean it,” he whispered. “I really, really like you… more than you think.”

Your eyes searched his. It was raw and honest, too real. He knew you were still healing. Still picking up pieces of yourself. And even if it took months or years, he was willing to wait.

You blinked. Trying to steady your thoughts, but that hesitation, it was there again. The same one he always sees in you. He wished you wouldn’t hold back. Just this once. Still, he didn’t pull away. He leaned in again—forehead resting against yours. So close it felt like a kiss was inevitable. You knew what this meant. So you chose to stay, but he didn’t close the distance. He just kinda stayed there. Letting the moment breathe, letting you decide.

“I like you too,” you said.

It wasn’t a confession.

Seungcheol pulled back slightly. Searching your face and he saw it. That look—the one he already knew too well. Not empty, just… not the answer he wanted. You liked him but not the way he loved you. That alone itself made his inside crack a little. He had seen this coming but walking away now would hurt more.

“Then kiss me.”

You froze. Then slowly, you leaned in just like before. Your noses brushed, lips hovered a breath away. He didn’t move, letting you take the lead. Just then you stopped. Lips barely grazed his, the soft, fleeting touch. It was not quite a kiss, not quite nothing.

It made his chest ache.

“I’m sorry, Cheol…” you whispered, lowering your gaze. “I don’t want to treat you like an option.” You looked back at him, eyes apologetic and honest. “I don’t want you to feel like I chose you just because I couldn’t have someone else. You deserve more than that.” Your voice softened, “…what we have now… I don’t want to lose it.”

Seungcheol gave you a faint smile, tired but gentle.  Deep down he already knew that. He reached up, brushing your hair back, his hand trailing down to your cheek. The gesture was careful and affectionate.

“I know, baby. I know,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours again. “I just… needed to know.” a pause. “You’re precious to me.”

His arms wrapped around you once more, holding you close and you let him. You felt it, his warmth, his scent and his love. Maybe that was the problem, you seem to incapable of accepting his love for you.

—

That morning, you and Seungcheol had breakfast prepared by his mom and grandmother. He didn’t ignore you, but he was… quiet.

The whole ride back was the same too. At least, when it was just the two of you. You kept glancing at him. Very carefully, trying to read him. You even brought it up last night, asked if he was okay. If things were okay between you. He reassured you and said it wouldn't be awkward, and claimed everything was fine. But even if he said that, his actions told a different story. He didn’t push you away, didn’t ignore you but you could see it. The silence, the way he kept to himself like he was trying to deal with it quietly on his own. It made you feel horrible. 

Just like that, your clinical posting started. Days got busier and schedule got tighter. You and Seungcheol barely saw each other now even though you lived under the same roof. Still, whenever you had the chance, you ate together. It was only a small moment but familiar.

That day, you were on your way to collect your academic records. Still in your scrubs, rushing during your break when you accidentally bumped into someone. “I’m so sorry—” you quickly crouched down, gathering the papers that had scattered across the floor.

“It’s alright, I should be the one apologizing,” the other person said, handing you your dropped pen.

You looked up and recognized him. It was Jeonghan, Seungcheol’s friend. You gave him a small smile, murmuring a quiet thank you as you took your things back. You didn’t have much time, you were already in a rush. Just as you were about to leave—

“Wait.” You turned at him. “Since you’re here,” he said, pulling something out from his jacket, it seems like a pendrive. “I was actually going to return this to him, but…” he paused, then handed it to you, “I figured you could pass it to him instead. He’s leaving soon anyway.”

You took it slowly. A slight frown forming. “…what do you mean?”

Jeonghan nodded, like he just remembered. “Oh—right. You didn’t know?”

Your stomach sank. 

“He’s leaving today. For his practical,” he said casually. “And after that… he’s planning to enlist.”

Your grip tightened around the object you're holding.

“…military service,” Jeonghan continued. “Pretty long too. He chose the marine department.”

Brief silence filled the air. You didn’t know what to say because you didn't know this. At all. Seungcheol never told you.

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, watching your reaction. “I thought you knew,” he said. “You two live together, don’t you?”

You forced a small smile. “I didn’t,” pausing, “…but thank you for telling me.”

And just like that, you turned and walked faster. You needed to find him.

You hated it. You hated what you were feeling right now. The same anxiousness creeping into your chest like it would tear you apart the moment you realized you had lost something precious. You rushed back to your shared apartment, but he wasn’t there. There was no trace of him, no presence. Just an almost empty room, clean, quiet and gone. Your heart dropped.

Then you remembered. The train. He once told you where he would be posted, back in his hometown. You didn’t hesitate as you ran to the train station. Panting as you arrived, eyes scanning through the crowd. You came with nothing, just your jacket, still in your medical scrubs. The cold air bit against your skin, but you couldn’t feel it. Your fingers were numb. Your chest was louder. And then you saw him—that familiar figure, standing there.

“Choi Seungcheol!”

His head snapped toward your voice. He was both surprised and confused at your call, before he could react you were already running toward him. You crashed into him, arms wrapped tight. He stiffened for a second, caught off guard.

How could he just leave like that? Without telling you? After everything, after all the love he gave you and just walked away––leave you in the dark? What were you supposed to do if he wasn’t there anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving today?” your voice broke. “Jeonghan said you’re going to enlist after this—am I really that unimportant to you?”

Damn Jeonghan.

Seungcheol blinked, startled, his hands quickly finding yours. “Baby, it’s not like that— I didn’t want to… I just…” He struggled, fingers tightening slightly around yours. “After that day… I thought it would hurt less if I left sooner. Time would pass anyway.”

Your eyes softened, but it still hurts you that he didn’t tell you that.

“Are you trying to forget me?” your voice dropped, quieter now. “…is that why you didn’t tell me? Just leave and take everything with you?” Your breath trembled. “Five months… and then military—it’s going to be more than two years, Cheol.” There’s a pause in between. “How am I supposed to live if you just leave me like that?”

Your voice broke into soft sobs. He cupped your face immediately. It was firm and gentle. “No,” he said, steady. “I love you too much for that.” He swallowed, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want to leave you like this… with a broken heart.” his voice softened. “Wherever you need me, I’ll be there. As long as you’ll let me.”

The announcement echoed. His train. 

Your heart tightened. Time was running out. Your fingers gripped him tighter. “Cheol…” Your voice came out fragile, barely holding together. There was so much to say, too much and not enough time. All you knew was… you wanted him.

Seungcheol smiled softly, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’ll still be here, remember?” He took your hand, placing it over his chest. His heartbeat was steady and warm. It only made it worse. You weren’t ready for this. Not for him to leave.

You sniffled, leaning into him as he pulled you into a hug, his hand soothing your back. Everything suddenly hit you at once. The regret, the realization and the truth.

“I love you, Cheol,” you said, voice shaking. He pulled you back, eyes searching yours. This time, it was real. “I really do… I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. Not until you were leaving.”

His expression softened, he was relieved at that. Slowly, he leaned in and this time he kissed you. It was soft and gentle. Full of everything he had been holding back. And you let him, finally. When he pulled away, your noses still brushed. Very close. However, your chest still felt heavy, because he was still leaving. 

“Please come back faster,” you whispered.

Seungcheol smiled faintly, resting his forehead against yours. “I will, baby.” he gave you one last soft peck. “By the time I come back… you better be doing well, okay?”

You nodded. His hand came up again, resting on your head, those familiar, gentle pats. He kissed your temple. Then, he slipped something into your hand. A folded paper, closing your fingers around it.  

“Read it when you get home,” he murmured. “I don’t want you crying alone here.”

The announcement rang again. Final call.

He exhaled, reluctant. He stepped back slowly. Your fingers clung to his for a moment longer. Not wanting to let go, but eventually they slipped apart. You watched him board the train, your vision blurred with tears. As the train began to move, he watched you too. Getting smaller… further away, all alone.

“…shit,” he muttered, resting his head against the glass. “How am I supposed to leave her like that?”

And you’ll wait. And he will too, because when he comes back he knows he’s going to hold you together more than ever before.

By the time you got back to the quiet apartment, your hands slowly unfolded the paper he had given you at the train station. You were still trying to recover from the hollow feeling in your chest after his departure.

He had written you a letter. You weren’t sure if you were strong enough to read it at that moment. But you did anyway.

My lovely ____, I’m so sorry that you had to find out this way. I sincerely hope that all the words I failed to convey to you in person will, through this letter, finally reach your heart. When I try to approach you, it feels like a dream that slips away. What should I do?  You, who brought so much light into my life. You, who gave me so much love without making me feel lonely. You, who live in my heart. I always find myself missing you today, tomorrow, and all the days to come. I can’t hide my growing feelings for you anymore. You have no idea how I feel every day. Sometimes I feel sick, sometimes I cry, all because of this love. I find myself holding my breath every time I look at you, as if the world has stopped. Like the passing wind even if you don’t see me, my heart always moves toward you. Loving you is such a painful thing. These feelings can’t be emptied. But my dear, please don’t forget this great love I’ve kept only for you. It hurts me to see how comfortable you are in the dark. I just wish you would lean on me more, tell me everything your heart has been holding for so long. Every day, I hold onto you, yet I can’t seem to let go. Deep down, I know I’m afraid. Your eyes… they look at me as if they understand my heart. Even when I try to distance myself, the memories keep calling me back no matter where I go. Us, who never wanted to let go. Us, who leaned on each other. I don’t want to lose that bond. But at the same time, I don’t want to live a life where you’re no longer there where you’ve found your happiness, and I’m not a part of it. And that’s the moment where my footsteps stop. This isn’t the life I wanted. I wanted to be by your side forever. Don’t go and leave all my love behind. Even if it’s a little late, maybe it’s still destiny—we will meet again someday. I hope that one day, I can love you the way I’ve always wanted to. Forgetting you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. You are the only one for me. Wherever you are in this world, I will find my way to you.  Thank you… for giving me a love that made me feel less lonely. Love, Cheol.

You were already breaking down, crouched in the empty, cold apartment where he no longer was. Your sobs echoed through the silence, tears falling onto the letter in your hands. You cried so hard, holding the paper close to your chest. There is nothing greater than his love for you, and you will wait with arms open. Just five months and you’ll be alright.

Love is just a word until someone comes into your life and gives it meaning.

FIN.

a/n: wow. the original ending was supposed to be a not happy one, but meh i changed my mind in the middle of it. i think i might be woozi yo. once again, thank uu for staying until the end, apples! big thanks to @ashlinxloves for witnessing my whole procrastination ride n i managed to finish it just as i expected.

taglist 𑣿:

@coupsarchive @weirdcatlover1 @gyublues @charlieshelves @joongtime @jaja-salute @tstosir @scoupscious @jinx05 @delusionalforjunghoseok  @neotannies @drunk-on-lemonade @chisskaa @flvr4ane @unlikelysublimekryptonite @jeonfaa @vwintershire @scoupcherry94 @enchantingbarbariansublime @matt-sturnioloo @cuzyourmyflower @choppedballoondetective @junnhuisworld @mellow-wishes @authorscurse

navigation post: part i | charmer The thing about Seungcheol is that when he loved, he loved with a fervent force that nothing could ever stop it. When he wanted something, he would stop at nothing to get it. He was passionate like that. And he loved you. Past tense. Loved.

part ii | wanderer You were far from the girl that Seungcheol use to love. Because, time has a funny way of changing things and it sure as hell changed you.

part iii | killer Choi Seungcheol is a strategist to his core. And he thought it would be simple to steal princess from her castle. Well, he thought wrong.

part iv | chaser Breakups are tough. For years, you had to push your feelings down to try and move on. But now, you were back again with Choi Seungcheol, rekindling the ardent flame of your love, and lost promises.

drabble | lover You and Seungcheol finally get a chance to get away from finals, homework and your parents.

part v | gambler Plans do not always come to fruition. That was one of the hardest truths that Seungcheol had to come to grips with.

part vi | coming soon!

It all traces back to a week or so ago, when the world cracked open between us.

I'd been scrolling through my phone in the quiet of my apartment after a late practice, the glow casting shadows on the walls, when the notifications hit like shrapnel.

Gossip sites exploding with photos of Seungcheol—Scoups—leaning into Lia— tall, thin, sharp feature, big doe eyes with gorgeous skin and hair, everything I wasn’t — with her hand on his arm, his smile too easy, too intimate.

'K-pop’s new IT couple?'

‘Coups getting Cozy?’

The headlines gutted me, jealousy uncoiling like a serpent in my chest, sharp and venomous.

We’d never put a name to us, but god, it had woven into something real. What started as a raw, no-strings BDSM dynamic—me dropping to my knees in the dim glow of hotel rooms after his shows, leather cuffs biting into my wrists as he gripped my hair and thrust his thick cock down my throat until tears streamed and I choked on him—had evolved. It turned tender in the aftermath, his hands soothing the welts on my skin, pulling me against his chest as we breathed together. Late nights blurred into mornings where he'd murmur secrets against my neck, feed me bites of rice from his chopsticks, hold me when the exhaustion of being invisible in the spotlight crushed me. But labels? Impossible.

He was Seventeen's leader, the unbreakable core of the group, every move scrutinized. I was just a backup dancer, one of the shadows syncing steps behind them, easily swapped out if I faltered.

The photos were one thing. The headlines and overarching support, acceptance, hype by the public shipping them together unraveled something I’d been trying too hard to keep neatly tied together. Every glance, every touch we’d shared suddenly felt flimsy under the glare of proof I could hold in my hand. I didn’t text him. Didn’t trust myself to. I waited.

By the time practice ended, the building had quieted, the usual chaos fading into distant echoes. I caught him in the hallway outside the studio, harsh fluorescent lights casting everything in a sickly, unforgiving glow.

“Seungcheol.”

My voice came out steadier than I felt. My fingers tightened around my phone as I stepped into his path, holding it up between us. The screen lit his face.

“What the hell is this?”

He barely reacted at first—just a glance, a small crease between his brows—then that composure slipped into place like it always did. Calm. Controlled.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Paparazzi. You know how they twist things.”

Something inside me snapped at how easy that sounded.

“Nothing?” I echoed, a hollow laugh catching in my throat. “She’s got her hands on you like she belongs there, and you’re smiling like you want her there. The headlines are calling you the new golden couple of K-pop and you haven’t said anything! That’s your version of nothing?”

He exhaled slowly, like I was already exhausting him. “It was a schedule. Promo. Cameras everywhere. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

I stared at him, disbelief rising hotter than the hurt. “Out of proportion? I’m looking at you—at this—and you expect me to just… what? Be your mistress?”

His jaw tightened. “I expect you to remember what this is.”

The words landed heavier than I expected.

“And what is that, exactly?” I shot back, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it stopped being ‘casual’ a long time ago.”

His eyes flickered—just for a second—but it was enough to tell me I’d hit something.

“That’s exactly the problem,” he said, sharper now. “You’re starting to treat it like something it can’t be.”

My chest tightened. “Can’t be? Or you don’t want it to be?”

“Don’t twist this,” he snapped. “We had an understanding. No complications. No scenes like this.”

“Like this?” I repeated, voice rising despite myself. “You think this is me being dramatic? You think I wanted to stand here feeling like an idiot?”

“You’re acting like one,” he said, and this time there was no softness to blunt it.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I swallowed hard. “Right. Because caring makes me stupid, I guess.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” My grip on the phone loosened, my arm dropping to my side. “You just made it very clear where I stand.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through his usual control. “Look, this isn’t the place for this, and your place is not….”

That did it.

“My place?” I repeated, the words coming out dangerously quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, doubling down, like he didn’t realize the line he was crossing. “You’re not my girlfriend. You’re not someone I can be seen with, not someone I can explain. You knew that from the start.”

Each word hit harder than the last, precise and unflinching.

“So what am I, then?” I asked, even though I already knew I didn’t want the answer.

He hesitated—but only for a second.

“Someone I care about,” he said, quieter now. “But not someone I can choose. Not publicly. Not like that.”

The clarification didn’t help. It made it worse.

“Not someone you can choose,” I repeated, a brittle smile forming. “That’s convenient.”

“You think this is easy for me?” he shot back. “You think I get to just do whatever I want? One wrong move and everything I’ve built—everything the group has built—takes a hit. I don’t have the luxury of feelings the way you do.”

The way you do.

Like mine were disposable. Optional.

“Wow,” I breathed. “So this—” I gestured between us, my voice shaking now despite everything “—this is just me being… what? Emotional? Replaceable?”

“I didn’t say replaceable.”

“You didn’t have to,” I snapped, echoing him from earlier. “You just said I’m not someone you’d ever choose.”

His expression faltered then, regret flashing too late.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s exactly what you meant.” My throat burned, but I refused to let the tears fall in front of him. “You just didn’t expect me to hear it out loud.”

He stepped closer, voice lowering. “Don’t do this. Don’t turn one stupid article into something that ruins—”

“Ruins what?” I cut in sharply. “There’s nothing to ruin, remember? This isn’t anything.”

He clenched his jaw, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, quieter, almost tired, he said, “You’re misunderstanding the situation.”

Something in me went cold at that.

“Right,” I said, nodding slowly. “Of course. This is on me.”

“That’s not—”

“No, it is.” I took a step back, putting space between us before I did something worse than cry. “I forgot my place.”

The words tasted bitter, but I let them sit there.

His expression shifted, something softer breaking through. “Jagiya, don’t—”

“My mistake, Scoups sunbaenim,” I said, the formality deliberate, cutting. “It won’t happen again.”

This time, when I turned, I didn’t wait to see if he’d follow. I didn’t want to know if he would.

The hallway felt longer on the way out, each step heavier than the last. By the time I reached the door, my vision had blurred, the weight of everything crashing down at once—not just the photos, but the truth he’d finally said out loud.

Not someone he could choose.

The next week practice felt like a silent war I refused to lose first.

I always got to practice early, claiming a corner of the mirrored studio like it was neutral ground. Stretching, counting breaths, focusing on anything but the door. It didn’t work. The second he walked in, I felt it—his presence, heavy and searching.

I didn’t look up.

Not when the members greeted each other. Not when his voice cut through the room. Not even when I knew he was looking straight at me.

Formations became strategy. If a move placed me near him, I shifted. Someone else filled the gap. I stayed sharp, precise—untouchable. The routine didn’t falter, but something else had. Every near-miss, every almost-brush of hands felt louder than the music.

By the first break, tension had coiled so tight it was suffocating.

I barely made it to the water cooler before he was there.

“We need to talk.”

Low. Urgent. Not leader Seungcheol—just him.

I grabbed a paper cup, not meeting his eyes. “Not now.”

His hand came down on the cooler beside me, blocking my exit—not forceful, but enough.

“Last night… I fucked up.”

I let out a quiet breath, steadying myself before I looked at him. Big mistake.

He looked wrecked. Not tired—wrecked. Eyes rimmed red, jaw tight like he hadn’t unclenched it once since I walked away.

For a split second, it cracked something in me.

Then I remembered his voice: You’re not someone I can choose.

I stepped around him.

“I’m working,” I said flatly, and walked off.

It didn’t stop there.

If anything, it got worse.

Texts flooded in first.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean it like that.

You’re not—fuck, you’re not what I said. You’re more.

Please talk to me.

I didn’t respond.

Then came the voice messages.

I made the mistake of listening to one.

“Please, jagi,” his voice came through, rough, stripped of all that control he wore so well. “Don’t shut me out like this. Miyane. Let me explain.”

I deleted it before he could finish.

Then the flowers showed up.

Of course they did.

Too many roses. Too much meaning. Too late.

I read the card once—You’re my anchor—and felt something bitter curl in my chest.

Anchors don’t get hidden.

Anchors don’t get denied.

I shoved them into a vase and left them by the window like an obligation.

The one place I couldn’t avoid him was the practice room.

I mirrored his every move from afar, syncing flawlessly but never meeting his eyes. During a group huddle, he reached for my shoulder, but I shrugged it off subtly, stepping back.

Mingyu finally pulled me aside during the cool-down, his brow furrowed with concern. “Hey, what's going on with you and hyung? You've been dodging him all week. He looks wrecked.”

“It's nothing,” I muttered, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Just tired.” But inside, the conflict raged—our blurred lines, the power imbalance, the fear that I'd always be the one chasing shadows.

By the time I’d gotten home, the hallway lights had been dimmed, the building quiet in that late-night way that made everything feel heavier.

He’d been sitting on the steps outside my apartment door, elbows on his knees, a bouquet resting beside him—something softer this time. Not the loud, showy roses.

Lilies.

My favourite.

He’d looked up the second he heard my footsteps.

Relief had hit his face so fast it had almost knocked the air out of me.

“Hey,” he’d said, standing too quickly, like he’d been waiting a while.

I hadn’t moved any closer.

“Seungcheol…”

My voice had come out quieter than I wanted.

Tired.

He’d picked up the flowers, holding them out—not pushing, just offering. “I didn’t know if you’d be home.”

I’d stared at them for a second before taking them, mostly because I hadn’t known what else to do with my hands.

“They’re… not apology flowers,” he’d added quickly. “Or—not just that. I just—” He’d exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I saw them and thought of you.”

That shouldn’t have worked.

But it had.

Too much.

We’d stood there for a moment, the distance between us thinner than it had been all day.

“Miyane,” he’d said finally.

Not rushed.

Not defensive.

Just… quiet.

“I shouldn’t have said that to you. Any of it.”

I’d swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around the stems. “You didn’t just say it.”

“I know,” he’d nodded. “I know. I’ve been—” He’d searched for the word. “Careless. With you.”

I’d let out a long exhale.

“I didn’t think,” he’d continued. “I just… reacted. And I hurt you.”

A beat.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

My chest had tightened.

“Seungcheol…” I’d started, my voice softer, wavering despite myself. It would’ve been so easy to close the distance, to fall back into his arms. I’d hated how much I’d still wanted that. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

His expression had shifted immediately, something pained flickering through it.

“I know.”

“No,” I’d shaken my head, finally looking at him properly. “I don’t think you do.”

I’d stepped a little closer before I could stop myself, the words slipping out quieter, more fragile than I intended.

“It’s not about the photo… not really. I think it was just a catalyst. I… I deserve better than this.”

He hadn’t argued.

He’d just nodded once, like that part, at least, he understood.

“You do,” he’d said.

The agreement had almost broken me.

Because it meant he knew.

“And I want to be that for you,” he’d added quickly, stepping closer too, careful this time. “I do. I just—” He’d hesitated, jaw tightening. “I need you to be patient with me.”

My grip on the flowers had tightened. “Patient,” I’d repeated.

“Yeah,” he’d said, softer now, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Things aren’t… simple for me. You know that. The timing, the situation—I just need you to trust me while I figure it out.”

The warmth from a second before had started to slip.

“Figure it out,” I’d echoed.

“I’m trying,” he’d insisted. “I’m here, aren’t I? I came to you. I’m not ignoring this, I’m not walking away—”

“But you’re not choosing it either,” I’d cut in quietly.

He’d stilled.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“That’s not fair,” he’d said, a hint of frustration creeping back in. “I’m doing what I can.”

“And I was supposed to just wait around while you decided if I was worth it?” I’d asked, not raising my voice, which somehow made it worse. “It’s Lia one day, then Mimi, then Bri, Emi… you’re with them during the day and what? I was just supposed to be waiting for you in your bed at night?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what was it?” I’d pressed, softer now, almost pleading. “Because it still felt like I was the only one standing in it fully.”

He’d exhaled, running a hand through his hair again, that same tell.

“I just need more time.”

I’d let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head.

“Of course you do.”

“Don’t do that,” he’d said quickly. “Don’t twist it into something it’s not.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” I’d replied, my voice steadier now, even as something inside me started to close. “You’re asking me to stay exactly where I am while you… what? Have your cake and eat it too?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is,” I’d said. “Because nothing you’re saying changes how it feels for me.”

“It will,” he’d insisted. “You just have to trust me.”

That word again.

Trust.

Like it was something he could ask for without giving me anything solid to hold onto.

Something in my chest had tightened, then settled into something colder.

“You keep asking me for that,” I’d murmured. “But you’re not giving me anything to trust in.”

His expression had tightened.

“You’re overreacting.”

“Okay,” I’d said quietly.

And then I’d turned around and walked away without looking back.

Jan’s invite came that night: Club night with the squad! Come unwind after that brutal set list!

I fired back: Oh no, I’m really not in the mood.

'C’mon, you've been MIA too long! Booze, beats, no drama. I'll buy the first round if you show,' she teased, adding pleading emojis that chipped at my resolve.

The anger simmered, pushing me to spite the pull he still had, to drown the hurt in noise despite his relentless pursuit.

Fuck it.

I’m in.

🥃 “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

The chant snaps me back into the present like a hand yanking me out of water.

I blink—lights, noise, bodies moving too close, too fast.

Someone shoves another shot into my hand.

“Woohoo! You’re killing this!” Xian yells over the music.

I don’t hesitate.

Salt. Burn. Heat flooding down my throat, pooling warm in my stomach.

Another follows immediately.

Then another.

I snatch it, tongue the salt heavier this time, the tequila slamming harder, fuzzing my thoughts. The hurt eases into numb defiance, my body loosening as the alcohol surges. I'm a dancer at heart—rhythm is my blood.

“Oh my god! Have you seen this?” whispers break out, phones are whipped out and passed around. I’m too drunk to care.

“Scoups went on weverse and denied any relationship with Lia or any idol,” someone reads, “he said, quote, it’s fake news my label threw out without my consent.”

“He said there’s someone special in his life,” a shouted whisper.

“He’s such a man,” another person giggles, “probably has a line of special someone’s.”

“Count me in!” a high voice shrieks, “I’ll be in his harem line any day!”

I down another shot. The words and whispers blurring in my head.

Jan yanks me to the floor: “I’m cutting you off. Move it, queen!”

The lights strobe, bodies press close, sweat and perfume thick in the air. I let the music take over, hips swaying to the heavy drop, my skirt riding up as I grind against the beat. I’m good at this—years of syncing to K-pop tracks honed my flow. I lose myself, spinning, dipping low, my ass brushing against strangers in the crowd.

A guy from another group slides up behind me, hands on my waist, and I don’t pull away. Instead, I arch back, grinding my hips into him, feeling his hardness press against me through our clothes. The friction sparks heat between my thighs, my pussy already slick from the booze and the rush. Shots keep coming—someone hands me one mid-dance, and I throw it back without stopping, the liquid fire urging me on. I’m drunk now, gloriously so, the world tilting in the best way, jealousy morphing into reckless abandon.

But then I feel it—eyes on me. Intense, piercing, cutting through the haze. I glance over, and there he is: Seungcheol, leaning against the bar in a dark hoodie pulled low, his gaze locked on me like a predator. His jaw clenches as he watches me grind on the stranger, those photos forgotten in the face of this real-time jealousy bait. My heart races, a mix of triumph and need surging through me. I amp it up, deliberately—pressing harder against the guy, tossing my hair, letting out a moan-laugh that I know carries, fingers trailing my own thigh, daring him to snap. I want him to burn like I did.

He pushes off the bar, stalking through the crowd like he owns it. The stranger senses the shift and backs off with a muttered 'whoa,' vanishing into the throng. Seungcheol’s hand clamps on my arm, yanking me close, his breath hot against my ear.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, voice low and dangerous, laced with that dominant edge I crave.

I twist in his grip, the alcohol making my movements sloppy, my eyes narrowing as I shove at his chest. The words hang between us, heavy with everything we don't say—the nights tangled in sheets, the way his touch lingers too long, the fear of what it all means in his world of flashing lights and contracts. “Dancing. Having fun. You know, like normal people do when they're not… occupied.”

My voice drips with sarcasm, the hurt sharpening each syllable, but I can't bring myself to name the girl, the photos, the ache that's been gnawing at me all day. We both know it's there, that green-eyed monster twisting us both.

His jaw clenches, eyes darkening as he pulls me closer, his body heat cutting through the club's haze. “Occupied?”

There's a pause, loaded, his fingers tightening on my arm just enough to remind me of the cuffs we've used, the control he wields so effortlessly. But tonight, it's laced with something raw, unspoken—the jealousy mirroring mine, the possessiveness we pretend is casual.

I swallow hard, the tequila burning in my throat again as tears threaten. “Am I wrong?” The question slips out, quieter, laced with the vulnerability I hate showing.

He exhales sharply, his gaze flicking to the crowd before locking back on me, thumb brushing my skin in a way that's almost tender, almost an apology without words. “You think I want that? Any of it? I denied it, all of it, for you…”

My chest tightens, the tequila providing far more than liquid courage, anger flaring hot. “I don’t know Seung— Scoups! You’re the big alpha leader, no such thing as bad publicity, amiright.”

I push harder against him, but he doesn't budge, his hold steady, eyes searching mine with that intensity that always unravels me.

“Come with me,” he murmurs finally, voice dropping to that commanding timbre edged with plea. “Not here. My place.”

“No, I’m dancing,” I slur, turning away, “You might not want me, but I’m sure someone does. Hey, Xian!”

In my drunken haze, I miss how Xian’s face pales as Seungcheol glares at him.

“Over my dead body,” he steers me out, arm firm around my waist, the cool night air slapping my flushed skin as he leads me into his car.

“You don’t get to tell me what’s enough… I-I’m fineee. I always knew it would end like this. Ssssss coooopssss. Hehe, your name is funny.”

“Shhh,” his hand covered my mouth, the car suddenly silent. His hand moves down to rest on my thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns that send shivers up my spine.

I lean into his shoulder, the booze weighing me down. Sober me would’ve gotten out of the car and gotten a cab, but drunk me was still just a heartbroken girl.

“You know…” I mumble, eyes drifting shut, “I always knew I’m replaceable, I just didn’t think it would happen this quickly…”

His hand stills, squeezing gently. “You're not. You’re everything.” The response is simple, but it is more than anything he’d said in the last week, through texts, voicemails, flowers…

“I kept trying to fix things the wrong way,” he said. “Explaining. Avoiding. Managing it.”

A pause.

“I thought if I kept it controlled, I wouldn’t lose you.”

I feel the car stop. Feel him lifting me up. Walking.

“I know I messed this up,” he added. “And I don’t expect you to trust me just because I’m saying the right thing now.”

A pause. He sets me down on a bed.

“But I’m not going to keep you in limbo anymore.”

I scoff. “Sure you won’t,” I slur, moving up, cracking an eye open. “I should’ve stayed with Xian.”

That does it.

His face thunders. He surges forward, hands ripping off my top, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip that echoes my fractured heart. The skirt slides down next, pooling at my ankles, leaving me exposed in that clinging lace, sweat-slick skin prickling in the cool air.

He steps back, shedding his hoodie and shirt in one fluid motion, muscles rippling under the dim light, ink and faint scars from endless performances tracing his chest and arms. His pants drop next, cock springing free—thick, hard, veins pulsing with the need he's barely holding back. It twitches toward me, pre-cum beading at the tip, but I don't move. I cross my arms over my chest, nipples hardening against my will from the chill and the sight of him.

“You want to talk about other men?” he says, voice hard, the edge dulled by a flicker of regret in those dark eyes.

“You think you can just drag me here, strip me, and I'll forget?” My hands ball into fists, nails biting into palms, the room spinning a little from the booze.

He doesn't flinch, but his eyes softens just a fraction, the raw vulnerability cracking through his dominance. He closes the distance again, not grabbing, but his fingers ghost along my jaw, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

“I’ll fix it. Trust me. That’s all I’m asking. Please. Trust that I’ll do better. You’re everything to me, baby.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, parting it slightly, and I hate how my body leans in, betraying the storm inside.

It’s the please that does it. As I stare into his eyes, my heart gives in. The flowers, the texts… all of it pales in comparison to this. Him. Scoups. Choi Seungcheol. Begging me to stay.

“Prove it then,” I whisper, my breath hitches as his hand trails down, cupping my breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaks under his touch. He pinches it lightly, sending a jolt straight to my core, my pussy clenching despite the anger.

“I will,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, leaning in to capture my mouth in a kiss that's not gentle—teeth nipping my lip, tongue invading like he's claiming territory. I push at his chest half-heartedly, but he pulls back just enough to tease, his other hand sliding between my thighs, fingers pressing against the lace over my clit. He rubs slow circles, the friction building heat that makes my knees weaken, but I lock them, refusing to fold.

He pulls back from my mouth, lips glistening, eyes dark and pleading as he guides me toward the couch in the dim glow of his apartment. The leather creaks under his weight as he lies back, cock jutting up rigid and slick from my earlier attention, veins throbbing along its length.

"Ride my face. Let me taste that fire," he rasps, voice thick with hunger and that undercurrent of apology, hands reaching for my hips to draw me over him.

I hesitate, thighs trembling from the booze and the storm raging inside. My pussy throbs, slick and swollen, droplets of my wetness trail down my inner thigh. I hover above him, not quite lowering myself, my hands pressing against his chest to keep distance. Nails dig into his skin, leaving red marks as punishment for the image of him with her, burned into my mind.

His fingers trail up my thighs, teasing the edges of my soaked folds without mercy, stroking the sensitive skin around my entrance. He circles my clit with his thumb, slow and deliberate, flicking it just enough to make my hips jerk forward involuntarily. A gasp escapes me, sharp and unwilling, as heat coils low in my belly.

"Please jagi, let me make it right," he murmurs, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, eyes locked on mine with raw vulnerability cracking through his usual control. "Let me drown in you, tiny dancer. Taste how much you own me."

The edging unravels me bit by bit—his thumb pressing firmer now, rubbing in tight circles that have my clit pulsing, juices leaking onto his waiting chin. I bite my lip, fighting the pull, but the alcohol blurs the edges of my resistance, turning fury into a desperate ache.

"Cheol-ahhhh" I gasp, voice slurring with emotion and need, as he pulls my hips down onto his face. My pussy lips part over his mouth, smearing wetness across his face as I straddle his head, thighs clamping around his ears.

His tongue lashes out instantly, flat and insistent, dragging from my entrance to my clit in one long, greedy swipe. He sucks my folds into his mouth, lips sealing around them with wet, slurping sounds that echo in the quiet room, tongue probing deeper to lap at the creamy arousal pooling inside me. I grind down hard, smothering him completely, my ass cheeks flexing as I rock my hips in frantic circles, fucking his face like it's the only way to purge the pain.

"Like this? This what you crave from me?" I gasp out, words fractured by sobs of pleasure and lingering hurt, the unspoken accusation hanging—is this all you crave from me?

He groans into my core, the vibration rumbling straight through my clit, making my walls flutter and clench around nothing. His hands clamp onto my ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, spreading my cheeks wide as he pulls me tighter against him. Tongue thrusting deep now, he fucks into my pussy with it, curling upward to stroke that ridged spot inside that sends sparks exploding behind my eyes. I ride him harder, clit grinding over the bridge of his nose, coating his skin in a glossy sheen of my slickness—dripping down his cheeks, into his hair, the musky scent of my arousal filling the air.

Sweat beads on my skin, mixing with the dampness between us, as I brace my hands on his chest, pinching his nipples roughly to match the twist in my gut. Pleasure builds relentlessly, tangled with the ache of betrayal, every lap of his tongue a silent plea for forgiveness. We both feel it—this raw reclaiming amid the shadows of his celebrity life, the risks we ignore for these stolen moments. My thighs quake, muscles burning from the effort, but I don't stop, chasing the high that might wash away the jealousy.

I shatter with a cry, pussy convulsing as waves of ecstasy crash over me, flooding his mouth with hot gushes of cum. He swallows greedily, tongue milking every spasm, sucking my clit until I'm oversensitive and twitching, tears streaking my face from the intensity and the emotions bubbling up. He doesn't let go, licking me clean with broad, possessive strokes, until I'm boneless and panting above him.

Before I can catch my breath, he flips us with a surge of strength, my back hitting the cool leather of the couch. His body pins mine, cock heavy and leaking pre-cum against my thigh, the tip smearing sticky trails on my skin. "Turn over," he growls, voice hoarse from my taste on his tongue, but his gaze softens, tracing the flush on my cheeks, acknowledging the vulnerability I've bared.

I roll onto my stomach, knees digging into the cushions as I bend over the armrest, ass lifting high, pussy exposed and glistening in the low light. Legs spread wide, I arch my back, the position making me feel utterly open, still buzzing from my orgasm. His fingers dive in without warning—two thick digits plunging into my soaked heat, stretching me with a squelch that makes my cheeks burn. He pumps them roughly, knuckles deep, twisting to grind against my inner walls, thumb pressing hard on my clit in relentless circles.

"Fuck, you're drenched," he mutters, breath hot against my ear, the words laced with awe and regret. But his other hand glides down my spine, palm flat and soothing, tracing the curve of my back like he's mapping the hurt he caused.

"Please, Cheol," I whimper, pushing back onto his hand, the coil tightening again. He adds a third finger, scissoring them wide, curling to hit my g-spot over and over, the wet sounds obscene as my arousal coats his wrist.

He withdraws suddenly, leaving me clenching on emptiness, a whine tearing from my throat. The broad head of his cock nudges my entrance, hot and insistent, before he slams forward in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. My pussy stretches around his girth, walls gripping him like a vice, the fullness making me see stars. He doesn't hold back, fucking me with deep, punishing drives—hips snapping forward, balls slapping against my clit with every plunge, the force jolting my body against the couch arm.

Skin slaps against skin, loud and rhythmic, mingling with my moans and his grunts. "Feel me? Only your pussy does this to me," he grunts, one hand coming down on my ass in a sharp spank, the sting blooming into heat that radiates through me. He rubs the reddened flesh immediately after, fingers kneading as his pace stutters, emotion bleeding into the dominance. Another spank lands, harder, making my ass jiggle, then his palm soothes, the contrast driving me wild.

I claw at the cushions, fabric bunching under my nails, anger pouring out in broken pleas: "Harder, Cheol… prove it." The words carry everything—the demand for him to be mine, to commit. He slows then, grinding deep inside me, hips circling to drag his cock along every inch of my channel, the veined shaft rubbing my sensitive spots until I'm keening.

"I can't lose you," he confesses in a ragged whisper, voice cracking as he leans over me, chest pressing to my back. His hand snakes around, fingers finding my nipple and pinching it sharply, rolling the hard peak between thumb and forefinger until pain-pleasure shoots to my core. The admission hangs heavy—the deep feelings we circle, the dangers of his world, the future we both want but dread voicing.

It tips me over, orgasm ripping through me like fire, pussy spasming wildly around his cock, squeezing him in rhythmic pulses as I soak his length with fresh waves of cum. He thrusts once, twice more, then buries himself deep, groaning low as his balls draw up and he unloads—thick ropes of hot cum spurting into me, filling my pussy until it overflows, creamy trails leaking down my thighs.

We collapse in a tangle, his weight a comforting press as he stays inside me, softening slowly. Arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close, his lips brushing my neck in soft, lingering kisses. Fingers trace idle patterns over my sweat-damp skin, from hip to breast, grounding us in the afterglow.

In the heavy quiet, his breath fans my ear. "Miyane. I'm sorry, baby. I'll do better. Be better for you. I promise." No flowery words, just the raw truth easing the tension, binding us in the unspoken promise that this—us—is worth every shadowed risk.

*End of February/March*

The music playing softly through the jukebox was something from the eighties, older than many of the patrons occupying the diner, but Seungcheol didn’t mind. In fact, it was one of his favorites to listen to as he enjoyed his dinner. The soft rock filtering through the semi quiet restaurant, the murmurs of conversations from those around him drowned out.

Some getting off work late like he had, needing a late night dinner, some on dates, or the night owls that couldn’t sleep but couldn’t stay home either. It didn’t matter to him why any of them were there, because to them it didn’t matter why he was there.

“Want a refill?” Mingyu asked, stopping in front of him, jutting his chin at the half empty glass while balancing a few plates in his hands. His brows wet with sweat from the kitchen and running around the place. Seungcheol glanced up from his burger to give his friend a nod. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.” Seungcheol nodded, popping a fry into his mouth, and the taller man gave him a quick smile before hurrying off to serve food. The door chimed with someone either coming or going, but Seungcheol didn’t bother to check, choosing to watch Seokmin work effortlessly to cook the meals being ordered.

He didn’t even spare a glance when he heard the barstool next to him scraping against the floor, or at the person occupying it. Too tired to look anywhere else but forward.

“Hey. What are we having tonight?” Mingyu’s voice spoke up, grabbing Seungcheol’s glass to refill the soda.

“Just a burger and fries. No tomatoes.” The person spoke up, a voice that he didn’t recognize and he glanced toward the source. “Just water.”

“On it,” Mingyu nodded, setting the refilled soda in front of him. Slapping the pass while calling out her order, then grabbed a few more plates ready to be served. “Be right back with your water.”

“Thanks.” Seungcheol reached for his drink, finding himself observing the new face. You.

He hadn’t seen you before. In a town the size of Diamond Ridge,Seungcheol pretty much knew everyone. Hell, most the people in the diner he grew up around, so you stuck out to him. Your hair loose around your face, and clothes that looked like they were swallowing you up. You weren’t looking around, you were looking down at diner counter, a faraway look in your eyes.

You looked lost.

“You okay?” Seungcheol found himself asking, your gaze snapping to him. Eyes wide in surprise that someone was speaking to you, not expecting anyone to talk to you. Let alone ask you if you were okay.

