thats that me expresso☕️🩵 Autumn🤎🪐

“uh… uh huh.”

sunghoon pushed on, gaining confidence after that little push. he cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the female in front of him. 

“my heart flutters every time you walk into the room, and every word you confide in me—” 

“nope. stop.” jake cut him off, waving his spoon like a referee. “dude, nah. what are you? you’re not 72, you’re only 23!” 

sunghoon groaned loudly, covering his face with both hands, elbows planted on the table. his dark hair fell forward as he slumped. “then how am i supposed to say it?” he mumbled through his fingers, voice muffled and frustrated. 

jake leaned forward on the chair, grinning. oh, his poor little bestfriend. he turned to the poor waitress, who was holding the pot of water as she refilled sunghoon’s cup for the fifth time of the night. 

“alright, be honest,” jake asked her, tilting his head. “would you accept his confession?”

the waitress blinked, cheeks tinting ping. she shifted on her seat, chuckling softly. “uh… um… well, it’s a bit too… much? like, too fast?” she gave a nervous little laugh. “i mean, that was really sweet! a little gross, but so sweet!”

jake clapped his hands in victory. “exactly. thank you.” he flashed her his charming smile. the waitress smiled back, scooting to leave the banquette chair. “also, can i get a cup of coffee? thank you.”

“sure,” she nodded quickly. before leaving, she glanced at sunghoon, whose head was still slumped against his palms. her voice softened a little. “and don’t worry too much about it. girls are simpler than you think. it’ll go well.”

sunghoon just muttered a soft, weak “thanks…” without lifting his head.

once she disappeared toward the counter, jake stood up, swung the single chair back to its original spot and slid back into the booth across from sunghoon. he stretched his arms along the back of the seat, sighing. 

they’d been practicing for the past hour straight, and it honestly wasn’t looking too good for sunghoon. every attempt came out either painfully stiff and awkward or overly dramatic—like it was so obviously scripted and rehearsed. 

the fluorescent lights of the diner above them flicked once, casting a brief shadow over sunghoon’s flushed face. he couldn’t believe they just stole away a waitress, her time, and made her the victim of his endless confessions.

jake watched him for a second, the grin faded into something more to sympathy. he leaned forward, arms on the table now. 

sunghoon finally dropped his hands, thoroughly defeated. “i’m never doing this again.”

“you’re overthinking it.” jake said, voice lower than before. “yn isn’t the type who wants fireworks and bouquet of roses. she literally laughs at the smallest things in the world and more than anything, she’d value your honesty and sincerity more than these… superficial things.” he tapped the table twice for emphasis.

“just be honest and direct. tell her how you actually feel when you see her. that’s it.” 

sunghoon finally lifted his head, dragging a hand through his dark hair. his jaw clenched, dark brown eyes tired under the warm lighting. “i know that,” he muttered, sighing. “but every time i think about actually saying it to her… my brain just goes blank, man.”

“what if i ruin it? everything? we’ve been friends for some time now—i can’t just fuck it we ball. what if she doesn’t feel the same and it gets weird?” 

jake shrugged, stealing a fry from sunghoon’s forgotten, unfinished plate. “then it gets weird for a bit. but at least you’ll know how it actually goes if you do confess.” he pointed a fry at his friend. 

“and besides, you know how she is. she’s not going to throw a friendship over some temporary feelings. she’s more mature despite her looks.”

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. he stared at his glass instead, watching droplets of condensation slide down the glass. the thought of you made his chest ache in that terrifying way of rejection. 

he could already picture it.

your soft voice saying no, the same voice that sunghoon loved hearing more than the sound of his band’s songs. the way your fingers would probably hold his’, telling him how sorry you are, the same fingers that strummed his guitar. how you’d look turning him down—no longer the peaceful look you always have on your face. 

ugh, fuck. you’d probably look awkward, guilty, and pity him. looking pathetic in front of you was the last thing sunghoon ever wanted. 

and the thing was—sunghoon’s feelings, he’s sure it’s not just temporary. they weren’t just a passing crush like how the other boys had for their crushes. this feeling settled deep in his chest and it only grew stronger every single day.

“i don’t know,” he finally said, voice low. his fingers messed with his hair again, tugging at the strands in frustration. 

“ah, fuck it,” sunghoon muttered under his breath, tipping his head back before his shoulders slumped. “i’ll just… shit, i won’t do it.”

jake’s eyebrows shot up. “hey, don’t be like that. what gives?”

sunghoon shook his head, refusing to meet his best friend’s eyes. he slumped back against the seat. “nah, i don’t want to hear it when she says no.”

there it was—the insecurity he kept locked away that’s slipping out in his tone. sunghoon wasn’t the type to say it out loud often, but tonight it sat right on the surface. jake knew this too well. 

jake leaned forward a little more, frowning in confusion. it wasn’t going well, sure—but sunghoon looked determined enough just a few seconds ago. “you won’t know that unless you try.”

“nah, it’s fine, man,” sunghoon replied quickly, scoffing. he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. pure body language sign that he didn’t want to have this conversation anymore. “i’ll just regret it.”

jake, still slightly frowning, watched him for a few seconds, then sighed. “alright… well, you do you.” he paused, tapping his fingers once on the table before adding, more seriously this time. “i’m just saying… it’s not like you have all the time in the world. you either take the risk, or lose the chance.”

the words landed like the moon between them. sunghoon didn’t reply. he only stared at his cold glass again. jake quietly sipped on his coffee, drumming his fingers against the table.

the diner went quiet. 

——

when did it all start? 

maybe it was the first time he ever saw you.

it was a few years back—a lazy, hot afternoon in jake’s dorm meant to study but turned into doing nothing. jake had been showing him old photos on his phone, scrolling through memories when sunghoon wasn’t even in. 

then there you were, standing next to jake in one of the pictures, maybe fourteen, or younger than that. sunghoon couldn’t tell. but you were smiling brightly with messy hair and stained uniform. jake laughed and said something like, “that’s my childhood bestfriend, yn. she’s starting here this semester.”

sunghoon had only nodded at the time.

or maybe it started the day you stepped into their elective class—graphic web designing—half an hour late. 

you’d missed the bus, hair—again—slightly messy from rushing across the campus, cheeks flushed and the collar of your blouse was slightly wet with sweat. the professor made you introduce yourself in front of the entire auditorium as “punishment”.

just like others, you were embarrassed. but a cute kind. the kind where sunghoon was glad the bus ran late because he got to see you this way. 

or maybe the night his band performed at the campus music festival.

the lights were blinding and the crowd was loud. but in the middle of one song, his vision had cleared for a split second and he saw you. standing near the front with jake, smiling and not singing cause you had no idea what you’d just dragged yourself into. 

you’re an awkward girl, sunghoon could tell that. probably not as awkward as him, but definitely not as outgoing like the others in the crowd. when the set ended and you smiled up at the stage—not at the band or the performance, but specifically him when your eyes met—something within sunghoon shifted.

that was the moment he knew it wasn’t casual anymore. 

HONK!

sunghoon startled, snapping back into reality as the sharp sound of a car horn cut through his thoughts. he was behind the wheel of his sedan, halfway home. the traffic light in front of him had turned green while he was lost in his head. 

“gosh… jesus, calm down,” he muttered under his breath, cheeks warming with embarrassment even though he was alone. he quickly shifted gears, pressing the accelerator a little too hard before easing off. 

his hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. that spiral of memories left a strange tightness in his chest. the way you looked at him. not the lights, not his bandmates, not jake. just him. 

he exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling off. driving usually helped him clear his head, but tonight, every red light felt like a warning. 

you either take the risk, or lose the chance. 

sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek. he wasn’t sure if he was ready to even risk it… but the longer he waited, the more he’s at a loss.

how was he supposed to say it then? 

sunghoon tried practicing in his head again, muttering under his breath like an idiot. 

“hey, yn… i’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while now…”

too casual. basic.

“i like you. a lot. more than a lot, actually—”

no. that sounded too desperate. 

“if you don’t like me back, i don’t know what i’m gonna to myself.”

what the fuck was that? sunghoon cringed hard, gripping the wheel tighter. he’s not saying that to you.

every version felt wrong. too stiff. too awkward. too much. not enough. 

damn. was this even the right thing to do?

you… you were so full of light. so whimsical and kind to everyone in a way sunghoon had never known before. smiling, laughing, giving pieces of yourself away so… so easily. sunghoon wanted that. he wanted all of it for himself. 

but what if you didn’t feel the same? what if you only saw him as someone from your graphic class? as jake’s bestfriend?

he hated how that was possible. and how much power you had over him without even knowing it.

“... i just want her to look at me,” he muttered quietly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.  “is that too much to ask?”

the selfish want sat heavy in his chest, mixed with the familiar fear of rejection. sunghoon didn’t think about what his confession might do to you. the thought about what not having you was already consuming him too much. 

——

“kibbles?” sunghoon called softly, voice echoing a little in the dim hallway. he kicked off his shoes by the entrance, setting it aside with his foot. “kibbles?”

huh. she’d usually come running. or at least meowed from her favourite spot on the windowsill where she liked to watch the car headlights. the sound of the door unlocked should already alert her that he was home.

but tonight there was nothing.

sunghoon frowned, sighing as he set his keys down on the console table. he made his way through to her usual spots first—the windowsill, none. the corner of the couch where she’d bundle in the blanket, none. on top of his speaker stack, not there too. under the dinner table, no sign of her.

“kibs, come on,” he muttered, a small thread of annoyance and worry creeping in as he walked further into the house. deciding to let her be for now, sunghoon went into his room and flipped on the bathroom light.

he froze.

there—kibbles was lying motionless on the cold tile floor near the sink, her small gray body curled unnaturally. a half–chewed blue-green pebble was sitting right in her slightly opened mouth. white, foamy drool trailed at the corner of her cat mouth.

insecticide bait pellets for the tiny ants he’d bought. 

“shit…” sunghoon whispered, heart dropping. 

he crouched down slowly, hand hovering over her without touching. she was already cold—must’ve been a while ago today while he was out the whole day. sunghoon glanced at the pellets he scattered around the floor. 

he must’ve forgotten to throw the rest of those pellets out after he placed them. he’d meant to, really had. but between band practice, the constant thinking about you, work, assignments—it had slipped his mind. 

“sorry, kibs,” he breathed, scratching the back of his neck, then ruffled through his messy hair. 

what a shitty fucking day. 

he crouched there on the bathroom floor for a long moment, just staring at her. she’d been with him since his first year—a low–maintenance companion who never asked for much, but always kept him together. 

and now she was gone because he’d been careless about throwing those damn poison pellets out. 

eventually, sunghoon stood up. he grabbed an old towel from the rack and gently wrapped her in it, carrying her out of the bathroom. she felt heavy and unnaturally stiff in his gentle grip. he placed her on the kitchen counter for a second while he looked for a bag.

once he found one, a paper bag, he carefully slid her inside and set the bag near the edge of the counter, meaning to deal with it properly later. to bury her outside, or something. 

but his phone suddenly rang, cutting through the silence of the house.

he pulled it out of his pocket. 

haewon.