“Oh, uh, yeah…yeah.” You answered nodding quickly, and it was cute the way you turned away before turning back, “Its…just I just moved here, and I’ve only really spoken to Mr. Kim. He’s my new landlord.”

“So, you’re the one who took the apartment above this place.” Seungcheol mused, taking a drink of the carbonated drink. Setting the glass down, he wiped his hands onto a crumbled napkin before offering it you. “Welcome to Diamond Ridge. Seungcheol.”

He watched as your gaze drop to his hand, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. Now it’s your turn to take him in, moving from his hand back to his face then back. Contemplating taking it.

There wasn’t anything off about him in his opinion. A pair of dirty steel toed work boots, jeans well-worn and covered in dirt with his dark blue flannel matching. His short dyed blond hair a mess on his head. He felt he was also an okay looking guy, his face more tired than serious in that moment.

He just looked like a guy who got off a long shift and just wanted a hot meal.

Finally you took his hand, a firm but delicate grip with your palm warm against his. Almost too warm.

“Y/N.” You answer softly, letting go of his hand just as quick as you took it.

“Y/N.” Seungcheol said slow, feeling each syllable on his tongue. He nodded, giving you a friendly smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” You answer as Seokmin called out that more orders were ready. Mingyu then appeared in front of the two of you, setting down your water down before turning to the pass where the food was waiting.

“Yours is up next.” Mingyu let you know grabbing the plates. Seungcheol didn’t realize that it had gotten busier since he came in, his focus now on the new face next to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim.” You tell him, giving him a polite nod and he stopped in front of you for a moment.

“I told you, just call me Mingyu.” He playfully scolded, then was back out on the floor to serve. Seungcheol had gone back to the last of his food, but he glancing toward you.

You also sent a few his way while you waited, neither of you said anything further. You focused on not being noticed, despite being the most noticeable thing there. An unfamiliar face in a room of familiar ones, which he could only imagine how nerve wracking that was. To be a stranger.

“Ready to pay, Cheol?” Mingyu stopped in front of him moments later, and the older man nodded, wiping his lips with a napkin. Standing, Seungcheol pulled his wallet out to get enough to cover his and your meal.

“For both our meals.” Hearing this, you whipped your head toward him, ready to protest, but he was already starting toward the door, “Keep the change as a tip, Gyu. Have a great night, Y/N.”

You knew being someone new to such a small town was going to get you attention, but that didn’t mean you were used to the stares. The looks that followed you wherever you went, ranging from pure curiosity to caution to straight suspicion.

Everyone seemed to know each other, with so many growing up together. So, they were able to greet each other by name, talk with each other like old friends, while asking for your name was a foreign phrase to them. It would lead to questions that you weren’t ready to answer, and you could feel the judgement in their eyes when you avoided those questions.

You weren’t sure if you were the one making yourself an outsider or if the town’s people made you feel that way. It was not your intention to, nor could it have been for just the ones curious.

There were several friendly faces that made you feel welcome and didn’t ask too many questions. Mingyu and Seokmin were nice to you, with the taller happily hiring you on as a waitress. There was only two, and a third was desperately needed. Diamond Ridgewas a pretty small town, but Kim’s Diner was a popular spot. Even during the slowest times of the day, there was always someone in a booth eating.

Then there was the man who paid for your meal one night. Seungcheol. His gaze curious, but it didn’t feel like the way everyone else in town looked at you. He didn’t ask anything further than if you were okay, and he paid for your meal when he didn’t have to. The kindness he showed you made you feel more welcome than so many of others, and it made you want to return it to him as well.

But you hadn’t seen him again since.

For a moment, you thought maybe he’d been part of your imagination, a hallucination since you’d been sleep deprived that night. Unable to get sleep with your mind racing and your cat Max meowing through the studio apartment. The chubby tabby was still getting used to the new living arrangements, but he found the acoustics of the place made him happy.

But he wasn’t part of your imagination, with Mingyu confirming that you weren’t hallucinating. He was a very real person. Though you still had your doubts, since you hadn’t seen him since that night, with only your memory to go off of and you were too nervous to ask any of the locals about him. Nor could you ask your boss or any of your coworkers.

You were friendly with them, but you weren’t friends, nor comfortable enough to ask or talk to them about anything more than surface level. Though you probably should have in hindsight.

The fact the local bar was named Cheers made you giggle, thinking about the show with the same bar name when you walked into it. It was a hole in the wall that was found in the heart of Diamond Ridge’s main square, tucked just enough away that it took the sign out front to find it.

The inside was bigger than what you expected, walking toward the bar while taking in your surroundings. It was a slower night, with maybe five people there, and that was counting the bartender. Two were off at the pool tables, chatting and laughing, while the rest were sitting at the bar. None of them paying you a single mind, other than the bartender. He was a shorter man, with jet black hair that reached just past the nape of his neck, and a muscular frame under a fitted shirt. His sharp eyes zeroing in on you as he approached, his face neutral and didn’t give away if he recognized you or even cared. 

“What can I get you?” He asked, throwing a white towel over his shoulder, leaning against the bar patiently waiting for your order.

“Uh, I’ll take an old fashion,” You answer, and he made quick work on your drink.

“Starting a tab, or paying now?” He wasn’t even looking at you when asking.

“Tab?” It’s then he looked up at you, his brow raised, and it was then you realized your words sounded unsure. You coughed into your fist, clearing your throat to speak again, “Sorry, I’ll start a tab.”

“Name?” The bartender placed the drink in front of you, before looking at you expectantly.

“Y/N.”

“Just let me know if you want anything else.” Then he walked away, leaving you to your drink.

With glass in hand, you scanned the near empty bar for somewhere to sit, not particularly interested sitting at the counter. There was several tables and a few booths through it with a set of pool tables in the back corner and already being occupied by two men. Picking one of the booths, you sat to nurse your drink. 

It was another night that you didn’t want to be home, even with Max cuddling and the television playing something to keep the place filled with noise. You didn’t like it, you weren’t used to it, and you weren’t sure if you could get used to it. It didn’t feel right, but you couldn’t…wouldn’t go back so you had to eventually. For now, you’d just find things to occupy yourself until that happened.

You barely touch your drink, kind of regretting choosing it instead of something else, but it was the only thing you could think of. Then again, you never were much of a drinker, and you drove here. You needed to drive home, so what were you even thinking getting a drink? Taking another slow sip, you scrunch your nose at the taste, licking your lips in hopes to find something other than the taste of alcohol. You didn’t.

Laughter from over at the pool tables drew your attention in that direction and the two men playing a game. One was lean with long dark hair that was pulled back, giving way to one of the prettiest faces you’d ever seen, while the other’s back was to you. This man had short dyed blond hair, spiked up, but you couldn’t see his face. He was in a simple pair of black jeans and a black tank that showed off thick shoulders and arms. You catch sight of the top of a tattoo between his shoulder blades, and something over his shoulder.

You couldn’t make out what the words said, you weren’t close enough nor did you want to look like you’re staring. Only before you could look away, the pretty one’s eyes flicked to you and the smile he had quickly turned into a smirk. Catching you looking at his friend.

He then leaned forward to say something to his friend, making him look over his shoulder to you. The look on your face had to be a funny one, since the pretty one had burst out laughing while the other held your gaze.

Was… was that Seungcheol?

You’d only seen him one night at the diner, and the lighting hadn’t been the best, so you couldn’t remember him exactly. You only could remember his dark eyes, the curiosity and kindness that had resonated with you. That and the way his hand felt when you shook it. Strong, calloused, and warm. So warm it felt like it could burn you if you held on too long.

Breaking the contact, you looked down to notice the ice had melted in your drink, the hand holding it cold and wet from condensation. Now wishing that you just paid for it rather than opening a tab, to make an easy escape. 

“Y/N, right?” You hadn’t realized you were approached, let alone it being him who had. It must’ve been apparent when you looked up toward him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open which earned a chuckle from him. It was Seungcheol, smiling at you and that was when you noticed he had dimples.

“Ye…yeah! Seungcheol?” You finally answer now that your brain caught up with you and to the man standing before you. Leaning slightly on the pool stick he was holding, and your eyes landed on his arms. They were thick, strong looking, like the rest of his body. A body well taken care of, but also from years of hard work.

“He is, in fact,” The pretty man spoke up next to you, making you nearly jump out of your skin, not seeing him slip into the booth with you. Sticking out a slender hand, the pretty man’s tried to conceal his smirk behind a welcoming smile, “Jeonghan.”

You stare at his hand before taking it to give a brief shake, saying your name despite him already hearing it, but Jeonghan held on. Eyes studying you carefully, from the way your hair was done to the clothes you were wearing. A pair of baggy acid wash jeans that was barely being held up by a belt, a white thermal shirt under a larger shirt. An old, faded band one, well-loved with holes through it and was too big for your body.

Jeonghan then nodded, like he was approving of something only he knew, finally letting go of your hand.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. You’ve been quite the talk of the town.” He observed the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, and chuckled, “Which I take you aren’t too fond of.”

“I don’t think anyone would like to find themselves at the center of gossip.” You pointed out, and he let out another chuckle. Nodding in agreement.

“You have me there,” Jeonghan then shot a look toward Seungcheol, then back to you, “Now, we can’t have you sitting here drinking alone. How about you come drink with us, play some pool. Have fun with some friends.”

“I just met you.” This made Seungcheol laugh, while the other man looked surprised at your comeback.

“More the reason to join,” he pressed, slipping out of the booth and offer his hand to you. A friendly gesture, a chance to not be alone for a change. Your gaze then moved to Seungcheol, who looked like he was about to start pouting that his friend offered this. Not him.

It was… it was kind of cute.

“I don’t know how to play pool, but I’ll hang out,” You agree, the words directed toward Jeonghan while you kept your gaze on Seungcheol. Grabbing your glass, you get out of the booth, ignoring Jeonghan’s out reached hand. It was noticed by both men.

“After you.” The pretty man gestured to follow Seungcheol, which you did, clutching your watered down drink in the process.

“You finish stalling now? Or are you ready to have your ass kicked?” Seungcheol asked Jeonghan, picking up a beer that was left at the pool table.

“I wasn’t stalling. Just wanted an audience to watch me win,” The other man teased, grabbing his pool stick and gave you a teasing wink. The gesture makes you roll your eyes, finding a stool to sit on. Seungcheol took a swig of his beer before sitting it next to you.

“Watch this for me?” He asked, dark eyes sliding over your face and made your cheeks feel warm. You give him a small nod, earning a gummy smile, “Knew I could count on you.”

As they played, the conversation flowed with the two men making sure to include you. Explaining who the people being mentioned were, providing a little background to a few jokes. They also asked you different things as well. Surface questions, like when your birthday was, if you had pets, and how you were adjusting to small town life.

That game ended in a draw and lead to several more, with both men earning a win under their belt each. You had another drink while they had several more beers. Enjoying their company, the way they made you feel included. Not a stranger, but a longtime friend.

That was until the question came up.

“So, what brought you to Diamond Ridge?” It was Jeonghan who asked, lining up his shot that would win him the game, and it made you physically stiffened. Your back straighter, the smile on your face now an uncomfortable frown. Jeonghan didn’t notice but Seungcheol did.

“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol spoke up, his words coming out like a warning, watching you push your tongue out to wet your bottom lip and attempt to relax your body. The question had been on the tip of everyone’s tongue, but very few tried to asked. Which you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

The only person who knew anything had been Mingyu, and that was only to get him to agree to rent to you. He too had been weary of you when you first walked into his diner. Tired from driving hours from the city, lost, hungry, and desperate for a place for you and your cat to rest.

There was a loud crack as Jeonghan took his shot, the sound of the cue ball hitting the eight ball perfectly and pocketing it easily. Winning the game. Straightening himself back up, he looked at you both with a triumphant grin on his face and a shrug to his shoulder.

“It’s just an honest question. It’s not like we’d judge her.” He defended his reasoning, and while what he said may be true, it didn’t mean you were comfortable enough to share it yet. Let alone in a bar. “The last time we had anyone new move here was Joshua and his mom in high school. Can’t blame us for being curious.”

“You don’t have to answer,” Seungcheol told you, arms crossed and the grip on the pool stick tightening. It was hard to not stare at the way his muscled bulged doing this, while you shifted in your seat. You knew you didn’t have to answer, but his assurance did help.

Jeonghan’s eyes flicked between the two of you, his head tilted, studying something you couldn’t see, before his focus was mostly on Seungcheol. The corner of his lips turned up, a flash of something go across his own dark eyes, before giving him a nod.

“I see.” That was all he said before setting the pool stick onto the table to saunter passed his friend and you, “I am going for a smoke and see if I can flirt some free drinks out of Jihoon over there. You two want to join?”

“I don’t smoke,” You shake your head.

“I quit remember,” Seungcheol answered at the same time, then let out a scoff, “And good luck with the flirting. He’ll just charge you double.”

“Price to pay to see him get all cute and flustered.” The pretty man joked, leaving the two of you alone at the tables.

A pregnant silence followed.

“I’m sorry that he asked that.”

“Don’t be,” You say him waving him off, slightly wishing that your empty glass still had alcohol in it. “I don’t blame him or anyone else wanting to ask… I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Seungcheol said calmly, finishing what was left of his beer. Setting it with the growing collection of empty bottles, he caught the way your eyes went to his arms before back to his face. Making his already red flushed skin brighten, gesturing toward the pool table. “You want to play?”

“I don’t know how to,” You repeat what you had said earlier when Jeonghan had invited you to play, and this earned a chuckle from the blond man.

“I’m not that good myself, but it’s pretty straightforward,” He then went on to give you a quick lesson on the game. Explaining the rules. You would either be solid or stripes and needed to get them all pocketed before putting in the black eight ball using a white cue ball and a pool stick. It sounded easy enough. Grabbing the stick that Jeonghan had been used, he offered it to you.

“Thank you for the offer, but…” You went to decline, only to stop when your gaze went from the pool stick to his face, finding that his bottom lip started to jut out in a pout. You managed to stop the laugh that wanted to escape you, but not the smile that graced your lips. He really was pouting over this.

Something inside you told you to take him up, and for once, you listened.

“You know what,” Standing from your seat, you took the stick he was offering. “One game.”

“That’s my girl.” He said softly, setting up the table so you could start a game, but you didn’t catch it. Instead, you stood there paying attention to what he was doing, letting him teach you. Once ready, he gestured toward the table, “You first.”

“Me?” You asked with wide eyes. He nodded his head as you shook yours, “I think you should start, so I can see what I should do.”

“You been watching us all night,” Despite this, Seungcheol didn’t argue further and positioned his stick with the cue ball. “Just got to make sure you’re lined up just right, and…” the stick hit the cue, breaking the triangle of balls at the end of the table. He straightens up as they ricocheted around, even pocketing a couple, “the game is started. Your turn.”

With a deep breath, you moved into position, trying to mimic what he had just shown you. Lining up the stick with the cue ball, but when you went to hit it you missed.

“Shit,” You muttered under your breath, and Seungcheol laughed softly.

“Your postures wrong. Here try again,” He encouraged, and you did as you were told. What you weren’t expecting was Seungcheol leaning over you, one hand placed gently on your elbow and his other helping you adjust your stance. His chest was slightly pressed against your back as he leaned closer, his mouth close to your ear. “You stand like this. Your eyes should be leveled, so you can get a good look at your shot.”

You were listening, but you could also feel your brain suddenly stop working at the smell of his perfume hitting your nostrils, or how his hot breath hit your ear. It made your own breath catch in your throat feeling his warm body encase yours, something that he clearly heard by the way he froze but didn’t let go. When he turned his head to look at you, you took the chance to hit the cue.

The cracking of the ball hitting another echoed, and you took the chance to move from him as a solid one dropped into one of the pockets. Barely able to register it with your skin feeling hot, tingling from his warm breath against it.

“Looks like you’re solids,” Seungcheol mumbled out, his attention staying on the table, but you could see that the red tint of his skin was now deeper. Taking a deep breath, he took his turn, “That makes me stripes.”

Neither of you got close like that again as the game played on, with Jeonghan returning with three more drinks that he tried to claim was free. Taking your original seat, he wasn’t watching the game you were playing, he was watching the two of you. Easily picking up the way you were acting. 

You were talking and laughing like nothing happened, but the lingering glances you kept doing made it pretty obvious that something was there.

“Last call!” Jihoon called out right as Seungcheol landed the winning shot, sinking the eight-ball easily. You hadn’t realized it was so late nor had you intended to stay out this long.

“Good game.” Seungcheol stuck his hand that you took to shake, making eye contact with him in the process. His eyes darkened with something unspoken, as if he was still thinking about that moment earlier, his hand gently squeezing yours. This time you didn’t let your body betray you and kept wearing a friendly smile.

“Same here.” You answer. It was then that you two realized that Jeonghan had disappeared. “Where did…”

“He does that. I got to give it to him, he stayed longer than he usually does.” The blond answered, taking your pool stick to put away. Taking this chance, you looked back around the now empty bar, with only you, Seungcheol, and the bartender named Jihoon left. Who had been staring you both down since yelling last call minutes earlier.

When you went to close your tab, you found it had already been paid for, and your other drinks had been placed on Seungcheol’s.

“No, let me pay!” You tell him when he pulled out his wallet to pay, digging through your jean pockets for yours. “It’s only fair since you paid for my dinner the other night.”

“You don’t owe me for that, and you don’t owe me for this,” He said simply, already handing several bills to the shorter man. Jihoon then gave you both a nod, his way of saying goodnight you guess, and went to close the tab. You went to protest, your own lip jutting out in a pout, and this made Seungcheol let out a laugh. Leading you out of the bar, you were met with the cool, dewy air and an empty street.

The still cold night sent a shiver through you, going from a warm bar to this that not even your thermal was able to help like you hoped. Seungcheol, now covered in a black leather jacket, took notice and attempted to take it off to give to you.

“No, I’m okay. I will just blast the heater when I get into my car.” You shake your head, and he slowly pulled it back over his shoulder.

“Let me walk you to your car at least.” He didn’t give you the opportunity to decline though, directing you in the direction the only two vehicles on the street. Your little black  Buick, and his old white Chevy truck. “You good to drive home?”

“I’ll be okay. How about you?” You ask, stopping next to the driver side of your car, watching the way Seungcheol slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His own gaze on you.

“Yeah, it takes more than the weak ass beer that Jihoon gets in to make a difference.” He nodded, neither of you making any moves to leave.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“For dinner the other night, the drinks tonight and hanging out, and… for walking me to my car.” You manage to stutter out, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the cold air hitting your face. This earned a smile from him, a gummy one that made his eyes crinkle, and the dimples on his cheeks deepened.

The smile made him look younger, almost boyish, making you want to keep seeing it. Keep having it in your direction.

“Anytime.” His gaze stayed on you for moments longer, his grin softening before he nods his head to you. “Have a goodnight, Y/N.”

“You too, Seungcheol.”

*April*

 If there is one thing about a small town like Diamond Ridge, it’s how easily word can spread even when you don’t want it to. Rumors and gossip can be shaped with each exchange of ‘what so and so said or seen’ and become almost its own being and farthest from the truth. Even if it was a complete misunderstanding, or something that was misinterpreted by nosey eyes.

Being shown how to play pool and then being walked to your car after is a good example.

You still weren’t used to the way people would stare or whisper around you, but you had learned to tune it out. Ignore whatever story they have spun about you, why you moved to the town, how you dressed or kept to yourself. It was easier than to let yourself listen or even try to defend yourself with things you weren’t comfortable to give away.

You didn’t need them to look at you with suspicion and pity. If they even cared to show pity.

When you worked, you kept a friendly smile on your face, ignoring the stares that the patrons would provide you as you served them. You kept a friendly smile as some of them would request another server or Mingyu to help them instead of you. You taught yourself how to not take it all to heart, to not think about it, hoping that if you kept your head down enough it would all stop.

That was until Mingyu had come to you with concern.

“There you are,” He sounded relieved when he stepped foot out of the diner to find you out there. You were sitting on the steps that lead to your apartment, your focus on way the trees around the diner were full of leaves and flowers, while watching the way the birds flew from each branch. Singing a song that only they could understand. “Seokmin told me you went on break but weren’t in your hiding spot in the kitchen.”

“It’s a nice day out. I figured getting some fresh air would be nice.” You answer him, a smile gracing your lips as you enjoyed the view of the trees that stretched far behind the diner. You hadn’t dared to venture into them yet, but you wondered how easy it would be to get ‘lost’ in them. To let nature surround you instead of people. Then you noticed the look of concern on his face, “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head in a nervous way, not sure how to broach the subject. “I really don’t know how to talk to you about this.”

“Did I mess up on someone’s order?” It was a reasonable thing to ask, you had been busier than usual that morning and at one point it felt like a blur. By the time your break came around, you couldn’t stay in the stuffy diner, not even in the little walk in fridge that you had claimed as a small hiding spot.

“No, your service has been great, everyone who I spoke to admits that you’re good at your job,” He shook his head before taking a seat next to you on the steps. He runs his hand through his dark hair, “But there has been… concerns.”

“Concerns?” You repeat flatly, the smile on your face dropping. “What kind of concerns?”

“Someone saw you getting cozy with Seungcheol at the bar the other night and leave with him after it closed.” He answered after a moment, still sounding unsure at his approach. You could only blink. “Did you?”

“I went to the bar, yeah, but I was not cozying up to anyone. Seungcheol and his friend Jeonghan invited me to drink with them instead of alone and play some pool. Then he walked me to my car after the bar closed, he went home and I came back here. That’s it, nothing happened.” You tell him honestly, your hands slowly closing into fists. Trying to figure out who could have made that up, then again, you couldn’t put it past anyone here in town. “Besides, what’s the concern over it anyways?”

“Because if you haven’t noticed, most of the people asking for a different server… are couples…” Mingyu said slowly, and you blinked confused. You didn’t exactly notice what kind of people were requesting to not be served by you, but thinking back to it all, it was mostly couples asking. The women being the ones requesting it, and it started to make sense about what their looks of disgust meant.

You had been so used to ignoring and not acknowledging them that it didn’t occur to you what was happening. You started to rack your brain and started to pay attention to the mumblings, the whispers, and you remembered why you learned to ignore it.

“I didn’t even try to think about it… I mean it’s not like he’s…” The words died on your lips, already sounding unsure and full of the annoyance that was starting to build in your chest. Mingyu didn’t answer, he just watched you with a pitied look that said to use your head. “Seungcheol… isn’t single.”

“They’re not anything official yet, but he has been seen around town with her more often than not. So, yeah.” Mingyu could see the way your eyes dimmed, and the frown on your face deepening. “I take it that you didn’t know.”

“No, because I don’t go around asking people if they are taken. I didn’t even actively seek him out, I was invited to hang out with them as a friend.” Your voice continued to not come out the way you wanted, with it coming out higher than you would like and probably sounded pathetic to Mingyu.

“Hey, I believe you,” Your boss said with a sigh, reaching over and patting your knee, “Cheol is a nice guy, and he’d give you the shirt off his own back if needed. Hell, this town knows him, but they just don’t know you… or your intentions.”

“My intentions is to live my life without bullshit,” You snap, swallowing back the sting of angry tears. “My intentions is to not think about my mom or my life back in the city. Not be labeled as some harlot.”

“I know. Trust me, I know better than most here how cruel these people can be.” His voice was quieter when he said this, the same hand patting your knee squeezed. “But don’t stop doing what you been doing. Keep your head high and just ignore the talk.” He then stands and turns to you with a crooked smile, showing off a long canine, “They’re all just bored bastards anyways. It won’t be long until they are bored over this and onto the next target.”

“Can’t they already be done with it,” You sigh, knowing that by the look on his face that your break was over and he was waiting for you to come with him. Standing, you smoothed out your light pink dress uniform before following him in.

“One can only wish,” Mingyu chuckled, opening the back door for you.

You didn’t expect to run into Seungcheol again so soon, or at the post office of all places. You were already in line to get stamps when he stepped into it behind you, holding a piece of mail he was sending off, and there was a shift in the air. His eyes moving to your back while you continued to look forward, clutching your wallet to your chest, counting to see how many people were in front of you.

Four. With one elderly clerk that was working at a snail’s pace.

Why was this post office so busy for a small town? And why did it have to be right then?

“We’re going to be here a while. Mr. Han likes to take his time on top of already being slow moving,” You could hear him say to you quietly, but you didn’t look back to him. Instead you took a slow inhale through your nose before licking your lips, trying your best to ignore him. Last thing you wanted was more fuel to the fire that rumor created. Then he spoke again, “I’m sorry, by the way.”

“Of course, you are,” You muttered to yourself, but he heard it. Though it wasn’t like you didn’t mean for him to though.

“I am sorry.” He said again, and you were happy that he couldn’t see you rolling your eyes. Of course, he is. They always are when they’re caught, even if they aren’t the ones getting the shit end of it all. “I wasn’t trying to cause any issues. We didn’t like that you were drinking alone and wanted to make friends.”

“Friends… yeah, that’s totally what ended up happening,” You let out a scoff, but you knew that he wasn’t the one who started or twisted the rumor and it included him. You felt bad for that, but he was the one who had gotten close to you, the one who sought you out with his friend, he was the one who didn’t tell you that he was seeing someone. Whether he had meant to or not, you were the punished one. 

“Y/N.” That was when you turned to look at him, trying to keep your features neutral unlike his. His thick brows knitted tight, with a deep frown playing over his features, his dark eyes swirling with annoyance and hurt. You knew it wasn’t exactly directed toward you, but you didn’t factor it out. The one thing you were certain that was directed toward you was the underlying concern in them.

The clerk finally called the next person, and you turned to shuffle forward.

“I’m serious.” He said softly, but you didn’t bother looking back again and kept your eyes forward. Your fingers tightening around your wallet and cardigan. “Is there a way I can make this up to you?”

You didn’t answer him, ignoring him rather than engaging any further with him. It didn’t matter if he tried to make up for this, it would only make things worse. Any interactions you had up until this point had been soured since Mingyu came to you, and any after now. Which sucked because you liked being around him, but maybe it was better this way.

Seungcheol must have gotten the hint because he stopped trying to talk to you and stood behind you with a heavy wave of frustration radiating off him. It made you shift on your feet uncomfortably, wondering if anyone else here could feel it, but you refused to look back. You didn’t want to give him more of a chance to talk to you, nor did you want to see the look on his face.

After another ten agonizing minutes, it was finally your turn to get your stamps and left without giving Seungcheol another glance. The only time you looked over your shoulder was once you were out of the small post office, catching him through the window, talking to the elderly clerk with a wide smile.

Disappointment heavy on your shoulders that you still wished to be a subject of that smile despite it all.

After watching you drive away that night, Seungcheol sat in his truck until he had no other choice but to drive home. His eyes stayed on the empty space where your old Buick had been, and where he had said goodnight to you. With his mind replaying that night over and over.

“Isn’t that the new girl?” He remembered Jeonghan asking this, his eyes flicking past him and made him look over his shoulder. To see you sitting alone in one of the booths, your wide eyes on him with a look of surprise. It actually nearly made him smile with how cute you were looking. Then Jeonghan had burst into laughter right when you looked down to your drink. “She’s been checking you out, and she’s all alone too. Go talk to her.”

While the other man ended up taking over, leaning heavily into being a wingman when he shouldn’t have, Seungcheol was happy that he did approach you. If he hadn’t, he doubt he would get to see that you were more than just shy and to yourself. You were sweet, funny, with a warm smile and a giggle that made him willing to do anything just to keep them in his direction. To learn more about you.

He hadn’t liked that Jeonghan had made you uncomfortable with his questions, stepping in to stop it from going any further. He remembered that you looked grateful when he had, that someone’s in your corner and didn’t want to trap you in it. It made him feel good to see this, with it being a while since he felt this way over someone.

Leaning his face into his hand, Seungcheol could still smell the sweetness of either your perfume or shampoo when he was showing you how to play pool. He could still hear the soft hitch in your breath when he had leaned over you to help you, something he had done plenty of times in the past, but there was something about being in your space, smelling how sweet you were, and your reaction that made it feel different for him.

He wasn’t sure about the stirring in his chest as he continued to sit and think about you. Your style, the way you were yourself, how beautiful and attractive he thought you were. All of this was dangerous to him. He was a man who had things planned out already, working hard to have the home he always wanted, to be able to live without naught, and already had someone in mind to share that life with.

And here you are, coming in and making him question if he really was right with choosing to pursue Danni. If maybe he had gotten it wrong after all.

No, it was just because you were new. A new face in a sea of faces that he would see every day, you were fresh and something he wasn’t used to. He hoped that this feeling would fade, and once it does, you could be a good friend for him. Except that still didn’t stop him from thinking about you the entire drive home.

That was as far as this town would allow him to get before it made the choice for him.

Words and rumors in this town spread like wildfire, so really this was no different. Whoever was at the bar that night had to of only seen the two of you playing pool and taken it wrong because neither of you were cozied up with each other. Hell, Jeonghan was hanging off him more and being all cozy with him, so one needed to be a dumb mother fucker to confuse his and your height and build. Or so drunk that they wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between their asshole and a hole in the ground.

For Seungcheol, the most he had to face was the wrath of Danni since he didn’t give a single shit what anyone else said in this town. Their opinions didn’t affect how he was treated by them, nor did it effect his business since he wasn’t the actual target. You were.

You were the one who was facing the towns judgement and distrust. All because a drunken fool wanted to run their mouth.

When he saw you again, he couldn’t blame you for the way you acted toward him. Refusing to give him the time of day, walking away from him when all he wanted was to make things right, choosing to protect yourself instead of letting him in. Except he couldn’t deny that it still hurt, to watch you build a wall before he could even find solid ground. So much so it soured his mood for the rest of the day, and it was felt all around.

He didn’t like that this emotion was being pulled out of him because of you as well. He didn’t like that he barely knew you and you already took over his thoughts and emotions.

The next time he saw you was a nearly a week later at the diner. You were working that night, busy with several tables that you hadn’t noticed him coming in. Or the woman at his side, with her hand resting possessively on his bicep as her own eyes looked around, but your back turned when she looked your way. She was making it quite obvious that she was looking for someone.

A sudden uncomfortable feeling started to build inside, a turning in his stomach as it slowly dawned on him what was happening here. Danni had been insistent that they go out that night, have a bit of a date night. Movie and a late night dinner at the diner was what she wanted, and well, he wanted to give it to her.  She was who he had intended to spend his life with, so he wanted to give her anything she wanted.

Except, he started to think that she didn’t actually want to come here for a late dinner date or sit through that shitty movie she chose. His jaw tightened as he forced himself to look away from you, smiling and laughing with a set of teenagers you were serving, to look toward Danni. Who had caught sight of you… and the empty table in your section.

“There is a free table right there, Cheollie,” The sugary sweet tone she was putting on was aggravating to him, now that he realized the real reason they were there. Danni acted like she didn’t notice as she pulled him to the booth, her grip on his arm tightened.

He almost didn’t go with her, let her drag him to the empty booth, instead wanting to drag her out of the diner. Demand what she was trying to accomplish by bringing him there while you’re working and tell her how childish she was acting when you had made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with him. Except he knew this was a test for him too.

Both her and the people watching them looking for anything to make things worse. And if he failed, you would be the one to blame.

Seungcheol didn’t care what they thought with him, he never did. He did care what judgement they had toward you, without you even knowing what you were being judged further for. Not when all you were doing was trying to find your place in this town that only had a small few welcoming you.

Slipping into the booth, Danni made sure to sit on the side that faced where you were checking on another table, receiving glares instead of a response. A smirk stretched over her pink glossed lips, flipping her long sleek hair over her shoulder before reaching out for him. A gesture that Seungcheol didn’t return, with his jaw still set tight, a frown gracing his features, and crossed arms.

She knew that he was pissed, she knew that he was onto her, but the way her eyes kept flicking over his shoulder told him she didn’t care. She was making a statement, and one that she was not going to like the outcome of.

“Good evening! My name is Y/N, I will be your server tonight.” You spoke up, stopping in front of the table, a bright smile playing over your lips. Except Seungcheol could see that it didn’t meet your eyes, and that you were refusing to look at him more than you needed to. Setting the menus down in front of them both, you pulled out your notepad to take their drink orders, “Should we get started with some drinks while you decide?”

“That would be so lovely!” Danni responded to you with her own smile, only hers was more menacing while she looked you over. Sizing you up from what it looks like, “I’ll take a sweet, iced tea, easy on the ice.” You nodded, writing down it down. Still not looking at him, “What about you Cheollie?”

“I’ll have the root beer, and we can order our meals now. We know what we want,” He said flatly, making you look up at him in surprise. Catching the way his eyes flashed toward Danni, his annoyance nearly palpable among the three of you. “I’ll take the number seven, medium well patty and cheese. I’ll also have the fries instead of the potato salad.”

“Coming right up, and for you Miss?” You nodded, writing down his order quickly and looked to Danni, who had been watching the two of you. Trying to catch you two in some act right in front of her. She was really pissing him off doing this.

“I’ll take number ten, the clam chowder, and could you ask Seokmin to put the oyster crackers in the soup for me instead of on the side? Thank you so much.” She rattled off quickly, almost too quickly and you nearly missed her added request.

“Alright, so I have the number seven with a medium well patty, cheese, and fries instead of the potato salad. Along with a root beer for you.” You repeated calmly, not showing that Danni’s antics was phasing you, barely looking up from your notepad. “And for you the number ten, with the oyster crackers in the soup and not on the side. As well as the sweet, iced tea with easy ice and forgive me, did you want the lemon on the side or in the drink?”

“On the side.” Seungcheol watched with brief satisfaction as Danni’s lip curled in annoyance, her voice not sickening sweet as it was. With another nod, you give both of them a smile.

“I’ll get that put in now and be back with your drinks in a moment.” And with that, you walked away to put in the ticket. Seungcheol didn’t dare look your way, not when he was being watched by others around them. Danni instead was practically breaking her neck to watch you go.

“Ugh, I can’t stand her.” Danni scoffed in disgust, twisting back in her seat and crossing her arms like a brat, the jingle of her bracelets could be heard over the chatter around them. She didn’t seem to notice or care that Seungcheol was staring her down pissed. “Can she be anymore pretentious? Acting like she’s better than me.”

“She was just doing her job, and you don’t even know her,” Seungcheol snapped, making her look at him, her golden brown eyes staring him down. “How many times do I have to tell you that nothing happened? We invited her to play pool and drink with us. You and the rest of this god forsaken town make it seem like we fucked on the pool table.”

“Seungcheol!” She gasped, looking around as if she was making sure no one heard him. “Don’t talk like that. It’s impolite and immature.”

“And what you were just doing wasn’t?” He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his voice low enough that it stayed between them both. His eyes stared her down, watching the way she shrunk slightly before straightening up. A frown playing over her pretty face.

“Listen, all I am doing is make sure she knows I exist and think next time she even wants to look twice at you,” There was so much conviction in her voice, with an eye roll that would back it up. “Let her know that you got someone prettier, more put together, and doesn’t look like they pulled their clothes out of a dumpster. Not some unwelcomed slut.”

“Danni, that’s enough.” Seungcheol could feel his anger started to get the better of him, his eyes piercing through someone he thought he could fall in love with and have a life with. You didn’t even give him the time of day, and here she was tearing you apart like you both were still making eyes at each other. “You don’t talk about her like that, and you sure as hell won’t call her names. I don’t give a shit what that makes you think of me, but you aren’t going to punish her for no damn reason.”

“Seungcheol…”

“Here is your drinks,” Mingyu spoke up, setting down both glasses along with a straw each, this made the couple look at him in confusion. You were their server, “Y/N needed to go on break, so I will be taking over your table. Your food will be ready soon.”

Seungcheol snapped his face toward Danni, who was fighting the triumphant grin threatening to break through. He sure as hell hoped it was actually your break and not because you heard what she had said. But from the frown on Mingyu’s face, the sickening turn in his stomach, and how you didn’t return as their server once back, that was the case.

It made him unable to eat his meal. Everything feeling so wrong and cruel, and he unable get out of his head the way you wouldn’t look his way at all. 

Seungcheol didn’t say anything to Danni when he dropped her off to her place, not even acknowledging the kiss she pressed against the corner of his mouth. His eyes still forward, with his blood running hot, and his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. Failing to not appear as tense as he was.

“Call me later, baby. Goodnight.” Danni called out before closing the door, either oblivious of his anger or she simply did not care. To her, she won that night.

Once he was she got in, Seungcheol put the truck into drive and pressed on the gas. His tires squealed against the asphalt as he u-turned on the quiet street, followed by a roar of his engine as he sped off.

He needed to clear his head. Needed to rethink everything.

The sky darker than usual, rain clouds starting to gather as he sped through the empty roads. Passed the mixture of houses and thick trees, passed the dirt road that lead to his own place, and into the small quiet town. He did no clearing of the mind as he drove, the streets starting to grow dark except for a few streetlights, and the porch lights of the houses in town. It was late, people were sleeping and probably being woken by the sound of his truck.

He didn’t realize he was driving to the diner until he pulled into the near empty parking lot. The only vehicles there were Seokmin’s bright yellow Beetle, Mingyu’s red Suburban, and your black Buick. He could see through the windows the tables empty, which was a strange sight to see when there was normally always someone there eating, and Mingyu animatedly talking to someone as he wiped down tables. Not bothering to look out the window at the approaching truck.

Turning off the headlights, Seungcheol parked his truck at the farthest end of the lot where it was harder to see anything inside. He leaned back into his seat, running his hand through his hair, once styled to look nice now sticking up everywhere, watching the diner. Contemplating on going in to ask to speak to you.

He was friends with Seokmin and Mingyu, knowing both when they were pushing each other in the mud as kids, so he trusted that they wouldn’t say anything. He’d be able to apologize for Danni’s actions, once more ask for your forgiveness. Be able to talk to you and maybe get you to see that he truly didn’t intend for things to get so messed up.

It was like fate though, that before he made the choice to go inside, the back door opened and you emerged. Carrying a large trash bag, laughing loudly as you yelled something back inside, and a genuine smile playing over your lips. Brightening your face in a way that made his mouth to drop in awe, and his heart flutter. Seungcheol craved to be the reason behind it.

“Y/N!” He called out as he got out of the truck and walked toward you, making you nearly jump out of your skin and fling the trash bag toward him. It didn’t land far from you, and Seungcheol stopped short. Both of you looking at the bag in confusion. It was you who recovered first and picked it up.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, making sure that there wasn’t any tears in the bag before tossing it into the dumpster. “Besides trying to scare me to death.”

“I.. sorry about that,” he let out a nervous chuckle, the corner of his lip upturned slightly. “I… I came to talk to you. To apologize…”

“For your girlfriend saying I pull my clothes out of the dumpster? Or that she’s prettier than me? That she’s more well off than I am? That I am some unwelcomed slut?” You finish for him, finally looking his way. Your bright smile dropping to a sardonic one, turning toward him as your arms crossed. “It might be hard to believe, but I actually don’t give a shit what she has to say about me. Or anyone else in this town for that matter.”

“Still, it wasn’t right.”

“So, you are going to make it right, is that what you are going to do?” You let out a laugh, “I don’t need you to do that, because it’s not your place to make it right.” You hold your hand up to stop him from saying anything. Seungcheol had opened his mouth to argue back but stopped so easily for you. “Just leave it be, Cheol. It sucks, yeah, but sometimes words can only go so deep. And if you only knew, you would understand what I mean by that.”

“Please, I know I can make this right.”

“By what?” There is a sudden waver in your voice, a hitch in your throat. You held onto your smile, though he had achingly watched it change from one that could brightened his day, to a sad one that you were wearing now. “By apologizing for her and the town? To get me to look at you again? I am no one, Seungcheol. Just a lost soul who is trying to find their way in life again.”

The back door then opened to Seokmin, looking out for you with concern. That concern didn’t ease when he saw Seungcheol standing there either.

“Maybe, in another lifetime, things would have worked out differently,” You tell him, walking away before he could reach to stop you. Stopping at the door where Seokmin was still standing, you gave Seungcheol one last smile. Bright, and beautiful but oh so terribly sad. “If you want to make things right, then do it by letting it all go.”

Then you were gone.

**May**

The little town of Diamond Ridge was a mixture of beautiful clear weather and rainy days from April through May. The rain making the surrounding trees and plant life flourish, with everything greener, brighter, and nourished. It made you not regret stopping here after a long drive with your cat, nor regret walking into the diner to ask Mingyu if he knew anywhere you could rent.

So much so that you found yourself going out more no matter what the weather was. Taking trips to the market, visiting the library, explore the trails behind the diner, and stroll through the small park in town. The stares had died down, with only a few still doing it, helping to ease the anxiety you felt. You may not give a shit what these people thought or said, but you sure as hell didn’t like being stared at like you were.

“The Outsiders, huh?” A voice asked next to you while you were looking over the movie box, considered renting it. You found yourself at a small movie rental shop near Cheers and had been browsing the movie selections when the voice had approached.

Looking in his direction, you were met with a younger man standing next to you, his brown eyes looking down at the movie in your hand. He was tall, with high cheek bones that were emphasized by the grey beanie that he was wearing, and his outfit was just a simple pair of jeans with a black t-shirt. Around those eyes were some of the prettiest lashes and eyebrows you had ever seen on anyone, and had to tell yourself to not be jealous, though you really were.

“Ye…yeah… it’s one of my favorites.” You started to stutter out but managed to find your voice, handing over the movie without thinking. Letting the stranger take it from you, to look over the covering. “Was just trying to decide if I wanted to watch it again. If you want to rent it, go ahead, I seen it plenty of times.”

“While I appreciate that, I actually work here and I have a copy of my own.” He let out a soft chuckle, but still flipping the box cover around to read the back.

“Oh,” You answer, feeling your face grow warm with embarrassment.

“You have good taste,” He commented nodding, handing it back to you with a smile, “I’m Vernon.”

“Y/N…” You respond, taking the movie back and braced yourself for the same reaction you always got. Except all Vernon did was nod and repeat it out loud.

“You’re the one who moved into the apartment above the diner, right?” He then asked, and you nodded. “Gotta admit, I’m pretty jealous. That place is such a good spot. Spacious, right above the diner and don’t even need to cook if you don’t want to. And you work there, so that’s even better, don’t have to waste the gas.”

“It can be, but the downfall is that if I want to call out, I have Mingyu at my door. Either calling my bluff or trying to force feed me soup. He told me that when he agreed to give me the place and the job.” You point out, and Vernon chuckled again. He had a nice laugh, and he didn’t look at you like everyone else did. It reminded you a bit of Seungcheol, since he didn’t look at you like an outcast either.

“Yeah, I can believe it. He’s always been that way.”

“Everyone really seems to know each other here.” You mumble, more to yourself but he had heard you.

“Well, we all grew up together, and it’s not every day we get someone new moving here. I think the last people to move here was my friend Josh and his mom when we were teens.” Vernon then pointed toward the movie, “You ready to check out? I can get you hooked up with the employee rental discount… and my number if you want.”

“I would like that.”

“Sweet.”

Vernon was great. He was easy going, loved a good movie or a good album, polite, gorgeous, and most of all, single. It was nice to have someone other than Mingyu and Seokmin to talk to, and you couldn’t think of anyone better than Vernon.

He also liked you. Taking you out or coming by with a stack of movies to binge. He listened to you when you talked, didn’t care or believed the rumors that were started over you. Stating that he didn’t see you the way they painted you and knew Seungcheol wasn’t that kind of guy. Giving you empathy when others didn’t.

Vernon also knew that you liked him, but not that way. He knew that you wanted to, even sharing a few heated kisses during a few hang outs, but something was holding you back. Except that it wasn’t something, it was someone. Someone you couldn’t have or think about.

Vernon was great, but he wasn’t Seungcheol.

You hated that you were still thinking about him after everything. That you were still thinking about how, besides Mingyu and Seokmin, Seungcheol was the first to welcome you to this town. You hated that you wanted to be back in the cross path of his kind eyes, be the reason for a smile over his lips, and be close to him the same way you were that night at the bar. It didn’t matter that the rumors and gossip ruined it, you still found yourself wanting to go back again.

But you couldn’t. Seungcheol and you were not meant to be. He was taken, he had someone already in his life, and you were left wishing that it was all different. Stupid on your part really, to wish that you could go back so that you can explore that what if in your head, when the results would be the same. Maybe they would be even worse, because no matter what. He was spoken for and you’d be what the town thought.

“Movie night this Friday?” Vernon asked through the receiver, “We just got this new movie in, The Little Rascals. I actually saw it in theaters. It’s a pretty cute film.”

“That movie should work, be a lot better than the movie from the other night,” You nodded as if the younger man could see you through the phone. One hand holding the thick white plastic house phone, while the other gently scratched the top of Max’s head. His chubby tabby body curled up next to you, purring softly as your scratches lulled him into a sleep.

“Listen, I thought since you liked Pretty in Pink and The Breakfast Club that you would like St. Elmo’s Fire. It had the brat pack!” Vernon defended his movie choice, making you both start to laugh.

“I mean the movie wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good either.” You pointed out, before sighing, “I’m gonna let you go. It’s my day off and I haven’t done shit on my to do list because you’re distracting me.”

“I will not take responsibility for your bad choices, Y/N.” He quipped.

“We literally been on the phone for the last two hours, and if I am not mistaken, you’re working.”

“I don’t see how that’s important here, because unlike you, I been productive. I put a movie away.” The two of you burst into laughter at this, then he gasps, “Oh shit, before I let you go. Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Cheol officially ended things with Danni. I think it happened last week after not talking to her for like… I don’t know, I just know that they aren’t a thing anymore.” Vernon chattered off, and your brows seemed to furrow. Why was he telling you this?

“Uh, no. I haven’t,” You said slowly, before a familiar uncomfortable feeling started to bubble inside. “I’m not being blamed for it this time, am I?”

“Cheol finally realized that she was a bitch and a terrible person, and him settling down with her wouldn’t change that.” You could picture Vernon shrugging before he spoke again. “And uh.. yeah you’re kind of to be blamed too.” You went to protest before he cut you off, “But… just hear him out. Don’t close the door.”

“What…” Lightening flashed through the sky as a click could be heard on the other end of the line. You stared at the phone with pure confusion, Max tossing his head back to get you to start petting him again. “Weirdo.”

The knock came about twenty minutes later, when you had put a load of clothes into the old washer that came with the place. You weren’t expecting anyone, not that anyone would come see you, and Mingyu would call you if he needed something. Respecting your space by not being an overbearing landlord. Not to mention, the rain was now coming down like sheets, so whoever was out there had to be insane.

What Vernon said before hanging up made sense when you opened the door, because standing before you was Seungcheol. His blond hair wet from the pouring rain, sticking to his forehead as he stood there. His white button up sticking to his frame with a few buttons undone down to his chest, and blue jeans darkened. Droplets sliding down his handsome features, his gaze fixated on you.

Soft, worried, scared, but hopeful. It made your heart stutter and your breath catch in your throat.

“I been standing out here for the last twenty minutes trying to get the courage to knock,” He yelled so that the rain didn’t drown his words out. You could only stare at him with wide eyes, words escaping you. “From the moment I saw you, there was something about you that I couldn’t get out of my head, and I didn’t know what that meant. Until the night at the bar, when we played pool…” He took a breath before continuing, taking your silence as a chance to say what he wanted to say. “I am still so sorry about what happened after, and this sounds so fucked up, but I wish nothing more for that rumor to have been true… I wanted to kiss you at your car that night, I wanted to hear that little sound from the pool table again. Over and over.

You moving into town made me realize that I was settling with Danni. Thought she was going to be enough, but how could she be when you were the only thing on my mind? You take over my every waking thought, and you invade my dreams at night.” Your mind was buzzing as he continued to speak, unable to move or speak. “I have no idea what the future holds, but I knew that I would regret every day if I married her when I didn’t love her. I would regret not finding out what could have been with you…”

You didn’t let him continue, stepping out onto the patio to join him in the rain. Cupping his cheeks to pull his face to yours. The moment that your lips met, it was like the cold spring rain warmed, and every part of you was coming to life. His full lips felt slightly chapped, but still soft and even better than you had imagined.

Seungcheol didn’t react for a moment, taken off guard at your sudden action, before his body physically relaxed and returned your kiss. His arms slipped around your waist, pulling you flushed against his frame, his muscles firm under the soaked material and softness of his skin. He felt hot under your touch, running the tip of his tongue over the bottom of your lip, begging for more of you. Which you welcomed, now that you have finally tasted him, desperate for more.

He took over your every sense, after weeks of fighting the yearning feeling for him you let it win. Shattering the moment his tongue met yours, and all you could think about was him, Seungcheol. You needed him to keep touching you, needing to make up for the weeks of thinking about that small moment. To find out what this all meant. You knew you couldn’t stop as his own kiss grew desperate too.

Seungcheol needed this as much as you did. Maybe more, but there was no point in trying to play who needed it more. The point was that you both needed this, you both couldn’t keep pretending.

Slowly moving his hands from your waist, running them over the curve of your ass before grasping at your thighs to pull you up. You let out a soft gasp into his mouth when he lifted you, hooking your arms around his neck and your legs wrapped around his waist to brace yourself. His thick hands having a firm hold on you, letting your own hold around his neck loosen to push your fingers through his short hair. The strands still soaked from the rain, while you were no better off. Your own hair wet, sticking to your skin, and your clothes already soaked themselves.

Neither of you gave a shit though.

You couldn’t pull away from his mouth, not caring the need to breathe, so you didn’t notice that he had carried you back inside. You barely registered that you were no longer being pelted with rain in your make out and now in the warmth of your apartment. Nothing around you mattered except Seungcheol.

“No… no…” You gasped out the words when he pulled away, though your lung thanked the sudden rush of air to them. Both your lips were red, swollen, and wet from your kiss.

When he looked at you, it was with different eyes. Lids heavy, pupils blown out giving way to darkened swirls. The emotions that were etched in them earlier gone and replaced was a deep desire. A want that sent a fire through your body and settling in your core.

“Y/N…” If the way he was looking at you didn’t do you in, it was the way his voice came out in a deep rasp, heavy breaths to find the air you took from his lungs. You surged forward, crashing your lips against his as your fingers clung to his hair. Unable to hold back from kissing him again.

“Please…” You whispered against his lips, hoping that a simple sentence would tell him everything you were feeling in those moments. Everything you had been feeling over the weeks.

He was the key to turn you back on, the light at the end of a dark tunnel, and now that you had him. You weren’t going to let him go anytime soon.

You needed him. And you knew he needed you.

“Where’s your bed?” It was his only response, and every part of you now burning with need. The water on your skin drying from the heat of your skin.

You allowed him to pull away enough to watch where you gestured toward the full on the opposite end of the apartment. The dark bedding still a mess from when you woke that morning, not thinking about making it. His gaze followed your hand before nodding, taking long strides to your bed. While you took the liberties to kiss down his jaw to his neck, nipping gently at the skin before soothing it with a kiss.

Before you knew it, you felt your back hit the mattress as he laid you down, the weight of his body pressing down on you. Centering while the hard bulge in his pants threw you off kilter. Your patience growing thinner, ready to snap if you didn’t get to have more of him, but he was feeling the same.

First thing off was the wet button up of his, with you watching the way it peeled off his muscular frame. Letting you see those strong arms and shoulders of his, leading to thick pecks and a firm stomach. You caught the sight of a light trail of hair from his belly button leading under the waistband of his jeans. He only took off his shirt, and you were already clenching around nothing.

Next off was the green tank top you were wearing, peeling off the damp fabric to reveal what he was suspecting. You weren’t wearing a bra, making Seungcheol stop since he couldn’t tear his gaze from the swells and nipples hardened into peaks. Taking in the way they moved under your labored breath.

He kissed you again. This time slower, gentler, and nothing like how it was few minutes earlier. His lips molding against yours so well, already memorizing how you liked to be kissed; with his tongue sweeping over yours. You were on him, tracing up his back and felt the muscles from years of hard labor.

Moving his plush lips from yours to kiss over your jaw and neck. Planting slow open mouthed kisses across your skin, letting his tongue taste the salt on your skin while soothing any bites he delivered. A small whimper accompanied your rushed breathing, nails now running across his shoulders through his descent.

Seungcheol made sure to kiss over your collarbone, leaving reminders of him at the curve where it met your neck. Your back then arched when a rough calloused hand cupped one of your breasts, the pad of his thumb brushing over the bud as his mouth found the other.

“Fuck…” You whimpered at the contact, your thighs squeezing and hips rolling against his. A groan escaped him as he sucked and teased one breast while his hand made sure the other had attention before switching. Your own hands moving from his back to his hair once more.

Seungcheol snaked his free hand down to the button of your jean shorts, undoing it before pulling the zipper down. Just to free from slipping into them, under your underwear, and detached his mouth from your nipple now wet from his saliva, to look at you.

“Are you sure? We can wait…” He spoke softly, searching your eyes for any hesitation but you were never surer than you were then.

“I’m tired of waiting…Please Cheol…”

It was all he needed to hear, mouth finding yours while his hand slipped into your shorts and underwear. His finger brushed against your soaked folds, earning moans from you both. You completely surrendered to him.

His hands teased you as he left more reminds on your skin, the aching spots feeling like heaven, with the way his lips attempted to memorize the softness of your skin and the curves of your body. Your shorts and underwear were discarded soon after, legs spread open by his shoulders, leaving you naked and bare for him.

You thought you saw stars when his mouth attached itself to your cunt, his eyes rolling at the first taste of you and hooked your legs over his shoulders. His arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you there, not holding back. Licking and eating you as if starved, his tongue learning every inch of you as he drank the arousal that was dropping from you. When he slipped a thick finger inside, the groan that left him vibrated through your body. Feeling your gummy walls grip at his finger tightly, making him rut into your mattress. The springs squeaking under the roll of his hips.

“You’re so perfect,” You heard him say, muffled because he couldn’t tear himself away to speak properly. Growing addicted to the way you tasted, felt, and the little sounds leaving you. Better than the one from that night.

Adding another finger, he curved them just right, making you shatter. Your whole body vibrating as his name echoed from your lips, a chant as he drank all you gave. His lips and chin glistening with you when he finally pulled away, looking up with a fucked out face that rivaled yours. The sound of the bed moving from his ruts met your ringing ears, making you think about how hard he had to be. Making you clench around his fingers, bringing a smirk to those shiny lips.

“You still want more?” He asked teasingly, moving the digits inside you at a slower pace, unable to stop himself from latching onto your clit again. His eyes looking at you from between your legs, drunk on you. The time it felt like he was prepping you, stretching your tightness to accommodate him.

You both knew where this was heading, and neither of you wanted to stop.

Seungcheol drew another orgasm from you before finally moving the last of his clothes, the sound of soft fabric hitting the floor. Leaving him standing there in front of you, completely bare and on display for you. His thick cock hard, precum leaking and smeared over his tip. It looked bigger than it felt in his pants, and you couldn’t stop from salivating at the sight.

You needed it in you.

When he joined you on the bed once more, going slow with his movement and watched for any signs of you backing out. He wanted to make sure because he knew he would never want to be without you again. Only there was no signs of doubt, your eyes heavy with need and want, especially because of the sureness in his.

Settling back between your legs, his cock brushed against your cunt, collecting your arousal against the underside of it. It made you both shutter, with you grinding your hips for more. With one hand braced next to your head, Seungcheol planted a lingering kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself while his other slipped between you.

Grasping his cock to line himself up with you.

“Ready?” He rasped out, pressing his forehead against yours while his other head pressed against your entrance. You nod quickly, wrapping yourself around him. Completely his. “Look at me.”

You didn’t know you closed your eyes until you opened them, both of you watching the other’s reaction when he pushed in. The stretch made your mouth fall open with a high pitch gasp while a string of curses left his. Your walls gripped at him when he thrusted forward, filling you to the hilt.

“Cheol…” You managed to get out, your body shaking as you got used to his size, feeling bigger now that he was in you.

“Yes, baby?” He grunted out, every part of him stopping himself from fucking you like he wanted. It was hard since you squeezed him so snuggly, wrapping around him like you were made for him.

“Fuck me..” It was all he needed to hear, pulling his cock halfway before thrusting back into you. Unleashing something inside both of you, your wanton cries echoed against the walls of the apartment, mixing with the sounds of his own moans and the slapping of skin against skin.

Your nails racked down his back, trying to meet his every thrust but couldn’t with how you were spread out. Leaving you to his mercy and the build that was starting to grow again with every drag of his cock against your walls. Close to a third release.

Seungcheol’s mouth was all over you, over the column of your neck, to your shoulders, to your breasts. Causing your back to arched when he took a nipple into his mouth, one hand holding onto the fatty flesh with the other found purchase between your legs. His fingertips brushing where you two met, feeling the slickness of your arousal and his precum mixed, before finding your clit.

He was not going to be able to hold out much longer, not with the way you were covering him and gripping at him like a vice. But he refused to until he drew a third orgasm from you. He needed it before his own release.

“Cheol…” You cried out, your hands reaching to grab anything to anchor you as the knot in your core started to snap. His hair, your own hair, the bedding, your breasts, his biceps, nails leaving red scratches over his body where you grabbed and scratched at him.

“Cum for me, Y/N… I’m not far off…” He groaned out, keeping his gaze on you, his cock and fingers helping you let go.

His own released chased after yours, unable to hold out from the way you spasmed and squeezed around him, making it impossible to pull out, or want to. Releasing ropes of his cum inside your inner walls, Seungcheol buried his face into his neck as he did. Groaning and whimpering as he filled you.

Leaving you full of him after he finally pulls out.

Both of you refused to let go of the other or separated until you couldn’t stay connected any longer.

“Do you want to know why I moved her?” You asked, your fingertips tracing the olive tree tattoo on his back, making him turn his head in your direction.

“If you want to tell me.” He said softly, his eyes slowly opening to look at you, the sound of your voice, the soft tracing of your fingers. and the pattering rain outside lulling him into a light doze.

“My mom died last summer,” You started, pain lacing through your words, but you didn’t stop, “Then my old landlord decided to evict me by changing the locks and locking me out of my own apartment. I ended up having to break in to get Max and anything I could carry and put in my car. Then I left, drove until I came upon this town and the diner,” You took a deep breath, swallowing the tears that wanted to fall, “Max couldn’t be in that small carrier much longer, while I was just tired and starving. Neither of us could keep going like that, so I took my chances by asking Mingyu for a job and where I can find a place to live.”

Seungcheol rolled over, so he was now on his back before he reached for you. Pulling you into his arms and let you rest your head against his chest, feeling a stray tear hit his chest.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” He said softly, pressing his lips against the top of your head. Your own arms now tight around his waist. Holding onto him like he was your anchor to this world. “This town probably didn’t help though.”

“Words are nothing,” You say, turning your head to look at him, only to see he was watching you. His hair sticking up in different directions from your hands, lips well kissed, and so fucking beautiful. “I’ve head worse over the years from a bunch of assholes in the scene I was in. I could have let them take me down, let them hinder me trying to move on, let them break me, but my mom taught me better than that. Only words and opinions that should matter are my own.”

“So, you don’t regret moving here?” He asked, and you smile.

“No, in fact, you make me want to stay more. Be able to call this place home.” With that, you adjusted yourself to kiss him. One that he returned eagerly.

Thank you for reading!! I do hope you enjoyed and I hope I did our Coupsie justice.

Reblogs, and comments are appreciated! It doesn't just let my fic reach more people, it also is great to kno I am doing well!

Please also go show love to the rest of the fics of this collabs when they are posted!

Jeonghan’s father was an important member of the monarchy’s close staff. He had direct access to the King, and was heavily involved in any decision made in his Court, whether political or personal. He had a reputation too, of being imposing and loud in his opinions, of being head strong until he eventually got his way.

Jeonghan, though, feels that he always took after his mother more.

She had nowhere near the same presence as his father, and held no official title other than being the Royal Advisor’s wife, but what she lacked in appearances, she more than made up for in reputation. Everyone knew her. Everyone. From the highest to lowest ranks in castle staff, to other noble families, to merchants that frequented the castle, and so her reach went far beyond the four walls. She was quieter, more perceptive. She could influence people without making it seem like she had any involvement with them. Like a silent puppeteer operating in the shadows.

It was less sinister than that. The truth is, everyone trusted her. And rightfully so.

Jeonghan thinks he works a little like that, despite holding the same title as his father. He knows everyone, like she did, which means that, like her, he knows what strings to pull at what times. He thinks it is her innate ability, inherited by him, that made it even slightly possible not only for the late King’s illegitimate son to take the Throne, but also for said son to marry his late half brother’s wife, and have a child mere two months later. And for no one to question it.

It took a lot of lies and careful manipulation of appearances on his part. The Church wasn’t particularly happy. But an heir is an heir. And it helped that their first born was a son. Jeonghan had no qualms about lying to the Church officials. He isn’t very religious anyway. It’s slightly slimey behavior, maybe even Machiavellian. But it worked, so all he does is pat himself on the back.

He often ruminates over the many happenings in the castle when he sits in his study late at night, something strong in his glass that he swirls round and round, watching the brown liquid catch the light from the fireplace. He should be asleep, but on hectic days, he needs the peace and quiet before he can retire for the night. The castle beyond his doors is silent, which he appreciates. He has too much on his shoulders on most days, so he craves peace during nighttime.

Heavy footsteps sound in the corridor outside, making Jeonghan’s eyes shift to the door. They draw closer, and the heavy oak door pushes open. A head of dark hair pops in.

“I had a feeling you would be awake.”

Jeonghan huffs and goes back to his drink. There’s shuffling, then the door shuts carefully. More footsteps. Seungcheol lowers himself on the armchair across from his friend with a heavy sigh.

“You should definitely be asleep though.” He counters, watching the King run a hand through his hair, leaving it messy and not in the pristine condition it is always in. In the dim light of the fire, he can see the tiny lines on the corners of Seungcheol’s eyes, something he noticed around his own too. They are getting older.

Seungcheol more so, maybe, since he spends any free moment of his time running around with his children.

Speaking of.

“Your son was here today, I think.” Jeonghan sets his own glass down so he can pour his friend a drink. Seungcheol frowns.

“In your study? Why do you say that?”

He hands over the glass, returning to his own. “Well, he decided to use that fancy quill set his uncle got him to scribble all over some very important documents. And no one else in this castle can match his doodling skills.”

Seungcheol groans and barks out a laugh, shaking his head. Prince Seungwoo already has a reputation of leaving no room in this massive castle unexplored. No one is surprised that he managed to find Jeonghan’s study and thought it was a treasure trove he could mess with.

“I don’t know who he takes after.” Seungcheol mumbles tiredly, but his voice is laced with affection. “Can’t be me, I’ve always followed rules to the maximum.”

Jeonghan scoffs at that. “You were sleeping with the Princess when you were a Knight.”

Seungcheol’s foot lashes out, kicking Jeonghan hard on the calf. The man groans and winces, leaning down to run a hand over the throbbing area. He gives Seungcheol a scowl. Both of them snort, letting out small laughs.

Jeonghan watches as his friend leans back a bit and closes his eyes, sighing deeply and relaxing into the armchair. His glass is almost empty, and he contemplates filling it again when Seungcheol speaks up.

“My life doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

Jeonghan smiles slightly, making up his mind and reaching for the drink. If the conversation is headed that way, he definitely needs more alcohol.

“I can understand that.”

“I liked her from the moment I swore an oath to her.” He continues. “I went to see her afterward in her chambers. She was upset about her circumstances. She looked so angry and pained. I was surprised because I imagined she would be just as pliant as any other woman married into this castle. But she wasn’t.”

Jeonghan doesn’t interrupt.

“From that very first day I knew I liked her as more than just her Knight. And it ate away at me. I felt so guilty, so unclean for thinking of her the way that I did. But….”

Seungcheol’s eyes pop open. When he smiles at Jeonghan, his cheeks indents with a dimple.

“But I never imagined that not even a decade later, she would be my wife, the mother of my two children.”

Jeonghan can’t help but smile back, chuckling a little. “Life can surprise you, can’t it?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “Life. And you. I owe a lot of it to you.”

Jeonghan waves the acknowledgement off, shaking his head. But he knows Seungcheol is right. Moments like these do stroke his ego, but he doesn’t think they are unwarranted. His accomplishments shouldn’t be diminished or dismissed. He did what he did. And he takes pride in that.

“We need to find you someone.” Seungcheol mumbles, throwing back the last of his drink. Jeonghan laughs.

“I’m not letting you meddle with my love life.”

Seungcheol gawks at him. “After all the meddling you did with mine?”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, only finishing his own drink. Seungcheol just shakes his head and stands.

“Leaving already?”

He nods. “Sorry, but I miss my wife too much. You wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

Jeonghan makes a mock offended face. “Ouch. You’ve grown very harsh, Your Majesty.”

“Shut up.”

Jeonghan only laughs, settling back into his armchair. The door closes, footsteps fade, and all is quiet again. Briefly, Jeonghan contemplates getting some paperwork done if he’s going to be awake anyway, but his body has a pleasant buzz now. He feels warm and cozy. So he doesn’t want to get up. His leg still twinges a little bit, a reminder of everything he has been through.

Living through a war makes him appreciate the peace so much more.

i. PROLOGUE

They say the wolf is easy to spot; sharp teeth, wild eyes, a presence that makes the air heavy. But the ones you should fear most don’t growl or bite.

They smile.

You learn quickly that love can be a kind of violence, dressed in warmth, whispered through promises that sound like salvation. That obsession doesn’t always come crashing like a storm, it seeps in like fog, soft and suffocating, until you no longer remember where it began or if you ever wanted to escape.

He smiles at you once, and you understand.

Some wolves don’t hunt. They wait.

And you… you were always going to walk straight into his jaws.

ii. WHEN EYES FIRST CAUGHT

You were born into a world already carved out for you, the youngest daughter of the CEO of one of the largest conglomerates in the country. From the moment you opened your eyes, you were the family’s spoiled and sheltered baby, wrapped in silk and money and expectations you didn’t yet understand.

Your father was a busy man… too busy, always too busy. He threw money at you like it was a cure, like it could bandage over the hollowness his absence left behind.

When you were little and tugged at his sleeve asking to spend the day with him, he would never meet your eyes for long. He’d offer you an excuse about business, the same tired phrases again and again, his tone clipped and distracted.

“Daddy has to work. There’s a meeting I can’t miss.”

“Later, sweetheart, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t pout. Here… tell the driver what you want. He’ll take you anywhere. Buy anything.”

And he always did. He’d return with gifts before you even had the chance to sulk for long. The newest dollhouse, the latest limited-edition toys, dresses that glittered like glass under the light. Anything your little heart desired would appear in your room the next day, wrapped in glossy boxes with ribbons so elaborate they looked like they belonged in a store display.

Growing up, you were fine with it.

You told yourself you understood; your father was an important man, a man who carried the weight of entire companies on his shoulders. He couldn’t be expected to sit and play with you for hours. You accepted the trinkets and treasures as proof of his love, even if it was filtered through his wallet rather than his time.

But as you grew older, into your teenage years and then into a young adult, something inside you began to shift. You started buying the most expensive, most unnecessary things you could find, not because you needed them, but because you wanted him to notice. You wanted his attention, even if it came in the form of scolding.

You remembered the way his face would crease when he saw the ridiculous things you spent his money on. He would sigh heavily, press his fingers to his temples as if warding off a headache, and lecture you in that halfhearted tone that sounded more like habit than genuine reprimand.

“Do you even understand the value of this money? You think it grows on trees?”

“One day you’ll have to wake up and realize the world doesn’t work like this. You can’t just buy happiness, you can’t just throw money at everything.”

And you, leaning lazily against the expensive new car he had technically paid for, would roll your eyes and mumble something under your breath, “Hypocrite.”

You weren’t listening, not really. Because even in his irritation, at least he was looking at you. At least he was talking to you.

You had only one sibling, an older brother named Jaemin. And where your father gave you indifference wrapped in money, Jaemin gave you something sharper. His hatred for you was not the normal teasing cruelty of an older brother; it was a deep, festering resentment, the kind that dripped into everything he did.

He wished you had never been born, and he never tried to hide it.

When you were children, he despised the way you butted in when he had his friends over, your small frame appearing in the doorway with wide, curious eyes, asking questions and demanding attention. He loathed the way you always came out on top of your classes, every report card earning praise from your mother while he stood on the sidelines, overlooked and compared. He hated the spoiled way you lived, how you wore your father’s indulgence like a crown, how you rolled your eyes at lectures and shrugged off reprimands.

Your mother was the only one who truly loved you.

The only one who gave you attention without conditions, who brushed your hair back from your face and kissed your forehead when you cried. She was the one who attended every recital, every event, the one who defended you when your father grew frustrated, the one who clapped the loudest when you succeeded.

She loved you fiercely, openly, without measure.

And then, four years ago, she died.

Her health had been declining rapidly, the illness she had stealing her away from you piece by piece until finally, there was nothing left.

When she was lowered into the ground, it felt like part of you was buried with her.

Your father stood at the funeral like a statue. Stoic. Unflinching. His face was unreadable, his eyes dry. He didn’t cry. He didn’t mourn. It was as if the love he had once shared with her had long been eroded by boardrooms and contracts and time. And Jaemin, your brother had looked almost relieved, his mouth set in a flat line, his gaze wandering, as though the woman who had favored you had been nothing more than a nuisance to him.

So you mourned alone.

You mourned every day.

Because your mother had been the last person who made you feel loved, the last person who made you feel important, wanted. She had been your anchor in a world that otherwise only gave you neglect or resentment.

And when she was gone, it was as if the world had decided you didn’t deserve warmth anymore.

That was true.

Until Choi Seungcheol.

You knew the name long before you knew the man.

He was the Chief Operating Officer of your father’s empire, the second in command, the right hand your father trusted most.

Seungcheol was relatively young compared to the other men that filled the boardroom with their gray hair, thinning crowns, and paunchy middles, but youth had never disqualified him. He was sharp, so sharp it seemed he cut through every problem before it could even form. Smart, hardworking, ambitious, the kind of man who wore discipline like it was stitched into his very skin.

Your father admired him. More than that, he treated him like a son.

A bitter irony, because Jaemin was his real son, and Jaemin loathed Seungcheol for it.

Jaemin believed it was his birthright to inherit the company, to sit on that gilded throne as CEO simply because he was the eldest child.

But your father, for all his flaws, was not a fool.

He had built the company from nothing, brick by brick, deal by deal, and he could see how irresponsible Jaemin was, how his short temper and laziness would ruin years of labor in less than a year.

Your father had considered you, of course. You were everything Jaemin was not; focused, clever, unshaken. But in your father’s eyes, you were still a woman, a woman who gets distracted by shiny and pretty things, a woman who spends money as if it did a matter-of-fact grew on trees, and women, to him; no matter how capable… had no place in a world of men who devoured each other across long tables of glass and steel.

That left Seungcheol, the strongest candidate of all. And yet, every time your father so much as hinted at succession, Seungcheol would shake his head with a calm smile and say, “Sir, you’re still young. Retirement is far away. Jaemin has time to grow. He’ll learn.”

You remembered the first time you met him.

It wasn’t earlier in your life, despite his years at your father’s side. He had been working for your family for so long, but somehow, fate never pulled you into the same room. At company galas you were off somewhere else, still in university, or across the world shopping with your friends.

You never crossed paths, not until a year and a half after your mother’s death.

It had been an ordinary morning when your father called, his voice clipped over the phone. “Your brother forgot his phone and laptop at home. Bring them to the office.”

You had scoffed, irritation curling hot in your chest. Why couldn’t one of the dozens of secretaries do it? Why did you have to be the errand girl for your sorry excuse of a brother? You were about to refuse until your father added, in that cold way of his, “If you don’t, I’ll cut your card in half.”

So you went.

The building your father built from the ground up loomed like a monument, glass and steel kissing the sky, its sleek lines reflecting back the sun. You slipped out of the car with oversized sunglasses covering your eyes, strutting through the lobby like you owned the place… because technically, you did.

Employees turned discreet glances as you passed, your heels clicking a steady rhythm against marble floors. The elevator ride to the top floor was smooth, silent, the air tinged faintly with expensive cologne and disinfectant.

When the doors opened, you stepped into the private floor, greeted Mina, your father’s longtime secretary, with a polite nod, and let yourself into the office without knocking.

The scene inside froze for a second.

Your father sat at his massive desk, stoic as ever, papers stacked neatly in front of him. Jaemin stood across, mid-rant, his hands gesturing wildly as he bitched about something or whined about someone.

And there, sitting in one of the leather chairs opposite your father, was an unfamiliar man; unfamiliar, but arrestingly handsome.

Their eyes all darted to you at once.

“Sweetheart, I’m glad you’re finally here,” your father said, his voice flat, his expression unreadable as always.

“Took you long enough,” Jaemin muttered, snatching the phone and laptop out of your hands with zero gratitude.

“You should be thankful I even came, Jae,” you giggled softly, offering him a smile you knew he didn’t deserve, swallowing down the urge to cuss him out in front of a stranger.

Your father cleared his throat. “Darling, this is Choi Seungcheol,” he said, gesturing toward the man across from him. “My Chief Operating Officer. I don’t think you two have ever met before.”

You turned your gaze to him fully then. His black hair was styled neatly, framing a face both sharp and soft all at once. His eyes, dark and cutting, raked over you with a gaze that was far too deliberate, lingering long enough for you to feel the heat of it travel your skin. A dimple carved into his cheek when he smiled, slow and devastating, as he rose to his feet.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice rich and smooth as velvet. He extended his hand, and when you placed yours in his, his grip was firm yet warm.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” you politely smiled back.

He held on longer than necessary, his eyes locked onto yours in a silent exchange you couldn’t quite name, before he finally let go.

Your father continued, almost oblivious to the tension sparking in the air. “Seungcheol has been with me for years. He’s young, but don’t let that fool you. He’s the most reliable man I know. Hardworking, level-headed. If there’s anyone who understands this company inside and out, it’s him.”

Jaemin scoffed under his breath. “Yeah, we all know how perfect he is.”

Your father shot him a warning glance, but pressed on. “He handles operations with precision. Nothing slips past him. If I’m not here, he’s the one people go to.”

“Because that’s not supposed to be me, right?” Jaemin cut in again, his tone sharp with bitterness.

Your father ignored him.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Jaemin turned to you then, venom dripping in every word.

You tilted your head, smiled sweetly, and said with mock excitement, “Yes, I do! Something very important.”

Your father didn’t even look up from the papers in front of him as he asked, “What is it?”

The question was routine, nothing more.

“I’m going to get a massage, a facial, and my mani and pedis. Maybe even go shopping,” you replied brightly, your tone light, teasing even.

He only nodded halfheartedly, his pen scratching against the paper, his eyes still down.

Jaemin snorted. “Very important. The world would stop spinning if you didn’t.”

You simply nodded, smiling, used to it by now, letting his sarcasm roll off like water.

Unbeknownst to you, Seungcheol had been watching the entire exchange closely.

At first, his gaze had been fixed on you, his attention unshaken, drinking you in as if you had pulled the air straight out of the room the moment you stepped through the door. Then, as Jaemin’s words sharpened and grew cruel, Seungcheol’s eyes flicked toward him, hardening, daggers barely concealed behind his polite expression.

Finally, he spoke, his tone even but laced with quiet conviction. “If it makes her happy, then it is important.”

The words silenced the room for a second. You turned to look at him, surprised, and your smile this time was genuine. He smiled back, slow and sure, that dimple deepening again.

“Well,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “I’ll leave you all to it. Goodbye, Dad. Jae.” Your gaze lingered a heartbeat longer on Seungcheol before you added, “Mr. Choi.”

He inclined his head, polite, though his eyes still followed you as you walked out the door, the click of your heels fading down the hall.

iii. THE WOLF NOTICES

The moment you had walked in, Seungcheol thought the room shifted. You weren’t what he had expected, not that he had been expecting you at all.

For years, he had worked by your father’s side, known of the daughter who lived in luxury, seen your name splashed across tabloids, whispered in passing. But the real thing, the reality of you was sharper, brighter, and infinitely more dangerous than idle gossip could ever suggest.

The sunglasses you wore slid down just enough for him to catch the curve of your lips, the glint in your eyes. You walked like you belonged there, and in a way, you did. Confidence cloaked you like silk, the kind of ease only someone born into power could wear so naturally.

He had thought himself immune to distraction; meetings, boardrooms, negotiations, nothing ever shook him. But the second your laugh cut through the tension, light and teasing at Jaemin’s expense, something inside him bent.

When your brother sneered at you, Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. He had always known Jaemin was reckless, entitled, bitter. But watching him spit that venom at you, watching the way you took it with practiced grace, unbothered, unbroken… he felt something stir in him.

A quiet, simmering urge to protect, to defend, to shield.

And so he had spoken, his words deliberate. “If it makes her happy, then it is important.”

The way you smiled at him in response, it left an echo in his chest.

When you finally left, offering him that final glance, polite but laced with something more, he realized he was still standing, hand tingling faintly from where it had held yours.

The wolf, Seungcheol thought, had just found something worth watching.

From then on, he never really left your side.

Not in the obvious way, not as if he was tethered to you, but in the careful, deliberate manner of someone who knew how to move without being seen until he wanted to be.

It was a shocking development for you.

You had never expected to be close friends with a man who was nearly ten years older, who wore his authority like a perfectly tailored suit. But here you were sharing silences, lunches, and the strange rhythm of companionship with Choi Seungcheol.

After your initial meeting, you found yourself seeing him more often.

At first, it was nothing; polite smiles exchanged in the corridors of your father’s empire, a nod of recognition whenever you crossed paths in the office. It was impersonal, courteous, and you told yourself that was all it would ever be.

Until your father, in one of his rare bursts of paternal insistence, proposed that you intern for him instead of flying off to Paris or Milan again to “waste time and money.”

“You need to do something with your life,” your father had said in that clipped, dismissive way of his.

You had rolled your eyes and countered, “I just graduated. Don’t I get a few years to figure out what I want? Isn’t that normal?”

The truth was simple… you didn’t enjoy business.

You never had.

The reports, the numbers, the endless chatter of investors, it bored you, drained you, made you wonder if you had been born only to be spoiled, to live a life of indulgence without consequence.

And honestly? You didn’t see anything wrong with that.

But the house, the one your mother once filled with warmth, was suffocating now. Each room carried her absence like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. The silence was oppressive, the marble cold. You needed something to distract yourself, and so, reluctantly, you agreed to intern.

That’s when Seungcheol began to move closer.

At first, he was just there during breaks. Your father was too busy to notice you, Jaemin couldn’t be bothered, and you didn’t care to make friends with anyone else in the company.

Seungcheol filled that space without asking. He would sit beside you in the break room, his presence calm, his attention steady. He didn’t demand conversation, he let you speak when you wanted to, and when you didn’t, he filled the silence with quiet remarks that somehow made the air less heavy.

Sometimes, he’d take you out to eat. “Come on,” he’d say, holding the elevator door for you. “You’ve been staring at that screen for two hours. Food is non-negotiable.”

Other times, when you were too busy or too stubborn to leave your desk, he would appear with takeout bags, sliding them onto your table without ceremony. “Eat,” he’d tell you simply. “You’ll get sick if you don’t.”

And you, strangely, would listen.

It became a rhythm.

Even on his days off, you’d find yourselves together. Sometimes at cafés, sometimes driving aimlessly just to waste time, and sometimes at your estate.

When your father invited him over for meetings, Seungcheol would linger long after, slipping out only to climb up your window like some ridiculous storybook character.

You’d laugh when you saw him, sprawled in your armchair as if he belonged there.

“Do you even realize how insane this is?” you’d whisper, tugging him away from the curtain in case the staff noticed.

He’d grin, unbothered. “Friends climb windows. It’s a rule.”

“Since when?”

“Since now,” he’d reply without hesitation, and you’d roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you with a smile.

Sometimes he stayed until you drifted off to sleep. He’d lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching you breathe until your lashes fluttered closed. Once, when you asked him why, he answered in that calm, low tone of his: “Because that’s what friends do. They stay until you’re safe.”

It was unsettling, the way he listened to you. Really listened. You weren’t used to that. When you spoke, he didn’t glance at his phone or nod absentmindedly. He leaned in, absorbed every word, and sometimes repeated them back to you later, as if to prove he hadn’t forgotten.

You remember one evening, sprawled on the couch with him beside you. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just… existing. My dad is pressuring me to do something just like my brother, but it’s just like I was made to be spoiled and nothing else.”

“You think being spoiled means you’re useless?” he asked, his eyes sharp in the dim light.

You shrugged. “Doesn’t it? That’s what my brother always says.”

“No,” he said firmly. “It means people should have taken you seriously sooner. It means they underestimated you and that you have the all the power to do nothing while everyone does everything for you.”

You blinked at him, surprised. No one had ever said it like that before.

And so, without either of you saying it aloud, your friendship began.

But Seungcheol was always watching.

You noticed it in the little things first, from the way his gaze followed you when you moved around the office, the way his hand would shoot out instinctively to cover the sharp corner of a desk when you bent down to pick something up. The way his shoulders stiffened if someone brushed past you too closely in the hallway.

Once, a junior employee bumped into you, muttering a rushed apology. You brushed it off with a laugh, but Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed into a glare so sharp the poor man practically ran away.

“Cheollie, relax. He didn’t mean it,” you whispered.

“He should’ve been more careful,” he muttered, his jaw tight.

Another time, you struggled with a stack of files that threatened to topple from your arms. Before you could ask, he was there, effortlessly taking the weight from you. “You’re not supposed to carry things like this,” he chided.

“I’m not helpless,” you shot back playfully.

He gave you that look, half amusement, half warning. “No. But why struggle when I’m here?”

Even outside the office, he hovered. At a crowded restaurant one weekend, a waiter brushed too close to your chair. Seungcheol’s hand settled on the back of it, a silent claim, his eyes tracking the waiter until he was out of sight.

You didn’t think much of it, naïve enough to chalk it up to friendliness, to that fierce protectiveness you found comforting.

Seungcheol learned your habits quickly. What drinks you preferred. The way you always peeled the crusts off your sandwiches. The exact moment your mood shifted from amused to irritated. He adjusted himself around you with subtle precision, guiding you with a hand at your back, distracting you when the air grew too heavy, steering you away from things that would darken your expression.

You never noticed how deliberate it all was. You only knew that he was there, always there, quietly absorbing, quietly guarding. And when his eyes lingered too long, you told yourself it was nothing.