“hey,” sunghoon answered, voice tired and weary. 

“hey, are you and jake okay?” haewon asked without much greeting. it’s always been like that anyway. she sounded like she was walking somewhere, keys jingling in the background.  

“yeah, why?”

“dunno… he just looked kinda bummed when he came home. you okay?”

sunghoon let out a long breath, leaning against the counter. his eyes drifted to the plastic bag holding kibbles.

“not really,” he admitted quietly. “kibbles died.”

there was a soft gasp, then followed with a short pause on the other end.

“oh gosh…” haewon muttered, her breath hitched in her lungs. “sunghoon, i’m sorry… what happened?”

“she just… she ate something bad,” he said, the words coming out carefully. he didn’t mention the insecticide pellets. didn’t mention he’d forgotten to throw them out days ago. it happened. 

“i found her in the bathroom earlier.”

he left it at that—vague, but enough. people didn’t need to know about details. part of him felt kinda guilty for not telling the full truth, but another part of him just didn’t want to hear the judgement in her voice. or worse, the pity.

haewon sighed softly on the line. “that’s awful… i know how much you loved her. do you need anything? want me to come over or bring you food or—?”

“nah, it’s fine,” sunghoon replied, rubbing his temple. “i’ll deal with it. thanks though.”

“oh—alright, just let me know if anything, okay?”

“sure.”

the call didn’t last much longer. after a few more gentle words from haewon, he hung up and set the phone down. 

sunghoon stood there in silence for a moment, staring at the paper bag. he then glanced at the clock on the wall—it was almost 2. too late to deal with this properly. he’d handle it tomorrow. whatever people did in these situations.

with a tired sigh, he picked up the bag and carried it over to the kitchen trash bin. sunghoon hesitated for half a second—he didn’t want to throw her out, of course; but he didn’t want to have a dead cat lying on the counter. 

so he dropped it inside.

the soft thud it made when it hit the rest of the trash felt heavier than it should have.

sunghoon didn’t want to think about it anymore tonight. what would change?

he turned off the lights, dragging himself to his bedroom, changed to his shorts before collapsing onto the bed. he closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come fast.

what a shitty fucking day.

——

“hah—ngh—?” 

you were underneath him.

a broken sound escaped your throat as pleasure coiled tight in your tummy. you were spread out on his bed, legs wrapped around his waist as he moved deep inside you in slow, rolling thrusts.

missionary. intimate. close.

“shit, yn…” sunghoon groaned, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips. you felt impossibly warm and tight around him. like a fucking vice. your hands were gripping his back, pretty little manicured nails digging into his skin every time he sank in fully. 

he leaned to kiss you hard, tongue sliding against yours, swallowing every little gasp and whimper that left your lips. your bodies were slick with sweat and saliva and cum—skin sliding together with every movement like oil on oil.

sunghoon pulled back just enough to look at your face—flushed, eyes hazy and teary and blurry with pleasure, lips parted with your lipstick smudged across your lips and his’. so fucking pretty. fuck—the way your tits bounced back and forth every single time he rammed into you.

that made him thrust harder, deeper, grinding against that spot that instantly made your back arch off the bed. your eyes rolled back into your head, and you gasped so aloud it made sunghoon’s hair stand up.

your head tilted back, nails digging into sunghoon’s back.

“ahh—fuck! right there!” 

your voice was wrecked, desperate, and so fucking sweet. you clung to him tighter like a lifeline, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, hips rolling up eagerly to meet every thrust. your tight walls fluttered and clenched around his cock, pulling him deeper with every desperate movement.

sunghoon groaned against your neck, kissing and biting the sensitive skin as he picked up his pace. he fucked you harder, grinding against up the pace. he fucked you harder, grinding against that perfect, gummy spot inside you with every stroke. the way your body responded—arching, trembling, soaking his length—drove him insane. 

“you’re so tight, ugh shit—feels s’good.” he moaned, capturing your lips in a messy, heated kiss, swallowing your moans as he drove into you again and again. your breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hard from arousal. one of his hands slid down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider so he could bury himself even deeper.

you moaned louder into his mouth, nails raking so hard and deep it left angry, red marks down his canvas of a skin. your hips kept rolling up like you couldn’t get enough. “g—gonna cum, i’m gonna cum—!”

so wet. so tight. so perfect.

sunghoon wanted to stay buried inside you forever.

“yeah—? oh jesus,” he grunted, nudging your head up to expose more of your neck so he could press his hot lips to your jugular. he kissed the spot first—soft and open–mouthed—before sucking hard on that soft spot, tongue dragging over your pulsing vein as he continued thrusting into you with deep strokes.

the wet, filthy sound of his hips meeting yours filled the room. 

he pulled back just enough to look at your pretty flushed face, eyes clouded with lust.

“i love you,” he whispered hoarsely against your lips. “do you love me?”

your eyes slowly fluttered open. you looked up at him with that soft, hazy expression he loved so much. your fingers brushed his messy, damp hair away from his forehead tenderly, then you smiled—sweet and warm and honey dripped. 

and then you whispered back,

“i love you, jaeyun.”

what—?

sunghoon woke up with a violent jolt, gasping sharply as he sat up in bed. 

his heart was racing so fast, skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his cock—his cock was painfully hard, straining against his boxes. the dream still clung to him, the heat of your body, the way you moaned, the way your tight pussy tightened and clenched around him felt so real.

but those last words hit him like ice water.

jaeyun.

sunghoon sat there in the dark of his room, chest heaving, staring at his own reflection on the wall in front of him. the name echoed in his head, twisting something ugly and sharp in his stomach. 

he ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to calm his breathing. 

it was just a dream. just a stupid fucking dream that felt so, so, so fucking real. 

just a dream. shit.

he let out a heavy sigh and glanced down. the front of his boxers was visibly wet and sticky, soaked through from how hard he’d cum during the dream. at the age of 23. he cursed under his breath and pulled the blanket off his lap.

then he finally looked at the clock on his nightstand.

16:53

“damn…” sunghoon muttered, rubbing his face. he had slept through the entire morning and most of the afternoon. he’d missed practice—but thank god the rental store was closed for the day. 

RING—!

his phone suddenly rang, vibrating loudly on the nightstand. sunghoon reached over to grab it—the screen lit up with jake’s name.

he stared at it for a long second before picking up, his voice coming out rough and slightly annoyed when he was reminded of the dream. 

“what?”

“whoa, damn,” jake laughed on the other end. easy. “did i wake you up or something? you sound like shit.”

sunghoon leaned back against the headboard, running his fingers through his hair again. “uh—yeah, sorry. long night. what do you want?” sunghoon cleared his throat, sounding less… irritated. 

jake didn’t seem fazed. “band night at the hollow tonight. a couple of the guys from fine arts are playing. thought you might wanna come through. you in?”

sunghoon hummed, leaning his head back, staring at the ceiling. kibbles’ death and the dream was still clinging to him like sweat. 

“uh… no, i don’t think so actually.”

there was a short pause. 

“you are?” jake asked, both teasing and concerned lilt slipping into his voice. he wondered if sunghoon was still annoyed and bummed from last night’s conversation. “yn will be there.”

sunghoon’s grip tightened slightly on the phone. the mention of your name sent a mix of heat and unease through his chest. it’s nice if you were there—it’d been a minute since sunghoon last saw you. he figured he could…

kibbles.

his heart ached.

“uhm… yeah, no. i don’t know, maybe not,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “something came up.”

jake hummed, not buying it. haewon must’ve not told him yet about kibbles. “something came up, huh? you’ve been weird since last night, man. are you good?”

“i’m fine,” sunghoon replied a little too quickly. “just… ‘m just not in the mood tonight. tell haewon and yn i said hi though.”

a beat.

“...alright, sure.” jake didn’t push further, but his tone made it obvious he was suspicious and slightly disappointed. “but if you ever change your mind, we’ll be there from like, 8–ish. don’t rot in your room all night, hoon.”

“yeah, and i won’t—later, jake.”

sunghoon hung up and tossed his phone onto the bed beside him. he sat there in silence for a while, the wet spot on his boxers now cold and uncomfortable.

he glanced at the clock again—it’s a little past 5pm. knowing jake and haewon, they were probably going to drag you out to eat first before heading to the bar for the night. the thought made his tummy twist.

it’s so… bad.

sunghoon hated how easily jealousy sat in his chest now. hated how vivid that dream still felt. hated that even after everything, the first name that left your lips in his fantasy wasn’t his. 

with a heavy sigh, sunghoon forced himself up and out of bed. he stripped off his boxers, tossed them into the laundry basket, and headed to the bathroom. the shower water was hot when he stepped under it, steam quickly filling the small space.

he closed his eyes, letting the water run down his face. 

it’s because you and jake were childhood friends.

that had to be it. that closeness from time. the inside jokes. the way you finished each other’s sentences and food. the way jake could casually throw his arm around your shoulder and you’d just laugh it off, not tensing up. 

the two of you had years of platonic history. sunghoon had… what? a few months—a year, at least—of stolen glances, late–night study sessions, occasional group hangouts, and bar nights where he always ended up sitting near you but never close enough.

the four of you even worked together at the old movie rental store off campus. that was how he got to see you more often—organising shelves together, sharing lunch times together, the chats when the store was empty. those shifts were everything to him. 

sunghoon pressed his forehead to the cool tile, jaw tight.

he wanted more than that, though.

the water kept falling, but it did nothing to wash away the ugly twist in his chest.

——

after his shower, sunghoon stripped the messy sheets off his bed to replace them with fresh ones, trying to keep his hands busy, mind occupied. he was smoothing out the comforter when his phone started ringing again.

gosh. endless calls.

but this time, the screen lit up with your name. 

yn ♡

sunghoon’s heart jumped, and he nearly let go of the pillow he was puffing up. he cleared his throat a couple of times, quickly running his still–damp hair to compose himself before swiping to answer.

“hi, yn,” he said, trying to sound casual even though his voice came out a little lower than usual. 

“hi, sunghoon,” your voice came through the line, soft and warm like always. like you. “are you coming to the band night at the hollow later?”

sunghoon sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, fingers gripping the phone a little tighter. he sucked the inside of his cheek before replying, “uh… maybe not. i don’t know yet,” he answered, hesitating. did you call him just to ask if he was going? did jake put you in on this?

“are you?”

a short second paused before you answered.

“yeah, i am,” you hummed. “one of my girls is performing with her band tonight, so i have to show up,” you continued with a small laugh. there was another short pause before you added, 

“it’d be nice to have you there, though. i’ve got something to tell you.”

sunghoon’s tummy flipped. his heart jumped, and the words got stuck in his throat. 

“really?” his voice softened, a grin plastered on his face. “what is it?”

you let out a soft giggle. “haha, you’ve got to come then if you want to know.”

he couldn’t help the smile that rugged at his lips. canines digging down the flesh of his lower lip, sunghoon fumbled with his pants’ drawstrings. 

“hmm… we’ll see.”

there was another brief pause. then, you continued, tone shifting to something more casual but sincere. “oh, also… i wanna let you know that i’ve put in my two weeks at the store. i wanna focus on helping my mom with the family business we got going on.”

sunghoon’s smile faded. he hadn’t expected that. the only time he could see you for eight hours a day was when you shared a shift. but now, you were going? leaving him?

“oh… wow. that’s… that’s sudden.”

“yeah,” you replied quietly. “i’ll tell you more about it later if you come tonig—crap!” 

there was a sudden clatter on your end, followed by shuffling sounds like you were moving around quickly.

sunghoon sat up straighter. “yn? are you okay?”

he heard a soft grunt on the other line, then your voice. “yeah, yeah—but ugh,” you muttered, crouching down. he could hear the faint echo of your voice like you were near a tiled floor or drain. “my gem fell!”

“your what?”

“my necklace,” you explained, voice a little strained and clearly frustrated. sunghoon heard more shuffling on your end, like you were trying to look for it down the drain. “my onyx, ugh. it’s for protection and i’m supposed to bury it—it just slipped off…”

sunghoon’s lips twitched despite everything. even in small, troubled moments like this, you were still so you.

just as he was about to drift back into that dangerous fantasy, your voice pulled him back. “—of all days! i already feel so crappy, gosh.” 

there was a soft sigh on your end before you continued, “today’s been awful… anyway, i’ll see you tonight?”

sunghoon hesitated for half a second, then answered quietly, “sure. i’ll be there.”

your voice brightened, sunghoon could hear it. he bit back a smile. “really? okay, great. i’ll text you if anything changes. see you later, sunghoon.”

“mmhm. see you, yn.”

the call ended.

the promise of seeing you tonight—with the something you wanted to tell him—made his chest feel tight in a way that was both exciting and terrifying. 

tonight could be the night that everything changes.

——

“welcome to crystal cove.” 

sunghoon gave the girl behind the counter a small smile as he stepped inside the quirky little shop. the place smelled in incense and old wood, with soft ambient music playing in the background. he looked around slowly, taking in the shelves packed with crystals, tarots, and spiritual… weird trinkets. 

the girl, who looked to be around his age with dyed purple hair, multiple piercings, barely looked up from her nails at first. 

“if you need help with anything, let me know,” she said lazily, then went back to filing her nails.

sunghoon just nodded and wandered into the store, browsing quietly. after a couple of minutes, he cleared his throat. “uh, yeah… actually i do need help. do you have crystal or gem necklaces?”

the girl finally put down her nail file and walked out from behind the counter.

“yeah, let me show you.”

she led him to a small table that had a spinning display rack full of necklaces and pendants. different stones in shapes and colours hung neatly. 

“this is all we have,” she said, giving the rack a little spin. “they all have their own energies and stuff, so yeah… take your pick.”

sunghoon leaned in slightly, scanning the many options. “wow, thanks…” he paused, then asked, “what’s one for… calmness, or something like that?”

the girl tilted her head, thinking for a second before picking out a necklace with a smooth, pale blue stone. “this one’s blue lace agate. pretty good for calmness and communication. helps with anxiety too, supposedly.”

sunghoon stared at it for a moment, then nodded before taking it from her hand. “okay, cool… thanks.”

“mmhm,” the girl replied with a small hum, already turning away to go back behind the counter. she picked up the nail file again.

sunghoon held the necklace for a few seconds, turning it over in his palm. huh… yn’s not gonna like this. it felt too generic. he quietly placed it back on the spinning rack. 

just as he was about to walk away—get you another thing, bracelet, or something—something else caught his eye.

on the shelf right in front of him sat a small collection of boxes, tiny voodoo keychains, and other oddities. tucked between a "manifestation jar” and a pack of antique–degined tarot cards was an unassuming item labeled—

one wish willow.

the box was small and white, almost minimalist. on the front was a delicate illustration of a slender, weeping willow branch with a single growing orb at the tip. the text printed in a thin, elegant serif font:

grab your wish willow! 

break with intention. one use only.

below that, in a smaller faded letting:

wishes do come true. be careful what you ask for.

the packaging looked old, like something you’d find in an actual vintage shop rather than a crystal store like this. sunghoon turned it around. on the back was a simple set of instructions printed in the same font:

spark the middle, break in half.

he stared at it for another few seconds.

huh… a wish. a small, crooked smile tugged at his lips. 

“yn’s gonna like this.”

sunghoon grabbed the box without thinking twice and headed to the counter. the girl looked up from filing her nails again when he placed it down. 

“no crystals?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

he shook his head, smiling. “this one’s better, i think,” he replied, shrugging.

she scanned the item with a bored expression. “oh right, sure. ‘cause you can make a wish. everyone wants a wish.” she said, her tone subtly sarcastic as she put the box in a small paper bag.

sunghoon let out an awkward laugh. “haha… yeah. it’s, um… it’s not for me.”

“right…” the girl glanced up at him, as she slid the bag towards him with a half-smile. “well, don’t come back complaining if it actually works.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “oh, don’t worry, i won—wait, what do you mean? people complain about these?” 

the girl leaned her elbows on the counter, looking mildly entertained for the first time she puts her file down. “well, they’re from the 70s, so most people buy them as collectibles. not really meant to be used. the ones who do use them… usually come back complaining.”

sunghoon let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “haha, why? ‘cause they make regretful wishes or something?”

the girl didn't laugh. she just looked at him for a beat too long. 

“yeah. and then they wish they were dead.”

a heavy silence fell between them. the soft ambient music in the store suddenly went deafened.

sunghoon blinked, slightly taken aback. the girl didn’t bat her eyes away. 

“... what?”

she held his gaze for another second before she suddenly cracked a smile and laughed lightly, waving her hand. 

“well, that’d be 15000 won.”

the eerie tension vanished as quickly as it came. sunghoon blinked, letting out an awkward chuckle but still a little unsettled. 

“ah, haha… um, here.” he handed her his card. she rang him up quickly, slipped the receipt into the bag. “you’re good at creeping people out.” he complimented her nervously.

the girl laughed, shrugging. 

“enjoy your wish.”

when sunghoon walked off with his paperbag, he turned to look at the girl behind the counter.

she smiled very still, eerily.

wow, sunghoon thought, shaking his head. she needs a raise.

——

the hollow was loud but cozy, being a small bar after all. a local band warmed up on stage followed by low chatter of regulars. the four of you were seated at a round wooden table near the back: you, sunghoon, jake, and haewon.

“—so this guy at the volunteering site tried to flirt with me in the midst of cleaning up the chicken’s cage. mid–scooping he goes, ‘you have really pretty eyes.’”

jake bursted out laughing. “ew, that’s disgusting. what did you say?”

“i told him my eyes were only pretty when i wasn’t smelling shit,” haewon replied, laughing.

you were laughing too, leaning forward with your chin resting on your hand. “he sounds silly. did he keep trying?”

sunghoon smiled along, but honestly, he wasn’t really listening. his eyes kept going back and forth from you, then haewon, then back to you again. under the table, he kept nudging jake’s foot with his own.

jake finally glanced at him, mouthing, what? 

sunghoon jerked his head subtly toward you, then gave jake a look that clearly said—leave us alone for a bit. 

jake raised his eyebrows, now?, then glanced at haewon who was still mid–story and fully engaged. 

haewon suddenly paused, catching the weird energy and the way they’ve been silent between the two boys. “what the hell are you guys doing?” 

jake’s eyes widened then he chuckled, shaking his head. “nothing! nothing, nothing.” 

nothing—was what he said, but jake’s foot nudged haewon’s underneath the table as well. she frowned, but was quick on catching it, haewon looked at sunghoon—then to you who looked a little confused, and a knowing little smirk appeared on her face.

“oh, oh, okay,” she said, clearing her throat and standing up, “well, i’m kinda thirsty so i’m gonna get more drinks. anyone want anything?”

you immediately started to stand too. “i’ll come with you!” 

then sunghoon suddenly spoke up. “wait—no, i’ll go.”

everyone paused. haewon blinked at him, jake—who was mid–standing in his seat, ready to go with haewon—looked back and forth between you and sunghoon. “uh…” 

“o—okay…” haewon murmured, slowly sitting back down. jake cleared his throat and plopped back into his chair as well. “alright, yn and sunghoon can go then. i just want a coke.”

you glanced at sunghoon, slightly surprised by the sudden switch–up when nobody wanted to go with haewon. still, you didn’t question it. “...sure,” you said with a small smile, gesturing toward the bar. 

“let’s go, sunghoon.”

the bar area was nicely lit with string lights hanging overhead, accompanied with chatters and a band playing on stage in the background. you and sunghoon found a small open spot, slightly away from the main crowd.

you leaned forward slightly, catching the bartender’s attention with a small wave.

“hi—yeah, can i, uh, get two beers, one coke, and a strawberry soju spritzer, please?” you ordered, then added with a grateful smile once he nodded. “thanks a bunch.”

the bartender tapped on the terminal. “alright, that’ll be 38,500 won,” he said. “oh, and we only take cards, hun.”

you nodded quickly, smiling. “oh yup, sure sure,” you replied, already reaching for your wallet.

sunghoon instinctively moved to pull out his own card, but you were faster. your card beeped on the reader before he could do anything. “no, no, it’s fine!” you said, smiling. the machine beeped in approval. 

“i got it.”

then, you gently pushed his hand back down with a soft laugh. sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it again, a small smile forming despite himself. 

“you didn’t have to do that.”

“i wanted to,” you replied simply, flashing him that smile he loved so much. “you can bring the drinks later.”

sunghoon smiled. as the bartender turned to make the drinks, you turned toward him, resting your elbows on the wooden counter. he felt his pulse pick up, and rubbed the back of his neck before speaking.

“so, uhm… any new movies you’ve been watching lately?”

your eyes lit up instantly—movie talk was always a safe, comfortable topic between the two of you, having worked in a rental store and all.

“oh yeah, actually…” you got comfy. “i watched undertone two nights ago. but don’t tell kim, okay? i promised her i’d rent it at the store first so it counts toward our numbers.”

sunghoon let out a genuine laugh, the sound low. the tension from earlier eased a bit. “you watched it without renting? that’s bold. kim’s gonna kill you if she finds out.”