After all, friends watched out for each other.

iv. THE COMPANY YOU KEEP

Your father noticed first.

He always noticed more than you thought. His eyes had been on you for years, sharp as knives and cold as stone, the kind of gaze that could slice through silks and pretenses alike. You thought you were careful. You thought the friendship, the hours of laughter, the stolen moments, the lunches tucked away in quiet corners was yours to keep.

But he saw.

He always saw.

It happened late one night, in the quiet of his home office.

The room smelled faintly of whiskey and paper, the heavy oak desk drowning in documents you doubted he ever actually read. He was in his chair, back straight, hands folded, his face an unreadable mask. You stood before him, already feeling too small, too much like a child again despite being a woman grown.

“Sit,” he said, calm, commanding, as though he were addressing another executive and not his youngest and only daughter.

You sat, the leather of the chair cold beneath your palms, your stomach twisting as you realized this wasn’t just one of his endless talks about “responsibility.”

His eyes bored into yours, heavy, deliberate, suffocating.

“I’ve been observing something,” he began slowly, his voice low and even. “Your… relationship with Seungcheol.”

Your throat went dry. Your fingers curled against the chair’s arms. You forced your voice to stay steady.

“We’re just friends,” you said, the words tumbling out too quickly, too defensively.

It was true.

At least, it should have been. But you felt the guilt the moment it slipped past your lips, the way your chest tightened, the way your gaze faltered. Because it wasn’t the full truth. There was a part of you that wished it wasn’t just that, a whisper in the back of your mind that admitted only to yourself that you were drawn to him, that he was almost too good to be true.

Your father’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing.

“That better stay that way,” he said firmly. His voice wasn’t raised, but it was enough to cut through you like glass.

Your heart sank, your lips parting, but he didn’t stop.

“You will not be a good influence on Seungcheol.”

The words stung before you could stop them. You opened your mouth, but his hand lifted in warning.

“He is a serious man,” your father continued, each word deliberate, cruel in its control. “A man with a future. He will need a strong and serious woman by his side. And you,” his eyes locked onto you, unyielding, “are none of that. You will ruin him.”

Your breath hitched. The sting behind your eyes burned as though your tears were waiting for permission to fall.

“Do I make myself clear?” he asked, his tone sharp now, cutting away any chance of argument.

You swallowed hard, blinking furiously, the tears refusing to fall in front of him. You nodded, your voice caught in your throat, unable to say anything more.

“Good. You may go.”

Dismissed like an employee at the end of a meeting.

You stood on shaking legs, the unshed tears burning at the corners of your eyes. You turned, hand gripping the doorknob as though it was the only thing tethering you to yourself.

When you opened it, the world outside the office felt too wide, too heavy.

And there he was.

Seungcheol.

Leaning casually against the wall, his phone in hand, dressed sharp but relaxed in a way only he could manage. He was waiting for his meeting with your father, his head bent, scrolling through something. He hadn’t heard. Relief hit you for a fleeting second.

But then he looked up.

His eyes widened, shock flickering across his face as he took in your expression; the damp shine at the corner of your eyes, the slight tremble in your lips. His phone dropped to his side instantly.

In two strides, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing instinctively against your skin.

“What’s wrong, angel?” His voice was low, urgent, laced with something close to anger and worry all at once.

You shook your head quickly, forcing a smile so brittle it hurt.

“I’m fine,” you lied softly. “I was just yawning, and it made my eyes water. That’s all.”

“Don’t do that,” he pressed, brows furrowing, his grip steady on your face. “Don’t pretend. Tell me.”

Your heart twisted, but you pushed the smile harder, shaking your head again.

“I’m going to bed,” you said firmly, gently pushing his hands down. “And my dad’s probably waiting for you. You should hurry in.”

He searched your face, as though he could tear the truth out of you with just his stare.

“Baby—”

“Goodnight, Seungcheol.”

You turned before he could say more, your steps quick and uneven as you retreated down the hall. Behind you, you heard him sigh, frustrated, but he didn’t follow.

In your room, you shut the door, your chest heaving. You changed quickly, hands fumbling with your clothes, grabbing the first satin nightgown you could find; blue, the fabric clinging soft against your skin. You brushed your teeth, washed your face, your movements too rushed, too desperate to outrun the words echoing in your head.

You will not be a good influence on Seungcheol.

He needs a strong, serious woman.

You are none of that.

You will ruin him.

The sting burrowed deep.

It wasn’t just the insult, it was the way your father had said it, so certain, so final. As though you were doomed to be a disappointment not only to him, but to the one person who had made you feel seen in so long.

What hurt worse, what made your chest tighten until it was almost unbearable, was the thought of someone else, another woman, strong, serious, perfect; standing at Seungcheol’s side instead of you.

You didn’t understand why that image made your throat close, why it hollowed something in you.

You curled into your bed, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the tears until exhaustion pulled you under.

You didn’t hear the soft scrape of your window opening.

You didn’t hear the careful footsteps across your room.

A few minutes later, Seungcheol was kneeling beside your bed, his tall frame folded in the dark, his hand reaching out to gently brush a lock of hair from your face. His gaze caught the faint wet trail across your cheek, a tear that had escaped after all. His thumb followed its path slowly, and then, with a deliberate motion, he lifted it to his lips, tasting the salt of your sorrow.

His eyes darkened.

He watched you sleep, his gaze heavy, drinking in the sight of your body rising and falling with each breath. The satin of your gown had ridden up, baring the length of your thigh to the cool air, and still he stayed, his hand twitching with restraint.

Minutes passed before he bent down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there longer than he should. When he pulled away, his jaw was tight, his expression unreadable.

Seungcheol left as quietly as he came, but the storm inside him followed into the night.

Behind the wheel of his car, his knuckles whitened as his grip strangled the steering wheel. His jaw locked, muscles tense, eyes burning as the memory of your father’s voice replayed in his mind; every insult, every dismissal, every word that made you cry.

He had heard it all.

And it lit something dangerous in him.

Something that whispered he needed to do something.

Something soon.

It was as if fate had heard the vow that burned in Seungcheol’s chest that night.

A domino effect followed, one piece tumbling after the next, each obstacle pushing the two of you closer and closer until there was no more room to pretend.

A few days later, you sat in his office during your afternoon break, a cup of coffee in your hands as though its warmth could shield you from the memories of that night with your father.

You had perfected the art of pretending by now; eyes bright, lips curved into a smile, laughter slipping past your mouth like nothing had ever happened.

You were fine. You were well. A master at pretending.

But Seungcheol saw right through you.

He leaned back in his chair, silent, watching you with the patience of a predator. He didn’t call you out, didn’t press, but you could feel the weight of his gaze each time your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He said nothing… for now.

And then, like the first domino, you gave him something else to fixate on.

You sighed, sinking deeper into your chair. “I told Anna and Chloe about you.”

That caught his attention instantly. His posture shifted, his eyes sharpening like knives, but he let you continue talking about your friends.

“I mean, I expected it to be normal, you know, catching up, gossiping like we always do. They asked me what’s new, and I told them about you. I thought they’d giggle, ask if you were cute, maybe tease me a little.” Your fingers toyed with the lid of your coffee cup. “But when they found out you’re ten years older than me…” You shook your head, your voice dipping. “They started talking shit about you.”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, the muscle ticking once, but he stayed silent, his eyes on you, waiting.

“I defended you,” you rushed on, your throat tightening at the memory. “But then they came after me too. Calling me stupid. Saying I shouldn’t hang out with you because it’s weird, because you work for my father and all that.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through, repeating their words as though they had carved themselves into your skin. “They said I’m embarrassing. That I’m just playing some pathetic game. That you must be using me. That I’m…” You swallowed hard. “That I’m nothing but a spoiled brat desperate for attention, clinging onto someone way older due to my daddy issues.”

Your chest ached, the humiliation raw again as you relived it. “They texted me earlier, though. Apologizing. Saying they thought it through and realized they were wrong to judge. That they should be supportive of me instead.”

You blinked, forcing a laugh that crumbled at the edges. “But it still hurts. I mean, I’ve been friends with them for years. And instead of supporting me, they judged you. They judged me.” Your voice cracked, your eyes stinging. “It hurt more than I thought it would.”

Seungcheol’s reaction was immediate and visceral. His eyes darkened, the veins in his hands straining as he gripped the armrest of his chair until his knuckles whitened. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, every inhale sharp, every exhale sharper. Rage rippled through him, silent but palpable, like a storm pressed beneath the skin.

And then, in one smooth shift, his voice softened to honey.

“Come here,” he murmured, his tone gentle, coaxing, as though the anger you glimpsed was only a trick of the light. He patted his lap lightly, his other hand reaching out for yours.

You hesitated for a moment, but when his hand wrapped around yours; warm, steady, reassuring, you found yourself moving without thinking. You let him pull you onto his lap, his arms winding securely around you, holding you close. The moment your cheek pressed against his neck, you melted, the tension in your shoulders unraveling as you breathed him in.

“You defended me,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple as he spoke. “Thank you, angel. You’re just as protective of me as I am of you. Do you know how much that means to me?”

You exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed as he caressed your thigh, slow and deliberate.

“Do you know how good you are for me?” His voice dipped lower, raspier, a dangerous whisper curling like smoke in your ear. “So, so good for me.”

A sound slipped from your throat, half sigh, half purr as warmth pooled in your chest at his words. You clung to him tighter, soaking in every syllable.

He chuckled softly, the vibration rumbling against you. “But they… they hurt you, didn’t they? They made you cry. They made you doubt. And they hurt me, too, with their words. Friends shouldn’t do that, should they? Friends should support you, like I do. They should protect you, like I do.” His thumb stroked over your thigh, his voice lowering to a coaxing lull. “But they didn’t, did they?”

You shook your head slowly, your lips parting, your body pliant in his arms.

“They aren’t your true friends, baby. I am. I always will be.” His lips grazed your cheek, lingering at the corner of your mouth before trailing down to your jaw, soft kisses searing into your skin. “You only need me.”

Your breath hitched, his words seeping deep, deeper, until they settled like truth.

“Tell me you understand, hmm?” he whispered, nipping lightly at your neck before soothing the bite with a lick. “Tell me you know you only need me.”

Your body shivered, your head nodding blindly. “I–I only need you.”

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your forehead, then your cheek again, slow and deliberate. “Those lowlives don’t deserve you. They never did. Honestly, I always thought they were using you. Hanging onto your name, your money, your shine. But me? I don’t need any of that. I just need you.”

You whimpered at the praise, leaning into the press of his mouth as it trailed down your shoulder, his hands squeezing your thighs with just enough pressure to make you sigh.

“They hurt you, baby,” he murmured again, coaxing, insistent, “so why keep them? Let them go. Tell them you can’t be friends anymore. You don’t need them. You only need me.”

You nodded again, the words tumbling from your lips like a vow. “I only need you.”

“Good girl.” Seungcheol reached over to the desk, his hand plucking your phone as though it belonged to him as much as to you.

He unlocked it without hesitation, the ease of it barely registering in your haze. He handed it back to you, settling behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder, his arms still caged tight around you.

“Now… tell them,” he whispered, his breath warm in your ear. “Type it out. Tell them you can’t be friends anymore.”

Your fingers moved, almost robotic, the glow of the screen reflecting in your eyes as you typed exactly what he told you. Each word, each message crafted by his voice in your ear, his lips pressing tender kisses against your cheek, your neck, your jaw whenever you obeyed.

When their replies came; apologizing, pleading, confused, angry… he read over your shoulder, his scoffs sharp.

“Pathetic,” he muttered darkly. “Desperate. They don’t deserve another second of your time.”

You stayed quiet, numb to their protests, lost instead in the steady rhythm of his lips against your skin and the silk of his voice telling you what to do.

By the time the conversation ended, by the time you had sent the final message ending it all, he kissed your temple again and whispered, “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s perfect. You don’t need them. You have me. I’m all you’ll ever need.”

Your voice was a whisper, broken but sure. “You’re all I need, Cheollie.”

And it was true, you believed it.

The last time you saw Anna and Chloe had been a few days ago, when their words cut into you like knives.

Tonight was the last time you would ever speak to them.

Because a few weeks later, in Paris, the two of them were found dead.

v. HEAVEN TAKES, HELL HOLDS

The sky was absurdly blue; so clean and wide it made the black of everyone’s clothes look obscene. There were no clouds, only a sun that threw itself across the grass as if to prove the world had not noticed the cruelty it sheltered beneath. A gentle wind moved through the trees and lifted the edges of the funeral programs in the hands of strangers, it smelled faintly of cut lawn and something floral that tugged at the back of your throat.

It was ironic in a way that felt obscene, a perfect day for two coffins to be lowered into the earth.

A week ago, the message had arrived like a dull stone dropped into still water.

Anna and Chloe were gone.

Paris, the city where they’d always gone to be loud and youthful and slightly reckless, this time it answered with silence.

At first you were told it was an overdose. They had party habits… harmless, you told yourself; molly, a little weed when the music thinned and the crowd swelled. Those things tasted familiar to adolescents and it’s survivable. You’d done that, too, you’d been with them at times like that. You’d always thought it couldn’t be enough to take them.

Then the second call arrived, colder and heavier saying that tests had been rerun at the parents’ insistence.

Something else had shown up… cyanide, a ghost of a chemical no one expected in the glitter of a nightclub.

Molly, laced with poison.

The image of the two of them, laughing in light and then collapsing just like that, lodged in your throat. The authorities sifted through footage, questioned everyone at the party, watched cameras frame faces that met Anna and Chloe and then walked away. CCTV revealed gestures and shared glances, but none of it looked like the handing off of a murder.

The leads went cold and stubborn.

The killer, remained a faceless presence in the edges of footage. It was a riddle with no answer. Until this day, until this field; those girls were dead at the hands of a cruelty that had no name.

You stood in all black, the fabric pressed and formal, your sunglasses a shield over eyes that had not yet learned how to be soft. Two caskets sat side by side on the green, their woods a dull brown against the manicured grass. Families leaned close, crying into one another’s shoulders, the sound was small and relentless.

The two families had elected to bury them together because the girls had been inseparable since childhood who were bound by years of jokes, slumber parties, and teenage drama.

The joint funeral felt fitting, so straightforward it hurt.

You were there because someone had to be, because the ritual drew the people who loved them closer, and because Anna and Chloe had been yours in some ways that mattered more than the distance that had grown between you. Your father had the excuse of an empire; business, boardrooms, a thousand obligations. Jaemin couldn’t have cared less. So you stood with Seungcheol.

He had not left you once. Not to speak with acquaintances, not to take a phone call, not to fiddle with papers as if the universe outside his office was a problem for someone else. He stayed. When the families wept, when the priest spoke the necessary words, when hands clutched the hems of suits and graves dug deeper, he was a solid figure at your side.

You said nothing through the ceremony, words felt like poor instruments for this depth of shock. When you finally spoke it was only because Anna and Chloe’s mothers came to you, small women made enormous by grief, hands kept busy folding themselves around you as if to anchor you to a present that still accepted condolences.

“We’re so glad you came,” Anna’s mother murmured, voice breaking. She folded you into a hug so fierce you tasted salt on her shoulder. “They were always talking about you. Thank you for being here, truly.”

Chloe’s mother took your hands, palms warm and trembling. “We know how close you were. They always said you were like a sister. I’m so sorry you had to—” Her words dissolved into a sob. She pulled you in and pressed you against her, and for a moment you were nothing but a channeled sadness, a vessel for other people’s grief.

You tried to explain, fumbling for reasons that fell small and insufficient. “We had an argument a few weeks ago… nothing serious, really. Usual things, silly things. We—” Your voice came out in stutters, admitting too much. “They said mean things. We drifted. I thought it was just time, you know? Growing different. I told them I might be working more with my father and they always wanted me to come to parties and raves and things I said I couldn’t make…” You swallowed, the syllables thick. “If I had known– if I had just… I would have been there.”

Seungcheol stayed close, shadow and shoulder as he listened.

Most of what you told the women was accurate; the argument, the drift, the timings. There was truth in your words, ordinary and blunt, but there was also the private ache you only admitted in small tremors. His eyes narrowed once when you mentioned the CCTV and the inconclusive reports, an itch of curiosity passing over his face.

He listened the way he always did, like a man marking pieces on a board.

Anna’s mother sniffed. “Life can be cruel, darling. It’s easy to misunderstand. But you did what you could now, and that’s enough.”

Chloe’s mother clung to your hand. “They wouldn’t want you to blame yourself,” she said, as if she could lift your guilt from your shoulders. “They were stubborn, they were wild, it’s what made them them. They would want you to live. We’ll find out who did this, you know. We won’t stop.”

You tried to smile through it. “I know. I just—” Your sentence broke as the sob found you and you let it. Your shoulders shook as you apologized to the two women: “I should’ve been there. I should’ve… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

They folded you into their arms until you couldn’t tell where you ended and they began. “Don’t say that,” Anna’s mother whispered. “They wouldn’t want you to carry this. They keep laughing with us, they would roll their eyes at you like they always did.” Chloe’s mother pressed her forehead to yours. “We’ll catch whoever did this. Promise.”

Seungcheol stepped forward and took you into his arms. His body was a constant, rigid and warm, and you folded into it as if habit and need had always led you here. He guided you gently away from the small cluster around the caskets, an island formation that whispered of public grief.

He spoke for you, softly, “ We’ll go now. Thank you, truly. For everything.” He turned to the mothers, offering condolences that were steady and practiced. “If there’s anything you need… anything at all, tell me.”

Their faces were tired but grateful, they nodded, murmured thanks, and departed.

Outside, he put you into his car with the same exactness he used always: door, seat, seatbelt clipped with a hand that hovered protectively to make sure the strap lay right. He watched you remove your sunglasses and wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand as if the motion disturbed him. His look was a mix of careful possession and something you hadn’t yet named… fierceness held dangerously close to tenderness.

When he slid behind the wheel and started the car, his voice came low. “Are you alright?” he asked, watching you in the side mirror. “I didn’t expect you to cry so hard…” His sentence trailed off as if he’d assumed you had been composed until this point.

You shrugged, the action meant to be small and deflecting. “It just… hit me now,” you said, and the words felt thin even as you said them.

This was the truth, also an excuse.

His face shifted. “They don’t deserve your tears after the things they did to you, angel,” he said bluntly, a hand finding the steering wheel with new intensity. “That was their karma.”

The words slid over your chest, strangely lancing.

You blinked up at him, the naive part of you wanting to find warmth in his certainty, the other part still raw from your father’s lecture, shrinking.

“I’m scared,” you said then, surprise at the truth of it.

A flicker of confusion passed over Seungcheol’s brow, brief and almost pained. “Why would you be scared?” he asked, voice puzzled, then without waiting for your reply, he lifted his free hand and cupped your face in one swift, possessive move that made you sigh involuntarily. The car hummed around you as he watched the small line of your mouth, the dampness at the corner of your eyes.

The outline of the city passed the windows and blurred in motion. “What if I’m next? What if whoever did this… comes after me?”

His words dropped like stones wrapped in satin. “That won’t happen,” he promised, his tone a blend of reassurance and threat. “Because I’m here. I will protect you. Anyone who even thinks about harming you will suffer.” He did not shout, he stated it as if it were a fact.

Seungcheol’s certainty was a net thrown wide.

You let yourself lean into the safety of that hand. He stroked your cheek, then the line of your neck, his touch purposeful, claiming, and the public stillness of him made your breathing catch. “You’re cold, baby,” he murmured, lifting one of your legs slightly, the hem of your dress slipping back enough for his palm to rest against the bare skin of your thigh. The contact was warm, not entirely unwelcome. “At least I’m here to keep you warm.”

His voice was silk, but there was an edge beneath the softness, the pattern of something that could close like a clamp. He cooed and reassured as he guided his hand further, murmuring, “It’s okay. Look at me. I’m here. No one will touch you without me knowing. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Naivety sat like a warm ember in your chest. You wanted his voice to be true. You wanted his hands to be the shelter he promised. There was a tiny, perverse comfort to the idea of being protected, of being declared precious enough to be guarded so fiercely. And so when he threaded his remarks with judgment of others; “they don’t deserve your tears,” “they were using you,” “they were never true friends” the poison slipped in as a lacquered truth.

It was easy to let his words rearrange your thinking, they fell with the cadence of expertise and care.

You listened and the car hummed on. You let the familiarity of his touch dull the raw edges of your grief.

The line between comfort and command blurred beneath his voice. Each small, warm insistence, his hand at your face, then at your thigh, the lifted hem, the private warmth of skin pressed to palm… it pulled you further from the shaky place where you had stood before.

You told yourself his words were sweetness, kindness, the balm you needed.

Seunhgcheol stroked your neck and said again, softly, “No one will ever hurt you when I’m here, remember that.” He sounded like a promise, and your heart answered like a gullible child.

You closed your eyes and let the motion of his car and the rhythm of his voice drown the edges of the day.

You let go of Anna and Chloe again for the hundredth and final time in your mind, and when you agreed to the small, dangerous bargains he proposed, it felt like survival.

Outside, the sun kept shining. Inside the car, the world narrowed to his voice and the press of his hand, and your lashes fluttered like the lids of a bird too tired to fly.

vi. FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Seungcheol brought you home, his hand steady at the small of your back as though the world outside was determined to take you apart piece by piece and he was the only one capable of holding you together.

The drive had been quiet, thick with the echoes of sobs you’d struggled to contain at the funeral, the taste of grief sharp on your tongue but he never let go of you, not once.

Thankfully, when you both stepped into the estate, the silence was broken only by the creak of the door and your footsteps across the marble. Your father and brother were still at the office, their absence both a relief and a weight. It meant you didn’t have to face their questions, their scrutiny, their watchful eyes. It also meant there was no barrier between you and the man at your side.

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate; he guided you up the stairs with quiet insistence, leading you into your room as though it belonged to him just as much as it belonged to you. When the door shut behind you, you felt the air shift, warmer and heavier, pressing against your skin like an unseen hand.

Without a word, you crossed to your vanity. The mirror reflected a pale, tired version of yourself, shadows clinging under your eyes, lips still trembling from the tears that had not long ago spilled. You reached up and plucked one hairpin after another from your hair. Each soft click of metal against the tabletop echoed louder than it should, and soon your hair tumbled free, cascading down your back in waves.

The relief was fleeting.

You were still lost in your own thoughts, trapped in the labyrinth of your father’s voice, your friends’ absence, your own gnawing doubts.

From behind you, Seungcheol sat on your bed, leaned back slightly, his sharp eyes following your every move. He looked as though he were unraveling you with his gaze alone, watching the way your fingers trembled just slightly as you set another pin down, watching how your shoulders slumped beneath the weight you carried.

“Baby,” he called softly, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

You froze, the pet name tugging you back to the present. Turning your head, you met his gaze in the mirror before slowly turning fully toward him. He was still there, lounged but alert, his eyes never leaving you.

Without speaking further, he lifted a hand and patted his thigh, the gesture commanding and patient all at once. He nodded once, a silent order for you to come to him.

Wordlessly, as though something in your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, you moved. Each step toward the bed felt deliberate, your pulse quickening with each one. You crawled onto the mattress, your hands sinking into the sheets as you made your way to him.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched you climb onto his lap, his gaze dark and heavy with something unreadable. The front of your dress dipped low, and he didn’t bother to hide the way his eyes lingered on the soft swells of your chest, rising and falling with each nervous breath. When you finally settled on his lap, straddling him, he leaned back slightly, his hands resting on your hips, eyes never wavering from your face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked lowly, his voice gentle but edged with demand.

You shook your head quickly, eyes darting away from his.

“Use your words,” he pressed, the firmness in his tone slicing through your silence.

Still, nothing came out. Your lips parted, but no sound followed.

A quiet, disappointed click of his tongue. “Tsk.” His eyes narrowed, unamused by your avoidance.

The tension in the air thickened. He leaned in slightly, his gaze unyielding as he asked, “What did I tell you in the car earlier?”

Your throat felt tight, but you forced the words out, soft, almost trembling: “That no one would hurt me when you are here.”

A faint smirk curved his lips, but his eyes remained sharp. “And?”

You swallowed hard before continuing, your voice weaker this time. “That Anna and Chloe deserved it… and it’s their karma.”

His head tilted, studying you closely. “Then why do you still seem to be worried?”

“I don’t know…” you whispered, your voice breaking at the edges. “I can’t seem to forget.”

For a moment, silence lingered.

Then Seungcheol’s hand moved, large and steady, cupping your cheeks. His thumb brushed against your skin, slow and tender, before sliding down the column of your throat. His palm wrapped gently around your neck, not tight, but firm enough that you felt every inch of his presence. His lips dipped closer to your ear, his voice nothing but a whisper.

“Do you want me to help you forget it, baby?”

Your breath hitched. A pause of hesitation heavy in the air before you gave the smallest of nods.

“There’s my baby,” he cooed, his voice suddenly soft, almost sing-song, as though he were soothing a child. “That’s it. I’ll make you forget.”

The air between you crackled as your heart pounded through in chest.

Seungcheol leaned in, his forehead pressing yours, his breath suddenly ragged and hot, washing over your lips like a fevered breeze. You felt the phantom brush of his mouth, a near-contact that sent a jolt through your core. Your lips instinctively parted, aching for the connection, leaning forward just a fraction.

He pulled back.

Just an inch. Just enough for cool air to rush in where his heat had been. Your lips chased him instinctively, a small, frustrated sound escaping you; a breathy whine that echoed in the charged silence.

That sound. It ignited something primal in him. His eyes, dark as obsidian, flared with hunger. The hand cupping your cheek tightened possessively, fingers digging into your jawline just shy of pain. He didn't kiss you. Instead, his thumb brushed roughly over your bottom lip before his head dipped again. His tongue, hot and wet, licked a deliberate, slow stripe across your parted lips.

You gasped, the sensation shocking, intimate. Your mouth opened wider on a startled inhale.

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate. His tongue surged into your mouth, not seeking permission but claiming territory. It slid against your own tongue, rough and demanding. A deep, guttural groan vibrated from his chest directly into yours at the feel of your surrender, the taste of you. Then his mouth crashed onto yours, sealing the invasion.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It was fire and possession. His lips moved fiercely against yours, slanting, demanding.

A low moan escaped you, muffled against his mouth, a sound born of shock and unwelcome, overwhelming pleasure. His other hand gripped your hip hard, pulling you flush against him so you could feel every hard ridge of his body beneath you, the insistent pressure of his arousal against your core even through layers of fabric. Your hands flew up, not to push away immediately, but to clutch at his shoulders, fingers tangling in the expensive wool of his suit jacket.

The kiss deepened, became messy, wet. The slick slide of tongues, the desperate drag of lips, the harsh breaths mingling, it was a chaotic symphony of need. He groaned your name against your mouth, the sound thick with lust. “Mine,” he rasped between bruising kisses, the word a branding iron on your soul.

And then, the fog of sensation parted for a single, sharp moment of panic… your father’s disapproving face flashed in your mind. You tore your mouth from his with a ragged gasp, pushing weakly against his chest.

“Cheol! Stop!” Your voice trembled with a perfect blend of shock and fear. “We can't... my father... he forbade this! He said—”

“I know what he said!” Seungcheol snapped, cutting you off, his voice rough with sudden fury. He didn't release you; his grip on your jaw and hip tightened painfully. His eyes burned into yours, fierce and unyielding. “I was there. I heard every condescending word that fucker had to say about you.” His lip curled in derision. “‘Seungcheol deserves someone smart. Someone serious.’”

You flinched at the mimicry of your father’s tone. “It... it is true,” you whispered, playing the wounded card, letting your gaze drop. “He said I'm not... not good enough for you.”

Seungcheol scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound that echoed in the room. “Good enough?” His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “Your sorry excuse of a father doesn't know anything. He doesn’t know me. He doesn't know you.” His thumb brushed your swollen lower lip almost tenderly, a stark contrast to the venom in his voice. “He doesn't know what burns inside you. What I see.” He leaned closer, his breath hot on your face. “He doesn't know that I only want you. That I would do absolutely anything. That I would crush anyone,” his voice dropped to a chilling whisper, "kill anyone... who try to stand between us.”

The raw violence in his words hung heavy in the air. It was terrifying. It was possessive. It was undeniably his. You stared into his dark eyes, seeing the fanatic devotion, the dangerous edge of obsession that bordered on madness.

A beat of charged silence stretched between you; the frantic rhythm of your breathing the only sound besides the drumming rain that unknowingly started outside.

Then, something shifted.

The fear didn't vanish, but it was eclipsed by a wave of something darker, hotter. The carefully constructed dam holding back your own hidden desires cracked. Your gaze locked with his, filled with a sudden, fierce hunger that mirrored his own. You saw surprise flicker in his eyes for a split second before you pounced.

You crashed your lips back onto his with a force that stole his breath. This kiss wasn't hesitant or fearful; it was ravenous. Your arms flew around his neck, fingers plunging into his dark hair, pulling him impossibly closer. A low growl of pure satisfaction rumbled from deep in Seungcheol’s chest as he met your fervor with equal intensity.

Hands became desperate explorers. Yours traced the strong line of his jaw, scraped through his hair, pulled him deeper into the kiss. His hands slid down from your jaw and hip, roaming hungrily over your back, down to your waist, palming your ass through the black silk of your dress, grinding you hard against the thick ridge of his erection straining against his trousers. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your tongue.

The kiss descended into pure erotic chaos. Lips slanted, tongues dueled, teeth scraped. Whimpers and breathy moans escaped you with each possessive squeeze of his hands, each demanding thrust of his tongue. He nipped at your lower lip, drawing another gasp that he swallowed greedily.

“Fuck,” he rasped against your swollen lips when you broke for air, foreheads resting together again, both breathing harshly. “Look at you. So desperate for me.” His hand slid boldly up your thigh beneath your dress, bunching the fabric. “My perfect little dove.” He kissed you again, hard and deep before pulling back slightly, his eyes blazing down at you. “Tell me you want it,” he demanded, his thumb finding your clit through the soaked silk of your ruined panties and rubbing a hard circle that made you arch and cry out. “Tell me you want me to ruin this pretty dress and fuck you senseless right here.”

You moaned, grinding down against his hand, the friction exquisite torture. “Cheollie...” It was half-protest, half-plea.

“Say it!” he commanded, increasing the pressure, his other hand tightening painfully on your ass.

The words tumbled out, laced with the moan he ripped from you, “I want you– want you to ruin me, please. I’m yours... please... only yours...”

A predatory smile spread across Seungcheol’s face as he surged forward to reclaim your mouth, the kiss turning filthy again, punctuated by your gasps and his low groans of approval. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. The sound of tearing silk was sharp and final in the quiet room as he ripped them aside. The cool air hit your exposed heat for only a second before his hand was back, fingers sliding through your slick folds with a groan of pure pleasure.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with triumph and lust. “All mine.”

He pressed two fingers deep inside you, curling them deliberately. “Ride them,” he commanded, his voice thick with need. “Show me how badly you want it.”

A whine escaped you as you rocked your hips, grinding down onto his hand, seeking friction, seeking him. Emboldened by his command and your own desperate need, your hands flew to your dress. With a frustrated tug, you yanked at the fabric, the delicate material giving way under your urgency, joining your ruined panties on the floor. Your bra followed in a swift movement.

Seungcheol’s groan was pure appreciation, his eyes raking over your bare skin. “Fucking perfect,” he breathed. In one smooth motion, he pulled you closer, his mouth latching onto one taut nipple, sucking hard while his fingers continued their relentless rhythm inside you.

The dual assault drew a loud, keening moan from your throat as you rode his hand with increasing desperation. He switched breasts, lavishing the same attention while looking up at you through hooded eyes. “That's it, baby. Fuck my fingers like you mean it.”

“You feel so good,” you panted, arching into his mouth. “So deep, Cheollie...”

“I know, I know, baby,” he murmured against your skin, releasing your nipple with a wet pop.

“Cheol, please. More. I want it more.” Your voice was a ragged whisper, barely audible above the pounding in your ears.

He chuckled, a dark, rich sound that vibrated through your bones. “I’ll give you anything you want.” He flipped you onto your back with surprising ease, your body a pliant thing beneath his. The soft mattress cradled you as he rose, shedding his clothes with an almost violent urgency. The crisp sound of fabric hitting the floor, the glint of moonlight on his bare skin, all of it intensified the surreal, desperate moment.

His body, sculpted and powerful, stood over you, a shadow against the dim light. “Look at you,” Seungcheol began, his voice dropping to a low, seductive rumble. “Lying there, all spread out for me. My little whore. You think you’re so innocent, don’t you? So pure.” He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing you. “But I see the truth. I see the hunger in your eyes, little dove.” The way your body practically screams for me.” He knelt, his knees pressing into the mattress beside your hips.

“Your father, that old fool thinks you’re going to corrupt me… but it’s the other way around, baby. I’m going to ruin you. I’m going to make you forget every single one of his precious rules.” Seungcheol’s hand reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate line of your jaw, then down your throat, lingering at the hollow of your neck. “And those friends of yours… they talked so much shit, didn’t they? About you, about me. They deserved everything they got. Didn’t they?” His eyes, dark and intense, pierced through you, demanding an answer.

A shiver, not entirely of fear, ran through you. “Yes,” you breathed, the word a confession, a surrender. “They deserved it. All of it.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, a truly wicked expression. “That’s my girl.” He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Now, open for me. I’m going to show you what real pleasure feels like. I’m going to make you forget everything but me.”

Seungcheol positioned himself between your legs, his cock, thick and throbbing, pressing against your slick entrance. The head, slick with pre-cum, nudged, teasing, a promise of what was to come. You gasped, your hips lifting, begging for him. He plunged in, a single, powerful thrust that stole your breath.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat, a sound of profound satisfaction as he buried himself deep inside you. You cried out, a mix of pain and otherworldly pleasure, your body stretching, accommodating his impressive length. He caged you between the bed and his strong arms, his muscles flexing, taut with effort.

“Ah, fuck,” Seungcheol groaned, his voice raw, hoarse with lust. He pulled back slightly, then slammed back into you, a relentless rhythm beginning. “So tight for me. So good for me.” He began to pound, each thrust a deliberate, powerful invasion.

The bedsprings creaked a frantic song beneath your combined weight, a testament to the force of his movements. Your moans, loud and uninhibited, filled the room, mingling with the wet, slapping sounds of skin on skin, the rhythmic schlick-schlick of his cock sliding in and out of your depths.

“Cheol, oh god, Cheollie,” you whimpered, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. Your head thrashed on the pillow, your eyes wide, unfocused.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a low, dark whisper. “Listen to yourself, baby. Listen to those sounds. Your friends, those bitches, they’re cold in the ground. Died pathetically like they deserve, poisoned. And here you are, getting dicked down, moaning my name. No care in the world, are you?” He pulled back, his eyes burning into yours, a twisted smile playing on his lips. “Tell me, angel. Do they deserve this? Do they deserve to be forgotten while you get fucked senseless?”

A wild, almost manic laugh bubbled up from your throat, a sound that shocked even you. “Yes!” you shrieked, your hips bucking harder against his. “They deserved it! Every single bit of it!”

Seungcheol threw his head back, a triumphant, guttural laugh erupting from him, a sound of pure, unadulterated madness. He pounded harder, faster, his hips slamming into yours with brutal force. The bed shook, the headboard thudding against the wall. “That’s my girl!” he roared, his voice thick with a perverse delight. “That’s my fucking girl!” His thrusts deepened, each one driving you closer to the edge, your body convulsing with the intensity of it all.

The pleasure was agonizing, a searing fire that consumed you, burning away any last vestiges of innocence.

You were a mess of moans, gasps, and desperate pleas, your body a willing slave to his rhythm. He grabbed your legs, lifting them high, resting them on his shoulders. The new angle stretched you, opened you wider, allowing him to plunge even deeper. He kissed you then, a fierce, possessive kiss that tasted of sweat and lust and a hint of your own blood where his teeth had grazed your lip. He thrust harder, his cock grinding against your cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core.

“Forget about you father,” he rasped, his breath ragged against your lips. “Forget everything he ever told you. About what’s right, about what’s wrong. About who you are. Because you’re mine now and forever. Understand? Only mine, baby. Only I matter. Say it.” His eyes, dark and demanding, bore into yours.

A wicked smirk, a reflection of his own, spread across your face. “Only you matter, daddy,” you whispered, the words a raw, unbidden confession.

A low, primal groan rumbled in Seungcheol’s chest, a sound of pure, masculine triumph. He pulled out, the wet, sucking sound echoing in the room, making you whine in protest. He flipped you onto your stomach, your ass rising in a tempting curve. A sharp, stinging slap landed on your ass cheek, making you yelp, a surprised moan escaping your lips. He grabbed your hips, pulling you back, your body arching against his.

“Good girl, just like that baby,” he purred, his voice a dark caress. “You like that, don’t you? My little whore. My good girl. Say it again, baby. Say ‘yes, daddy.’”

“Yes, daddy!” you cried out, your voice hoarse, desperate.

Seungcheol repositioned himself, his cock pressing against your eager hole, slick with your own juices from the previous assault. He pushed, slowly at first, then with a surge, burying himself deep inside you from behind. Another guttural groan tore from him, a sound of pure satisfaction. You gasped, a sharp intake of breath, your body tensing, then relaxing around his invading length. He began to pound, a relentless, primal rhythm that drove you further into the mattress. The sounds were louder now, more visceral; the wet squelch of his cock, the rhythmic thwack of his balls slapping against your ass, your own desperate moans, and his low, guttural grunts.

“Look at you,” he grunted, his voice thick with lust, his hips slamming into yours. “My little animal. All fours for daddy. This is where you belong. Under me. Taking every inch.” He grabbed your hair, tugging gently, tilting your head back. “You’re so beautiful when you’re ruined, baby. So perfect.”

You whimpered, a low, continuous sound, your body trembling, on the verge of shattering. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of pleasure, building, building, an unbearable crescendo. He leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, biting gently, marking you. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice a possessive rumble. “Always. Forever.”

Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, a violent, all-consuming release that left you screaming, your body convulsing, muscles clenching around his throbbing cock. You bucked against him, a desperate, primal dance, as wave after wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over you.

Seungcheol roared, a triumphant cry, his own climax hitting him hard and fast. He emptied himself deep inside you, a hot, pulsing gush that filled you, claiming you completely. He collapsed onto your back, his heavy weight pinning you to the bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Your bodies, slick with sweat and other fluids, slowly stilled, the only sounds the ragged breathing and the frantic pounding of two hearts that had just been irrevocably intertwined in a web of dark desire and twisted devotion.

vii. WHEN BLOOD TURNS COLD

Forever and Always

That was what Seungcheol whispered into your ear that night, words carved into your chest like an oath you could never let go of.

From then on, you forgot every single thing your father had ever told you. His warnings, his cold lectures, his disappointment, they meant nothing anymore.

You were more defiant than ever, your rebellion sharpened and fueled by Seungcheol, who praised you for every little act of disobedience, who told you it was power to spit in the face of expectation.

You and Seungcheol grew inseparable.

In public, his hand lingered on your waist longer than it should, his lips sometimes brushing against your temple even when people whispered, even when they stared. You never flinched. If anything, you leaned closer, held tighter, kissed him where eyes could see.

He thrived in it, and you did too.

The world could burn, and you wouldn’t care because in his eyes, you were all that mattered. And in yours, he was the only one who ever truly did.

Weeks passed since the night you finally gave yourself to him. Weeks of stolen touches, defiant laughter, whispers only for each other. Your father hadn’t made a single declaration that he knew anything or if he even knew at all. Not that you cared anymore. His approval was no longer your oxygen. You had Seungcheol.

But someone else did notice.

Your brother. Jaemin.

And he had a lot to say.

It was late one night in the office. The building was quiet, stripped of its usual buzz, as employees trickled out one by one. The halls carried only the hum of overhead lights. You were in your office, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling as you waited for Seungcheol to finish a meeting with an investor. He always took you home, always.

The clock ticked softly. Your legs were tucked neatly under your desk chair, your mind only half-present, when suddenly the door slammed open.

Jaemin burst in, his voice venomous and sharp.

“You disgusting whore.”

Your head snapped up from your phone, shock coursing through your veins. “Jae?” you whispered, standing and quickly closing your phone. Confusion knitted your brows as you stepped toward him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He sneered, his finger stabbing the air at you. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know everything.”

Your lips parted. You blinked. “Know what? What are you saying?”

“I know about you and that fucker Seungcheol,” he spat, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “I know you’re spreading your legs for him like the little slut you are.”

The words hit like glass shattering against your chest. You stumbled back a step. “That’s not– Jaemin, you don’t understand–”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, dear sister,” he cut you off, his voice louder now, dripping poison. “You’ll never inherit Dad’s company. You know that. So what do you do? You go crawling to the strongest candidate, fucking him to get your way, to get his money. Fucking pathetic.” He jabbed his finger toward your face. “You’re a fucking whore, that’s all you are. A gold-digging whore!”

Tears pricked at your eyes, your throat burning. “I don’t want money, Jaemin!” you cried, voice cracking. “I don’t care about the company. I care about him. We care about each other, and that’s all—”

Jaemin scoffed, shaking his head violently, his lips curling into something cruel. “You expect me to believe that? You expect anyone to believe that?” His voice rose as he stepped closer, towering over you. “I will inherit this company. It’s mine. Rightfully mine, because I am the firstborn son. And you— you’re nothing. A spoiled brat spreading her legs to climb to the top. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

Your back hit the edge of your desk, and you shook your head furiously, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. “Stop it, please—”

“Pathetic bitch,” he snarled.