“i know, i know,” you giggled, covering your mouth with one hand. “i felt so guilty the entire time, but i couldn’t wait. it was so good, sunghoon. the sound design’s absolutely crazy, oh my gosh. i don’t think i’ve ever been so scared without all the jumpscares, ghosts action, you know?”

sunghoon nodded, smiling. he placed the top of his chin on his palm. “i’ve been meaning to watch it. everyone’s been talking about the score. was it as creepy as the trailer made it seem?”

“oh—creepier.” you said, eyes widening for emphasis. sunghoon loved all the expressions your pretty face could do. “if you’re ever gonna watch it, don’t watch it alone—i kept thinking, ‘why am i watching this by myself?”

he smiled. you always got that spark in your eyes when you talked about films. the way your eyebrows lifted, the small scrunch of your nose. so animated. it was one of his favourite things about you.

“haha,” sunghoon chuckled. for a moment, he almost forgot everything else. forgot about the confession, the dream, kibbles. but then he remembered—you said you had something to tell him tonight. 

“oh, yeah… about the thing you wanted to tell me—” he started, voice a little quieter. 

before you could hum a reply of what he was saying, haewon suddenly appeared beside the two of you.

“playgirl’s playing! they’re starting their first song!” she said excitedly, already grabbing your arm. playgirl was one of your friend’s bands that was performing for the night. 

“come on, we have to go back!”

your eyes widened slightly, quickly grabbing your phone on the counter. haewon gently pulled you away. “already?! wait—”

you turned your head toward sunghoon, giving him an apologetic but sweet smile. 

“finish what you’re gonna say later!”

sunghoon nodded, trying to hide his disappointment, annoyance, and embarrassment. he clicked his tongue, drumming his fingers against the bar counter.

dang.

“yeah… later.”

——

the group walked out into the parking lot together, still laughing about something from earlier. your voices echoed between the parked cars under the glow of the streetlights.

suddenly, you stopped mid–step.

“oh, an orangey!” you said, eyes lighting up. a small stray tabby was lurking near one of the cars. without hesitation, you jogged towards it and crouched down, rummaging through your bag until you pulled out a small pack of dry cat food. you tore it open and carefully poured some onto a clean tissue you’d taken out, placing it on the ground.

the three of them slowed down and watched you.

haewon tilted her head, amused. it hadn’t been that long since she became friends with you. “does she always have cat food around?” she asked the two boys.

jake nodded with a grin. “mmhm. pretty much.”

a few moments later, you stood back up, brushing your hands together as the cat approached the food. 

“sorry, what were we saying?” you asked, catching up to them again with an apologetic smile. obviously that small act of kindness towards the cat brightened you up, because you couldn’t contain the smile on your face.

haewon linked arms with you. “we’re going to karaoke! the night is still young~”

you let a tired groan, leaning your head on her shoulder for a second. “but i’m getting older~ ugh, i’d love to join but i’m just so sleepy…”

“awe, come on!” haewon whined, shaking your arm. “it’ll be fun! we haven’t done karaoke in forever.”

“i know, but…” you smiled tiredly, shaking your head. “nooo, seriously you guys, i’m kinda tired.”

jake chuckled. “you sure? you didn’t even drink a lot today.”

you turned to him with a pleading look. “but i do—jaeyun, please? i’m tired… i wanna go home.”

your childhood friend scratched the back of his neck. “my car is headed to the karaoke place though…”

you gave him your best puppy eyes, clasping your hands together like you’re praying. “please drop me off first?”

before jake could even respond, sunghoon stepped forward, unable to hide the quiet eagerness in his voice. 

“i can take you home.”

you turned to sunghoon with a slightly surprised but grateful expression. “are you sure?” 

“yup,” sunghoon nodded, trying to sound casual. “it’s uh… getting late for me too.”

haewon immediately pouted. “aw please, you never go to sleep right away anyway! who’s gonna play the bells while i sing, then?”

jake laughed, covering up haewon’s mouth. “i’m here, let them go home, already.”

you giggled, smiling softly at sunghoon. “thanks, sunghoon.”

the four of you exchanged quick goodbyes. sunghoon waved at jake and haewon—then jake pulled you into a hug. his arms wrapped around your waist.

“get home safe, okay?”

“mmhm, i will,” you murmured against his shoulder before pulling away.

sunghoon watched the hug a second longer than necessary, jaw tightening just slightly before he looked away.

——

the drive was quiet at first.

it wasn’t the first time sunghoon had ever driven you home, but every time he did—it always started quiet. like the two of you were giving yourselves some room to get comfortable. you sat in the passenger seat of his sedan, the streetlights casting patterns across your face.

in the smallness of the car, the alcohol had clearly hit you harder now. your movements were a little more abrupt, head occasionally leaning against the window as you stared off into the passing scenery and stores. your words started to slur just a tiny bit at the edges.

after a few minutes of silence, you turned your head toward him.

“oh, right… haewon told me about your cat,” you began, voice softer now, laced with sympathy. “i know it’s kinda iffy to hear it from someone else but… i just wanted to let you know i’m sorry about your cat.”

sunghoon’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. he kept his eyes on the road.

“oh… no, no, it’s okay,” he replied quietly. “i mean… it’s not okay, but i don’t think it’s fully hit me yet.”

you nodded slowly, blinking a few times like you were trying to focus. you knew how much his cat meant to him—based on the amount of times he’s talked about it. “well… you can call me when it does. if you want. i’m here.”

sunghoon glanced at you for a brief second. even drunk and sleepy, you were still looking at him with that gentle care that always made his chest feel tight. 

“i know,” he said, flashing you a soft smile. “thanks.”

the quiet hum of the engine filled the car again before sunghoon spoke again. “oh, i got you something… but only after you tell me what you wanted to say.”

your eyes widened and you turned to look at him. the mood in the car shifted slightly. “you bought me something? you shouldn’t have—wait, why am i kinda nervous?”

sunghoon chuckled awkwardly, his eyebrows’ slightly pinched in slight confusion. “i don’t know. why is that a reaction?”

you scoffed playfully, shaking your head. “um—anyway, it’s nothing really,” you said, voice slightly slurred. “just wanted to tell you i put my two weeks in.”

the boy glanced at you, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “you told me that on the phone though?”

you let out a small, awkward laugh and nodded, looking out the window for a second. “i know… i just wanted to say it again in person.”

sunghoon didn’t buy it. it was obvious on his face—the slight tightening in his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed just a fraction. there was something more—he knew it. felt it. but before he could press further, you said something.

“also… you know my friend sieun?” you turned to look at him, trying to sound casual. “what do you think of her?” 

his grip on the steering wheel tightened a little. sieun? sieun park? your bestfriend? “...nothing? i don’t really talk to her aside from our rehearsal time. why?”

you smiled, humming. “well… what do you feel about her?”

sunghoon chuckled softly, glancing at you before his eyes drifted ahead. “you’re asking how i feel about her? like, if i like her?”

“just wonderin’ cause…” you shrugged, still looking out the window for a moment before turning back to him with a small, tipsy smile. “she likes you. and i think… you guys would be cute together.”

the words hit him harder than they should have.

sunghoon’s expression shifted—a flash of surprise, followed by something sharper, almost pained, and irritated. his crush—the girl he’d been liking for months—was trying to set him up with someone else. the irony burned.

“what?” he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “that’s kinda silly. she doesn’t even know me. i don’t even know her.”

“well, maybe it’s time to get to know her then,” you replied lightly with a smile. as if it was the most obvious solution in the world. sunghoon swallowed. his chest felt tight. 

“i don’t… i don’t like her like that.”

there was a beat of silence. at the emphasis, you tilted your head, watching him with those soft, slightly unfocused eyes. 

“oh. so you have someone you like, then?”

sunghoon’s heart fluttered. he kept his eyes fixed on the road, then he glanced at you before replying. “yeah… i guess so.”

the air in the car suddenly felt a bit heavier—it was hard for you to grasp it in your drunken condition, but you knew enough not to push it further, just hummed quietly and leaned your head against the headrest.

sunghoon’s mind was racing.

how could you say that so easily? how could you just… tried to set him up with another…?

then, you turned your head to look at him again. “actually, i never thought you would have someone you like. you’re just so… composed and to yourself. it’s hard to figure you out.”

sunghoon gave a small, self–deprecating smile.

“well, i’m not exactly an open book when you wanna get to know me.”

still smiling, you replied, “i think you still are.”

a laugh escaped both of you at the same time—a little awkward, but it managed to ease the tension for a moment. sunghoon’s fingers tapped once against the steering wheel. he hesitated, then asked the question that had been burning in his chest since the starter of the conversation.

“what about you? do you have someone you like?”

you went quiet for a second, then nodded slowly. “i think so, yeah…” your voice was softer now, almost shy. “but i don’t think it’s reciprocated. or it is—i’m not sure.”

sunghoon’s heart picked up speed. so you have someone you like too. sunghoon wondered who it was—that lucky motherfucker. he tried to keep his voice steady.

“does he know you like him?” you shook your head, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. 

“no, i don’t think so. i get really… shy? around someone i like. so, yeah. if i like someone, nobody will know.”

the silence that followed was nothing like what’s in sunghoon’s mind. every word you said twisted something deep inside him—hope, frustration, and ache all at one. he wanted so badly to ask who it was.

he didn’t.

sunghoon didn’t even confess, yet it felt like he was already rejected. 

or maybe he never stood a chance.

“oh—well, we’re here.” sunghoon murmured as he pulled up in front of your grandmother’s house. you unbuckled your seatbelt, gathering your things. just as you were about to thank him and step out, sunghoon spoke again.

“oh yeah, um… do you have a partner for the end of the year party yet? or are you even coming? ‘cause i’m performing.” 

you paused, hand already at the handle, and turned back to him with a small smile. “oh yes, yeah. at jay’s house, right? i’m planning to ask jaeyun if he wants to come with me.”

sunghoon’s expression froze. 

i love you, jaeyun.

“...jake?”

“yeah. who else?” you replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

it’s always him.

the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“do you like him?”

you blinked, a little confused by the sudden shift in his tone. your eyebrows pinched in confusion, and your head’s slightly tilted. “yeah…? jake’s my bestfriend…”

sunghoon’s jaw tightened. his voice came out lower, edged with something bitter. “...cause i’m pretty sure he likes liz.”

you stared at him for a second, the playful mood from earlier completely gone. it felt like the two of you were autumn. cold and warm air clashing, shifting from sunny to stormy, windy, and freezing in a matter of minutes.