Then his hand shot out, clamping around your throat.

You gasped, choking, your hands flying up to claw at his grip. The pressure burned, cut off your air, your nails scratching desperately at his skin. Your legs kicked against the carpet as you tried to pry his hand away.

“You think you can fool anyone with this little act?!” Jaemin roared, spittle flying from his lips as he leaned in close. “You’re nothing but a stain on this family, always were, always will be! You spoiled fucking brat!”

You struggled, your lungs screaming for air, vision blurring at the edges. Your nails dug into his wrist, but his grip only tightened, his curses slicing into your ears.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol had just finished his meeting, his steps purposeful as he made his way down the hall to your office. But the moment the door swung open, his world split in two.

He froze.

He saw you; his girl, his everything, being choked by your own brother.

Then Jaemin’s hand released you only to crack across your cheek, the slap echoing like a gunshot, sending you crumpling to the ground. You stayed down, your head bowed, gasping, fighting to catch your breath.

Seungcheol saw red.

His chest erupted with fury, his mind clouded with nothing but violence. Before Jaemin could even step back, Seungcheol lunged. His fist collided with Jaemin’s jaw, the impact cracking through the air. Jaemin stumbled, hitting the ground hard.

“You motherfucker!” Seungcheol roared, standing over him, his voice raw with rage. “You dare lay your filthy hands on her?!”

Jaemin spat blood to the side, then actually had the audacity to smirk. “What? You her knight in shining armor now?” he taunted, his voice hoarse but still cutting. “You’re nothing but a dog on a leash, Seungcheol. She’s got you wrapped around her finger, just like every other man.”

The words snapped something inside Seungcheol. He dropped down, pinning Jaemin beneath him as his fists rained down again and again, each punch harder than the last.

“You think you can talk about her like that?!” Seungcheol growled, his knuckles splitting open. “You think you can put your hands on her and live to breathe another fucking day?!”

Blood smeared across Jaemin’s face, his laugh bubbling through broken teeth. “Look at you,” he coughed out, “pathetic. Throwing punches for a spoiled brat. She’ll ruin you, just like she ruins everything.”

Seungcheol’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. Another punch landed. “If you ever touch her again, I swear to God, Jaemin, I will kill you. You hear me? I will end you.”

You sat frozen on the floor, your cheek blazing red, a bruise already forming on your neck. You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You just watched as Seungcheol tore into your brother with nothing but fury in his eyes.

Finally, Seungcheol rose, his chest heaving, his fists dripping with blood. He pointed down at Jaemin, his voice low and lethal. “Get the fuck out of here. Before I do something worse.”

Jaemin wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, then smirked again, mocking even as he staggered to his feet. He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Have it your way.” He spat on the floor, blood staining the carpet. “But this isn’t over.”

With that, he limped out, leaving silence in his wake.

Seungcheol turned to you. You were staring at him with tear-streaked eyes, your breathing uneven, your cheek flaming red, your throat marred with darkening bruises. His rage melted instantly, replaced by something softer, protective. He dropped to his knees beside you, cupping your face gently despite the tremble in his hands.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You’re alright. He won’t touch you again.”

Your lips quivered, your tears spilling fresh. You looked up at him, your voice small, broken. “He hurt me, Cheollie… he hurt me.” And then you broke into sobs.

Seungcheol’s chest cracked wide open. He gathered you against him instantly, cooing softly. “Shh, baby, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. He’s gone now, you’re safe. I won’t let him touch you again. I promise, I swear on my life.” His lips pressed against your temple, his arms tight but gentle.

You sobbed into his chest, your body trembling as hiccups shook you. He rocked you slowly, whispering over and over. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. You’re safe with me. Always.”

Then, without hesitation, he slid his arms under you and lifted you up bridal style. You instinctively clung to him, arms wrapping tight around his neck, your tears soaking into his shirt. He stood, striding to your desk with you in his arms, snatching your phone and purse with one free hand before heading for the door.

You sobbed into his neck. “I’m scared… I didn’t know my own brother could do that to me…”

His voice hardened, but his tone to you was soft, reassuring. “You don’t need to be scared, little dove. Not when I’m here. I’ll take care of everything. He won’t get away with this. I promise you.” He pressed a kiss into your hair. “I’ll protect you. Forever and always.”

He carried you out of the office, down the empty hall, and out into the night. His strides were long, purposeful, his arm never loosening. When he reached his car, he settled you gently in the passenger seat, buckling you in himself, his fingers brushing over your trembling hands.

“You’re not staying there tonight,” he said firmly as he closed your door and slid into the driver’s seat. His knuckles whitened around the wheel, his jaw tense as stone. “You’re staying with me. I won’t allow you to sleep under the same roof as that bastard.”

The car ride was quiet but heavy. You hiccupped and sniffled, exhaustion dragging at your eyelids as Seungcheol’s voice filled the space. His words were steady, repeated like a vow. “Everything will be fine. I’ll fix this. You don’t have to worry anymore. Sleep, baby. I’ve got you. Always.”

Slowly, your breathing evened out, your tears drying as sleep took you.

Seungcheol kept his eyes on the road, but his jaw was locked, his knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly. Every muscle in his body burned with fury. Finally, he reached over, grabbing his phone and pressing it to his ear.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then a calm voice answered.

“Seungcheol, you called.”

His tone was cold, sharp, merciless. “Wonwoo. I need you to do something for me.”

viii. THE PERFECT MASKED EXECUTION

Jaemin’s mind was running a hundred miles per hour as he gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had turned bone white. His breaths came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling like a man drowning in his own fury.

The sting from his split lip mixed with the hot burn of humiliation; Seungcheol’s punches still echoed through his skull. Blood dripped down his chin, streaking over the collar of his designer suit, staining it with a grotesque reminder of the shame he’d suffered tonight. It splattered on the leather interior of his expensive car, the sharp scent of iron mixing with the faint notes of cologne lingering in the air.

Every drop only fueled his anger.

When he finally pulled up to the estate, he didn’t bother to pull into the driveway. He slammed the brakes hard, jerking the car to the curb, and threw the door open with a snarl. His shoes hit the ground in heavy, uneven strides as he stormed toward the towering doors of the family home, the place that had always been his fortress.

Tonight it felt like a coffin.

The halls echoed with silence as he rushed through them, fists clenched, his jaw tight. His pulse thundered in his ears, every beat chanting Seungcheol’s name. By the time he reached his room, he was panting, chest heaving with rage.

The moment he pushed open the door, his eyes fell to the desk. Papers were scattered everywhere; his research, his lifeline, his one advantage.

Documents detailing Choi Seungcheol’s sins: shady deals buried deep, violent altercations hushed by bribes, money trails that could land him in jail. Jaemin lunged forward, hands shaking as he swept the papers into a pile and stuffed them into his leather bag with manic urgency.

Jaemin’s only thought was to get out, expose Seungcheol before he could make his next move.

But then…

Click.

Jaemin froze.

The cold press of metal at the back of his head sent ice down his spine. His blood turned to stone, his body locked in place. Then came the voice; deep, muffled through some kind of distortion. It was low, calm, and cruel.

“Tsk, tsk… look at you,” the voice tutted, mocking. “So desperate. So pitiful. I almost feel sorry for you.”

Jaemin’s throat closed, his breaths shallow. His voice came out hoarse, shaking despite his attempt at control.

“W-Who are you? What… what do you want?”

A chuckle hummed behind him, slow and deliberate. “Why don’t you turn around and find out.”

His body refused him at first, every nerve screaming to stay frozen, but his legs betrayed him.

Slowly, rigidly, Jaemin turned.

And there he was.

A tall man in all black stood before him. Broad shoulders, muscular frame, every inch of him cloaked in darkness. But it was the mask that rooted Jaemin’s feet to the ground, the full face of a red skull, grotesque and grinning, reflecting the dim light of the room.

The masked man tilted his head and laughed, the sound hollow behind the distortion. “So obedient. So pathetic. I thought you’d put up more of a fight, but… here you are, shaking like a child.”

Jaemin’s nostrils flared as he straightened, trying to disguise the fear clenching his gut. His voice sharpened, though it cracked at the edges.

“What do you need? Money? Is that it? I can give you money.”

The man shook his head slowly, deliberately. “Not here for money.” A pause. “I’m here… for a friend.”

The words hit like a riddle. Jaemin’s heart stumbled, his brows furrowed. “A… friend? Who the hell– what are you talking about?”

The masked man stepped closer, his boots heavy on the polished floor. “You wouldn’t understand. He told me you wouldn’t.” A long, low laugh. “Said you’d be too stupid to figure it out.”

Jaemin’s anger flared through the fear. His teeth ground as he snapped, “Answer me straight, damn it! What the fuck do you want?!”

The masked man leaned in, close enough for Jaemin to see his own trembling reflection in the glossy surface of the red skull. “What I want?” he echoed, almost playfully. Then his tone dropped, eerie and final. “I want you… to remember this moment.”

Before Jaemin could reply, footsteps echoed behind him. He spun, his stomach flipping.

Another figure had entered.

This one tall as well, clad in black from head to toe, but his mask was silver, the same grinning skull carved into its design.

Jaemin barely had time to register the glimmer of metal at the man’s side.

A bat.

Then—

BAM!

The blow crashed against his skull, pain exploding like fire through his head. His knees buckled, vision went black. He hit the floor, unconscious before he could even curse.

The man in the red mask crouched and hefted Jaemin’s limp body over his shoulder like he was nothing more than a sack of garbage. Without hesitation, the two men strode out of the room, their boots striking the floor with eerie confidence, as if they’d walked these halls a thousand times.

The man in the silver mask tilted his head toward the ceiling as they passed. Surveillance cameras lined the corners, their tiny lights dark, disabled. He let out a dry chuckle under his breath. “Perfect.”

Together, they moved down the corridor until they stood before the large wooden double doors of the patriarch’s office.

The red mask lifted his leg and kicked hard.

The doors flew open.

Inside, your father sat at his desk, papers neatly arranged, his glasses perched low on his nose. At the sudden intrusion, he jolted upright. His eyes widened in shock.

“What the hell is this?!” he barked. His voice thundered across the room as he shot to his feet. “Who are you? What do you want? Get out of my house this instant, or I’m calling the police!”

The red mask dropped Jaemin’s unconscious body onto the carpet with a thud.

Your father’s face twisted in horror. “What did you do to him?!”

No answer.

The red mask raised his hand, gun glinting in the dim light.

Bang!

Your father staggered back.

Bang!

His knees buckled.

Bang!

Blood sprayed across the mahogany desk.

Bang!

The fourth shot landed straight between his brows. His body slumped back into the chair, lifeless, eyes open but empty.

The silver mask calmly stepped forward. With deliberate precision, he lifted the bat he carried earlier and pressed it into your father’s lifeless hand, holding it there for a moment before letting it drop beside the corpse’s feet with a heavy thud.

The red mask seized Jaemin’s body once again, dragging him forward until he slumped into the chair opposite his father. With meticulous care, he forced the unconscious boy’s hand around the gun and left it there.

Minutes ticked by.

Eventually, Jaemin groaned, stirring.

The red mask’s hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out a phone.

He dialed.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

The man’s voice changed instantly; concerned, frantic, breathless.

“H-hello? Yes– yes, my friend and I, we were walking down Delaney Street… we… we heard gunshots! From inside the house! We– we didn’t know what to do, we were so scared, we just ran– please, you have to send someone, right now!”

“Sir, calm down. We’ve dispatched a unit. Stay safe.”

“O-okay, thank you! Thank you!”

He hung up.

A groan echoed through the office. Jaemin’s eyelids fluttered as he slowly came to. His head pounded, his vision swam. The metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue. He blinked, sat up—

And froze.

His father’s lifeless body sat across from him, blood dripping down his forehead.

“No…” Jaemin gasped, stumbling back. He stood so quickly the chair screeched against the floor. His hand suddenly felt heavy. He looked down—

The gun.

“No– no, no, no!” He dropped it instantly, the clatter deafening in the silent room.

His head whipped around, and there they were. The red mask. The silver mask. Watching.

Jaemin’s voice cracked as he screamed, spittle flying. “WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!” He repeated it, over and over, desperation breaking his voice.

Sirens wailed in the distance, flashing red and blue lights growing nearer until they painted the office walls.

Before Jaemin could speak again, the red mask’s fist slammed into his jaw. Pain exploded, sending him sprawling onto the carpet.

Upstairs, footsteps thundered. The silver mask tore into Jaemin’s room, sweeping every damning document he’d compiled on Seungcheol into a bag. At the same time, the red mask planted new papers; fraud accounts, stolen stocks, fabricated evidence of embezzlement… every page spelling Jaemin’s downfall.

By the time the police banged on the front door, the two men had slipped silently through a window, vanishing into the night.

They sprinted to a car parked in the shadows, slid inside. The red mask gripped the wheel, the silver mask flipped open a laptop on his lap, fingers flying across the keys as code filled the screen.

From a safe distance, they watched the estate come alive with sirens. Police shouting, battering down the doors, storming inside. Minutes later, two figures emerged; one body bag carried solemnly by officers, and Jaemin, wrists cuffed tightly, dragged into the flashing lights.

The red mask smirked beneath his disguise, then turned the key.

The car sped off into the night.

After several minutes, both men tore the masks away. One’s calm eyes glinted in the glow of the laptop, while the other leaned back, grinning like a wolf.

The one on the passenger seat dialed on his phone.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Then a voice answered.

“So?”

“It’s done, Seungcheol,” He said evenly.

Across the city, Seungcheol leaned back against the headboard of his bed, shirtless. You lay curled against his chest, your breaths soft and steady as you slept, his arm wrapped protectively around you. A smile tugged at his lips as he chuckled lowly.

“I owe you, Wonwoo.”

“What about me?” Another voice cut in.

“I don’t remember asking you for help, Mingyu,” Seungcheol replied flatly. “You’re just a bloodthirsty psycho.”

“Coming from you,” Mingyu shot back, sharp and smug.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed, but his voice was calm. “Everything went according to plan?”

“One is dead,” Mingyu said bluntly, his laugh dark and unrestrained. “And one’s about to be the talk of the country tomorrow.”

Wonwoo’s voice followed, cool and precise. “Everything went smooth. I disabled all surveillance cameras inside the estate, outside, and every neighboring house within a block. No one saw a thing.”

Seungcheol hummed low, satisfaction vibrating in his chest as his fingers traced absent circles along your arm. “Good. Thank you, both of you.”

He ended the call, slipping the phone onto the nightstand. His gaze dropped to you, sleeping soundly against him, trusting him completely.

A slow grin spread across his face.

Everything was falling into place.

Tomorrow, the world would burn and you would be his.

Just as he had planned.

ix. THE LAST CURTAIN CALL

The next morning, you wake in a world on fire, yet in his arms, it feels like quiet.

The sheets are warm, heavy, carrying the scent of Seungcheol’s home, his skin, his breath lingering from the night before. His chest is solid against your back, his arm banded around your waist in a grip that feels protective, possessive, immovable.

The sun bleeds weakly through the curtains, but it’s the television that floods the room with light and noise.

You don’t move. You don’t want to. The cadence of his breathing anchors you, and for a moment it’s almost enough to believe you’ve woken into safety. His embrace feels like an answer your body has been craving without realizing it, his presence wrapping you in something that feels more permanent than walls, heavier than bloodlines.

Home.

On the screen before you, the world gnaws itself apart.

“Breaking news this morning,” the anchor announces, voice smooth but cutting. The camera flashes to the sprawling family estate barricaded with yellow tape, authorities crowding in and out of the gates, flashes from news cameras breaking through the gray morning. “The patriarch of the multibillion conglomerate SVT was found dead late last night in his home office. Officials confirm he sustained four gunshot wounds.”

You don’t blink.

Seungcheol’s grip only tightens around you, silent.

“They have also revealed that a metal bat was recovered at the scene, bearing the victim’s fingerprints. Police officials suggest the deceased may have attempted to defend himself before succumbing to gunfire. His eldest son, Jaemin was taken into custody last night, escorted in handcuffs following a violent confrontation. He was found at the home in possession of the firearm bearing his fingerprints. Blood on the recovered bat has been matched to his DNA.”

The screen shows Jaemin bruised, swollen, stumbling as police drag him through flashing lights and yelling reporters. He looks monstrous. You don’t flinch. Not even when the footage cuts back to the anchor’s tight, professional expression.

“Further evidence suggests found in the estate, a history of financial misconduct. Documents discovered in his private study indicate possible tax fraud and diversion of company assets. Sources close to the investigation believe these allegations may have motivated his actions.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, sharp. His other hand is on the phone, voice low but thrumming with controlled anger as he speaks into it. His thumb rubs your arm absently, a contradiction in touch.

“No,” he snaps, his voice edged. “Listen to me, this company will not collapse because of that bastard’s stupidity. The board will convene tonight. You’ll get the statement drafted, I’ll handle the press. We are not letting outsiders control the narrative. Do you understand?”

You listen in silence, curled in his arms, staring at your actual home swarmed with police on the television screen.

“And now on developing news,” the anchor continues. “Following this story, we have obtained exclusive CCTV footage leaked from the company headquarters by an anonymous source. Warning, some viewers may find this content disturbing.”

The clip cuts in, grainy, the boardroom office. You. Jaemin. His hand at your throat, squeezing, shoving your back into the desk. The sharp crack of his palm across your face. The grainy black-and-white version of you struggling, choking, your own face barely recognizable in distress before Seungcheol appears, dragging him off you, the image freezing there.

The anchor’s voice overlays, calm and clinical, “This footage, verified by multiple sources, suggests the possibility that the oldest heir may have been physically abusive toward his younger sister. While the extent of this alleged abuse remains under investigation, speculation has arisen that his motive for murder may have been tied to his attempts to seize control of the SVT conglomerate at any cost.”

The words slice cleanly.

You stare, unmoving, but suddenly your body betrays you, warm tears begin to slide down your cheeks. Slowly at first, then spilling faster, the noise of the television blurring into the sound of your shallow breaths.

Seungcheol notices instantly. His head turns; his eyes are sharp, burning, but his mouth softens when he looks at you. He mutters one final line into the phone, his tone cutting, final, a growl that leaves no room for argument.

“Get it done or get out of my way.”

The phone hits the nightstand with a sharp thud, and then his hand is on your cheek, brushing away the tears that keep coming. His voice dips low, gentle, almost coaxing.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You can’t. Your chest shudders, the sob finally breaking free. “H-how could this happen?” Your words stumble, your throat burning. “How could I believe he would– he would do something like this? My da– my dad is gone—”

Seungcheol pulls you up, presses your face into his chest, his hand stroking through your hair, down your spine. “Shh. Don’t do this to yourself, baby. Don’t you dare blame yourself for the monsters they chose to be. Your father…” His voice cracks sharp, then steadies into something smoother, a lie wrapped in velvet. “Your father couldn’t protect you. Your brother never wanted to. But me? I’ll never let anything touch you. Do you hear me? Never.”

You sob harder, your fists clutching at his shirt. “If I was home last night… if I was there—” Your voice fractures into hysteria. “What would he have done to me, Cheollie? What if he killed me too? What if— what if—”

“Stop.” His tone hardens, but his hand is firm, steady on your back. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. I would never let that happen. He will pay for what he’s done, you hear me? He’ll rot in jail for it. And you…” He tilts your chin up, forcing your teary eyes to meet his. His voice lowers, possessive, absolute. “You are safe. With me. Only with me.”

Your voice comes out small, almost childlike through your sobbing. “You promise? You’ll protect me?”

His thumb wipes under your eye, slow. He smiles, faint but sharp, his eyes burning with something closer to hunger than tenderness. “I already am, angel. You’re mine now. And no one will ever hurt what’s mine.”

After a few minutes after you two fell in comfortable silence, Seungcheol squeezed your arm and broke the silence.

“You should come to the meeting tonight,” he says. His voice is soft, persuasive. “You need to be seen, baby. We’ll go to the office together. It’s better that people see you… see the truth. The footage, the bruises, they’ll understand. The press will help. It’ll make Jaemin’s lies crumble faster.”

You press your palm to your chest as if to steady the frantic beat beneath. The office had dozen memories you can’t face today; the idea of leaving Seungcheol’s house feels like stepping off a cliff. “I don’t want to go, Cheollie.” you whisper. The words tremble out, small and honest.

He tips your chin up with a thumb like it’s the most natural, simple thing. “You don’t have to be brave for anyone but yourself,” he says. There’s a pause, then the softer edging of a plan. “But for this… please. Let them see what he did. Let them see you. Let them know. We need the world to feel the truth. For you. For me. For justice.”

You find yourself thinking, absurdly, that he is the only one using the word justice who doesn’t sound clinical. You nod because the nod is easier than arguing. “Okay,” you say, small.

“But promise… you won’t leave me. Not for a second,” you add, eyes wide and childlike with fear.

His face softens. “I promise. I’ll be right there. Every step, my dove.” He leans down to press a quick kiss above your temple and then he moves, purposeful and precise, to get you ready.

When you arrive the cameras are a living wall.

Flashbulbs pop like small, impatient fireworks. Reporters cluster at the gate, their voices a constant tide of questions. Seungcheol moves like someone who has rehearsed this choreography a thousand times; close to you, intercepting microphones with a shoulder, guiding you with a hand at the small of your back. You keep your sunglasses on because you’re not ready to map your face for every headline.

A reporter shouts, “Miss, how are you holding up?” A camera lens swings to you. You feel the weight of a thousand eyes and then the solid presence of Seungcheol’s hand squeezing your wrist. He leans in to the nearest reporter, cold and fast. “No comments. Move back.” His tone is not rude so much as iron-clad; the press takes two steps back without arguing.

He will not let anyone come near you. When a stranger reaches out, an older woman who wants to touch your sleeve, Seungcheol’s hand shifts like a blind barrier, blocking it gently but deliberately. “We appreciate your concern,” he tells her, voice smooth, and then to you, low, “Breathe, my love. Keep your sunglasses on. Let them see the bruise. They need to see.”

You want to hide the line on your neck. You reach instinctively for the silk scarf in your bag, but his fingers close around your wrist and stop you, soft but firm. “No.” The one-syllable absolute is not cruel; he makes it strategy. “If people see, they’ll know what he did. It helps.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd when they notice the faint red crescent at your jaw and the darker purple beginning to bloom along your neck. Hollow sympathies and blunt outrage fold over one another: “Oh my god, look at her.” “How could he?” “She’s so brave.”

You feel oddly buoyed by the chorus; pity is proof, pity is recognition, pity is evidence the world acknowledges what you felt alone.

Inside the meeting room a few floors up, the board members assemble around the long table. You sit close to Seungcheol who was on your father’s chair, as he has asked, as the rest of the room settles into the business of damage control. He pulls your fingers through his and interlaces them in his lap, his hand large and steady over yours.

The conversation is airless, taut with numbers and reputation.

The CFO opens with the facts, “We need to control the narrative. The footage is circulating; the tabloids will run their own versions. We’ll issue a statement tonight, legal will contact family counsel, and security will audit all internal operations.”

A senior director adds his voice practiced, “We also need a clear succession plan. The market hates uncertainty. We propose an interim CEO, a clean face, someone who can stabilize investor confidence.”

A board member looks at Seungcheol. “You’ve been the operator, if anyone can steady the ship, it’s you.”

Another voice, lower, suggests another tack: “There’s merit to considering now that Jaemin is out the picture, the only daughter as the rightful heir, given recent events. Legally she is a primary family member, and it would show a continuity that may mollify certain stakeholders.”

You feel the table spin for a fraction of a second. The suggestion is courteous, almost shockingly fair on paper, but it feels like a test you had no intention of passing.

“No,” you say immediately, before you can measure the consequences.

The word comes out quick and final. Heads turn.

Seungcheol looks at you; the corner of his mouth lifts like a question. “Are you sure, baby?” he asks quietly.

You take a breath that trembles with memory of your father’s eyes when he treated you like an ornament, of your own clumsy attempts at the office, and of how badly this life pinched at the edges of you. “Yes,” you answer. “He trained you, Cheol. My father trusted you. You have been his COO for years. He would want you to lead. This business… it’s not for me.” The admission is small but fierce.

You feel faintly like a child handing someone else a crown.

Seungcheol’s reply is quiet and confident. “I understand.” His hand squeezes yours before placing a kiss on the back of it.

Later, in the privacy of your chest, he will call this modesty. In the present, it simply feels like relief.

The board continued and discusses logistics; legal filings, press strategy, the expected fallout.

A vote is taken. A few members voice the obvious; “Seungcheol has proven himself; he should be interim CEO.” A couple murmur about governance and optics.

The decision was made quick, Choi Seungcheol, interim leader; he accepts the position with a humility that looks practiced and true; he speaks of stewardship, stability, and protecting the company’s legacy.

When the meeting needed and when other executives leave, their shoes hollowing away down the corridor, the room closes in smaller and softer. Seungcheol pulls you into his lap, your body instinctively folding against him, he then tugs a stray hair behind your ear with the devotion of someone blessing a small victory.

“Thank you for coming,” he murmurs, voice thick with something that could be gratitude or feigned humility. “Did I do well?”

You blink at the question, and he laughs softly, self-deprecating but proud. “You were perfect,” you tell him, voice almost a whisper.

He leans in and presses his forehead to yours, fingers braced at the back of your head. “Will I do good?” he asks, seeking the approval like a man who needs it to be true.

“Yes,” you reply without thinking.

Your voice is small and certain. You mean it, the way he has maneuvered the world for you, the way he has kept you close, has created a private sky in which he is the only power. You want to believe him worthy.

He is worthy.

Seungcheol smiles, then closes the distance in a practiced move, lips meeting yours. The kiss is swift and exact at first, it softens into slow, insistent, his mouth mapping yours with patient ownership. His hands caressed; one at the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your skull, guiding, steadying. You respond because you are exhausted and because his mouth promises a hush. The kiss deepens; his tongue is deliberate, exploring rather than racing, coaxing you into compliance.

When he pulls back, the air around you feels smaller and warmer. He rests his forehead against yours again.

“Everything will be alright, angel,” he says, voice low and certain. “It’s all falling into place.”

You make a small sound; half sigh, half hum, and sink into him, the sound of it a confirmation.

In his arms, with his word, the world narrows to two people and a plan that will not let anything touch you unless he allows it.

And soon, the trial finally came.

The trial comes like a storm you can’t avoid.

Weeks of preparation collapse into a single morning; suits, papers, microphones, cameras flashing outside the courthouse doors. Inside, the air hums with tension, lawyers setting up files, the low murmur of the audience, the scrape of chairs, the judge’s gavel calling order.

You sit stiffly, your hands folded tight in your lap, Seungcheol’s presence at your side a steady, quiet anchor.

The prosecution begins, voices calm but sharp.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this case is not one of speculation. The evidence will show that Mr. Jaemin, motivated by greed and resentment, not only abused his younger sister but also murdered his own father in a desperate bid for power.”

The defense counters quickly, their tone crisp, controlled.

“The prosecution will try to paint my client as a monster. But we intend to show he is a victim of circumstance, wrongfully accused, framed by a chain of coincidences and circumstantial evidence. We will show the lack of direct proof linking him to this heinous act.”

The words weave through the courtroom like smoke. You sit silently, each sentence adding weight to your chest.

When the judge calls your name, your stomach knots. You stand and walk to the witness stand, every step deliberate. The oath feels heavy on your tongue, but you speak it. And then you’re seated in the booth, hands trembling in your lap, eyes seeking out Seungcheol across the courtroom. He looks at you like always; steady, reassuring, his gaze warm enough to melt the fear.

The prosecutor starts.

“Miss, can you describe your relationship with your brother, Jaemin?”

Your throat tightens. But you speak.

“He is my brother but… he’s always been… angry with me. I never understood why. Ever since we were children, it felt like I was someone he resented the most.”

“And in recent years? Did that anger escalate?”

“Yes.” You hiccup slightly. “Recently, he’s been hitting me. Sometimes slapping me, choking me. He’d wait until no one was around. I tried to ignore it, but it only got worse.”

You steal a glance at Seungcheol. His eyes shine with something fierce, something like pride. The sight steadies you.

The prosecutor presses on.

“Do you recall an incident when your father discussed the company’s succession plan with you and your brother?”

Your lips part, and the lie forms smoothly now.

“Yes. My dad once proposed I take over after him. Jaemin knew that I have no interests in the business, yet… he didn’t take it well. He dragged me by the hair, screamed at me, called me unfit. He–he verbally abused me, over and over.”

A lie.

A murmur ripples through the courtroom. The defense lawyer rises quickly.

“Objection. Speculative and inflammatory.”

The judge bangs the gavel. “Overruled. The witness will continue.”

Your voice wavers but doesn’t break.

“He’s always been ambitious. He wanted the company more than anything. And when Father suggested me, he never forgave me for it.”

The prosecutor nods solemnly. “No further questions.”

The defense steps forward, eyes sharp.

“Miss, you expect us to believe your brother— a man respected in business circles, physically assaulted you for years and no one noticed? No staff, no relatives, no one?”

You swallow.

“He… he knew when to stop. He knew how to hide it. And I never said anything. I was afraid.”

The lawyer leans closer. “Afraid, or lying?”

Your chest seizes. Before you can form an answer, a chair scrapes violently. Jaemin shoots to his feet, his voice shattering through the chamber.

“Liar! You’re lying! Why are you lying?!”

Your body folds in on itself, a sob breaking loose as you cower in the booth. Tears stream down your face as the judge slams the gavel.

“Order in the court! Mr. Jaemin, you will sit down immediately or be held in contempt!”

Guards press him back into his chair, his chest heaving with rage.

You choke out words between sobs. “I—I didn’t want to say it. But it’s the truth. He’s hurt me for years.”

The jury watches with wide eyes. The prosecutor’s face is set in stone, calm and satisfied.

Witnesses are called one after another.

Former staff. Associates. Neighbors. They speak of muffled arguments, strange bruises, doors slammed shut, Jaemin’s temper and his jealousy.

Their testimonies weave seamlessly into the picture already painted.

You sit frozen in your seat, confusion threading through your mind. You never expected this; so many voices, so much support for lies you thought were only yours. But each time your doubt flickers, your gaze drifts sideways to Seungcheol. He doesn’t look at you… he’s watching the witnesses, calm, almost smug.

Evidence is paraded before the jury: the murder weapon with Jaemin’s fingerprints, financial documents tracing fraud directly to him, CCTV footage of him storming the estate.

The defense fights, but their arguments crumble against the weight of the case built brick by brick.

Finally, the judge calls the jury back. The courtroom stills as the foreman stands.

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Jaemin… guilty of murder in the first degree. Guilty of aggravated assault. Guilty of fraud.”

The gavel cracks once, final and echoing.

“You are hereby sentenced to life in prison.”

Chaos erupts.

Jaemin thrashes as guards seize his arms, his voice breaking with fury.

“No! You liars! You fucking liars! You’ll burn for this! Both of you! Fuck you!”

He kicks, he screams, his words tangled in curses as he’s dragged in chains across the floor. The courtroom watches, stunned, horrified.

Beside you, Seungcheol shifts. He leans in, presses a kiss against your forehead, unshaken and protective. His hand rests firm at the back of your neck.

Relief floods you, sharp and dizzying. But beneath it, winding through the cracks of your soul, is something else; dark, foreign, and strangely sweet.

As Jaemin is hauled away, spitting venom and thrashing against his restraints, you feel it rise in you.

A satisfaction. Sinister, heavy, intoxicating.

You sit very still, tears cooling on your cheeks, and watch your brother vanish through the doors, screaming, cursing, chained; knowing deep inside you that part of you doesn’t grieve his downfall at all.

The last final thing to end this whole story… is the funeral.

The funeral comes on a gray morning, the sky heavy with clouds that seem to hang low enough to suffocate. Black cars line the driveway of the cemetery chapel, their polished surfaces reflecting the pale light.

Inside, the room is full of friends, family, colleagues, every one of them dressed in dark mourning clothes, their faces painted with grief. The air smells of incense and wilting flowers, a blend so thick it clings to the back of your throat.

You stand there in the middle of it all, Seungcheol’s hand wrapped firmly around yours. His grip never falters, not once. Every person who approaches dips their head, voice low, the same refrain repeated again and again.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“He was a great man.”

“My condolences.”

The words blur together, a drone of pity you can no longer bear to hear. You nod politely, sometimes bow slightly, but inside you are exhausted. Tired of the sympathy. Tired of the murmured apologies. Tired of all of them looking at you as though you’re fragile glass ready to crack.

Seungcheol shields you with his presence, tall and steady at your side. His thumb strokes across the back of your hand absentmindedly, grounding you when the faces and voices start to blur too much. Not once does he let you go; not when you move from the entrance to the front pew, not when you sit, not when people file past you with their tears and rehearsed words. He is there, his warmth constant against your palm.

The ceremony stretches on, hymns echoing against the walls, the low hum of prayers filling the air. People cry; loud, soft, broken sobs echoing all around you. You watch as shoulders shake, as tissues are pressed to red eyes, as your father is remembered with reverence, his power, his influence, his supposed greatness.

But you… you don’t cry.

You can’t.

All you can do is think.

You think about the irony of it all.

How you grew up with everything; money, power, fame. A family name that carried weight wherever you went. You had the mansion, the cars, the legacy. You had your father, your brother, your mother.

Yet somehow, you always felt alone.

Your mother tried to fix that, for a while. She gave you warmth, the only real warmth you ever knew in that house. And then she was gone. Your father dismissed you, shoved you aside like you were little more than an afterthought. And your brother… despised you, hated you with a passion you never understood.

You had everything.

But you were always alone.

As the ceremony nears its end, you lean your head gently against Seungcheol’s shoulder. His suit is crisp, his cologne faint but grounding. The solid weight of him beneath your cheek anchors you more than anything else in this room.

And it hits you, so sharp and so cruelly ironic that now, with your whole family gone, you don’t feel alone at all.

Because you have him.

Seungcheol.

He holds your hand like it’s a lifeline, like he’ll never let go. He turns his head slightly, presses his lips against your hairline for the briefest second, and even in the silence of the chapel you hear him breathe with you, steady and calm.

More than enough. That’s what he is. More than enough to fill the empty spaces your family left behind. More than enough to make you believe you were never meant to stand with them but with him.

And as you sit there, in the last rows of mourning, surrounded by grief yet cocooned in his presence, the truth whispers itself to you in the cruelest clarity:

Now, with your father in the ground, your brother behind bars for life, and every tie to your blood severed, he had you completely; your hand in his, your head on his shoulder, your whole world folded neatly into his control.

x. HOWLING IN SILENCE

You didn’t regret it.

Not for a second.

Not when you looked back on it all, not when the echoes of people’s condolences still lingered, not when the weight of your father’s funeral still hung in the air.

No… there was not a trace of remorse inside you.

You remembered it clearly, like the first flicker of a match catching fire.

The very first time you saw Seungcheol wasn’t in your father’s office as he later thought. It was years before, in New York, during spring break. You had slipped into that party like any other restless daughter of privilege, but the second your eyes found him across the crowded room, everything stilled. He didn’t see you, too busy laughing low at something his friends whispered in his ear but you saw him.

The way the soft amber light of the chandeliers slid across his jawline. The way his posture screamed control, shoulders squared, head slightly dipped in quiet dominance. The way women leaned closer when he spoke, like moths to flame, and the way men straightened their backs when he passed, instinctively aware of the gravity he carried.

You admired the quiet strength in his movements, the elegance wrapped around authority. In that instant, something in you locked into place.

You researched him afterwards. It wasn’t hard; nothing was hard when you had money and connections. And when you found out that he worked for your father, when you realized this man, this magnetic force, was tethered to your world, that’s when it began.

The obsession.

You played the long game. You didn’t act, not yet. You let years pass, because if this was going to work, it had to be perfect. It had to be inevitable.

When the moment finally came, it was under the guise of something so mundane it was laughable.

Your brother had asked you to bring his things to the office.

But you remembered your father at dinner the night before, casually mentioning that Seungcheol would be in for a meeting. So you hid Jaemin’s laptop. His phone. You made sure he’d have no choice but to send you.

You dressed with precision that morning; your very best, the kind of outfit that whispered innocence but clung enough to ensure attention. And when you walked into that office, carrying your brother’s things, you felt it.

His eyes.

The heavy drag of his gaze over your frame.

That was the moment you knew everything was falling into place.

From there, you crafted your role with care. A clumsy slip here, an accidental bump there. You made sure he would have no choice but to protect you. And he did. Every time. His hand steadying your elbow, his voice gently scolding, “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself, sweetheart.”

The soft glare he’d send to whoever you bumped into, as though he was already imagining peeling their skin from bone for daring to be in your way. You basked in it. In his doting, in his attention, in the way his presence bent toward yours like a shield.

You left your window cracked open on purpose. You dressed in soft, satin nightgowns meant for his eyes alone. You savored the thought of him standing outside, gaze trailing over you in the dark, climbing in when the temptation became too much.

And when your father confronted you, his voice booming as he forbade you from seeing Seungcheol again, you weren’t bothered. His words slid off you like rain.

Still, you cried.

Cried deliberately, knowing Seungcheol was just outside waiting for his meeting, your sobs bleeding into the air so that he’d hear. You crafted your need for him carefully, your words always turned toward reassurance, planting in him the unshakable image of you as something fragile, in need of protection.

Then there was Anna and Chloe.

You had been foolish enough to tell them about Seungcheol, expecting friendship, perhaps envy disguised as teasing. Instead, their eyes glazed with lust, their giggles sharp with hunger.

“He’s hot,” Chloe had whispered, her lip caught between her teeth.

“God, imagine if he looked at us the way he looks at you,” Anna added, laughter bubbling between them.

Your blood boiled.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat, your voice cold.

“Relax,” Chloe snickered, “we’re just saying… maybe we’d have a chance too.”

“You? A chance?” you sneered. “With him? Don’t make me fucking laugh. You’d be lucky if he even glanced at you.”

“At least we don’t throw ourselves around like some desperate little girl,” Anna bit back, eyes narrowing.

The fight escalated.

Words flew sharp as glass, names hurled until silence cut them apart.

When you told Seungcheol later, you didn’t reveal the truth. You didn’t tell him how they’d lusted after him, how the thought alone made you see red. You only told him they had been angry; angry because he was older, because he worked for your father and it was inappropriate.

You kept the mask intact, the perfect picture of naïveté.

But you knew what to do.

You knew exactly what to do.

A few nights later, with Anna and Chloe preparing for their trip to Paris, you picked up your phone. The line clicked, and a familiar, smooth voice answered.

“Hey, princess, what can I help you with?”

You smiled at the sound. “Hannie… can you get rid of some pests for me, pretty please?”

A chuckle, low and amused. “Risky words, pretty girl.”

“Risky job,” you teased back.

He hummed, a note of curiosity in his tone. “Tell me.”

You laid it out for him; who, where, when. Calm, casual, almost playful.

“You know,” he said after a pause, his voice warm with mischief, “I shouldn’t. But I owe you. And honestly, hearing that sweet voice beg? How could I say no?”

“I’ll wire you a million dollars.”

He laughed, soft and wicked. “Is cyanide okay, pretty girl?”

“Just make sure you don’t get caught.”

“Do you remember who you’re talking to?”

“Not Batman, that’s for sure.”

“Hey—” But you hung up before he could finish, your lips curving as the dial tone hummed.

When the news broke a few days later, it was almost beautiful. Anna and Chloe. Dead. Cyanide poisoning. No witnesses. No evidence. No leads. No trail. Nothing.

Clean. Silent. Perfect.

You were impressed… so much so that you sent Jeonghan another million.

And still, you didn’t regret it.

Not at all.

You arranged the final acts with the same slow, careful fingers.

You knew your brother’s temper. You knew the small humiliations that would make him snap. You let the building gossip do the rest; the looks, the little conspiracies. You left your messages where he could see them. You let your smiles happen when he passed. You made sure he overheard. You set the stage and kept your back to the audience, watching the trap tighten.

And he snapped, just like you expected.

Jaemin came at you like a storm, face red, voice tearing the air. The words are carved in your memory; his spit, his fury, the raw hatred you’d lived with and weaponized.

“You think you can fool anyone with this little act?!” Jaemin roared, spittle flying from his lips as he leaned in close. “You’re nothing but a stain on this family, always were, always will be! You spoiled fucking brat!”

You felt his hands on your throat tighten, the fingers like clamps. You felt the heat in your ears and the sudden, electric clarity. This was the moment you had rehearsed in the quiet of your mind. This was the culmination of years of small maneuvers. The choke, the insult, the public display of his rage, you had orchestrated a live confession and left the rest to the cameras and the men you’d lined up.

You struggled, gasping in his hold. The edges of pain sharpened everything, and something inside you tilted into a grin that is sinister and bright. You let a soft, small chuckle out of you, the sound the world would later read as hysteria but which, in that breath, tasted like power.