“ah… okay? why are you telling me this?”

the words came out faster than his brain allowed them to. sunghoon shifted in his seat. “i don’t think he’s good for you. i mean… jake’s great as a friend, but he’s kind of all over the place. he doesn’t really commit to anything. one day he’s all in, the next he’s distracted by something new. i just don’t think he’d treat you—”

“sunghoon, stop.”

your voice was firm. sharp. 

you looked up at him with a frown—in confusion, disbelief, and disrespect that he just said that to your face. you gripped your purse tighter on your lap.

“he’s your friend. why are you saying all these things—? i don’t like this at all. you know how close we are.”

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward. 

you unbuckled your seatbelt quickly and opened the car door. “i’m going to pretend like i didn’t hear this at all.” before stepping out, you turned back to him one last time, expression tight and clearly, clearly, disappointed. 

“i’m really uncomfortable with you saying all this about jaeyun. um… thanks for the ride, anyway. goodnight.”

you closed the door with a soft but firm click and walked toward your house without looking back. sunghoon sat frozen in the driver’s seat for a second, staring at your retreating figure. 

“wait—fuck… shit…” he muttered under his breath. he quickly pressed the button to roll down the passenger window. “yn—!” he called out, but you had already disappeared. the door shut behind you with a thud.

the street fell silent again.

sunghoon leaned back heavily against the headrest, dragging both hands down his face. 

“what the fuck did i do…” he whispered to the empty car. “why did i do that… ugh, i’m so fucking dumb…”

his heart was pounding. the jealousy he wasn’t able to control that had been simmering all day had boiled over in the worst way possible. he’d badmouth his own bestfriend—jake, of all people—in front of you. the one person whose opinion mattered most to him. 

sunghoon groaned, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. 

“she’s never gonna look at me the same way again… fuck.”

the silence in the car felt suffocating. this was the most the car has been through since the last years sunghoon got it from his dad. his chest was tight, regret clawing at him from the inside. he needed something—anything—to take the edge off.

why the fuck did i say that? 

sunghoon knew why.

he reached down toward the glove box where he usually kept his pack of cigarettes. his slender fingers fumbled blindly in the dark, brushing against the small box before he fished it out without thinking. 

instead of his dark marlboro pack—it was a white box instead.

one wish willow. 

the illustration of the glowing branch stared back at him. the tagline at the bottom suddenly felt louder than it had in the shop. 

wishes do come true. be careful what you ask for.

oh. he was supposed to give this to you. 

sunghoon’s thumb brushed over the smooth packaging. his mind was still reeling of annoyance, disappointment, and that ugly twist of jealousy all mixing together. the way you defended jake so quickly. the way you looked at him with discomfort and disappointment before getting out of the car. the way you wanted to ask jake to go with you to the party.

his chest felt tight. his jaw clenched. if he were to keep and give it to you later, what would change? it won’t magically get rid of tonight.

sunghoon’s fingers tightened around the box, he turned it over and read the instructions printed on the back in that minimalistic, fun, red font:

usage:

hold the one wish willow gently with both hands. 

state your wish clearly and with intention.

break in half.

disposal: after granting your wish, the one wish willow loses its magical properties.

sunghoon mouthed the words as he read them, almost scoffing under his breath. 

he looked up toward the front door of your house, the porch lights still on. 

“as if…” he muttered, half bitter, half exhausted.

but his hands didn’t put the box down.

in the silence of the car, with the weight of the night pressing down and all the emotions came washing down upon him—sunghoon opened the box and held the small twig in both thumbs and indexes. 

wishes do come true.

be careful who you ask for.

his voice came out low, raw, and half–serious.

“i wish yn ln loved me more than anyone else in the fucking world.”

crack.

sunghoon broke the one wish willow in half. 

the sound was small and almost insignificant. like it was… nothing. a toy. a faint shimmer of something—dust? light? glitter?—seemed to sparkle for a split second before disappearing into thin air. 

sunghoon let out a drag, shaky breath and rested his forehead against the steering wheel, eyes closed.

the broken pieces of the willow sat in his lap.

a beat passed.

then a second.

then a whole minute.

nothing happened.

sunghoon let out a bitter scoff, tossing the broken pieces of the one wish willow onto the passenger seat. he wasn’t sure what he was hoping for—he bought it at a fuckin’ crystal toy store for fucks sakes. 

“fuck it,” he muttered. “should’ve known it was a scam anyway.”

he reached for the gear shift, ready to drive off—when a soft knock came from the passenger window.

shit—

sunghoon froze. through the glass, he saw the upper half of your body just standing there by his car. frowning slightly in confusion, he slowly rolled down the window.

it took you a few seconds to crouch down smoothly, elbows resting on the open window frame so your face was level with his. your eyes looked… different. not completely wrong, but off. a little too intense? a little too focused.

like something behind them was watching him more closely than usual.

you were probably still disappointed and bothered by it—and wanted to give sunghoon another warning. 

“uh, yn… hey,” sunghoon said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “i just… i just had to pull up directions.”

you didn’t respond right away. you just looked at him for a long second, head slightly tilted.

“you said you had something for me?” your voice was soft, almost too soft.

oh, crap—sunghoon glanced at the broken willow twig on the passenger seat. thank god it was so dark that you didn’t notice it. “oh yeah, i uh… i left it at my house.”

the silence that followed felt heavy. 

you visibly deflated a little, eyes dropping. “oh… okay…”

the quiet stretched. your fingers started tapping lightly on the window frame—slow, rhythmic, almost absentminded. the movement felt a little too precise. a little too repetitive. it’s almost like you didn’t want to get back inside.

sunghoon’s stomach twisted.

“i can bring it to work tomorrow…” he offered quietly, smiling.

you blinked slowly, then gave him a small nod. “um… okay…”

your voice dragged just slightly at the end. you stayed crouched there for another second, staring at him with the same unnervingly focused gaze. sunghoon swallowed the lump in his throat nervously, licking his lips. 

“well—uh, goodnight yn.” 

“wait, actually…” you tilted your head, eyes still locked on him. “um, i think you could use some company tonight. i mean, i did just lose my cat—”

sunghoon frowned. “...you lost your cat?”

you blinked again, like a glitch had passed through your expression. you shook your head, then quickly corrected yourself. “oh wait, i mean you lost your cat. i’m sorry… i’m so sorry for your loss.” your voice softened, but there was something oddly eager beneath. “what should we—are you—do you wanna come inside?”

sunghoon stared at you, visibly confused. his eyes flicked for a split second to the broken piece of the one wish willow. 

could it be…

“... are you okay?” 

you smiled—soft, almost too sweet. “are you okay?”

“yeah, i’m okay,” he answered slowly. 

“well… why don’t you come inside?” you offered again, fingers still lightly tapping the window frame. “we can—you know, talk about your cat and have a few drinks together.”

the invitation hung in the air. your eyes never left his face.

sunghoon rubbed his temple, trying to make sense of the situation. “yn, i’m a little confused…” he chuckled softly, dry. “i think you’re drunk.”

“no, i’m not,” you said quickly, almost defensively. “really.”

he sighed softly. “just… get some sleep, okay?”

that threw you off. 

“no, no, no.” you stood abruptly, crossing your arms over your chest. your posture was stiff, almost childlike in its stubbornness. “i know what you’re trying to do.”

sunghoon blinked. “what—?”

you didn’t answer. instead, you reached for the door handle, pulled it open, and slid back into the seat without warning. you sat directly on the broken pieces, the twig crunching faintly beneath you. 

“you’re trying to get rid of me,” you said, voice low but strangely intense, eyes fixed on him again.

sunghoon’s heart jumped. 

“what? no, no, no—” he stammered, hands lifting slightly in surrender and defense. he could never get rid of you as hard as he tried to. “i just—i just think you’re not in your right head right now.”

you pouted—a soft, almost childish expression crossing your face as you leaned over and pressed your cheek against the dashboard, eyes still locked on him.

sunghoon thought you were cute.

“i promise you i am…” you murmured. “i just… i feel really bad about your cat. you know how much i love cats, right? i don’t want you to be alone. and honestly… i don’t want to be alone either.”

sunghoon’s chest tightened. the way you said it—so vulnerable, so sincere. especially when you barely opened up to him like you did to jake—made something inside him soften despite his brain’s ringing warning bells.

“why? is everything okay?”

you stayed quiet for a moment, cheek still resting against the cool surface. then your voice came out smaller. “well… i don’t think my grandmother wants me around anymore…”

the words hit him harder than expected. your grandmother—? the same one who had been taking care of you since infancy? didn’t want you around anymore? you looked so small like this—curled slightly in his passenger seat, eyes glassy. sunghoon felt a strong wave of sympathy washing over him.

“oh… what? i—i’m sorry, yn… do you, um… wanna talk about it?”

you shook your head slowly, still not lifting your cheek from the dashboard.

“...not here.”

——

sunghoon wasn’t sure if you eventually convinced him, or if he convinced himself to let you come inside. 

the two of you walked into his house. the moment the door closed behind you, you looked around with wide, curious eyes. 

“your house is so nice…” you whispered, almost reverent as you took off your flats by the door. sunghoon rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self–conscious. had he known he was going to have you over—

“i like it here.”

he glanced at the lotion bottle on the coffee table.

“oh, thanks… it’s your first time here, right? i’m sorry if it’s not really that clean… i wasn’t expecting company tonight so—”

he didn’t even get to finish his sentence.

while sunghoon was still talking, you had already wandered off toward the kitchen like you knew your way around. that gave him the time to put the bottle somewhere else though. you stopped in the middle of the room, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply. 

“it smells like you.” you said softly.

sunghoon froze by the kitchen arch. 

“...me? like… bad?”

you turned to him with a small, dreamy smile and shook your head.

“no. it’s nice. i like it.”

warmth bloomed and spread through his chest despite everything. sunghoon had forgotten about the whole incident that happened in front of your house. he cleared his throat. 

“yn,” he paused, trying to regain some control of the situation. “you need some sleep, okay? i’ll get you some water.”

sunghoon moved toward the fridge, but you stayed standing in the middle of his kitchen, watching his every move with that same unnervingly soft gaze. sunghoon poured you a glass of cold water, standing in front of you as he held it up.

“here.”

you looked up to him. instead of taking it in your own hands, you wrapped your hands around his’ and brought the glass to your lips, taking a sip. 

a few minutes later, the two of you were in his bedroom.

you sat on the edge of his bed, still fully clothed, one leg hanging off the side, the other folded beneath your weight. sunghoon lingered in the doorway, like a father bidding goodnight. 

“i’m sorry if i was being weird earlier,” you said quietly. your finger traced the hem of your midi skirt. “i don’t know what was wrong with me.”

“it’s okay,” sunghoon replied, smiling. his voice gentle. “you don’t have to explain it. you’ve been through a lot, so just take all the time that you need, alright?”

you nodded slowly, looking small on his bed.

sunghoon looked around, unsure what to do before he reached over and turned off the main light switch, leaving only the tall floor lamp by the end of the room. the warm, dim lighting cast long shadows across the walls.

he was about to say goodnight and leave when your voice stopped him.