“You’re right,” you said, quiet and close, so that only he could hear at first. “Once you and Father are out of the picture, Seungcheol will take over. And I…” you lifted your chin, let the contempt curl perfect and icy, “I’ll be the spoiled fucking brat for the rest of my life. I won’t get my pretty little manicured nails dirty, God no. Seungcheol will do everything for me. To him, I’m nothing more than a helpless little creature.” You let the words fall like stones, whispering them into his face, the intimacy of the whisper making the insult sting harder.

Jaemin’s face went white with disbelief and then darker with rage. He could not imagine a daughter of their house speaking like that in front of him, confessing coldly to the machinery of their ruin.

You continued, savoring the confusion in his eyes as if it were a flavor.

“You should know by now, Jae… I always get what I want.” You said it with certainty.

Then Jaemin’s hand released you only to crack across your cheek, the slap echoing like a gunshot, sending you crumpling to the ground. You stayed down, your head bowed, gasping, fighting to catch your breath.

It was perfect.

You knew exactly when to let the wordless theatrics end so the crescendo could begin. He had given you the violent proof you needed. The bruise would show. The audience would see the chaos. The trap closed nicely around the man who had underestimated you for so long.

Seungcheol arrived like he had always promised he would; his entrance was perfect. The office door banged open and then everything moved in a blur of sound and force.

“You motherfucker!” Seungcheol roared, standing over Jaemin, his voice raw with rage. “You dare lay your filthy hands on her?!”

You watched as Seungcheol pivoted into something sharply animal. He struck Jaemin with the brutal focus of someone whose restraint was deliberately chosen and now broken. The room filled with the sounds of fists and flesh.

You felt one small part of yourself tremble with a guilty glee because you had written this script and now your brother lived it. You had to look down once, to stop a laugh from slipping out loud. It was almost obscene how perfectly your plan had folded into the fury of the man you’d curated.

When you looked up again, you couldn’t help but admire Seungcheol. He was all angles and power: the set of his neck, the way his breath fogged across his clenched jaw, the angry puffs that made him look like a god. The sight of his back, his fists, his controlled violence; each movement confirmed what you had known the moment you first noticed him at that party.

He was a predator. He would do the part you had written for him and he did it with relish.

When it was over… for a mercenary definition of over; Seungcheol pulled away and strode to you, and you opened to the trap you had laid. You let the waterworks come. You let the tremor, the small broken voice. It worked exactly as he needed it to.

Your lips quivered, tears streaming raw and generous. You looked up at him and said the line you’d rehearsed in the dark, the one you knew would snap the thread around his heart.

“He hurt me, Cheollie… he hurt me.” And you sobbed, the sound soft and immediate.

You deserved an award, you thought then, a private laugh hidden under the sob.

The performance had been pitch-perfect. Each beat was a note you had composed and he had played to an eager audience. You watched his face change in a way that felt like a vindication of long work. He melted into fury and then into tenderness, the exact swing you’d always planned for him to make.

That night, in Seungcheol’s arms, you felt the moment bloom into its full meaning… he finally snapped. He had the motive now and the will. All the loose ends you had not wanted to touch yourself were suddenly being handled by hands that were precisely the kind you’d wanted—the hands of the wolf.

Because you had not only found his tenderness; you had found his history.

When you first looked into his life, it was not a tidy biography of good grades and steady promotion. You had dug; you paid for more than a few discreet searches, a few favors slipped across oceans, a few phone calls that ended with a laugh and an “I’ll fix it.”

You found corners of Seungcheol’s past that the company dossier did not show him sharing at holiday parties. You found men who whispered names, runs and networks that breathed illegal currency, veiled organizations that ran like veins beneath polite business.

You learned that Seungcheol’s empire had darker tributaries. You laughed quietly at the notion he was only the obedient COO; he had commanded shadows long before you had set your sights on him. He had money with stains. He had reach. He had friends in certain circles, the kind who could make trouble disappear or make it appear exactly where you wanted.

You did not have to get your hands dirty. You were never stupid enough for that. You arranged, you provoked, you telegraphed weakness and flung bait. Seungcheol, hungry and proud in the alpha way men like him were, took the chase. He took the role you handed him: defender, avenger, tyrant unto the enemy. You watched him step into violence with the quiet thrill of a conductor watching an orchestra play the single piece you had scored.

Seungcheol gave you everything, spoiled you, loved you, placed himself between you and every real danger and in return, he unwittingly removed your final obstacles. He executed with the merciless efficiency you had always admired.

Men are predators by design, you had learned.

They hunger for the hunt, the chase, the proof of conquest. You are the kind of woman who taught them to chase, you played the game you had learned to play since childhood; small, desirable, fragile. You flattered their control, fed their need to save and command, breathed surrender in the right moments.

Predators cannot help themselves when you lead them along a path that promises both prey and purpose.

They claim, they protect, they prey.

And when the prey is clever enough, when she knows how to make the hunter feel powerful in the moment he is being used, she becomes the quiet architect of his fall.

You taught Seungcheol to protect you, to take bloody action, to believe the story of your rescue was his doing. You gave him the script and the applause. You let him think the power was his.

Letting the wolf take the lead was the slowest, most satisfying part of all.

He would do the dirty work because he could not resist the role you presented… the man who finally took control, who finally defended what was his.

And while he pumped fists and dealt punishment and later arranged for details you never had to touch, you lay on his chest and allowed yourself a rare, controlled smile. It was secure and quiet. You had made him the weapon and the wielder without dirtying the tips of your nails.

The last truth settled like a soft snow: a predator can be taught to swallow the prey whole if the prey knows the right way to smile. You had played the lamb long enough to earn the wolf’s full hunger. You fed his need to protect while he fed yours to be protected. It was the oldest bargain and the most modern trick, entice the hunter with vulnerability, whisper of need, then point him at the things you want removed.

When the day closed and you pretended to sleep, you listened as his phone buzzed. A single call, clipped and precise, the final note of your arrangement. You breathed in the dark and felt very small and very large at once.

Seungcheol fulfilled the part he’d willingly accepted; you had orchestrated the rest.

You did not regret it. You never would.

You had always known how to make the predator love the idea of his prey and in that love, Choi Seungcheol became the instrument of your will.

You were the quiet wolf in lamb’s clothing, and in the end, the predator was poisoned by the very prey he thought he owned.

The wolf ate, and did not know he had eaten the hand that fed him.

xi. EPILOGUE

The wolf was never the danger.

It was always the prey; the pretty little creature with wide eyes and trembling hands, who smiled just enough, who cried just right, who whispered weakness like a promise.

Men live to hunt, to protect, to conquer. And what is a hunter without something soft to cradle, without a reason to bare his teeth?

So the predator chased, devoured, bled for her. He thought it was his story, his kill, his choice. He thought he had won.

But the lamb only ever wore white because blood shows better on silk.

And when the night was done, and the bodies lay where they should, she smoothed her dress, wiped her tears, and smiled because the wolf never realized he’d been led by the leash all along.

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You don’t make a lot of noise as you get the machine ready for a nice cup of coffee. All three of you had gone in on it so you could get the expensive, fancy kind. Jeonghan had called it an investment, and you had wholeheartedly agreed. Seungcheol grumbled about it a little but gave his part of the money anyway. He kept claiming he wasn’t that big on coffee, but ever since you bought it, he has had a cup every morning without fail, something Jeonghan will never stop teasing him on.

The aroma is warm and rich in your nose as it slowly infiltrates the kitchen. You contemplate if you want breakfast now with your coffee or later, and decide to grab an apple. You’re just staring at it, wondering if the brown spot on it is something you can ignore or if you should discard the whole thing, when you hear light pattering on the floors outside.

You expect Jeonghan’s slumped, languid figure to slink into the kitchen, groaning about how tired he is, or maybe Seungcheol with his head of short, spiked hair all over the place and that perpetual pout that undercuts his years of effort building impressive muscle. But it’s neither of them. It’s someone you don’t know.

She blinks owlishly at you, hair tangled on her head and wearing a bright bodycon dress, holding a pair of heels in her hand. Her mascara is smudged, but under the distressed look, you can tell that she is amazingly pretty.

“Hi.” She chirps. It’s soft and almost melodic. You manage to smile back. The air is painfully awkward, so she shifts and takes a hesitant step back.

“I should just go.” She says sheepishly, and before you can say anything (not that you were planning to), she disappears from the doorway of the kitchen. After a few seconds, you hear the front door click shut. You swallow hard, but the knot formed in your throat doesn’t go away.

Friday nights don’t just mean waking up at noon with terrible hangovers. They also mean a girl trying to tiptoe out of Seungcheol’s room. And always a stranger. Never the same one twice.

You sigh and turn back to the coffee machine, which lets out a beep. You quickly take the pot to fill your cup, deciding against adding milk and just taking a sip of the dark mixture. You wince when it slides down your throat, but it’s hot enough and bitter enough that the knot in your throat loosens. You stare at your cup, the swirling liquid, and try your best to not think about your recent interaction.

There’s no point in it. Seungcheol is just….. like that. Someone so unbelievably different that you can’t fathom how you even ended up in the same orbit.

Well, you know exactly how. Yoon Jeonghan.

Jeonghan was in your first ever introductory class in college. He was seated right next to you, and after knowing you for the duration of just one lecture, he asked if you were looking for a place off campus, and then offered you his in the same breath. Apparently he and his roommate were desperate, and they really needed a third cohabitant in order to make rent. You just turned out to be the one who was looking for a place to stay, so you ended up saying yes, because Jeonghan gave you great vibes.

Seungcheol did too, when you met him.

You were immediately taken by him. He was loud and a little rough around the edges, but so endlessly kind. Seungcheol doesn’t look it, but he’s very in-tune with people’s emotions as well as his own. He knows what he wants out of life, he has endless confidence in himself. He’s charismatic, magnetic, and it only helps that he is beyond attractive. Tall, built like a brick house (something he is very proud of), soft dark hair and that charming smile accentuated by a dimple on his right cheek.

That fuckass dimple.

You knew you liked him. It was immediate. You were excited just at the thought of sharing space with him. And so you moved in, giddy at the thought of having your own place for the first time in your life, and sharing it with two guys who looked like seemingly amazing people.

And they truly are. It’s just that you were naïve to think Seungcheol’s appeal didn’t extend to everyone else like it did to you.

He’s like a lighthouse, attracting everyone to him like lost travelers. His friend circle is huge, from the gym dudes like Mingyu and Jihoon he works out with, to the party freaks like Soonyoung and Joshua he spends weekends with. He’s not in a frat, but he moves among a lot of similar people. Then there’s their friends, just an endless network that won’t stop expanding. This means meet-ups and parties every weekend, and that means there’s a girl in his room every two or three weekends.

You can’t even fault him. If someone looks like that, it would be criminal if they didn’t get regular action.

You and Seungcheol are fundamentally different people. You have friends too, but fewer, and more tight-knit. You are a homebody above anything else, and if it wasn’t for your friend Seungkwan, who is the most extroverted person you know outside of Seungcheol, you would never even leave your house. But Seungkwan’s definition of going out is much different to Seungcheol’s. So while Seungcheol likes the gym, pregaming, bowling and frat parties, you have scheduled cooking classes, basket weaving workshops, and arcade tournaments that Hansol drags you to once every month.

You’re poles apart. And you’re content with that. You can float in his periphery, and that’s enough for you. He’s miles out of your league anyway. So you’re happy just being an admirer.

“It’s pathetic.” Hansol often mumbles, voice devoid of any real venom. He sounds disinterested if anything.

“Thanks.” You shoot back. Seungkwan looks at Hansol, offended on your behalf.

“I think it’s cute.” He defends you. You grin at him and pinch his cheek. He swats your hand away, making you laugh.

“How bad can it really be if you just tell him?” Chan pipes up, his head down as he concentrates on pouring his wax into the mold slowly, trying not to spill it. You genuinely think his candle will smell the best out of your group, since he’s the only one truly concentrating. You’re too focused on telling them about the girl in your kitchen this morning.

Hansol snorts, tapping his mold on the table like your instructor told you to. His is a strange, muddy brown color. It smells like shit, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You and Seungkwan did drag him to this candle making class on a weekend when he could just be sleeping all day, so he could make the worst candle known to man and you will still hype him up.

“She doesn’t have the balls.” He mumbles. You look at him with a gaping mouth.

“Hey!”

Hansol raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do you? You won’t tell him you like him. Ever. I’m not wrong.”

You scowl, feeling deeply offended. He isn’t wrong, and you all know it, because Seungkwan isn’t defending you this time. He just gives you a wince, indicating he agrees with Hansol. Dammit, you’re cornered.

“Your candle smells like shit.” You shoot back.

That distracts him, and he starts doubting and fretting over his candle, leaning down to sniff it over and over. The rest of the workshop is spent trying to salvage Hansol’s attempt, so you don’t get back to the topic you were previously discussing.

Good.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol are both on the couch by the time you come back in the late afternoon. They both look bleary-eyed and half dead, hair still damp on their heads from showering, eating takeout and watching TV. They greet you brightly when you come in, and you slump onto the couch next to them.

“What did you bring us?” Jeonghan asks. You always bring your crafts home, including today. You made three candles, one for each of you, and you’re excited as you take them out of your tote, hand them over, describing the scents you used.

“I made lavender and vanilla for you.” You hand Jeonghan his. He hums and nods in satisfaction as he sniffs, smiling big.

“Oh I need to light this immediately.” He pipes up, quickly standing to trudge into the kitchen. You grin.

“And me?” Seungcheol smiles at you, still leaned back on the couch so he can rest his head on the cushion. You can tell his head is still hurting a little.

“Your favorite.” You smile. “Cherry.”

Seungcheol looks excited as you hand it over. He eyes the dark color for a little bit before bringing it to his nose, sniffing. You watch his eyelashes flutter.

“Oh.” You see his lips tug up in realisation. “It smells like my cologne.”

“Yeah. The other note is sandalwood.” You feel the sides of your face heat up. “You…. you like those scents a lot.”

You immediately feel like you’ve revealed too much when Seungcheol’s eyes soften. He watches you for a few seconds, sniffing again.

“I love it.” He says, turning it over in his hand. It looks comically small in his hold. “It’s perfect.”

You nod jerkily and fidget a little, trying not to think about how fast your heart is racing, or how gentle this moment feels. Intimate, almost, sitting so close to him that your knee almost touches his thigh, his hair half falling into his eyes, the eyes he still has trained on you, the candle you put care into held delicately in his hand.

Jeonghan walks back into the living room with his lit candle, talking about how much trouble he had finding a lighter. The air around you breaks, and you stand up, mumbling something about how you’re tired already, so you’re going to head to bed. It’s only afternoon, and the excuse is bullshit, but you know you can’t be close to Seungcheol much longer without your heart hurting. You don’t feel Seungcheol’s eyes on your back as you leave, and you have no clue about the knowing way Jeonghan looks at his friend.

…………………………

Weekdays are filled with classes. So you have no time to relax.

You think it’s a fundamental flaw in you that you are taking so many classes, but your overachieving tendencies won’t let you back down from even one of them. Some days, it leaves you annoyed and frustrated, but often, those same classes serve as a blessing in disguise, because they preoccupy you so much that you don’t have to worry about any other problem in your life.

By the end of the week, you’re so exhausted that you just want to glue yourself to your bed, vowing not to move for the entire weekend. Of course, Seungkwan always plans something and inevitably drags you out of your humble abode, but you will take what time you have, unwinding and letting your brain shut down after a long and tiring five days. You fall asleep in the middle of your Modern Family marathon, managing to get only halfway through the season before you’re shutting your laptop, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, you’re knocked out, and you don’t move until well into the next morning.

You wake up because you’re burning hot. Sweat makes your shirt cling to your back. In fact, your back is so warm that it’s uncomfortable. Your face pinches in annoyance, and you shift a little. At your movement, something tightens around your waist.

Your eyes pop open.

Morning light filters in through the curtains on your windows, setting the room up in a soft glow. You’re on your side, staring at the far off wall of your bedroom. There is weight draped over your waist, a warm touch splayed over your stomach. When you shift again, just slightly, the touch twitches and moves.

A hand.

You almost scream, but then you feel the soft hit of air on the back of your neck, periodic and deep. Like someone exhaling. You breathe in, the smell of cherry and sandalwood in your nose. You would recognise that anywhere. Even barely half conscious, you know who that scent belongs to.

Your entire backside, your torso, your ass, the back of your thighs, are pressed tightly to Seungcheol’s front, his arm a heavy weight draped around you so that he hand grips your stomach gently. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his exhales on your skin. You’ve gone so stiff you can barely feel your body, but you’re hyperaware of every part of you that touches him. You lay there in shock, contemplating.

What the hell is he doing? How did he end up in your room? How did he end up spooning you?

You have no answers, but you do know you need to get out of here. You brace yourself, using your leg in contact with the mattress to push until your body disconnects with Seungcheol’s a little. You freeze when he groans, a low sound that cracks under the weight of sleep, and you barely hold in a gasp when he tugs harshly with the arm around you, making you lurch back so he is once again pressed into you. He curls tighter around you, like his body is melting into yours, and your heart kicks painfully at your ribs. That’s when you feel it, hard and insistent, just nestled between your ass cheeks, his erection straining against the jeans he probably wore to whatever party he attended last night.

Mortification hits your veins like ice. You’re rock still in his arms, not even able to process what the fuck is happening to you. You feel his hand move a little, squeezing subconsciously, his fingers sinking into the plush of your stomach. Your face flames, and you can’t take it anymore. You grip his wrist tight and tug hard, loosening his grip, and immediately lunging out of bed. Your feet barely hit the floor before you’re already making a beeline out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom. You don’t look back once. You definitely used enough force to wake him, but maybe he was so drunk before he passed out that he didn’t get roused by your movements.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, the horrified look on your face, your wide eyes, and the fact that your heart is beating so fast that it’s making you breath heavily. You lean against the sink, your legs shifting, and you realise you’re wet, nearly soaking through your shorts.

Your hands tremble as you wash them, staring at nothing. You remember how warm Seungcheol was, almost unbearably so, how good it was to feel him against you, the solid frame of him, caging you in like you were meant to be in his arms. His hand, digging into your flesh like it was his, and his bulge, so prominent and urgent, pressing into your ass, inches away from where you need him the most.

You’re so fucked.

You don’t think twice before jumping into the shower, letting the water pour over your head even though it’s not hair wash day. You don’t even wait for the hot water to come in, just standing beneath the stream as it slowly warms up. The initial shock of cold does wonders, calms your racing heart and smothers the heat in the bottom of your stomach. You let out a shaky breath.

It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. He was probably so drunk he didn’t even realise where he ended up crashing. Your room is the first one on the left, his is the first one on the right. It’s an easy mistake, especially if someone is wasted. It seems like the best explanation, way more plausible than him actually sliding into your bed intentionally, a notion that just sounds absurd in your head.

You don’t know what to do.

You stay in the shower for so long that the pads of your fingers prune and the water turns cold again. You slip your pajamas back onto your wet body, because you didn’t bring a change of clothes with you, and finally, you brace yourself and return to your room, taking a deep inhale before opening the door. The bed is empty. He’s gone.

It’s relieving, because you were in no way prepared to see him. When you look at the clock, you realise it’s almost midday. So you pick up your phone and text Seungkwan, asking what his plans for the day are.

Seungkwan is honestly confused, because you almost never initiate meet-ups yourself, but he doesn’t turn you down. Him and Chan are both free, so you decide to meet up for a simple lunch. Hansol opts out, since his sister is in the city for the weekend. You’re grateful you have someone, because keeping this inside is feeling more and more impossible. As soon as you sit down, you blurt out everything that happened in the morning.

Seungkwan is beside himself, mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish, horror struck. He gasps at every detail, but groans disapprovingly when you talk about Seungcheol’s hard-on against your ass.

“You could’ve left that detail out.” He mutters.

“But it’s important!” You insist. “Kwannie, I’m a mess. What do I do? How can I even look him in the eye after this?”

Chan huffs, looking a lot calmer than Seungkwan. “Don’t do anything. Look, you’re right. It was probably a mistake. And if he remembers it at all, he will be pretty embarrassed. So just don’t talk about it at all. Don’t bring it up. Be normal.”

Right. That’s solid advice. Be normal.

But it’s hard to do that, not when you can’t stop thinking about it. The sizzle of his touch is something you’re reminded of when you lay in your bed that night, staring up at your ceiling and remembering how it felt to have his breath hit your skin, so close that you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And when the heat becomes too much, when your mind goes awry and shuts down, your hand slides into your shorts.

It’s too much. You can’t face him when your brain and your actions are so depraved.

When Hansol finds out what happened, he says what he always does, that this is a problem of your own making.

“You chose this.” He says on Monday, when you finally meet him and tell him everything. “You live with him. It’s unavoidable that something weirdly uncomfortable would happen when you’re in close quarters with someone. And you can’t avoid him. You will see him every day.”

To you, it was always a net positive that you got to see Seungcheol every day, any unrequited feelings aside. Your hidden crush on him was trumped by the fact that he was so endlessly charming to you, your little puppy crush urged on by seeing him, being around him, basking in his presence. But now, that very thing is coming back to bite you in the ass.

You go a whopping three days without coming face to face with him. But then, your sneaking finally fails you. He catches you before classes on Wednesday, cornering you in the kitchen when you’re there to fill up your water bottle.

“I’m really sorry about that night.” He sounds sheepish, embarrassed. You remember Chan’s words, shaking your head in the best way you can think of to placate him.

“It’s fine! You were drunk, you probably don’t even remember that you did it. Honest mistake, right?”

Seungcheol smiles a little, his eyes trained carefully on you.

“Right.” He mutters.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet, and you want to blame it on his embarrassment. You feel uncomfortable, and you wonder if it has to do with what happened between you, or if he’s just being a little weird today.

“I should go.” You mumble. “Just had to fill this up.”

You hold up your water bottle for him to see. His eyes finally leave you to focus on it, and he raises a thick eyebrow.

“That’s new.” He points to the handle. You have a small Sanrio keychain hanging from it. You’re surprised he noticed, but you nod excitedly.

“Hansol’s sister came to see him for the weekend. She got all of us little trinkets.”

Seungcheol hums. “She knows your favorite Sanrio character? That’s cute.”

You smile and nod again, more enthusiastically. “I’m sure Hansol told her….”

A thought enters your head. You tilt your head to the side in thought. “How did you know?”

Seungcheol blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “You’re not exactly subtle about it, sweetheart. It’s plastered all over your room.

Right. Your room. The room he was in because he slept with you in your bed. Your stomach twists and you swallow hard. He looked around your room? When? After waking up? While you were showering? The thought of Seungcheol being in your private space, saying all your little interests laid out everywhere makes your heart flutter. You’re very private about your space, both him and Jeonghan know this. You don’t think either of them have been in your room since they first helped you move in.

You watch Seungcheol from where your back is against the counter. He watches you. You remember that night as the air around you two holds its breath. He was so close, closer than anyone had been in a long, long time. But you bet it was normal for him, this physical intimacy. After all, he’s had a steady rotation of girls in his room for as long as you’ve known him.

Right. This is Choi Seungcheol. Popular, attractive Choi Seungcheol. Wildly out of your league Choi Seungcheol.

“I’m gonna….” You gesture to the door. There’s a knot in your throat, and you don’t think you can speak. Seungcheol blinks and nods, steps away so you can walk past him. Your fingers shake as you tug your shoes on and escape quickly through the front door.

You walk to campus alone, already in agreement with Seungkwan that you will meet him there. You’re grateful for it, because you can go through your jumble of thoughts silently, so you can try to address this deep, uneasy feeling right in the center of your chest. It’s a strange mix of dread and longing that leaves you with a strange emptiness inside, like a sinking hollow. You think, for the first time since you moved in, that maybe being around Choi Seungcheol wasn’t the best idea. Maybe this will ultimately be your unraveling.

The hollow feeling settles like a weight. You walk to class slowly.

You still arrive ten minutes early, but you don’t have to worry about distracting yourself, because Seungkwan is practically buzzing in his seat. You raise a curious eyebrow as you sit next to him, and he immediately turns to you, like he was waiting for you to show up.

“There’s a party.” He says. “In the frat Seokmin is a part of.”

You blink. “Your biology lab partner Seokmin?”

Seungkwan nods. His grin is so wide you’re surprised his face hasn’t split.

“I didn’t know he was in a frat.” You mumble, pulling your laptop out and setting it on your desk.

“Well, he is.” Seungkwan answers impatiently. “Anyway, he and I just finished wrapping up the end of semester project. And I guess he’s super happy about it, because he said we should stop by the frat this Friday night for some party they’re having.”

You eye Seungkwan, giving him an incredulous look.

“You? At a frat party?” Seungkwan really isn’t the type. But then you pause. “Wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”

Now Seungkwan has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I was hoping you would go with me.”

“No.”

Seungkwan immediately starts pleading, like he was expecting exactly this. Which wouldn’t be surprising. You despise parties. You had gone to a few at the very beginning of freshman year since you were so curious about college parties, and every single one of them without fail were horrific experiences. This was before you met Seungkwan and the guys. The people you were friends with at the time always got shitfaced, leaving you to pick up after them and get them home at the end of the night. The drinks there were usually awful unless you were bringing your own. And everyone was horny out of their minds, just chatting so they could hook up. All of this is turned up to a hundred when the party is at a frat, which this particular one will be.

“Ask Hansol.”

“He already said no.”

“Chan, then.”

“You know he’s not good with crowds. Listen,” he looks at you so earnestly it makes your heart squeeze, “I know you don’t like parties. But please, we have to do this. I’ve never been to one ever. First and last time, I promise. I’m just so curious.”

You hesitate. You understand where Seungkwan is coming from. You had the same curiosity as him way back then, and no matter how much you tell him that you already know it won’t be his cup of tea, he really needs to see it himself to swear off them like you. So you sigh painfully and nod, slightly placated by the fact that it makes Seungkwan cheer so loudly and hug you until you can’t breathe, promising he will treat you to lunch for the next two weeks.

Sounds like a good deal.

When you get back home that evening, Jeonghan is frying something on the stove. You seat yourself on the kitchen island, telling him about your day, because he’s always kind enough to ask.

“Oh, by the way.” You tack on. “I’m going to a party this Friday.”

That makes Jeonghan pause, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “A party? You?”

You sigh. “I know. Seungkwan was invited and he’s never been to one before so he kinda talked me into it. It’s at Sigma Tau Nu.”

Jeonghan looks even more shocked. He lets out a laugh. “A frat party.”

You nod.

He whistles low, turning back to his sizzling pan. “Seungcheol’s not gonna be happy.”

That makes you pause. You scowl at Jeonghan’s back. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head, not bothering to turn around again. “Nothing.”

“No, tell me. Why won’t Seungcheol be happy?”

Before Jeonghan can answer, another voice speaks up.

“I won’t be happy about what?”

You stiffen, turning to the kitchen doorway. You didn’t hear the front door at all. Seungcheol is covered in sweat, still in his gym clothes, face a little flushed. His gym bag hangs over his shoulder. You swallow tightly, looking away so you won’t stare. Jeonghan, however, has no qualms about speaking.

“She’s going to Sigma Tau Nu on Friday.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps to you, eyes wide. “What?”

You fidget. “Seungkwan was invited.”

“So?”

You can’t help but frown. “So, he’s my friend. I’m going with him.”

“Like hell you are.”

Your jaw drops. Jeonghan barks out a laugh. You want to strangle him, but you’re too shocked at how Seungcheol’s voice has hardened. In fact, his blatant and sharp refusal has only managed to irritate you.

“Why not?” You sound petulant.

Seungcheol is walking to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. “Because that place is a cesspool.”

“You go there every weekend.” Your voice is accusatory. Something in Seungcheol’s face flickers.

“That’s different.”

The irritation in you is swelling now into more of an anger. You don’t appreciate his tone, or whatever superiority complex he has that makes him think it’s okay for him to go but not you.

“So you can go but I can’t?” Your voice is louder than before. Even Jeonghan pauses, turning to look at you both cautiously. “Why? I’m not good enough for your parties?”

Seungcheol’s face hardens, and you almost back down. He has never, ever, looked at you like that before. “You think that’s what this is about?”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s not.”

“Then what is it about?”

He huffs, annoyed. “I’m just saying. Sigma Tau Nu…. the guys there…. they aren’t good.”

“You’re a guy there.”

His face drops. It’s such a slight shift, but immediate, and his expression turns a muted and stoney smooth. His grip on his bottle tightens until the plastic crinkles a little, but his face is almost forlorn.

“I know.”

You don’t know what to say.

Seungcheol sighs, as if to break the heavy silence, hiking the bag he has on his shoulder a bit further up before walking past you to leave.

“Just don’t go, okay?”

You and Jeonghan are left standing in the kitchen after he’s gone, just staring at each other in the silence.

………………………………

“Seungcheol can fuck off.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face as you apply finishing touches to yourself. But Seungkwan is not discouraged by your silence, continuing to rant on from where he’s sitting on your bed.

“No, seriously. Where does he get off telling you what to do?”

You sigh and shake your hair out, staring at yourself in the mirror. “He’s just looking out for me.”

That earns a scoff from your friend. “As if. More like he’s looking out for himself. He doesn’t want you to see what a sleazy, pervy bastard he is and how many girls he indulges when he goes out. Wants you to think he’s a good person.”

“He is a good person.” You turn to scowl at him. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. You keep going.

“Let it go, Kwannie. We’re going anyway. So it doesn’t matter.”

It really doesn’t, because you’re all dolled up already and ready to go. You’re in a plain black dress, nothing too fancy, thin straps and a flared out skirt. It’s from your freshman year, and to your dismay, it’s a little tighter on you at the bodice, but nothing that doesn’t fit, so you’re rolling with it. Seungkwan also made it a point to tell you twice that you look hot, so you’re taking that as a good indication.

“Ready?” He prompts, you nod.

“Remember our agreement. One hour. You get a feel of the place. Then we leave.”

He nods enthusiastically. You can’t help but smile.

The place is packed. You feel dread already when you and Seungkwan climb out of your cab, but your friend looks alarmingly apprehensive, enough for you to suck up your own negative feelings. You’re already here, might as well try and make this as enjoyable for Seungkwan as possible.

“Come on.” You take his arm, walking up the front steps and in through the open door. The music is so loud, the lights are dim enough that you’re worried about something spilling on your dress accidentally. Seungkwan has a death grip on your hand, and you try to navigate to the kitchen.

“Boo Seungkwan!” The voice is booming, so loud and bright, and it immediately catches both your and Seungkwan’s attention. From the relief on his face, you know instantly that this is Seokmin. He’s grinning wide, and draping an arm around his shoulder is another man with spiky blond hair and sharp eyes. They introduce themselves, Seokmin and his frat brother Soonyoung, and you do the same. Soonyoung watches you closely.

“I’ve never seen you here before.” He shouts over the music, leaning closer to you to speak. You think you would have heard him just fine even without it, but you suspect he is doing it on purpose to get close to you. This may not be your thing, but you’re not an idiot.

“I don't usually come to parties.” You reply, trying to be polite. Somewhere behind your back, Seokmin is putting drinks into plastic cups. You can see the exact path Soonyoung’s eyes take as they drag down your body, lingering on your chest. You almost want to sigh.

“Want a tour?” He offers. “I’ll show you around.”

You want to say no, but a tour would mean you and Seungkwan can see everything quickly and leave. So you nod and turn around, linking an arm with Seungkwan to pull him along. He’s got a cup in his hand, already half empty, and you want to groan. Drunk Seungkwan is almost impossible to deal with.

Soonyoung doesn’t seem perturbed. He just nods and gestures for you two to follow along. You make it through the seas of people in the huge house as he points and shouts names. You don’t even understand half of them, but you’re not particularly interested. Seokmin is trailing behind all of you, and when Seungkwan’s cup empties, he exchanges it for a new one. You wince. Seungkwan is a notorious lightweight. You play drinking games all the time, and he’s always the first one to tap out, leaning heavily on Hansol as he gets dragged out of your apartment. With the way his cheeks are flushing at a concerning rate, you know he’s getting to that point already.

Soonyoung occasionally grips your arm to steer you in the right direction. Seungkwan’s hold on you keeps increasing as you navigate through the house. Then, you’re in the living room, and your eyes find the large, sprawling couch pushing against the far wall, particularly, the man lounging on the corner of it.

He has a cup in his hand, arm thrown around a girl pressed to his side. On the arm of the couch next to him is a guy you vaguely recognise as his gym buddy. You watch him bring the cup to his lips and throw it back in one big gulp, shaking it at his friend when it’s empty, who just snorts and pours more in it from the bottle of clear liquid he’s holding.

His head turns to look at his glass, but his eyes meet yours instead. You see the exact moment he recognises you.

You feel it again, that hollow feeling in your chest, mixed with something else this time. You almost don’t recognise him. His hair is tousled, carelessly swept, his top is sleeveless and tight, silver chain hanging from his neck, pants baggy, legs sprawled without a care in the world. Your eyes are still on each other when the girl on his side leans in and whispers something in his ear, following it up with running her tongue up the side of his neck.

Bile rises in your throat. You look away.

Seungkwan has downed his glass, again, and Soonyoung is gesturing for you to follow him to some other part of the house. But the music is changing into something faster, and Seungkwan’s eyes widen with a gasp as he recognises it.

“This is the first song I know!” He exclaims. You want to snort at how excited he is. “Can we dance?”

Oh no. You open your mouth to protest, but Soonyoung nods enthusiastically and points to the dance floor not far off from where you are. You can feel Seungcheol’s eyes burning holes in the back of your head as Seungkwan tugs you along with him. Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow, because at that moment, he’s bombarded by another group of people. You’re left with Seungkwan only, which you prefer.

Except, Seungkwan is drunk, and pulling you close so you can sway together. You snort and indulge him, fully aware of how touchy he gets with alcohol in his system. He’s singing along to the song, hands on your waist, bobbing back and forth, side to side. You grin, laughing. You genuinely didn’t imagine yourself having a good time at this place, but being here with your friend is a little fun, though you would only begrudgingly admit that.

The song picks up, getting wilder, and you let yourself go to the music with Seungkwan. He’s laughing and grinning, turning you around so his back is against you. Bad idea, because as soon as you open your eyes, they meet heated, dark ones from across the room.

Seungcheol is watching, and he doesn’t look happy.

The girl by his side is now on her phone, tapping away. He’s not interested, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a long gulp while his stare is trained on you. Your heart pounds. You feel Seungkwan’s hands on your hips, your waist. There’s a voice in your head, and you listen to it, eyes fully on Seungcheol as you reach an arm up and behind you, running it through your friend’s hair.

Seungcheol’s face pinches. His lip curls in an ugly snarl. It catches you so off guard that you immediately turn back to Seungkwan, your heart pounding.

“I need air.” You shout over the music. “It’s too hot here.”

Seungkwan nods and points to the back of the house, past the staircase. You contemplate leaving your friend there. He’s having a good time, and you can let him dance a little before you start insisting that you should leave. Sliding glass doors take you into the patio overlooking the backyard. You take a deep breath.

The patio is less crowded, though there’s still people milling around. There’s a couple a few feet to your right, making out against the wall. You make a face and walk away from them. The cool air is working, clearing your head just a little. You wonder if there’s something in the hot, humid air inside that clouded your judgement, that made you look Seungcheol straight in the eye as you let your drunk friend sway you side to side. What did you want to achieve? Did you want to get a reaction out of him? Why? He doesn’t care about you that way, so what was the point?

Part of you is still annoyed at him because of the semi-argument in the kitchen. The other part is just…. sad.

“You came.”

You close your eyes. You were hoping he would leave you alone for the night.

“I did.” You reply.

Seungcheol stops right next to you, a little closer than you would like. You can feel the heat of his body. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays.

“Don’t worry, Seungkwan and I are just going to have one more drink and leave. I won’t….. disturb you much longer.”

He says your name, a tone of defeat in his voice. Your stomach twists. You turn to him, and for a brief second, your eyes meet his. He has that same look in them, that quiet desolation he had when he was with you in the kitchen. The heat from before, the simmering annoyance, has gone.

“Seungcheol.” Your throat tightens. Your chest is so hollow. “Just make sure to crash in your own bed this time. Okay?”

You turn and walk back into the house.

……………………………………

You don’t know the longest time you’ve gone without speaking to Seungcheol. You’ve never had any reason to count. You do now, and it has been seven days.

Seungkwan thanked you profusely for going with him to the party, vowed never to go again (that made you laugh), then bought you lunch for four days straight before you felt bad and just started paying for your own. You don’t think his experience was worth two weeks of comped meals, but you have a feeling he knows you’re bummed about something, so he keeps offering to pay.

You don’t even know why you’re bummed. You just are. And Seungkwan isn’t the only one who has noticed.

Jeonghan has been walking on eggshells with you too, watching you intently when you’re having a meal together, taking note of the fact that you leave to lock yourself in your room as soon as it becomes close to the time Seungcheol is due back home. It’s easy to avoid him because he himself makes no effort to talk to you either. It should make you glad, since it means you can dance around whatever this suffocating feeling between you two is. But it doesn’t. All you feel is more hollow, more crushed.

Something has changed between you, definitely for the worse. You regret going to that party every single day.

To Jeonghan’s credit, he never asks. You wonder if Seungcheol told him, but then you ask yourself what exactly there is to tell. Literally nothing happened. You don’t even know what to call that little stint on the dance floor, or the heavy way his eyes traveled over you. As for the girl he was with, you’re just upset because the man you have been pining for your whole life has a roster of romantic prospects outside of you. For so long, you had only known about it, like it was some far away entity, but seeing it with your own eyes, some unknown girl sprawled half on top of him, it broke something in you that you don’t know how to move on from. So while you grapple with your own mess of feelings, you just know you need to stay far, far away from him.

But seven days after your self-imposed Seungcheol ban, your roommate has apparently had enough, and he decides to break it. You hear a knock on your door and hum, expecting it to be Jeonghan asking about dinner or something. But instead, a head of thick brown hair pops in through your door.

“Can I come in?”

You're shocked for a good few seconds, before nodding and gesturing to him to do so. Seungcheol lumbers in, hesitating for a second before opting to sit on the chair in front of your desk, turning it around to face you. You’re still frozen in place, crosslegged on your bed, waiting for him to say something.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

You blink. “You didn’t do anything. What are you sorry for?”

He lets out a laugh, but it’s bitter and mirthless. “For everything. For all of it. For telling you not to go to that party. For going there myself and letting you see me like that. For even being like that….”

“Seungcheol.” You protest. “You didn’t do anything-”

“I did.” He cuts you off. “You don’t know it, but I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my drunk, stupid mind thought it was a good idea to end up in your room that night. That I somehow genuinely believed that I could wake up next to you and you would be mine.”

Your heart pounds. Blood roars in your ears.

“I remember all of it.” He whispers, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. “How I felt that night. How badly I just wanted to be with you. No drink was helping, no one…..” He laughs again, shakes his head as if admonishing himself.

“You know what my drunken plan originally was? I wanted to wake you up and finally just tell you how much I love you. But I was so drunk and exhausted that by the time I got to you I just ended up passing out on your bed.”

“And then the next morning. I was awake the second you first moved. And I didn’t want to let go. Call it brain fog, I don’t know. I hoped I could lie there forever and just…… hold you.”

You only break your eye contact from Seungcheol when your vision swims, getting wetter and more blurred.

“This isn’t funny.” Your voice shakes.

“I’m not joking.”

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your frantic thoughts. Never, never in your life did you expect this. You remember that morning again, how Seungcheol’s hand tightened on you, how your ass pressed hard against his-

“You were awake.” It isn’t really a question.

“I was.”

When your eyes meet his again, it’s different. Something sizzles, sharp and anticipatory, like the air around you is afraid to move. But Seungcheol isn’t. He stands up and walks closer to where you are sitting, one knee planting on the mattress, until he’s right in front of you. His eyes are like melting pots of brown, and the intensity in them takes your breath away.

“You felt it, right?” He whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. You turn me on so much.”

You can’t move even if you try. It feels like something has severed the connection between your brain and body. When Seungcheol leans in, you don’t resist. Your eyelids flutter when you feel his breath on the side of your neck, just like that morning. His lips brush just so over your skin.

“Cheol….”

He hums, shifts just a smidge, and his lips plant a chaste kiss under your ear. But you don’t say anything more. You don’t know if you can. You’re overwhelmed, both physically and mentally, and the smell of the cherry and sandalwood in his cologne is making your mind foggy.

“Let me show you.” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I love you, just like I wanted to that night, just like I dreamed of for so long.”

You’re human, after all. And you’re weak for him. You’ve always been weak for him, and that’s why you’ve let all of it happen. Him in your bed, you at his party. So you turn your head and let your lips brush over his. You can almost feel his shaky sigh just before he closes the distance between you.

It’s rushed from the start, like he’s desperate. You feel the same, hands reaching up to cup his face, your heart squeezing when you realise that this is finally happening. You’re kissing Seungcheol, the guy you’ve been deeply enamoured with for as long as you’ve known him. The guy you never, ever thought you would have in this way, but still imagined it in the depths of the night when there was no one but you and your fingers. He was here now, on the same bed that you thought filthy things about him in, kissing you like he needs to steal the air from your lungs. He tilts his head, lips sliding over yours, capturing your bottom lip between his. He nibbles softly and it makes you moan.

The sound does something to him, because he curses brokenly and reaches for you. Strong hands grip your waist and tug, pulling you closer. Your legs scramble to find purchase, settling on either side of his as he pulls you into his lap. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and wet, and you can feel something flutter right in the base of your stomach. Your panties are already damp, but from what you can feel, he’s straining through his sweatpants too. You whine into him.

“Cheol…”

He groans, hands digging into your flesh. They slide under your shirt to run over your bare skin. You instinctively arch into him.

“Love it when you call me that.” He rasps. “Only you do. Only you.”

So you say it again, whisper it into his mouth while his tongue is in yours, and you can feel how his force increases, how he unravels just a little bit more. His hands under your shirt get more frantic, and finally he pushes up, peeling it off your body. You let him, but when the cold air hits your skin, you realise you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck.” He curses softly, eyeing your half naked body. You feel your skin heat under his gaze, squirming a little.

“Beautiful. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

No, I’m not. Your mind immediately supplies. Because it’s true. You can’t help but think of all the girls he’s had like this, in his lap while he runs his tongue down the column of their throats, nipping here and there. He probably feels you stiffen, because he pulls away and looks you in the eyes, his expression cautious.

“What’s wrong?”

You swallow tightly and shake your head, leaning forward to kiss him again. But he pulls his head back before you can, watching you closely.

“Tell me, sweetheart. What is it?”

Your heart squeezes. You try to arrange your thoughts and look for words. You feel Seungcheol’s hands run up and down your back and sides comfortingly.

“I just don’t want this to be a one time thing.” You finally say, because you don’t want to tell him how much doubt you have. How deeply ingrained it is within you that you can never be with someone like him. You’re almost halfway certain that even this, what is happening right now, is some extreme exhaustion-induced dream and you will wake up to a cold, empty bed, but you don’t want to think about that.

Seungcheol’s eyes dart between your own. His face is soft, open, like he’s coming to the slow realisation of what you mean. When he sighs, you feel his breath on your skin. He leans forward so his forehead is pressed to yours. You don’t dare break your stare, even if it makes you go a little cross-eyed.

“I would never do that to you.” He whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

Your breath hitches. Your hands on his shoulders tremble.

“I dream about you every night. I lay in my bed and I think of having you next to me. But I never did anything about it. You’ve always felt so far away. Like I can’t dare touch you or you will be tainted.”

Your eyebrows furrow. You watch as Seungcheol’s gaze dims into something like resignation.

“But seeing you at that party with Seungkwan, having you see me like that.” He shakes his head, a miniscule movement. “I knew something had to change. And it had to come from me. Whatever illusion I had in my head about us being just roommates, and me being happy with that, it wasn’t working.”

His hold tightens on you with that last sentence, hands running over your bare back again. His fingertips slide under the waistband of your shorts, just an inch, teasing you. You arch into him.

Seungcheol’s eyes travel to your lips and stay there. The air around you feels like it’s charging up again.

“Saw your little friend draped all over you, and I couldn’t stand it. Why does he get to touch you but I can’t?”

Your lips brush again. Your arms wind around his shoulders. “You can.”

“Hm?”

You can feel your cheeks heat. “You can touch me.”

Something flickers in Seungcheol’s eyes. “Where, baby?”

Baby. A shiver runs down your spine. “Everywhere.”

Your lips meet again. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. You feel his hand cup the back of your head, guide your movements like he wants them to, and it goes straight to your core, tightening it. You know you’re soaking your shorts, and you realise belatedly that you’re not wearing underwear either. Embarrassment hits you fleetingly, but before you can think about it more, Seungcheol is pushing forward to lay you on the bed, your hair sprawling on the pillow. He doesn’t break the kiss even once, fitting his hips between your legs and grinding into your heat. You gasp and cry out.

“You make the prettiest sounds.” He groans. “So responsive. I haven’t even done anything yet. Haven’t even touched you the way I want to.”

But he has. He’s all over you, taking over your every sense, infiltrating you until you can feel him thrumming in the hollows of your bones. You arch into him when he nips at your neck again, teeth digging in teasingly. If he leaves marks, so be it. You will wear them proudly. How long have you spent fantasising about having his lips on you? And here he is now, trailing kisses down until he reaches your chest. His tongue peeks out, smooths over your left nipple so that it is laved in his spit. He blows air on it, making you gasp. You wouldn’t see his smirk if it weren’t for the fact that a dimple cleaves through his right cheek. He pops your nipple in his mouth and sucks.

Seungcheol works you over while you whine and moan. Your hands meet his hair, running through the short ones on the back of his head before burying your fingers into it and tugging. He hums into your skin, and you can feel the vibration. It makes you clench desperately, making your hips buck.

“Cheol, please…”

He pops off your nipple after one last hard suck. You’re already taking in big, heaving breaths, like you’re losing your senses. You feel his tongue run up your sternum.

“What do you want, baby?”

You squirm, buck up again so that it brushes over his crotch. He chuckles.

“Impatient little thing. All you have to do is ask nicely.”

You blink through wet eyes, meeting his half-lidded, heated gaze. “I did. I said please.”

He groans. “Say it again, then.”

You make sure you’re looking him right in the eye as you buck up again. “Please.”

Seungcheol’s fingers hook in your shorts and he tugs them down. His face twists when he realises you’re not wearing underwear. He curses long and low, pushing your legs open to peer down at the mess between them.

“Dirty girl.” He moans. “No panties?”

You shake your head. “I don’t wear them to bed.”

His eyes widen as he thinks back.

“That night….”

You know exactly what he is referring to. The night he spent in your room, spooning you. You shake your head.

“Fucking hell.” His lips crash into yours, near feral as he devours you. You whimper and let him, hooking one leg over his waist.

“Could’ve fucked you back then, right? Just pushed your shorts aside and put my cock in you. Bet you would’ve loved that.”

You would, in your deep, dark fantasies. The thought of just being used by him is so hot that it lights your nerves on fire. You tug his shirt, having had enough, and he immediately obliges, pulling it off. Your mouth waters as you eyes the large expanses of smooth skin stretched over his muscles. You’ve never seen Seungcheol shirtless around the house, he’s very careful about it. The most you have seen is his arms through those tight tanks he loves so much. You run your hands over him as he goes back to licking and nipping at your neck, hooking his thumbs in his sweatpants so he can take them and his boxers off in one go.

His cock springs up and hits his navel. He’s thick, so much that it makes you suck it a long breath. All the blood that has rushed to it has left it aching hard and throbbing, shiny at the head with precum. You’re just wondering how you can even take it all the way in when he slides down your body once again, this time going further than your breasts, until he’s settling between your open legs. Your face flames, fighting the urge to close your thighs when he stares at you like that, licking over his bottom lip.

He runs his fingers down your soft, heated folds, one on each side in a V-shape. He spreads his index and middle fingers, opening you up.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He mumbles, leaning down to barely dance his tongue through your slit. Your legs jerk at the feeling. He’s holding you open, which makes his touch hit deeper, in more sensitive places. You sigh when he flattens his tongue over you finally, licking a thick stripe. His hands position themselves on your inner thighs, keeping you open and his head shifts side to side, running his lips and tongue over every part of you.

He’s amazing at this.

He’s eating you out like he’s starving for it, eyelids fluttering, nearly rolling up, and just the sight of Seungcheol like this, face progressively getting more and more flushed and he leans down and sticks his tongue as far as it can go inside your cunt, has you shaking and crying, your high approaching embarrassingly fast. You want to sob, tell him to stop, that it’s too much all at once, but it feels so unbelievably good that you won’t dare, locking your legs over his broad shoulders, hands fisting the sheets as you wail and cum with no warning. His hold on you is iron strong, holding you in place and not stopping the rapid flicks of his tongue until tears slide down your face and you push his head away. He parts from you with a loud, filthy slurp, licking his lips. He’s breathing hard, but not as hard as you while you’re shaking from your orgasm.

He uses his index and middle finger to wipe the lower half of his face, his chin, the line of his jaw. Then he shifts forward to kneel between your trembling legs again. He taps the two slicked up fingers on your mouth.

“Open up, baby.”

You do, lapping your tongue over the digits as they slide into your mouth, making sure not to break eye contact with him. He watches heatedly as you suck on his fingers.

“Jesus.” He breathes. “Why’d I stay away from you for so long?”

He pulls them out when they’re slick with your spit, reaching down and immediately prodding at your entrance. You sigh and buck up. He smirks, a sexy sight that you barely have time to process before he’s sliding both fingers inside you at once. You gasp and arch, taken aback by the sudden intrusion. He’s already curling his fingers, slowly pumping them in and out.

“God.” You whimper, instinctively reaching down to grab his arm. He doesn’t mind, letting you hold it as he fingers you. You feel his muscles shift with every movement under your palms. As he works you open, he occupies his mouth with your neck and shoulder again, nipping and kissing. You realise Seungcheol is a little bit of a biter, not that you’re complaining.

You’re barely down from your last orgasm, so this one takes an even shorter time to build up. You moan with every ram of his fingers into you, he’s murmuring little encouragements and praises into your skin. His voice is rougher, breathier, and it acts as the catalyst that hurtles you over the edge again. This orgasm is just as intense, if not more, leaving your limbs boneless and your head empty. Your breaths come out chopped and heavy as he slows down, needling out the last remnants of your high.

“Gorgeous.” He hums. “I could do that for hours. Just make you fall apart over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”

Your insides twist. Seungcheol shuffles until he’s seated fully between your legs again. He watches your cunt flutter and twitch, already used and abused. You watch him wrap a large hand around his thick girth, jerking himself harshly a few times. He slaps his shaft over your slit. You gasp and jerk. His eyes shoot up to you and he smirks teasingly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Too much?”

You vehemently shake your head. “N-no. Want your cock.”

He hums, running the swollen, leaking head through your folds. He rubs it back and forth over your clit. You whimper.

“Sure about that?”

You nod and buck your hips up. It catches against your opening, making you gasp. “Please, Cheol.”

That does it for him, because he’s lining himself up and leaning down over you, pressing his forehead to yours before pushing forward. Your jaw goes slack as he carves his way in through your gummy walls, inch by inch, until you feel his pelvis meet yours.

“God, you’re still tight as hell.” He grits. “After taking my fingers like that too. Why didn’t you loosen up, baby? Wanted to stay nice and snug for me?”

His words are filthy, and never something you ever imagined coming from his mouth, in his delicious, raspy voice. You don’t say anything, brain wiped clean as he chooses that moment to start thrusting. It feels divine, he’s so thick that he stretches and hits all your spots without even angling his hips any which way. His tip nudges your cervix just slightly with every thrust, a fluttering sensation ensuing in your stomach. Everything is so much, so intense, that it’s hard to even breathe. Your eyelids fight to close, but you keep them open, because no way in hell would you miss the sight before you right now.

The muscles in Seungcheol’s arms flex and shift, hands planted on either side of your head to hold himself up. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat that shines under the lights of your bedroom. His torso undulates, precise and well aimed thrusts that hit just the right spots. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, face pinched in arousal and focus. His hair sticks to his temples, the rest is messed up because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. The apples of his cheeks are colored a lovely shade of pink that makes him look sensual, his eyelashes curling over his skin when he closes his eyes.

You wish you could burn this image in your mind forever.

He’s watching you just like you’re watching him, and you see the exact moment his face softens.

“Look at you.” He coos. “So pretty. So sexy like this. I imagined this, you know? When you had Seungkwan all over you, I imagined you under me.”

You whimper. The train of thought of last week’s party somehow riles him up again. His thrusts get harder, your skin stinging slightly with every ram of his hips into yours.

“And then there was fucking Soonyoung-” Seungcheol punches out. “Eyeing you like a piece of meat. If he got his hands on you, I would break every bone in his body.”

You mewl and shake your head vigorously. You can barely speak, but you’re desperate for him to know. “There’s no one, Cheolie. Only you. I only want you.”

You claw at his shoulders, tugging him down when you’re unable to resist, planting a searing kiss on his mouth. He groans into you.

“That’s right. Mine. My girl, my body, my cunt. All this is mine.”

You feel his hand sneak between your bodies so he can toy with your clit. It makes you cry out, already so sensitive from being toyed with.

“I’m not cumming until I feel your pussy milk it out of me.” He grunts, thrusts getting sloppier, and you keen. He’s determined to get you there one more time, and with how wound up you are, you know you will give it to him.

He cums at the same time as you, your walls contracting around his sloppy final thrusts. Your sweaty bodies writhe together, pressing into each other and on the bed, his hands digging into your hips and thighs while you rake your nails down his back. Finally, he buries himself deep and stills.

You sigh as tension slowly drains from your body. Seungcheol takes a moment before pulling out, flopping down next to you with a grunt and running a hand through his sweaty hair. You watch him and he eyes you back, a small smile crossing his face. He grips your arm and tugs, maneuvering you so you’re on your side, his front against your back. You giggle. It’s the same position, except this time, you’re both naked.

Silence descends over both of you, your eyelids heavy with slowly encroaching sleep. You’re roused when you hear Seungcheol softly speak.

“I meant it, you know?” He mumbles. “That I’m in love with you. Been in love with you for a while now.”

You can’t help your giddy smile. You rest your hand on the back of his and squeeze. “I have been too, for a while.”

You can feel his smile on the back of your neck. “Good.”

You fall asleep to his lips laying careful kisses on your shoulder.

Wonwoo doesn’t get it. Of course he doesn’t. He’s human. To him, all of you fall under the same category. It doesn’t matter that you’re a vampire. And it also doesn’t matter that you abhor werewolves.

When you started at this company, you thought having a human manager was a huge green flag. It meant no discrimination, no one would get special favors, everyone would be treated equally, regardless of what species they are. But now that Wonwoo’s fairness is working against you, it makes you irritable. So much for an inclusive workspace.

You are pulled from your thoughts when a broad shadow falls over the coffee machine. Your nose scrunches, twitching sensitively, and you take a huge step to the side. Seungcheol gives you a dirty look, placing his cup under the machine. He presses a few buttons. The machine whirs.

“Have you drafted anything for the new project yet?”

You want to claw his grimy skin off. Even his voice irritates you. The smell of earth and fur hits your nose. Ugh.

“You smell like dog.”

“You smell like death.”

You roll your eyes and pick up your mug. You can’t stand to be in the same room as him. You are hit with despair when you realise that from today, you will have to work on a project with him. You can’t do this. He’s unbearable.

You don’t know what your gripe with Choi Seungcheol is at this point. You know you don’t like the fact that he’s a werewolf. You’ve never liked his kind, as mean and bigoted as that sounds. You’ve never had a good experience with them, even from your earliest memories of middle school. They walk around in packs, like wild animals. They’re loud and unfiltered. No decorum, no grace. It makes you scoff.

But you have always tolerated them. Always made small talk, always worked with them well enough, on school projects, college presentations and research groups. You’ve always been civil. Hell, you have a werewolf for a neighbor. And Mingyu is one of the best people you’ve ever had the good fortune of meeting.

So it’s not just the wolf thing, it’s him specifically. Choi Seungcheol has a presence to him that irritates you. He walks into a room like he owns the place. He has an air of someone who thinks he’s right all the time. When he speaks, his voice is loud, rough and booming. He’s just so overwhelming, and not in a good way.

“Has it occurred to you that he’s just confident?” Jihoon always says that when you complain about Seungcheol, sprawled on your couch like it’s his property. It might as well be, at this point. He’s there more often than his own apartment, and your guestroom is more his room than an actual guestroom. Hell, he even sleeps there after his weekly hunts. The place feels empty without him at this point.

You scoff and sip on your wine, a large gulp since you feel so annoyed. The television plays mindlessly in your vision. You’re not even watching it.

“It’s not confidence. It’s arrogance.”

Jihoon turns to you then, giving you a confused look. “Isn’t he a pack alpha?”

You shrug and lean forward to refill your glass. “How should I know? I don’t understand anything his kind do. What the fuck does being an alpha even mean?”

A grin spreads across Jihoon’s (very pale) face. “Bet he’d show you if you asked.”

You give him a look so withering it would make anyone else shrivel up. But Jihoon is unfazed. Makes sense. His looks are just as deadly. Must be a vampire thing.

“I’m not going to fuck a werewolf.” You shiver in disgust at the thought. “I’d rather die.”

“You’re already dead.”

“You know what I mean!”

Jihoon just shrugs.

The next morning, you’ve barely sat down after clocking in when Seungcheol is knocking on the open door to your office. You really don’t want to see his face first thing in the morning, but this project is top priority, and Wonwoo’s warning is still fresh in your mind, so you bite your tongue and nod at him to come in.

He’s wearing glasses, round and thin rimmed. You’ve never seen him in them, and they somehow tame the wild image of his thick, messy head of spiky black hair and large, gummy smile that he often wears around the office. The sleeves of his white button up are rolled up to his elbows. He isn’t wearing a tie, collar loose.

“It’s barely nine in the morning.” You say dryly. “You can’t be dressed properly for more than two minutes?”

He rolls his eyes as he sits down on the opposite side of your desk, pulling the chair forward a little with a scraping noise. You catch his eyes shooting down to your neck.

“As opposed to your shirt? Undo your collar a bit so you can breathe. And take that stick out of your ass while you’re at it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in annoyance but don’t reply. Most people around you would never talk to you like that. You know you’re intimidating, you even take pride in it. But he doesn’t seem to be bothered at all, matching and often outdoing your tone.

“Don’t swear in the office. It’s crass.”

“Suck my dick.”

You slam the file with your first draft in front of him on the desk. Your head is already boiling like a steaming kettle. You need him out.

“Go over this and get back to me.”

He narrows his eyes at you and sneers. “I’m not your lackey. We will go over this together and make edits. I’m not wasting my time going back and forth from here.”

You want to pat yourself on the back for the fact that you don’t say anything and merely nod stiffly. You are so pissed that you need him for this project, but unfortunately, your jobs go hand in hand. You’re an architect, and he’s a logistics expert. You can’t move any project forward until it has his stamp of approval, and he can’t do anything unless you’re drafting something for him to approve. Either you work together, or you’re both out of jobs.

The day goes by at a snail’s pace as you both work. Seungcheol is direct and sticks to the point, often to the limit of being rude. He doesn’t like dilly dallying, which is good in this case. It means that you go through your proposals very quickly. But it also means that he doesn’t sugar coat it when he shuts down any of your suggestions.

“It’s not compatible with our budget.” His tone is firm. He leaves no room for question. “Either you change the material or we scrap the whole thing.”

“I can’t change the material. The structure doesn’t work with anything else.” You glare at him from across the desk.

“Then change the whole design or whatever.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You think it’s that easy?”

“It would be easier if you did less bitching and more working.”

“Watch your tone.”

He doesn’t even flinch, not even as your voice drops to a cold, breathy octave that would make a lesser creature cower. Instead, he narrows you down with a fiery stare, raising a thick eyebrow.

“Or what? You don’t scare me, sweetheart. Your kind has gone on far too long thinking you’re something special. Tone it down a notch.”

You’re shocked at his punch on your nature. It makes anger flare up inside you, zipping down your back and your chest.

“Get out.”

“No.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Change the design. I’m not leaving until this project is done.”

You grit your teeth so hard it makes your jaw ache. Seungcheol watches you, and his lip slowly ticks up at the corner with a small smirk. You watch his cheek dimple. Your fists clench.

“You wanna swear at me? Go ahead. Or is that too crass for you?”

You hate that he’s baiting you. And you hate that you’re predictable enough that he can bait you. You take a deep breath and hold it for a solid ten seconds before exhaling. Then you pick up your pencil.

“I won’t stoop to your level.”

He chuckles, a deep brassy sound, leaning back and crossing his arms. His shirt sleeves strain as his biceps flex.

“Right. You wouldn’t want to behave like an animal.”

“Exactly.”

He takes off his glasses and leans back, watches you work in silence as you try to solve the problem you’ve bumped up against. For a few minutes, all is quiet.

“You must be fun in bed.” His voice drips with sarcasm.

You balk at his words, head shooting up to gawk at him. “What?”

He grins. “You’re so buttoned up. Can’t imagine you being any fun.”

You can feel how hot the back of your neck is. It’s not easy to fluster you, you’re cold both physically and mentally. But he’s really riling you up in the worst way possible.

“It’s none of your business.”

He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back. Thick cords of muscle shift in his neck at the movement. “I’m right!”

“You’re not!” You hiss, feeling defensive. “I’m fun in- This isn’t-”

He’s still laughing. You pick up a spare file and hurl it across the table at him. He lifts his arms up in time to shield his face, and it hits the skin with a loud thwack.

“Aw, did I hit a nerve?” He teases, flushed high on his cheekbones as he lowers his arms.

“It’s almost lunch break.” You reply dryly. “I'm leaving.”

He hums with a tone that is tinged with amusement. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m not judging. All you vampires are stuck up, it’s in your nature.”

“I’m leaving.” You repeat, standing up abruptly so you can walk out of your office. You’re halfway down two flights of stairs before you realise you’ve forgotten both your packed lunch and your wallet back in your drawer. You sigh, feeling irritated all over again.

You can’t believe how personal the conversation got so quickly. It’s his fault, he brought it up. You would never in your wildest dreams think about sex in the middle of the office. Of course he would talk like that to you. No manners. He really has no filter. He doesn’t care at all.

And what did he call you? Sweetheart? Who gave him the right to do that?

If you had a heart or circulating blood, you know your face would be red hot and flushed by now. You’re angry and flustered, an emotion you rarely ever feel. He knows just how to throw you off guard. Hell, he had you defending your sex life in the office. Appalling behaviour. How dare he insinuate that you’re boring in bed?

You sit down on the steps, sighing. The stairway is empty, so you can mull over your thoughts a little bit without any interruptions. You fiddle with your phone, mindlessly clicking on Jihoon’s contact when you think you need to hear yourself out loud.

“Damn, he clocked you.” That’s what Jihoon has to say when you tell him everything that happened. You scowl.

“Whatever. He doesn’t know anything.”

“And yet he got it right. When was the last time you even had sex?”

You groan painfully, leaning sideways against the wall. “That’s not the point.”

“Hey, what did you think I would say? I already suggested last night that you should fuck him. And the way he’s talking to you….. sounds like he wants it too.”

“No he doesn’t. He hates me.”

“You don’t have to like someone to want to fuck them.”

You kick your feet out a little. “I’m a vampire. He’s a werewolf.”

“What is this, the 1950s?” Jihoon scoffs over the phone. “I’m not asking you to get pregnant with his kids. It’s just sex.”

“Maybe you should sleep with him, you horny bastard.” You pout.

“I’ve slept with a werewolf. They know how to fuck. And trust me, you need that. Desperately.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a little indignant at his insinuation. “You’re a pervert.”

“And you’re sexually repressed. I’m hanging up now. I’m busy.” The line clicks before you can reply. Typical Jihoon.

When you get back to your office, Seungcheol isn’t there. You’re a little relieved. His presence is too much sometimes. You don’t see him for the next hour. You eat your lunch in peace, get some coffee from the break room, and even manage to solve your little logistics problem. When he finally returns, you present the file to him.

“Look it over.”

He sits down in his previous seat and takes the file, eyes flitting over the page. You wait for him to speak, but what he says isn’t what you expected.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” He mumbles, eyes still on the paper. “I think it may have been too far.”

He thinks?

You bite it back, nodding. “It’s okay. I think we both got too heated.”

“Which shouldn’t be possible since you’re dead.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the little smile that struggles on your face. “Very funny. So original.”

He grins. His cheek dimples again. Something in your chest stutters.

Wonwoo pokes his head into your office near five o’clock, asking how everything is going. Surprisingly, Seungcheol is extremely efficient. He’s good at recognising what needs more attention, and he keeps you two on a fast track. You have only a little bit to go, and you really don’t want to drag it out to another work day, so you both choose to stay overtime. Wonwoo is okay with it, and he wishes you both good luck before leaving. Both you and Seungcheol are very focused on work, but as time passes and everyone leaves, you get more and more tired. Which means your mind wanders more and more. You watch Seungcheol scribble some numbers with a pencil, doing mental calculations.

“Did you really mean it?”

“Hm?”

You hesitate. “Do you think that I’m…. you know…”

Seungcheol looks up. You gesticulate a little helplessly. He snorts.

“What? A prude?”

You scoff. Seungcheol puts his pencil down and focuses more of his attention on you. His grin is widening to an annoying degree. You don’t like it.

“You sure act like a virgin.”

You bristle. “First of all, that’s very insulting. Second, I’m not a virgin.”

He hums. “Who have you done it with? Vampires?”

“Forget I said anything.” You focus on your papers again, feeling queasy and jumpy at where this is going.

“I can bet you’ve never fucked a werewolf, have you?”

You sigh painfully. “Do you have to be so…… vulgar?”

“You brought it up, sweetheart.”

You scowl and point at him. “That too. Stop calling me that.”

“What? Sweetheart?”

You squirm uncomfortably. Seungcheol’s eyes sharpen, not moving away for one second. You feel exposed under his gaze.

“I don’t think you want me to stop. I think you like it.”

You focus back on the papers, blinking hard. You can hear the chair as it scrapes on the floor, the shift in the air as Seungcheol stands up. He walks around the desk and stops behind you, his presence almost muted. Quiet, watching, assessing. It unnerves you. You, who are a predator by nature, and right now you feel like you’re prey.

You stiffen when his breath hits your ear. His hands grip the arms of your chair, caging you in from behind. His lips brush against your ear as he speaks.

“You never answered my question.”

You swallow hard. “What question?”

“You ever fucked a wolf?”

You can’t help when your thighs press together, especially because of how deep his voice has gotten, almost like a growl from the confines of his chest. You feel something wet and hot on the shell of your ear. His tongue. You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. He hums.

“You want to change that tonight?”

You turn your head then, and your nose bumps against his. His eyes are dark, with the exception of small gold flecks dancing in his irises. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, something you can obviously never do. But he can. It makes him look so alive.

Your lips meet his in a bruising kiss.

He wastes no time in kissing you back, his hand flying up to grip the back of your head in a possessive gesture that catches you off guard but lights a fire in your core. He pushes your chair back with his free hand so he can stand before you, gripping your hips with his wide hands and lifting you up with no problem. You’re a bit flustered as he places you on the desk, fitting his hips between your legs. You run your hands over his jaw. He hisses.

“You’re so cold.”

“You’re so warm.”

And he is. His arteries pulse under your touch. You can feel it, the blood roaring through his body. His muscles shift under his skin, below your fingertips. Every cell of him. Breathing. Twitching. Alive.

It’s intoxicating.

His lips are all encompassing, just like his presence is. He doesn’t let you pull away for a second, tongue ravaging your mouth like he’s hungry for your taste. His hands dig into your waist, pulling your shirt from under the waistband of your pants so he can run his hands over your bare skin. You arch your back. He’s so hot, near feverish on your cool skin. The contrast has you shivering and clenching around nothing. You know you’re already wet, you can feel it. And when Seungcheol’s nose twitches and he groans, you’re near delirious just thinking that he can smell your arousal.

“So wet already, aren’t you?” He grins, sleazy in a way that makes him look so much hotter. His eyelids fall to half mast. He’s unbuttoning your blouse quickly, with practiced ease. You realise you want him unclothed too. You want to feel more of his impressive build under your fingertips. When his shirt peels off his shoulders, you can’t help but lick your lips, eyeing the smooth expanse of golden skin. He looks amused by it, even though you’re eyeing him like he’s a piece of meat.

“You want a taste?” He asks.

You blink, caught off guard. You didn’t expect him to say that at all. He works slowly on the button of your trousers, unzipping them.

“A-are you sure?” You lift your hips so he can take your bottoms off. Your ass is cool against the wooden desk. He shrugs.

“I don’t mind. As long as you don’t drain me.”

You huff, running your hands down his arms and chest. God, he’s built so well, and his body thrums under your touch. You’ve only ever been with vampires. You’re not used to feeling all this…… life.

“Never had werewolf blood before.” You mumble, eyelids fluttering as he lowers his head to your neck, licking over it. You know what this is. He’s scenting you. It makes something electric shoot down your spine. It feels good.

“So try it.”

You bite your lip. “Right now?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. His hand travels to your back. He unhooks your bra with a flick of his wrist. “When I have my cock inside you.”

You can help your moan at his words, coupled with how he toys with your nipples. You arch into his touch, acutely aware that he can see every naked inch of you. You want to rectify the situation a bit, reaching forward to tug at his belt. He helps you take his pants and boxers off, and your jaw goes slack when his dick springs up and slaps on his lower stomach, throbbing. The head is flushed a deep pink, he’s already leaking at the tip, and the base of his cock is just slightly larger than the rest of it. A single, thick vein pulses on the underside. Subconsciously, you trace your finger over it. He sighs and grips your thighs tighter.

“This feels different.” He breathes. “So cold.”

You’re shocked. “You haven’t been with a vampire before?”

He shakes his head. You can’t believe it. He was baiting you all this time, calling you a prude, egging you about being with your species only, when he’s done the same thing. Asshole. Clever asshole.

You bite the inside of your lip as you wrap your hands around his shaft with more surety. His lips part. Leaking precum aids your movements as you tug and press on his cock. It feels glorious, twitching and thudding under your touch. You clench again, more desperate this time, and shuffle closer to the edge of the desk.

“I wanna suck you off.”

Seungcheol barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Hell no. I don’t want you biting my dick.”

You give him a nasty look, rolling your eyes. “Trust me, I don’t want to drink blood from your penis. I’m not that far gone.”

He’s still laughing though, hooking a hand under your knee so he can lift your leg up and part it more. He watches your pussy with heated eyes.

“Some other time then, sweetheart. I need to feel you wrapped tight around me right now.”

He’s already poking at your entrance, and you sigh at the feeling, unable to reply. Frankly, you’re trying not to think about the fact that he said there will be a ‘next time’. You stroke him a bit more and align him to your hole, crying out when he breaches your opening. He curses, hands on your thighs tightening as he slowly carves his way inside you. He doesn’t stop until the swollen base of his cock finally hinders him, and then he doesn’t push forward. He shudders.

“Christ.” His teeth brush over your shoulder. He digs them in just a little bit. You’re sure he’s already leaving bruises on your skin with his death grip on your thighs.

You’re not faring any better, pathetically clenching and unclenching around him. He’s huge, by far the biggest you have ever taken, and he throbs inside you like all his blood is pooled in his cock. He isn’t even all the way in, taking care to keep the base away from your tightening rim, and you’re already struggling. You take in long, gasping breaths.

“Seungcheol.” Your voice is much higher, strangled. He hums into your shoulder, still biting and sucking. He pulls out just a bit before sliding slowly in again, testing the waters.

“Fuck me properly.” You choke out, digging your nails into the skin of his back. He groans and complies, pulling you right to the edge of the desk so he can start thrusting into you. You throw your head back and cry out.

The desk rattles. Something falls off, clattering onto the floor. You couldn’t care less. You use one hand to grip the edge of it, trying to anchor yourself somehow as Seungcheol rams his cock hard and fast into you. He keeps one hand hooked over your knee, keeping you open for him, while the other wraps around your waist to keep your body tight against his. It feels so possessive, so territorial, and you don’t know if that’s the wolf in him or if he’s just… like that. You don’t care either way. All you’re focused on is how good his cock feels pounding your wet cunt, how his tongue runs over your neck and leaves a cool trail of spit behind. You dig your nails harder into his back. It makes him hiss, and the scent of something metallic tinges in the air as your nails break skin. You moan, recognising it immediately. Your gums tingle. The deeper you fall into lust, the more your inhibitions lower.

“Cheol.” You gasp. “Need to taste you.”

He groans, letting your leg go so he can wrap both arms tight around you. It puts his neck in close proximity to you. Your wild eyes catch sight of his carotid, pulsing right under his skin. You lick your lips. Your mouth waters.

“Go ahead, baby.”

You don’t hesitate for a second. Your gums twinge, your fangs lower over your teeth as you open your mouth, and you pierce him right over the artery.

Seungcheol curses and jerks a bit before settling. He fucks you harder as the blood gushes into your mouth, sweet nectar like cherry wine, making your eyes roll. He tastes so good that it makes your head spin. You whine into his skin.

“That’s it.” His voice is broken, raspy. “Good girl.”

You preen at the praise, sucking hard. More blood rushes over your tongue, your second mouthful. You can take maybe one more without making him lightheaded.

Seungcheol uses that moment to reach between your undulating bodies and rub hard over your swollen clit. Your cry is muffled into his neck. You suck again, the last time, eyes squeezing shut as you swallow and pull away. It takes every ounce of self control you have to do it, and immediately afterwards, you lick over the two puncture marks on his neck, not wanting to waste a single drop of blood.

“I’m gonna cum.” You manage to punch out of your struggling lungs, one hand reaching up so you can tug hard on his hair. He growls, a sound so primal and predatory it makes your skin tingle, and his thrusts get sloppy. The desk creaks precariously. Neither of you give a damn about it.

“Fuck.” Your back arches as your orgasm hits you full force, hanging on tight to his broad shoulders as your body twitches and convulses around him. He groans into your ear, little words of whispered encouragement, telling you how good your pussy feels when it gushes around him, filthy descriptions of your cunt that would make a pornstar blush.

Once he makes sure that you’re coming down from your high, Seungcheol pulls out, still hard as a rock and now glistening with your juices. His eyes flit over your face and he chuckles breathlessly.

“Jesus, that’s terrifying.” He reaches a hand up to thumb at your left fang. Your breath stutters.

“Careful.” You mumble, not entirely there after your high. You lick your lips as your fangs retract. He massages your jaw with a slow, sensual touch, his thumb still hovering over your lips. He pushes it inside and you make sure to look directly at him as you suck on the tip of it. His pupils dilate before your very eyes.

He pulls your shaking body off the desk and spins you around, palm meeting the skin between your shoulder blades to push you down. Your bend over easily, pliant from your high still, eager for him to fill you up again. Your cheek squishes against the wood, your mouth dropping open in a relieved moan when you feel his cock invade your insides again. He breathes out a laugh.

“Can’t stand to be empty for a single second, can you?” He drapes himself over you. You can feel his rapid heartbeat through your back. He grips your wrists to pull both of your arms over your head. His hands crawl up to yours as he begins thrusting again. You cry out.

He uses his own fingers to curl yours around the opposite edge of the desk. His lips brush over your ear before he nibbles at it slightly.

“Hold on tight, baby.” He grunts. “I’m gonna knot you. And you’re going to take all of it like a good girl.”

You nearly cum again, just by his words. You comply, gripping tightly on the edge as he nudges your knee with his, spreading your legs more. He presses on the small of your back to make you arch, and your feet rise up on your tippy toes to make room for him to slide deeper. He groans in appreciation.

His thrusts get rough and sloppy the more he pounds hard into you, gripping your hips and ass tightly. His voice gets more uninhibited, growling and moaning as he gets closer and closer to his high. The room thickens with the scent of the earth, enough for even you to smell it, and the stimulation is enough to build you up all over again.

“Cheolie, I’m gonna cum again.” Tears spring into your eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of him as he fucks you within an inch of your life. Well, not life. You’re not technically alive. But he makes you feel like it, the way his skin shifts under your touch, every inch of him warm blooded and thrumming. He makes you feel like there’s a heart pounding in your chest, struggling to keep up with his movements, thudding against your ribs, a feeling you haven’t had for centuries, not since you stopped being human.

His cock swells, he groans into your shoulder, his torso warm as it sprawls over you, heating your perpetually cold skin. The stretch makes something painful twinge inside you, pushing you right over the edge as it mixes deliciously with the pleasure coursing through your body. Warmth fills your insides as he paints them wide, twitching and jerking against you as you both hit your orgasms together. His hands run all over you like he needs to feel every inch of your skin, grinding into you. The base of his knots plugs itself inside you, keeping his cum from spilling. You feel so full, by his cock, his seed, and your eyelids droop as your body settles.

He doesn’t move away, instead sighing and leaning over you. He brushes your hair off the back of your neck, laying a small kiss on it. When you try to move, something painful twinges inside you. He hisses.

“Easy.” His voice is still gruff. “Let my knot go down, sweetheart.”

You flush when you realise that yes, you’re locked together. You lay your head on your crossed arms, relaxing where you are, the still warmth of the wooden desk under you, and Seungcheol’s heart quietly beating against your back. He keeps laying small kisses over your skin.

“That was intense.” You finally comment, breaking the silence. “Sex with werewolves really is crazy.”

“Hey.” His voice contains warning, and you can almost hear his pout. “What do you mean werewolves? One. Werewolf. Singular.”

You giggle and roll your eyes. “You’re so territorial. What are you gonna do next? Lift your leg and pee on me?”

“That’s a little too freaky. Even for me.”

His hands grip your waist tight and he finally lifts up off you, pulling out. You gasp, flinching a little as cum pours out of you in thick globs, running down your thighs. He tuts in disappointment.

“What a waste. Wanted to put my pups in you.”

Your face burns. “Pump the brakes there, champ.”

He laughs and wraps a gentle arm under you so he can lift you up. You wince as you straighten. “My bad. I should take you out first.”

You hum. “Bold of you to assume I want to go out with you.”

He smirks, and you can’t help but admire how rosy his cheeks are. You think you’re still a little uninhibited, because you don’t even stop yourself as you reach up to cup his cheek, running your fingers over his warm skin. He watches you with eyes softer than you had ever seen before, but his eyebrow raises up, as if in challenge. Your throat knots tightly.

“Fine.” You huff, and a grin slowly breaks over his face. “One date.”

He kisses you with that same huge grin, and it’s more teeth and tongue that it is a kiss. You don’t even try to hold back your own smile.

He stayed in the penthouse, a masochistic choice that was slowly unmaking his mind. He refused to turn on the lights, living in a perpetual twilight that mirrored the state of his soul. The apartment, once a sanctuary, was now a museum of his greatest failure. He would walk into the kitchen and see the empty space on the counter where her mug used to sit, and the silence would roar in his ears like a hurricane.

He was starving, but the thought of eating felt like a betrayal of the emptiness he deserved. He had convinced himself that his burden was the group, the fame, and the pressure but in the silence of the 3:00 AM dark, he realized the burden was actually the man he became when he didn't have her to hold him together.

The psychological toll was visible in the way he moved shoulders hunched as if bracing for an impact that never came, eyes perpetually sunken and bloodshot. He spent his nights staring at the "Blocked" status on his phone, a digital tombstone for the girl he had discarded. He would type out long, rambling apologies, his fingers flying over the screen in a fever of desperation, begging her to come back, telling her that the penthouse was too big and the air was too thin. But he never sent them not because he didn't want to, but because the "Message Undelivered" notification from the first night had taught him that he no longer had the right to speak to the ghost he had created. He had won the argument, he had secured his freedom, and now he was realizing that he was the only prisoner left in the house they had built.

By the end of the week, they were both shells of their former selves, existing in a state of mutual, silent agony. Y/N sat on a park bench, watching the spring flowers bloom with a sense of profound disgust how could the world be so beautiful when her internal landscape was a scorched earth? She felt like a trespasser in her own life, a ghost finally leaving the house it had been haunting, realizing that she didn't know who she was without the weight of him.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol stood on the balcony of the penthouse, looking out at the glittering lights of Seoul. He had everything a man could want fame, success, a legacy and he had never felt more impoverished. He realized, with a soul-crushing finality, that he had mistaken his peace for a "chore." He had called her a reminder of his failures, but as he stood in the cold wind, he realized she was the only thing that had ever made his success feel real. They were both free, just as he had shouted for them to be, but the freedom tasted like ash. They were two people who had survived a war, only to realize they had killed the only thing worth fighting for.

The second week was when the numbness began to wear off, replaced by a raw, flayed-skin sensitivity that made the mere act of existing an agony. If the first week was about the shock of the impact, the second week was about surveying the permanent scars left behind in the quiet, dusty corners of their separate lives.

Y/N moved into a small, temporary studio apartment. It was a space that didn't know her name, a room where the walls were a flat, indifferent white. She had spent four years living in the gilded cage of Seungcheol’s world, and now, the simplicity of her own life felt terrifyingly loud. She found herself sitting on the floor there was no furniture yet surrounded by the few boxes she had managed to pack.

The drain had shifted from a heavy lethargy to a frantic, nervous energy. She spent her nights cleaning the baseboards until her fingers were raw, trying to scrub away the feeling of his voice echoing in her skull. “You’re suffocating me.” Every time she reached for a glass, she remembered how he had flinched from her touch. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw the woman he called a "chore." She was haunted by the version of herself he had created in that final hour a pathetic, cloying burden and she hated that woman even more than he did.

She started the process of "un-learning" him. She had to un-learn the way he liked his coffee so she didn't accidentally buy his beans; she had to un-learn his schedule so she wouldn't look at the clock at 10 PM and wonder if he’d had his vitamins. But the muscle memory of love was a stubborn thing.

She would catch herself humming a melody from one of his unreleased tracks, and the realization would cause her to choke on her own breath, her lungs hitching as she forced herself to stop. She was a woman trying to perform an exorcism on her own heart, and the ghost was putting up a violent fight.

Seungcheol was no longer living; he was merely performing the role of a living person. The SEVENTEEN members had stopped asking if he was okay; they had transitioned into a state of quiet, watchful mourning for the man he used to be. He was the first one in the practice room and the last to leave, pushing his body until his muscles screamed and his vision blurred. He thought if he could just get tired enough, the silence of the penthouse wouldn't be so loud.

But the silence was patient. It waited for him at the door every night.