“wait.”

sunghoon turned back.

“will you sleep with me?”

sunghoon froze. “what?” 

he looked at the state of you on his bed—slightly disheveled, looking a bit like a pretty mess. “i don’t think i should…” 

you looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. “please… i can’t be alone right now. i’ll get in my head if i’m in here by myself.”

a beat passed.

sunghoon felt a heavy wave of guilt and unsure–rity settled in his chest. he exhaled slowly.

“...yeah. i can do that.”

he kicked off his home slippers by the door. you didn’t waste a single second either—started undressing right there and then, peeling off your top and skirt. sunghoon quickly looked away out of respect, but the mirror in front of his bed betrayed him. he caught the reflection of your body as you stripped down to just your underwear. 

his throat tightened.

he wasn’t complaining. 

shit… your covered breasts behind your white bra was even better than your bare tits in his dream. sunghoon loved the fats in your body, the little, subtle childhood scars and marks. 

when you were done, he turned around and approached the bed slowly. sunghoon reached out and softly touched your arm, almost like he was making sure you were real and on his bed. you gently pulled him toward you.

the two of you ended up sitting against the headboard. he stiffened as you immediately curled into his side, placing your head on his shoulder and nuzzling closer, almost like a cat seeking warmth. one of your legs draped lightly over his as you got comfortable, letting out a soft, content hum.

“i needed this,” you whispered, voice low and breathy against his neck. 

sunghoon’s heart fluttered. he couldn’t contain his smile. “really?”

“mmhm…” you rubbed your cheek against his shoulder in a slow, affectionate motion. “i’m sorry about your cat again…” 

there was something almost feline in the way you moved—slow, seeking constant contact. you pressed closer, tits flushed against his bicep. it was like you wanted to melt to him, fingers tracing patterns on his chest like marking territory. 

sunghoon swallowed hard, one arm hesitantly wrapping around you. 

you shifted slightly, then gently took his chin between your pretty fingers and tilted his face toward yours. your eyes were half–lidded, lips parted as you leaned in.

sunghoon’s breath hitched. 

“wait—” he whispered, pulling back just slightly. “i… i think you’re drunk.”

you shook your head slowly, still holding his chin. your voice was soft, but steady. “i’m not. i promise.”

he gazed into your eyes. in the warm lamplight, they looked darker, deeper, almost… bottomless. for the first time, he saw—really saw—his reflection in your eyes and realised how much he had wanted this. 

how long sunghoon had ached for you. how badly he had needed you to look at him like this. all the longing, jealousy, nights thinking of you—it was at this moment that worthed it all. 

sunghoon must’ve been the easiest man ever—

he succumbed.

he leaned in and kissed you—slow at first, then deeper and more passionate. his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with pent–up hunger. the kiss was hungry and desperate and full of everything he’d kept to himself.

you melted into it immediately, letting out a soft, needy sound against his mouth as your fingers curled into his shirt.

the two of you kissed. and kissed.

and the longer it went on, the more desperate it became. you climbed onto his lap, straddling him as your hands cupped his face. sunghoon’s hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, tugging onto the clasps of your bra.

he’s so lost in the heat of everything he’d wanted for so long.

his fingers gently touched the side of your neck.

and something in you snapped.

your eyes flew open. so wide it almost popped out of your socket. for a split second, the hazy, overly affectionate version of you vanished. you realised you were kissing sunghoon. half–naked. in his bed.

terror flooded your expression.

you shoved him back hard, scrambling off his lap and falling backward onto the floor with a loud thud. your back hit the floor.

“sunghoon—oh my god!” you gasped, eyes wide with horror as you stared up at him from the ground. 

sunghoon looked completely panicked, frozen at where he was. “what?! what, what?! holy shit?!”

you sat up quickly, covering your chest with your arms, face burning with embarrassment. “oh my gosh, i’m so sorry! i’m so sorry—!”

“you kissed me!” sunghoon blurted out, voice cracking slightly. 

“i know!” 

the terror on your face melted away into an apologetic look. you stayed on the floor for  a moment, blinking up at him with wide, watery eyes. “i’m sorry… i’m so sorry…” you kept whispering, voice small.

sunghoon’s heart was beating so fast—still in shock, breathing hard.

“no, shit—what was that?!”

you flinched at his tone. “don’t yell at me… i don’t know… i thought i saw something!”

your eyes welled up with tears. the sudden switch made you emotionally raw, and the sudden outburst from him broke something in you. your lips trembled as tears started falling down your cheeks. 

sunghoon’s anger and confusion immediately crumbled into guilt. 

“...hey…” he quickly got off the bed and crouched down, gently pulling you up from the floor. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to yell.”

you let him lift you, still sniffing. “i really don’t know… it's a panic attack, i—i panicked.”

he sat back on the edge of the bed and pulled you into his lap like a baby—one arm wrapped around your back, the other cradling your head as he tucked you into his chest. 

“i—it’s okay, i was just—” he murmured, rubbing slow circles on your back. “i was just surprised… cause you kissed me first.”

you curled into him, burying your face in his neck, still letting out soft, hiccuping sobs. your arms wrapped tightly around him like you were afraid he’d disappear. sunghoon held you close, heart still racing.

when sunghoon felt your body relaxed, he kissed the top of your head.

“don’t do that next time…”

——

the next day at work felt strangely normal.

you and sunghoon stepped into the video rental store together after arriving at the same time—having rode the same car and all. the bell above chimed as you both entered. 

“oh, right. can i stay—”

before you could finish your sentence, the store manager, kim, appeared from the sides and immediately grabbed your arm, pulling you aside. “yn! i don’t know how many times i have to tell people we don’t sell porn here—”

the rest of her sentence was cut off as she dragged you away.

sunghoon barely had the time to process everything before jake popped right in front of him like a damn jack in the box. 

“ooooohhh?” jake grinned, wiggling suggestively. 

sunghoon’s eyes widened. “breakroom. breakroom. breakroom.”

he turned jake around and shoved his friend toward the staff breakroom just behind the entrance wall. once they were out of sight, jake turned on him. 

“what happened last night?”

sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. he tasted the words on the tip of his tongue, unsure how to put it in words. last night was… to blame on the alcohol. 

“you wouldn’t believe me.”

jake’s eyes widened. he couldn’t believe it—his childhood friend, and his bestfriend—that had been liking you for so long. finally—?

“you guys FUCKED?”

sunghoon’s eyes widened, and he was quick to slap a hand over jake’s mouth, muffling the loud exclamation. “oh my gosh, keep it down!” sunghoon hissed, glancing nervously around the room. “and no… we didn’t.”

jake pulled sunghoon’s hand off his mouth, looking suspicious. “then what the hell happened? you didn’t update us at all last night, and now you’re coming to work together? something’s fishy.”

sunghoon leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “we just… we just slept together, that’s all.”

jake raised an eyebrow. “huh, okay.” then he grinned again. 

“well… how was she?”

“um, i don’t know…” sunghoon hesitated, looking visibly conflicted. “she’s… she’s acting weird last night.”

“weird? how?”

sunghoon paused, recalling the night in fragments. after the thing… that happened, sunghoon cuddled you to sleep, and you woke up the next day just fine. he dropped you off at your house to change, waited outside, then drove the two of you to work.

“well, first she said her grandma’s kicking her out.”

jake’s face instantly shifted from playful to shocked. “no way?” his voice dropped. “she’s been living with her grandma since we were kids. what happened?”

“i don’t know,” sunghoon admitted, shrugging. “we didn’t talk about it last night. but… she’s having like, this mental breakdown. she’d freak out one second, then be all happy and clingy the next, then start crying. it was… weird. really weird.”

jake stared at him, processing everything.

“damn… that doesn’t sound like her at all.”

sunghoon nodded slowly, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach. 

a beat of silence passed between them. 

“you think she’s on… molly again…?”

jake frowned deeply, crossing his arms. “she’s been sober for almost a year. she has no reason to… unless because of her grandma, that is.”  

“shit, maybe,” sunghoon muttered, rubbing his face. “i don’t know how to ask her though.”

“i’ll do it then,” jake said without hesitation. if anything, it’s weird jake didn’t know about it. you’d always come to him firsthand. sunghoon glanced toward the breakroom door, suddenly paranoid. 

“is she still staring?”

jake darted his eyes toward the entrance, peeking through the small gap in the door. he’s met with the sight of you standing behind the cashier machine, body looking forward, but head’s turned towards where jake and sunghoon’s conversation was taking place.

you were smiling.

“yeah.”

——

jake drove you home after work.

the moment he got back to his apartment, sunghoon dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and went straight to his computer. he opened a browser and typed into the search bar: does the one wish willow actually work?

u/sorrowfull: no it’s an urban legend. my cousin swore it worked but he was just high as fuck lol.

u/rik999: yeah it really granted a wish for me back in 2023!

u/godaddy: it’s not supposed to be used. my dad still has it unopened till now cause it’s just a collector thing. 

u/xuser: don’t even play with that thing lol i wished for braces cos my teeth was fucked and now theyre PERFECT

u/tickdrip: placebo effect at best. one can try though. 

sunghoon stared at the screen, conflicted and confused. he licked his lips, index finger tapping on the mouse like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. with a heavy sigh, he eventually shut his laptop, rubbing his face.

what the hell am i even doing…

for all he knew, his wish didn’t even come true, and it was just a coincidence. maybe you had a change of mind. maybe you finally had the courage to tell him you liked him. maybe—

knock knock. 

sunghoon whipped his head toward the door. it’s almost eleven, and he wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour. regardless, he walked over and opened it.

you—

you were standing there in a thin spaghetti strap black dress that hugged your figure beautifully, full makeup done perfectly—glossy lips, soft eyeshadow, curled lashes, flushed cheeks, the works. you looked stunning—it genuinely took him aback for a second.

“hi, hoonie,” you said softly, a shy smile on your face. 

“...yn? what’s up?” where are you going?” he asked, still a little stunned. 

you fidgeted with the hem of your dress, looking nervous. “i didn’t know what to wear…”

“what do you mean?”

you bit your lip, clearly nervous. 

“i—i’m really sorry about last night. jake told me what happened… you were freaked out—”

“no, no, it’s okay, yn!” sunghoon said quickly, waving his hands in front of him. you looked so cute and he was way too down to even regard everything last night as odd. even if it was. 

you stayed in the doorway for a moment, then swallowed the lump in your throat. “i probably shouldn’t have taken anything…”

a beat.

sunghoon blinked. “huh?”

you looked up at him. the outside light behind you made your eyes look darker than it already was. “yeah… i, um, i was on mdma and i was drunk. but i promise… no more.”

“right, okay…” sunghoon said slowly, trying to process everything. he knew you’d taken drugs before, but he never knew it was this bad. “well, do you remember… stuff?”

you stayed quiet for a second, eyes lowered. 

“most of it, yeah,” you finally answered. “if i was weird… it was because of the stuff i’m going through. i didn’t mean it…”

sunghoon’s eyes narrowed with a clear disappointment. your gaze shifted, a flicker of concern crossing your face as you noticed his reaction. 

he looked away for a moment. 

“...oh. okay.”

you took a small step closer.

“also… i want to be transparent about some things."

sunghoon’s heart spiked. out of pure fear—fear of being rejected, fear of hearing you say it was all a mistake, that you didn’t mean any of it, that you two should just go back to being friends and nothing more, or worse stopped being friends at all—

he quickly cut in.

“you don’t have to explain—”

“i know you like me.”

the words hit him like a truck.

sunghoon froze, quickly thrown off.

“no—i—why? what?”

your face dropped instantly. the hopeful, nervous expression you’d been wearing shattered into something vulnerable and raw, like you’d… just been rejected on the spot.

then, after a heavy beat of silence and unspoken things, sunghoon began, voice quieter. 

“...do you like me?”

you looked up at him, eyes soft and vulnerable. 

“would it freak you out if i said yes?”

a long beat passed. 

it was an oddly romantic moment—the kind you only see in movies. sunghoon stared at you, completely caught off guard. his lips parted slightly in surprise. then, slowly, a shy, disbelieving smile spread across his face as he let out a soft chuckle, almost like he couldn’t believe this was real. 

he rubbed the back of his neck, voice quiet.

“how long have you felt this way?”

you shifted on your feet, nervous but honest. “it happened over time… maybe with all the time we hung out, and by the time i knew it, i just—” you looked at him, head tilted, searching his face. 

“don’t you have feelings for me?”

sunghoon covered his mouth with his hand for a second, shy and overwhelmed. this was the moment he had dreamed about for so long—late nights wondering if you’d ever look at him the way he looked at you, replaying every small interaction in his head, wishing for exactly…

this.

“yeah,” he finally admitted. “i do.”

your face softened. you stepped closer, gently tugged the front of his shirt, and wrapped your arms around him. sunghoon didn’t hesitate. he hugged your back tightly, one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head. you stood there in the doorway, holding each other like the world didn’t exist.

after a long moment, he pulled back just enough to whisper against your hair, 

“do you wanna sleep over tonight?”

——

sunghoon slammed you against the wall, kissing you fiercely. all the months of longing, stolen glances, and quiet admiration poured out in that single moment. his mouth was hungry, desperate, claiming yours like he’d been starving for you. 

his hands roamed your body—one gripping your waist, the other sliding up your thigh, pushing the hem of your black dress higher. 

“ah, babe—” you moaned into his mouth, hands fisting his shirt as you kissed him back just as desperately. the pent–up lust between you was explosive. sunghoon groaned, grinding against you as he pulled the top of your dress along with your bra, exposing your pretty tits. 

his mouth left yours to trail hot, open–mouthed kisses down your neck, then lower, sucking and biting at your skin while his hands squeezed and caressed your perky nipples. 

you arched into him, gasping, fingers tangled in his locks.

“f—fuck, hoonie…”

sunghoon was losing himself completely—the way you tasted, the way you sounded, the way your body responded to every touch. he wanted to devour you. whole and full. wanted to mark you. wanted you to be his in every possible way.

then, mid–moan, your pearly eyes locked with his.

your eyes widened like it was going to bulge out—expression shifted to sheer panic.

with a frantic shove, you pushed him hard. sunghoon stumbled backward onto the bed as you let out a blood–curling scream, body trembling violently. almost instantly, you hugged your body, colour drained from your body. 

“sunghoon, what the fuck?!”

he remained on the bed, shocked and unfazed for a split second—still breathing hard, lips swollen from kissing you. your lipstick stained the corner of his lips.

but within moments, the switch flipped again.

you crawled on top of him like nothing had happened, straddling his waist and sitting on his stomach. your wetness through your thin panties rubbed against his skin as you leaned down and kissed him again, deep and possessive—like you couldn’t bear even a second of separation. 

sunghoon didn’t question it. the disturbance registered as nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

you pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, 

“sorry, baby…”

sunghoon smiled, hands sliding up your thighs, lifting up your dress until the pooled around your waist.

“it’s okay, baby,” he murmured, voice husky. “molly effect, hm?”

you giggled softly, nuzzling into his neck like a contented critter—pressing warm kisses along his jaw. 

the two of you kissed again—slower this time, but no less hungry. your hands roamed his chest, then lower, until you slid down between his knees. sunghoon’s breath hitched as you settled on the floor in front of him, looking up at him with those dark, adoring eyes.

sunghoon couldn’t believe this was happening.

you reached for his belt, undoing it with clumsy but eager fingers. when you freed him—his cock was curvy and at a perfect size, if not slightly bigger, for a lean man like sunghoon. it throbbed visibly in the air between you, the tip already glistening with beads of precum.

“s—shit, baby, look how hard you made me…”

you smiled, leaning to press a soft kiss to the tip first, almost reverent. your lips brushed against the sensitive head as you murmured, warm air hitting the slit. 

“you’re so big…”

you kept kissing the tip tenderly like it’s his lips—then dragged your tongue slowly across it, licking up the beads of precum with a soft, satisfied hum. the taste of him seemed to spur you on. you opened your mouth wider and took him in—slow at first, letting your tongue swirl around the head before sinking down further. 

sunghoon let out a low groan, head falling back for a second. “fuck…” 

his hand gently threading through your hair as you worked him with passionate, wet strokes. your mouth was hot and eager, sucking with just the right amount of pressure while your hand stroked what you couldn't fit. you moaned around him, the vibrations sending up sparks up his spine. 

“fuck… just like that, baby…” he whispered, hips twitching slightly but holding back, letting you set the pace. you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes watery but full of devotion as you took him deeper—hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head. 

then, you pulled back just enough to catch a breather—lips glossy. 

“i’ve never done this before…”

sunghoon’s eyes widened, breath ragged.

“at all?”

you tilted your head, a small, hazy smile on your face. your hands continued to jerk him off back and forth, catching your own slicky saliva on your grip. 

“mmm… i think so?”

there was a strange, fleeting disconnect in your works—like your memories were clashing with one another. but sunghoon was too far gone to question it. 

you leaned back in, taking him deeper again. the wet heat of your mouth, the way you moaned around him, the way you looked up at him like pleasing him was the only thing that mattered was overwhelming. 

his breathing grew heavier, low groans slipping out as you worked him with sensual devotion. 

sunghoon’s breathing grew heavier. low, broken groans slipped from his throat as your head bobbed, tongue swirling around the underside of his cock while your hand stroked the base. every so often you’d pull back to kiss and lick the wet tip, almost in a teasing manner before sinking down again.

“baby,” he rasped, fingers tightening in your hair. “you’re so good at this… feels so fucking good.”

the sight of you on your knees, lips stretched around him, tits wet with your drippy saliva—it was better than any dream he’d had. imagining this exact moment, paled in comparison to the real thing—he was losing himself completely. 

his hips started twitching, thighs sensing as pleasure coiled tighter and tiger in his tummy. “hngh—baby…” he groaned, voice strained. “i need to be inside you.”

sunghoon pulled you up slightly with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen. without a word, you climbed back onto the bed and laid down, pulling him on top of you.

he hovered over you, drinking in the sight. you looked breathtaking underneath him—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair fanned out prettily on his pillow, black dress bunched around your waist. your tits rose and fell with every quick breath, nipples hardened from arousal. your legs spread for him, panties pushed to the side. 

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion as he positioned the head of his cock at your entrance. “i’ve been wanting to tell you that for so long.”

you giggled shyly,  biting your lip as you looked up at him.

“come on… love me.”

“i do love you,” sunghoon breathed. 

then he pushed in. 

the first thrust was slow but deep, stretching you open around his curved length. you gasped, back arching slightly as he bottomed out. sunghoon groaned, forehead pressing against yours. 

“fuck… you’re so tight.” 

you moaned softly, nails digging into his shoulders.

“you’re my first—oh gosh, you’re my first…”

that single sentence sent a bolt of raw heat through him. sunghoon’s hips snapped forward harder, fucking you deeper strokes. the thought that he was your first—that no one else had ever had you like this—made something primal inside him snap.

he thrusted harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room along with your moans and his groans. 

 it was going good—your pussy was tight and heavenly, and sunghoon had never felt a hold other than his hand so good like this. but then—

you suddenly laughed—a bright, almost delirious sound—and tilted your head back, arching your back as pleasure overtook you.

it freaked sunghoon out a little.

your body convulsed underneath him as uncontrollable giggles spilled from your lips. your eyes rolled back, whites showing for a terrifying second, like you found this whole situation fucking hilarous. 

it was wrong. inhumane, almost. 

his hand shot up instinctively, wrapping around your throat—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to pin you down and stop the violent twitching. 

“no, no… don’t do that, baby,” he rasped, still buried deep inside you, hips faltering for a moment. “stay with me—look at me.”

the laughter cut off abruptly.

your body went still. then your eyes rolled back into place, focusing on him again. the eerie, too–wide smile slowly softened back into normal. the smile he loved so much. sunghoon’s cock tip then kissed the gummy spot inside you, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

“hngh—!” you gasped, eyes momentarily shut in pleasure before they opened again, finding his—but not entirely looking. 

“...sorry, baby,” you whispered sweetly, blinking.

      part two of two

ㅤ© ⌞hoonkitti⌝ ⁞ all rights reservedㅤ please don't share, copy, or translate my work.