He had started sleeping on the sofa in the living room because the bedroom felt like a crime scene. He would lie there, staring at the ceiling, gripped by the terrifying realization that he had committed the ultimate sin of a leader: he had destroyed his own foundation for the sake of his ego. He had blamed his exhaustion on her because it was easier than admitting he was breaking under the weight of his own career. He had made her the villain of his story so he wouldn't have to be the failure.

His phone was a source of constant, dull pain. He had unblocked her number a hundred times, his thumb hovering over the Call button until the sun came up, but the fear of hearing her voice or worse, hearing her silence kept him paralyzed.

He looked at the press photos of himself from the day before and barely recognized the man in them. The eyes were cold, the jawline tight, the charisma replaced by a grim, joyless determination. He was S.Coups, the invincible leader, but inside, he was just a man who had realized too late that he had traded his soul for a bit more "space" in an empty apartment.

By the end of the second week, they were both standing on the precipice of a new, hollow reality.

Y/N went to a small grocery store near her new place, her hood pulled low. As she reached for a carton of milk, her hand brushed against someone else’s. She pulled back instinctively, a jolt of electricity shooting up her arm a reflex from years of hiding, years of being the secret.

She looked up, and for a split second, the man’s profile looked like his. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought they might crack. When the stranger turned and was someone else, she didn't feel relief. She felt a devastating, soul-crushing disappointment.

In that same moment, miles away in a dark studio, Seungcheol was listening to a demo of a new song. The lyrics spoke of a "Home" that had been lost, of a "light" that had gone out. He took off his headphones and threw them onto the desk, the sound of the impact echoing in the soundproof room. He couldn't do it. He couldn't sing about love when he had become the person who killed it.

He put his face in his hands and, for the first time in two weeks, he didn't just leak tears. He broke. He let out a jagged, gut-wrenching sob that tore through the silence of the studio. He was finally alone, just as he had screamed for her to leave him. He had his space. He had his silence.

And it was the most terrifying thing he had ever owned.

Four months had passed. Four months of learning how to walk through the world as a singular entity rather than a half-piece of a whole. The seasons had shifted from the biting, aggressive cold of that final night to a mocking, humid spring that smelled of exhaust and cherry blossoms.

The industry event was one of those sprawling, glittering tragedies an "After-Party" for a major awards show held in a luxury hotel ballroom that felt like a gilded cage. Y/N was there not as a shadow, but as a professional, having clawed back the career she had let go stagnant while she was busy being Seungcheol’s peace.

She was standing near the balcony, a glass of champagne in her hand that she hadn't touched, wearing a dress that didn't hide her collarbones. She looked different. Sharper. Less like a soft place to land and more like a woman who had learned how to stand on concrete.

And then, the air in the room shifted. She didn't need to look at the door to know he was there. The magnetic pull of Choi Seungcheol was something her body recognized before her brain could process the threat.

Seungcheol entered the room flanked by his members, but he looked like he was standing in a vacuum. He had lost weight the sharp angles of his jawline were now lethal, and the playful spark that used to define his eyes had been replaced by a weary, professional distance. He was "S.Coups," the impenetrable fortress.

He was scanning the room out of habit, his eyes moving over the sea of faces with a bored, practiced flick, until they snagged.

There, by the glass doors, was a woman who looked like his Y/N, but wasn't. This woman wasn't wearing his oversized hoodie. She wasn't looking at him with that devastating, soft concern that used to make him feel like he was failing. She was looking at the city lights, her spine straight, her expression unreadable.

His heart didn't just beat; it thrashed. The champagne glass in his hand felt like it was made of lead. He had spent 120 days rehearsing what he would say if he ever saw her again apologies, explanations, pleas but as he looked at her, every word turned to ash in his throat. He realized, with a sickening lurch of his stomach, that she looked fine. She looked like she had survived him.

She felt him approaching before she heard him. The scent of his cologne the one she had tried so hard to un-learn drifted toward her like a warning. She didn't turn. She couldn't. If she turned, she was afraid she would see the man who called her a "chore," and she wasn't sure if she would scream or shatter.

"Y/N."

His voice was a ghost of its former self. It wasn't the roar of the argument, nor the honeyed whisper of their bed. It was a jagged, hesitant sound, as if he were testing the air to see if it would burn him.

She finally turned. The impact was physical. Up close, the damage was more apparent. He looked tired not the "business dinner" tired he had used as an excuse that night, but a soul-deep exhaustion that makeup couldn't hide.

"Seungcheol," she said. Her voice was steady. It was the proudest moment of her life and the most heartbreaking.

"You look..." He trailed off, his eyes searching hers, desperate for a flicker of the old warmth, a hint of the "Home" he had evicted himself from. "You look good."

"I look like myself again," she replied, her words quiet but cutting. "It turns out I'm a lot less of a 'chore' when I'm not trying to carry someone else's weight."

He flinched. The blow landed exactly where she intended, and for a second, the S.Coups mask crumbled. He looked small. He looked like the boy who used to cry in her lap when the pressure got too high.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, the words coming out in a rush, as if he had been holding them behind a dam for months. "Y/N, I'm so incredibly sorry. The apartment... it's so quiet. I didn't mean any of it. I was drowning and I-"

"You didn't drown me, Seungcheol," she interrupted, her heart breaking all over again for the man she used to love, even as she guarded the woman she had become. "You threw me overboard to see if the boat would float better. And it did, didn't it? You've had your best charts in years. You have your 'space.' You have your silence."

Seungcheol reached out, his hand hovering inches from her arm the same arm he had flinched away from four months ago. He wanted to grab her, to pull her into the hallway and beg her to come back to the penthouse, to tell her he’d buy a new bed, new sheets, a new life.

But he saw the way she didn't lean in. He saw the way her eyes held a pity that was far worse than the hatred he had expected.

"I have everything I asked for," he whispered, his voice breaking. "And I have never been more miserable."

"Then I guess we both got what we deserved," she said.

She took a slow, deliberate sip of the champagne she hadn't wanted, the bubbles stinging her throat. She looked at him one last time not as her world, but as a man she used to know. A man who had taught her that love isn't a home if the doors only lock from the outside.

"Enjoy the party, Seungcheol. You worked hard for this."

She walked past him, her shoulder brushing his in a brief, agonizing moment of contact that felt like a funeral. She didn't look back. She walked out into the cool night air of the balcony, leaving him standing in the middle of a crowded, cheering room the most successful, powerful, and lonely man in the world.

He stood there, clutching a drink he didn't want, in a body he didn't like, realizing that the "Home" he had destroyed was now a fortress he would never be allowed to enter again.

"Wait."

It was a choked, desperate sound the kind of noise a man makes when he realized he’s stepping off a ledge. It was the voice of the Seungcheol I used to protect, the one who would hide his face in my neck and tell me the world was too loud.

But the world was quiet now. And I was the one who had made it that way.

I stopped, but I didn't turn around. I couldn't. If I looked at him, I might see the tears I used to dry with my own thumbs, and for a split second, I might forget that those same eyes had looked at me with pure, unadulterated loathing only four months ago.

Y/N, please," he rasped, his footsteps stuttering on the carpet behind me. "Just… just five minutes. I’ve spent every night rehearsing this. I’ve written a thousand letters I couldn’t send. I’ll do anything. I’ll change everything. Just don’t walk out of this room like I’m a stranger...."

The glass of champagne in my hand was finally starting to warm against my palm, but I didn't care. I didn't care about the bubbles, the expensive silk of my dress, or the fact that the most famous idol in Korea was currently disintegrating two inches in front of me.

I finally turned, my movements slow, deliberate, and cold.

I looked at Seungcheol really looked at him and for the first time in four years, I didn't see my universe. I saw a man who had been willing to incinerate me just to stay warm in his own ego.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, the words sounding like they were being dragged over gravel. "Y/N, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just come home. Please. Let’s just go home."

"Home?" I repeated the word, and it felt like ash on my tongue. "Which home, Seungcheol? The one where I was a 'chore'? Or the one where I was 'suffocating' you? Because those are the only rooms you left for me."

"I was angry," he stepped closer, his eyes wild with a desperate, frantic hope that made my stomach turn. "I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it."

"But that’s the thing," I said, my voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm level. "You did mean it. In that moment, when you looked at me with that much disgust, you meant every syllable. You didn't just say those things to hurt me; you said them because that’s how you saw me. You sat in our bed, ate the food I made, held my hand at night, and all the while, you were tallying up my existence as an 'obligation' on your schedule."

He flinched as if I’d slapped him. "I was stressed. The pressure-"

"Stop," I cut him off, the power of the word vibrating in the small space between us. "Stop using your career as a shield for your cruelty. Everyone is stressed, Seungcheol. Everyone is tired. But I didn't turn into a monster and rip your soul out through your throat because I had a bad day at work."

I looked down at my hands. They were steady. They weren't shaking anymore.

"You think 'sorry' is an eraser," I continued, meeting his gaze again. His eyes were filling with tears, but they didn't move me. They felt like a performance I had seen too many times. "You think if you say it enough times, the memory of you flinching away from my touch will just... dissolve? It won't. It’s engraved here." I pressed a finger to my temple. "And here." I moved it to my chest.

"Every time I look in a mirror, I still hear your voice telling me I’m pathetic. Every time a man looks at me with interest, I wonder when he’ll start seeing me as a burden. You didn't just break my heart, Seungcheol. You tried to break my worth. You tried to make me believe that my love was a toxin."

"I'll fix it," he choked out, reaching for my hand. "I swear, I'll fix it."

I stepped back, out of his reach, and the look of pure agony that crossed his face was almost enough to make me feel something. Almost.

"You can't fix a shattered glass by apologizing to the shards," I said. "Even if you glue it back together, the cracks are still there. You'll always be the man who thought I was a chore, and I'll always be the woman who stayed until she was humiliated. We can’t go back to being people who don't know what we're capable of doing to each other."

I took a deep breath, and for the first time in months, it didn't feel like I was inhaling glass. It felt like oxygen.

"I’m moving on, Seungcheol. Not because I don't love the memory of who you were, but because I love myself enough to never let you speak to me like that again. I deserve to be someone’s sanctuary, not their 'obligation.' I deserve to be a home, not a chore."

"Y/N, please..."

"No! no and no. No more "pleases"... just shut up,'" I said, finally setting the champagne glass down on the ledge of the balcony. It made a sharp, final clink. "You told me once not to wait up. Well, I’m not waiting at all anymore. I’m finished."

I turned away from him. I didn't look back to see him crumble. I didn't look back to see his members rush to his side. I walked through the crowded ballroom, through the flashing lights and the hollow laughter, and I kept walking until the cold night air hit my face.

The silence of the city wasn't heavy. It was wide open.

He would live in that penthouse with the ghost of what he threw away, haunted by his own words until the day he died. And I? I was going to find a place where the walls didn't scream, and the only person I had to take care of was the woman I had almost lost to him.

He took a step toward me, his stature looming, his face contorted in a way that made my heart stutter. He looked at me not with love, but with a cold, simmering resentment.

"Maybe that’s the problem," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet hiss. "Maybe you’re just a ghost because there’s nothing left here for me to come home to. You’re just a reminder of everything I’m failing at. You’re a chore, Y/N. You’re just another obligation on my schedule."

The air left the room. My lungs felt like they were collapsing.

"A chore?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "Is that all I am? After four years? After I stayed through the hiatuses, through the panic attacks, through the nights you couldn't even stand to be in your own skin? I'm an obligation?"

"Right now? Yes!" he roared, slamming his hand against the marble countertop. The sound echoed like a gunshot. "You want the truth? I stay out late because I don't want to see your face looking at me like I’m breaking your heart. It’s pathetic. You’re suffocating me!"

I felt the tears finally spill hot, ugly, and humiliating. I reached out to touch his arm, a desperate reflex to find the man I knew, but he flinched away as if my skin were acid.

"Don't," he growled. "Don't touch me with that 'poor me' look in your eyes. I’m done. I’m so incredibly done with trying to make this work when I have nothing left to give you."

I stood there, trembling, watching the man I loved turn into a stranger. The person who once promised to be my "Home" had just set the house on fire and was watching me burn inside it.

"Then leave," I choked out, the words tasting like copper. "If I'm such a burden, if loving me is such a weight on your shoulders... then get out. Go back to your 'real' life where everything is perfect and nobody needs anything from you."

Seungcheol didn't hesitate. That was the part that killed me. There was no flicker of regret, no moment where he realized he’d gone too far. He just grabbed his jacket from the sofa.

"Fine," he said, his voice hollow. "Don't wait up. In fact, don't wait at all."

The door slammed.

The vibration rattled the frames on the wall the photos of us in Jeju, the polaroids from our first anniversary. I sank to the floor, my knees hitting the hardwood, and let out a sound that wasn't a cry it was a howl of pure, unadulterated agony.

He had looked at me with hatred. Choi Seungcheol, who used to hold my hand under the table because he couldn't stand a second of disconnect, had looked at me like I was the enemy.

The apartment was quiet again. But it wasn't the heavy silence from before. It was the silence of a graveyard.

The silence that followed the slamming door was louder than the screaming had been. It was a physical weight, pressing into my lungs until every breath felt like swallowing broken glass.

I didn't move from the floor. I couldn't. I stayed curled in a ball on the hardwood, my forehead pressed against the cold grain, waiting for the sound of his footsteps returning. Surely, he’d realize. He’d get to the elevator, or the lobby, or the parking garage, and the fog of rage would clear. He’d remember that he loved me. He’d come back, breathless and terrified of what he’d just said.

But the minutes ticked into an hour, and the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled roar of Seoul traffic far below.

I eventually forced myself up, my limbs heavy as lead. Every corner of the penthouse was a minefield. On the coffee table sat his favorite mug, still stained with a ring of dried coffee from this morning. On the coat rack, my scarf hung tangled with his heavy winter overcoat.

I walked into the bedroom, the air still smelling faintly of his cologne woody, expensive, and now, poisonous. I saw his side of the bed, neatly made, and I lost it. I grabbed his pillow and threw it across the room, watching it hit the wall with a pathetic thud.

"You promised!" I screamed at the empty room, my voice cracking and raw. "You said you were the one person who would never get tired of me!"

I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the sheets. They smelled like him. I wanted to rip them off and burn them, yet I found myself clutching the fabric until my knuckles turned white. The betrayal wasn't just in the words he said it was in the way he had looked at me. Like I was a stranger. Like I was a hindrance to his greatness.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. My heart leaped a pathetic, desperate hope that it was a text from him saying I’m sorry, I’m coming back, I didn’t mean it.

I lunged for it.

It wasn't a text. It was a notification from a social media app. A fan had posted a grainy video of him entering a company van outside our building. He looked stoic. Cold. He didn't look like a man who had just shattered a four-year relationship; he looked like a man going to work.

Then came the "typing" bubble in our private chat. My breath hitched.

Cheolllie🍒: I’ll have a manager come by tomorrow afternoon to get my essentials. Please don’t be there. I can’t do this face-to-face right now.

The words were so clinical. So professional. It was the "S.Coups" voice the leader who makes the hard executive decisions for the good of the group. He was treating our breakup like a contract termination.

I stared at the screen until the light dimmed and went black. He wasn't even going to give me the grace of a goodbye. He was moving me out of his life like a piece of furniture that no longer fit the aesthetic of the room.

I walked to the bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked haggard. My eyes were swollen into red slits, my skin sallow. I looked exactly like the "chore" he described a mess that needed cleaning up.

I reached out and touched the mirror, tracing the space where he usually stood behind me while I brushed my teeth, his chin resting on my shoulder, his eyes meeting mine in the glass with a sleepy, content smile.

That man was dead. Or maybe he never existed. Maybe I had been in love with a version of him that he only performed when he had the energy.

I went to the closet and pulled out a suitcase. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely work the zipper. I didn't want to be the "ghost" haunting his apartment anymore. If I stayed here another night, surrounded by the scent of his skin and the echo of his laughter, I knew I wouldn't survive the night.

As I began throwing my clothes into the bag mismatched, wrinkled, and chaotic I realized the worst part wasn't the anger. It was the sudden, terrifying realization that for four years, my entire world had been built on the foundation of a man who could decide, in a single Tuesday night argument, that I was no longer worth the effort.

I zipped the bag, the sound sharp and final in the empty room. I didn't turn off the lights. I just walked out, leaving the key on the marble counter right next to his coffee mug.

The silence in the elevator as I descended felt like a physical weight, a pressurized chamber that made my ears pop and my heart hammer against my ribs. I was leaving. I was actually leaving.

The lobby of the building was sterile and bright, the doorman offering a polite nod that felt like a mockery. He didn't know that the girl walking out with a single, lopsided suitcase was no longer the girl who belonged in Penthouse A. I wasn't the "Muse," I wasn't the "Secret," and I certainly wasn't his "Home."

I was just a girl on a sidewalk in Seoul at 2:00 AM, waiting for a taxi that felt like it would never come.

I checked into a nondescript hotel three districts away, a place where the wallpaper was peeling and the air smelled like industrial lemon cleaner. It was the polar opposite of the velvet-lined life I had lived with Seungcheol.

I sat on the edge of the stiff bed and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over his contact name still saved as 'Cheollie 🍒' with a heart. My chest tightened so hard it felt like my ribs might snap.

I did it. I hit the 'Edit' button.

I deleted the emoji. Then I deleted the nickname. I typed out his full name: Choi Seungcheol. It looked so cold. So formal. Like a stranger's name in a ledger. Then, with a shaking hand, I blocked his number. I couldn't risk seeing that "manager" text again. I couldn't risk him sending me a venmo for "expenses" or some other clinical, heartbreaking way of tidying up the mess I’d become to him.

Morning didn't bring clarity; it brought a dull, throbbing ache.

I woke up disoriented, reaching for the warmth of a body that wasn't there. For a split second, I forgot. I thought we were just sleeping in. Then, the memory of his face the sneer, the way he flinched from my touch hit me like a tidal wave.

I turned on the news, a habit I’d picked up from him. The entertainment segment was flashing his face. SEVENTEEN’s S.Coups spotted looking fatigued at recent schedule; fans express concern. I let out a harsh, jagged laugh that turned into a sob. Fatigued. They didn't know he’d spent the night cutting out a piece of his soul and throwing it into the street. They didn't know he was "fatigued" because he'd finally finished the "chore" of loving me.

I spent the afternoon staring at a cardboard box of takeout I couldn't eat. My mind kept looping back to his words: "You’re a reminder of everything I’m failing at."

That was the part that stayed. Not the shouting, not the slammed door, but the realization that my love had become a mirror he hated looking into. I had tried to be his peace, but all I had been was a witness to his exhaustion, and he hated me for seeing him weak.

I realized then that there was no "fixing" this. You don't come back from someone calling you a burden. You don't unhear the sound of a man you’d die for telling you that you’re suffocating him.

I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The girl in the mirror was pale, her eyes bloodshot, but there was a flicker of something new in her expression. It wasn't hope. It was the grim, cold reality of survival.

I wasn't his anymore. And he was no longer the man who deserved to have me.

I picked up my phone and messaged a friend I hadn't spoken to in months someone I'd drifted away from because I was too busy being "Seungcheol's Secret."

"I'm out," I wrote. "It's over. Can I come over?"

I didn't look back at the penthouse. I didn't check the fan sites. I just walked out into the gray afternoon light, a ghost finally leaving the house it had been haunting.

The manager had been efficient. That was the problem with the world Seungcheol lived in everything was designed to be handled, scrubbed, and reset without a trace of the mess.

By the time Seungcheol returned to the penthouse three days later, the air was stale. He’d spent the last seventy-two hours buried in schedules, feeding off the adrenaline of being S.Coups, the leader who didn't have time for a personal life. He had convinced himself that the hollow feeling in his chest was just hunger, or perhaps the lingering irritation of a "chore" finally completed.

He swiped his keycard. The light on the handle turned green with a mechanical click that sounded deafening in the hallway.

"I'm back," he muttered, the habit trailing off his tongue before his brain could catch it.

The silence that greeted him wasn't the peaceful kind he’d claimed to want. It was an aggressive, mocking void.

He walked into the kitchen. The marble counter was polished to a mirror shine. Your coffee mug was gone. The small succulent you’d struggled to keep alive was gone. Even the magnets on the fridge the silly ones from the Tokyo trip had been cleared away.

His manager had followed his instructions to the letter: “Clear out her things. I don’t want to see them.”

He opened the fridge. It was stocked with water, protein shakes, and pre-packaged salads. None of the leftovers you used to force him to eat. No jars of the specific kimchi your mother made.

He moved to the living room, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood. He sat on the sofa the same sofa where he’d screamed that you were suffocating him. He reached out to the side table, expecting to find your book, or a hair tie, or a stray earring.

There was nothing but dust.

It happened when he went into the bedroom.

The bed was stripped. The linens had been sent to the dry cleaners, replaced with crisp, hotel-white sheets that didn't smell like your shampoo. He walked to the closet and pulled it open.

His clothes were all there, perfectly hung, spaced exactly two inches apart. But the left side of the closet the side that used to be a chaotic explosion of your sweaters and dresses was a dark, yawning cavern of empty hangers.

He reached out and touched one of the hangers. It was still cold.

Then, he saw it.

Tucked into the very back corner, hidden behind a heavy winter coat he rarely wore, was a single, stray sock. It was a bright, ridiculous yellow with tiny lemons on it. You’d lost it months ago and joked that the apartment was eating your clothes.

Seungcheol picked it up. It was small in his palm. It was soft. It was you.

The dam didn't just leak; it shattered.

He sank to the floor of the closet, clutching the piece of fabric to his face. He inhaled, desperate for a scent, but it was just cotton and laundry detergent. The "chore" was gone. The "obligation" had vanished. The "ghost" had finally stopped haunting him, and in its place was a vacuum that felt like it was sucking the oxygen right out of his lungs.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his voice cracking, sounding small and terrified.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling so violently he nearly dropped it. He searched for your name. 'My Muse'. He typed a message, his vision blurring with hot, stinging tears.

"I’m sorry. Please. I didn’t mean it. I was tired, I was stupid, please just answer me."

He hit send.

Message Undelivered.

He tried again. Message Undelivered.

He tried to call. The line didn't even ring. It just went to a dead, mechanical tone.

He stayed on the floor of the closet for hours. The "Leader of SEVENTEEN" was gone. There was only a man who had burned down his own world because he was too proud to admit he was drowning.

He realized then that the "weight" he’d complained about wasn't you it was the only thing that had been keeping him grounded. Without you, he wasn't free; he was adrift.

The silence of the penthouse began to scream. Every corner of the room was a reminder of a promise he’d broken. He had told you that you were a reminder of his failures, but as he sat in the dark, clutching a yellow sock, he realized the truth:

SWEAT TRICKLES DOWN THE BACK OF YOUR NECK AND THIGHS. Irritated, you wipe at the back of your neck for what feels like the hundredth time before pulling at the collar of your shirt, fanning it in hopes of cooling the rest of your body off. It’s unseasonably hot, a heat wave sweeping through the city and turning your office cubicle into a toaster oven.

The small fan on your desk whirs pitifully, barely offering any sort of respite. Adjusting in your seat does nothing but remind you how uncomfortable you are, the scratchy grain of the chair digging into the back of your sweating thighs, the underwire of your bra digging into your ribs, the heat rash forming where your underwear digs into the creases of your hips. 

Unbearable. 

A message pings on your computer and you open it, growling in irritation as you see a message from Wonwoo in the cubicle behind you. 

Jeon Wonwoo: Ever heard of suppressants, diva? 

You: IT’S FUCKING HOT IN HERE

You: Tell this company to BUY SOME FUCKING AIRCONDITIONERS 

Jeon Wonwoo: Irritable… sweaty… irrational… 

You grab the nearest pen and whip around in your chair, launching it at the back of his head. It hits with a satisfying thwack. He flinches, cursing as his hand flies up to rub the spot where you nailed him. Wonwoo turns in his seat, shooting you a dirty look over his shoulder.

You meet his glare with a stuck-out tongue and a very deliberate middle finger before turning back to your screen, face flushed, partially from the heat, partially from embarrassment.

He doesn’t get it. You know he’s just teasing, but it still stings. That old, familiar insecurity curls in your gut at his jest, no matter its innocence. Being an omega is hard enough. You’ve spent years unlearning shame, of trying to accept this part of yourself you never asked for. And you’ve gotten pretty far with that. 

But then something as simple as a heatwave hits, the rise in temperature turning your body traitorous, unable to accommodate for a little bit of humid air and heat. 

Of course, Wonwoo doesn’t understand - can’t conceptualize the level of difficulty it is to maintain a baseline for you. Betas don’t have to deal with this kind of hormonal chaos. Sure, they’ve got their own issues - media erasure, medical neglect, in general being left out - but it’s not the same. Not when your body actively works against you, not when your biology fights you. 

You sigh. There’s no point in going down the rabbit hole and comparing omegas and betas. You’ve traveled that road since your subgender presented itself in your freshman year of college. Comparison is the thief of joy, but it’s also an endless torture device. 

Your thighs rub together uncomfortably when you get up. You swipe your water bottle, unscrewing the cap as you duck out of your cubicle, head down and steps fast. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo is attuned to your scent more than others, having been one of your closest friends and cubicle-neighbor for the better part of five years. But still, you’re nervous about it, hand snaking up to touch the translucent patch on the side of your neck, meant to dampen the smell from your glands. 

No one pays you much mind. You breathe a sigh of relief to find the break room empty. You make a beeline to the water cooler in the corner, sliding the water bottle under it and pressing the tap. As it fills, the air conditioning kicks on, the vent right above you. 

Cool air hits the back of your neck. Your eyes flutter, a shiver of relief slithering through you. For a moment, you lose yourself, letting the cool wick away the sticky sweat, the first time you’ve felt a little relief all day. A small sound escapes your mouth, half whimper and half plea. 

Someone clears their throat and you flinch, losing your grip on the water bottle. It crashes to the ground, water splashing up your legs but more importantly, all over the floor. You squeak in panic, diving to pick it up in an attempt to stop the outflow of water. 

Hands dripping, you pivot on your heel, scanning for paper towels only to find them being offered. You blink in surprise, body going rigid as you become acutely aware of who is offering them. 

Choi Seungcheol watches you with quiet concern, dark eyes steady behind his glasses. He keeps a respectful distance, arms extended with a roll of paper towels, waiting for you to take them. But you don’t move. Your pulse pounds in your neck as your gaze drops from his face to his hands, large and patient.

He has pretty hands, you think absently, staring a beat too long.

For a moment, all you can hear is the roar of blood in your ears. Then, he steps forward without a word, crouching down to wipe the water pooling around  your feet. You jerk, startled, a sharp sound of protest escaping you as you drop down and snatch more paper towels from his hands. Apologies tumble out, disjointed and breathless, your thoughts scattered. 

He doesn’t back away. Instead, he methodically dabs at the wet tile while trying to avoid soaking himself in the process. His proximity is overwhelming, his spicy scent nearly knocking you over. You grit your teeth and clench your jaw, irritated. He’s not supposed to affect you like this - never has before. 

Seungcheol is always mild. Unassuming. He’s worked here as long as you have, one of the few alphas on your floor, and one of the most reserved. He keeps to his office, always dimly lit, always quiet. He greets you politely. Never lingers. 

It surprised you when you first met him. Seungcheol looks like the type of alpha who is the opposite of quiet and shy. There’s a gravitas to him that you haven’t quite figured out and a body made to ruin. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a voice deep enough to rattle through your spine even on your best days. 

Yet somehow, he’s never once made a pass on a single omega at work. 

Which, he shouldn’t. You respect that about him, which feels ridiculous. You shouldn’t have to be flattered by the bare minimum of respect, shouldn’t need to be surprised when an alpha is able to be normal. To treat you like a human being. 

You mumble a quiet thanks, focusing on the mess. It’s the only thing tethering you right now. It shouldn’t feel this intense, but the goddamn heat is getting to you. It’s baking you from the inside out, turning your cube walls suffocating. It makes you tired. Irritable. Prone to throwing pens at Wonwoo’s head. 

“Thanks,” you mutter when you stand. You toss the soggy paper towels into the bin, avoiding his gaze. “Sorry again.” 

“No need to apologize. I’m sorry I startled you.”

Seungcheol stands slowly. You don’t move, watching the way he wipes his damp hands across his slacks. You hate that you notice how the fabric pulls over his thighs. As soon as you have the thought, you avert your eyes, looking anywhere but him, afraid that he’ll see the embarrassment or the way your body reacts without your permission. 

“It’s been a long week,” Seungcheol offers, voice soft. “You alright? I know Jeonghan had you working on that insane report.”

You swallow past the dry patch in your throat. “All good. Just tired. It’ll probably keep me here forever, but what can you do?”

“Mhmm. Don’t forget it’s Friday - cleaning locks the office and will trap you inside.”

“Sounds like you’re intimately familiar.” 

His smile is soft, cheeks flushed. “Cannot confirm or deny.”

“I see.” You gesture to the watery floor. “Thank you, again. And sorry for being a bit clumsy.”

“No problem.” 

You slide away from him, hoping that he can’t tell that you’re leaning, trying to avoid catching his scent again. He doesn’t seem to notice - or has the decency not to make it obvious - and you slip away from the break room, all but running to your cube.

Inside your little haven, you rip open one of your drawers, grabbing a pheromone damp nasal spray. You all but shove it up your cranium, putting it as far up your nasal passage as you can manage before squeezing and shooting a blast of medical grade dampener up your nose, inhaling sharply. 

It helps a little, settling your nerves and erasing the lingering scent of Seungcheol. You breathe out a sigh, calm and collected. Carefully and quickly, you peel the suppressant patch off your neck and swap it for a new one. It tingles when you apply it, the microneedles that embed into the skin to deliver suppressant a cool sensation at first. 

When you settle, you feel much better. It isn’t until you turn to start knocking out the rest of your report that you realize you never refilled your water bottle after dropping it, making you lean back on your desk and groan. 

-

Working for Yoon Jeonghan comes with its challenges. He's incredibly sharp and a natural leader, but he tends to be a bit forgetful and brings a touch of chaos wherever he goes. Jeonghan is the reason you’d started working at this company, though, admiring that there was an omega in charge, defying the long-standing social norms that omegas could not lead. 

It’s a silly stereotype, but you’ve been fighting stereotypes your entire life, unlearning your own and reminding yourself that there are still inherent biases to unlearn. 

Like right now, when you're mentally cursing Jeonghan for tossing a last-minute report your way, even though he had multiple reminders in his inbox and just forgot he'd opened them. You only blame him a little. Work’s been nonstop, keeping him up at all hours, and if there’s one thing that truly makes Jeonghan unbearable, it’s sleep deprivation.

Jeonghan doesn’t have an assistant, but you’re the closest thing to it, one of the few people in the office he trusts to get things done. So when he’s on vacation and starts spamming your email that he dropped the ball, it’s on you to cover for him, like he’s done for you in the past. 

The consequence of competency, he’d told you over the phone, the sound of the ocean in the background. I’m sorry, I owe you, please don’t quit. 

You weren’t going to quit. Despite your irritation, you like working for Jeonghan, and despite the unbearable heat burning in your cubicle, you like being able to focus on pulling and building reports, inputting data into a spreadsheet and setting pivot tables and charts.

It makes you forget about the world for a little bit, including the oppressive office air and the way that the building’s air conditioner barely keeps up with the raging temperatures outside. Makes you forget about the incident in the breakroom, and about everything else, including the passage of time. 

Above you, the lights go out. You flinch, looking up in surprise. Rubbing your eyes, you blink until your computer screen comes back into focus, looking at the time. You groan. It’s past seven, far later than you meant to stay at work. But you’re done with the report, dragging the attachment to your email to fire it off to Jeonghan with a less than happy emoji pasted in the body of the email. 

Exhaustion weighs you down when you stand. Your joints pop and everything feels hot and itchy again, all of your irritations flooding back to pester you now that you’re not locked in on your work. You flip off the fan, lamp and computer at your desk. Immediately without air circulation, your cube is sweltering, the dress sticking to you, fabric itchy and clinging to your skin.

A sudden wave of dizziness makes the room tilt around you. You steady yourself with deep, measured breaths, trying to stay grounded. A spike in temperature is normal. You can deal with it. It’s manageable. Sure, the heat triggers a surge of estriolase, the hormone that kicks in during Stage 1 of an omega’s heat cycle. And sure, it leaves you flushed, restless, skin prickling with irritation, and-  

“You’re still here?”

You shriek, whirling around, heart hammering as your hand flies to your chest in terror. Seungcheol takes a cautious step back into the hallway, hands lifted in surrender, quiet concern etched into his features. For a moment, the air between you is thick with silence, broken only by your uneven breathing, still reeling from the rush of epinephrine and cortisol.

Being an omega means constantly walking a tightrope of hormones. One shift sets off another, like dominoes toppling. Fear bumps into instinct, instinct stirs something deeper, until your body is a storm of tangled biochemistry.

Now, your body is caught in a storm of fear, annoyance, embarrassment and interest, each one fighting for dominance. You swallow thickly and lean off your desk, ignoring the way your body flashes between hot and cold, fear and something else.

“Just finished Jeonghan’s report.”

“Ah.” 

Something passes his face. It’s unreadable, but he’s focused. Your skin prickles under the heavy weight of his stare, watching as his mouth tightens at the corner. 

“You heading out?” 

“Yeah.”

A beat passes. His gaze flickers briefly, so fast that you’re not sure you track the movement correctly, but you swear it drops to the patch on your neck, dampening your scent. His jaw flexes once before he offers you a tight smile, gesturing. 

“Mind if I walk you out? It’s late.”

Your heart hammers. “Sure.” 

You’ve walked out of work with Seungcheol before. He offers to walk anyone out when it’s after hours, even if he himself isn’t leaving yet. It has nothing to do with your subgender and everything to do with him being kind, a sort of stoic office guardian.

Grabbing the rest of your things, you follow Seungcheol in silence. The building is quiet, both of you the only people still around on a weekend. The lack of sound amplifies everything else: the sound of your own quickened breathing, the warmth pulsing under your skin, the spicy scent of Seungcheol as he steps onto the elevator, lingering at the threshold to hold the door open for you.

You murmur a thank you as you pass by him. You can’t help the shiver that snakes through you as you pass. You clench your fists, angry and willing yourself to calm down. This has never happened around Seungcheol, and you blame the fucking weather for the way your body overrides you now. 

The forty five seconds spent in the elevator are borderline hell. Neither of you says anything. You’ve pressed yourself in the corner, trying to remain nonchalant, like your entire world isn’t spinning, like there isn’t a dull ache in the pit of your stomach, like there isn’t saliva pooling at the back of your tongue. 

Seungcheol smells warm. Grounding. Something that lingers, sharp and clean with a bit of a bite. You breathe in, trying to figure it out. Perhaps bergamot and cardamom, spice touched by sweetness, a hint of earth. 

The elevator dings and Seungcheol is halfway through the lobby before you realize it. You push off the elevator wall after him, steps stilted and uneven. It’s even hotter in the tiny lobby of your office building, making a bead of sweat trail down the back of your neck. You adjust your dress, licking your lips in an attempt to relieve the hot flash threatening you. 

Seungcheol pushes on the glass doors at the front, but they don’t budge. Both of you stand and stare for a second before he curses low under his breath, voice like gravel. You ignore what your stomach does at the sound of it as he turns to look at you, expression wary.

“Remember what I said in the break room?” You definitely remember the break room, but not anything he said. “The cleaners come on Friday evenings and they lock the doors.” 

“Oh.”

Seunghecol walks back to the elevator and swipes his badge at the scanner and presses the button. The metal doors do not open again, and the button doesn’t light up. He curses again, pinching the bridge of his nose right beneath his glasses. 

“Badges don’t work after hours.”

“They don’t?”

“No. It’s not the first time I’ve been stuck here, unfortunately.” He adjusts the strap on his bag and pulls a cellphone from his pocket. “Thankfully I have security’s number saved for exactly that reason.”

Seungcheol’s words do little to bring you relief. He paces a few steps away from you, dialing a number on the phone. He holds the phone to his ear, waiting for security to pick up. His free hand is stuffed into the pocket of his slacks, thumb tapping idly. You stand a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to focus on the sterile, white glow of the lobby lights instead of the way your skin feels like it’s humming.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Seungcheol’s voice sounds loud, making you twitch. “Yes, I’m locked in the lobby again.” He glances at you. “I’m with another coworker as well. The badge isn’t working to get us back up. Can you come let us out?” 

You barely register his words. A flush is working its way up from your stomach to your chest, your chest to your shoulders, shoulder to elbows. You feel it unfurl, the slow-burning petals of a flower blooming. The air feels thick and heavy, almost damp, and no amount of focused breathing seems to help with the pulse you feel throbbing in your neck.

Seungcheol’s voice momentarily pulls you from your daze. “They’re sending someone from central security. Might take about an hour, though. They were in the middle of a shift rotation.” 

You nod, swallowing hard. “Alright.” 

“Are you alright?” Seungcheol asks quietly, eyes fixated on you. 

You open your mouth to say yes, but the word dies in your throat. Because you’re not. Not really. There’s a heat curling deep in your belly now, slow and insistent, and your clothes feel too tight, your skin too sensitive. You press your palm against the marble wall behind you, trying to ground yourself with the coolness of the stone.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding and giving him a thumbs up. 

You’re anything but. It hits you slowly, but when it does, it locks into place with terrifying clarity: the dizziness, the temperature spikes, the way everything around you sounds sharper, smells sharper, the bergamot and cardamom. 

Your body is crawling toward Stage 1 of heat, triggered by the unbearable temperature spike across the city and the unbearable proximity of the alpha standing across the lobby from you. 

You shift your weight, arms tightening around yourself, every nerve ending suddenly too aware of Seungcheol’s presence. He’s not even close, but you can feel him. Or maybe it’s just your scent receptors going haywire, both just as likely. 

“You’re flushed,” he says after a moment, eyes not quite meeting yours now. “You sure you’re not getting sick?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “I don’t think it’s that.”

Seungcheol’s brows pull together, not believing you but not sure what to make of it. He shifts his weight, gaze scanning you, trying to figure you out. You refuse to meet his eyes, looking up at the lobby lights that are too bright, making you squint. But you can feel him watching you, his gaze intense. 

“You look uncomfortable.” He shifts a little further from you. “I apologize if-”

“It’s not you!” You blurt, a little forceful. “It’s just hot in here. It’s… hard on me.” 

When he doesn’t answer, you dare a look at him. Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, like he doesn’t believe you but won’t push it. He nods, leaning against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes track the way his biceps flex, the way his shirt compresses across his chest and your mouth goes dry. 

He studies you carefully now, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in suspicion, but understanding. Something settles in his expression, the faintest flicker of recognition behind his eyes. Fuck. Fuck. He knows. He knows and the embarrassment is so overwhelming you nearly fold over and start crying. 

Still, he doesn't call you out. Doesn’t voice what you’re sure he knows, what his instincts are telling him. Doesn’t corner you with it.

Instead, he says, “Tell me something you enjoy.”

“What?”

He watches you, eyes soft. “Anything. To pass time. I only know the basics about you. Tell me something you’re passionate about.”

Something you're passionate about? A million things run through your mind. You grab the first thing you can think of, a single subject that you’re well-versed in.

“There’s a theory that the Tyrannosaurus Rex didn’t roar.” 

He looks confused. “The dinosaur?” 

“Yes. Like you know in the movie how they… rahhh.” You imitate the noise, immediately wanting to smack yourself for the ridiculousness of it. He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. He nods and gestures for you to continue, dark eyes focused only on you. “So it’s a total myth. Scientists think they made way lower sounds, like… you know when crocodiles do that weird purr?” 

“Crocodile purr?”

“Yeah you know when they…” You hunch your shoulders. “Do that weird water rumble thing.” 

“I think I follow.”

You nod rapidly, grateful for the distraction even as your heart beats way too fast. “Yeah, like a subsonic hum. They think it was more intimidating that way. A sound that could vibrate through the chest cavity of its prey. Honestly, it’s kind of genius.”

He watches you with quiet amusement, one brow raised but not mocking. “I didn’t know you were into dinosaurs.”

“I was obsessed as a kid,” you admit, shrugging, eyes still fixed on the security panel like it’ll spark to life if you ignore it long enough. “Used to correct people all the time. I was that kid. I got in trouble once for lecturing my cousin while playing with dinosaurs because Stegosaurus and a T. rex never existed at the same time. They lived millions of years apart! And he was trying to tell me they were best friends.” You scoff. “As if.”

You hear a soft chuckle across the lobby and you look up to meet his face. Your pulse flutters again, reminding you why Seungcheol asked you to distract yourself in the first place. 

As though he can sense where your thoughts are going, Seungcheol asks, “So are you one of those people who thinks the Jurassic Park raptors were too big?” 

You huff, a flare of irritation licking through you. “Well yeah. They were too big, thank you for asking. Plus, Alan Grant pointed out in the first movie that they were the size of turkeys, and then they get to Isla Nublar and they’re fucking six feet tall! And they were supposed to have feathers!”

“Not very intimidating.”

“I mean, I feel like a giant bird of prey is pretty intimidating.” 

Seungcheol grins and you feel another shiver threaten to pulse through you. His grin is beautiful, turning his face from intimidating to soft in seconds. “I’m never going to be able to take them seriously again, I think.”

“You’re welcome.”