🗯️ JO'S NOTES : i can’t believe that im finally posting this, eeek im so excited 😣 comment down to be added to the taglist 💌 ps : gonna do a mans best friend version next, stay tuned

JUNO

synopsis : you’ve always known one thing for certain — living next door to lee heeseung is a nightmare. he’s loud, insufferably cocky, and way too aware of the fact that he’s campus royalty the basketball captain with a guaranteed shot at the nba. late night practices, louder parties, girls in the hallway he’s everything you avoid. and he makes a game out of getting under your skin.

snide remarks turn into arguments, arguments into silence. an unspoken rule you don’t exist to each other.until one night, at a party, everything slips.too much to drink and one reckless moment. you wake up in his bed.panic hits and you run before he wakes, before it becomes real. you bury it pretend it never happened. Until your body says otherwise, nausea missed period.

two lines, and now the one person you can’t stand is the one you can’t escape.

pairing : basketball captain heeseung x neighbourf!reader

trope : accidental pregnancy + forced proximity

estimated wc : 30k - 35k words

release date : april

GOOD GRACES

synopsis : you and jay have always been inseparable since scraped knees and shared lunches at six years old to late night calls and quiet understanding that no one else ever really got.somewhere between the end of high school and the start of university, things changed.

it started small lingering touches, drunk confessions that were brushed off the next morning, lines blurred until they didn’t exist anymore. you never put a label on it, never asked what are we? because with jay, you were always something more even when you were nothing at all.

but Jay runs hot and cold. one moment, he’s yours deep inside you backstage, looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. the next, he’s distant, untouchable, lost in the chaos of his rising fame and the attention that comes with being the lead guitarist of a band everyone suddenly knows.

you tell yourself it’s fine that this is enough. until you catch him kissing someone else and realize you were never as exclusive as you thought.so you walk away. and when anton, his bandmate, offers you something steady instead of confusing, you choose him.

jay isn’t used to that. he isn’t used to you slipping through his fingers, to watching you laugh with someone else, so he fights for you. and by the time Jay understands that what he felt was never just friendship, never just convenience but love

you’ve already started learning how to hate him.

pairing : rockstar!jay x bestfriendf!reader

trope : childhood best friends + situationship + friends with benefits

estimated wc : 20k - 25k words

release date : not sure

BED CHEM

synopsis : you’ve loved jake for as long as you can remember — your best friend jamie’s twin brother, the one person who was always just out of reach.

back in high school, the three of you were inseparable until jake drifted into a different world new friends, popularity, a girlfriend and eventually, a different university. you told yourself you were over him but you weren’t.

so when he suddenly transfers to Decelis University after a breakup with his girlfriend karina, it feels like everything you buried comes rushing back. being around him again is easy, familiar dangerous. then karina shows up too.

and jake, desperate to keep things under control, asks you for help fake date him.jamie surprisingly agrees, but only after laying down strict rules.

No falling in love.

No kissing.

No sex.

it’s supposed to be simple just an act. but nothing about jake has ever been simple to you. because pretending to be his girlfriend means late nights, lingering touches, shared spaces, and stolen glances that feel a little too real.

it means learning the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention and the way your name sounds different on his lips now.and somewhere between fake dates and real tension, the lines start to blur.

rules don’t just bend they snap. because the truth is the only chemistry between you and jake isn’t just how well you get along

it’s how impossible it becomes to stay out of each other’s bed.

pairing : jake x f!reader

trope : fake dating + best friends twin brother + forbidden love

estimated wc : 35k words

release date : not sure

ESPRESSO

synopsis : park sunghoon has always been that guy — charming, popular, and the unbeatable captain of the university ice hockey team. he gets what he wants, when he wants it, and people especially girls are never an exception.

until you the new figure skater at the rink. talented disciplined beautiful and completely uninterested in him. you don’t smile at his jokes, don’t entertain his flirting hell, you barely even acknowledge his existence. and for the first time in his life, sunghoon doesn’t know what to do with rejection.

so when his teammates start mocking him, his best friend heeseung throws out a bet make you fall in love with him and agree to date him or publicly admit he’s a loser who gets no girls. it’s supposed to be easy.

Step one : get you to talk

Step two : get you to like him

Step three : win

but somewhere between stolen glances on the ice, late night practices, and the rare moments where you do let your guard down sunghoon stops playing the game. because now, he doesn’t just want to win the bet he wants you.

and for the first time in his life, he’s terrified that if you find out the truth, he’ll lose you before he ever really had you.

pairing : he falls first and harder + hidden bet

trope : ice hockey player sunghoon x figureskater f!reader

estimated wc : 25k words

release date : not sure

You’re a sorority of girls who go on tour with the group, taking on multiple hats, making sure every tour stop goes as best as possible. 

You willingly do every beck and call of theirs because you actually like them. They are nice and you want to see them succeed. And even if they’re not being nice (oh the stories you could tell!), you still do everything for them. Like good girls. Like sluts. 

Maybe that’s just what devotion looks like in this business.

Yours started with Hoseok.

Back before you had a name that anyone could recognize, you were just another girl on YouTube flexing dance moves in her tiny apartment. Somehow, he saw one of your clips, a clean cover of Dope, and sent your link to their performance director.

You got the email weeks later, went in for an audition, and the rest is history. 

Then came the rehearsals. The late nights. The endless counts of eight. You were still so broke in those early days that you couldn’t even afford a cab after a late night practice, so you’d wait at the bus stop outside the studio, hoodie soaked through, sneakers squishing from the rain.

One night, Jin pulled up beside the curb and offered you a ride. You remember Yoongi was in the passenger seat. Wordless for the most part, but he blasted the heater so you wouldn't get cold. You thanked Jin profusely as he dropped you off. 

He shrugged and said, “Good thing Yoongi saw you.” 

You still remember the heat sinking back into your bones.

It added up over time. 

Jimin once wrapped your ankle when you landed wrong after some crazy choreo you were trying to hit. Even crazier, Namjoon paid for your eomma’s emergency medical bills, because you were still struggling then. 

You tried to pay him back. He just looked at you, shrugged, and said, “If you really want to, just stay with us. Stay in the team.”

So you do.

The boys noticed you beyond your work. Not all at once, but steadily, gradually, eventually. And maybe that’s all it takes. You’d follow them anywhere after that. From MOTS to PTD Live On Stage to Arirang.

The thing is, some of the Bangtan Tour Sluts do become that over time.

You once overheard a manager say: stupid idols date fans; smart idols date other idols. Or each other.

The boys are fine as fuck. But after living together for years, the latter feels… borderline incestuous. Except for two of them, who you suspected had something non-platonic going on, but you don’t want to speculate further.

You’ve seen some of them try dating other idols too, but it’s chaos. Too many schedules to align, too many eyes watching, security doubling the second they want to meet up even in a different city for a simple fuck.

It’s easier this way. Closer. Quieter.

You don’t even blame them for it. This arrangement. The girls are hot as hell.

There’s Angel from Wardrobe who’s become Taehyung’s emotional support buddy. She’s on-call to dress him and undress him, whenever the situation calls for it.

Jungkook’s got a couple in his roster. Bina from glam and Tiff, also from glam. It could be problematic, sure, but so far they’re having fun.

Somehow, even if you highly considered becoming Seokjin’s… 

You ended up becoming Yoongi’s.

…and it all begins with a very mature game of Spin the Bottle.

You and the rest of the crew had stayed back in the rehearsal studio to celebrate the birthday of Rei, assistant performance director, resident tyrant, and class president of your little dysfunctional sorority.

There’s food, balloons, and too many empty soju bottles. One of which is currently spinning… and lands on you.

“Shit,” you mutter, already reaching for your beer. “Truth.”

A chorus of groans.

“Boring!”

“Ask her something good!”

The birthday girl leans forward, eyes glassy, tipsy as hell. “Aight, gun to your head—which member you gonna fuck?”

You choke on your drink. “No way I’m answering that. Next question.”

“Nah,” Tiff tosses a handful of popcorn at you. “You know the rules.”

You groan, tilting your head back dramatically before swatting the kernels off your lap. “You guys…”

“Wuss!” Bina teases.

“C’mon, you’ve thought about it. Don’t even play,” Rei smirks.

All eyes are on you. The pressure is mounting so high that you almost want to hurl. You take another swig. Rei is right though, as she almost annoyingly always is. You’ve definitely checked the boys out. It’s not even a question of who (singular), because if you’re gonna be honest, you have biblical levels of greed and there’s two in particular you’d let rearrange your guts.

But ugh. You’ll play along. 

Just one name to satiate these hoes.

“Fine,” you huff, wiping your lip with the back of your palm, readying to reveal your answer:

“Kim Seokjin.”

The room erupts.

“OHHHH—”

“I knew it!”

And even if you know you could stop at that, the alcohol kicks your courage into overdrive. 

“I’d let him fuck me raw until the inside of my coochie moulds to the shape of his dick...”**

The rest spills out of you in a half-slurred, disgustingly specific ramble that has the girls screaming and Angel spilling her shot.

You’re laughing, face hot, still high off everyone’s reactions when you feel the heat of someone’s stare.

You glance up and holy shit. It’s the name you withheld.

Feline eyes piercing and lips curling at the corners, oh Yoongi looks hella amused. He’s right there and he heard it all.

Fucking hell. Your life is literally over.

It’s later, much later, when you run into him again.

The hallway outside the bathrooms is quieter, the bass from the dance studio muffled into a distant thrum. Your head is a little light, steps a little uneven, but you’re mostly sober now. Okay, not really.

You push the door open and there he is, almost like he’s been waiting.

Yoongi’s leaning against the wall, one foot propped up, head tilted just enough that his hair falls into his eyes. He looks… loose. Drunk, then. Obviously. Just like everyone else in the party.

His gaze slides over you and that same almost-smile returns. “Seokjinnie-hyung, huh?”

You groan immediately, covering your face. “Oh my god, don’t.”

He huffs out a scratchy laugh and your fist collides against his arm.

He rubs the spot with his palm. “Didn’t know you had that much to say about him.” 

“I didn’t know you were listening,” you shoot back.

“Right place at the right time,” he shrugs.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re enjoying my demise way too much.”

“Am I?” he says, pushing off the wall.

He steps closer. “I mean…” his gaze flicks down, then back up. “You were pretty detailed.”

This close, he smells like warm musk and whisky. It hits you all at once, heat creeping up your neck before you can stop it. You swallow it down, deflecting. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.” He smiles sweetly, pretty teeth and pink gums on show. Then he circles back smoothly to the topic because he is a piece of shit. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

You scoff, folding your arms like that’ll save you. “Oh, there’s a lot of things you don’t know ‘bout me.”

His gaze dips, trailing down the exposed skin where your cardigan has conveniently fallen off your shoulder, towards your breasts hugged by your camisole. His eyes linger just a second too long before dragging back up to your face.

And there it is. He did the thing for you. That thing he does where his tongue presses into his cheek. Fucker.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

Alarm bells are ringing in your head because is Min fuckin’ Yoongi lowkey hitting on you right now?

“Well…” his head tilts, voice dropping just enough to feel it. “Was that just talk?”

He is! Fuck. Why? No, shut up. It doesn’t matter right now. Say something.

You swallow, then tilt your chin up, meeting him head-on as liquid courage pushes you to say the next words. “What?” You shrug, forcing a smirk. “You wanna stand-in for your hyung?”

His lips curve, slow and amused. “Maybe.”

“I… could be open,” you say almost lazily.

And then he moves.

Rough hands find your wrist, tugging you down the hall before you can think too hard about it. You let him and the next thing you know you’re pressed behind his studio door.

Just the two of you.

Too close that you feel the heat emanating from his body.

“Jin’s got a girl,” he murmurs, close enough that you feel his hot breath grazing your cheek.

That makes you pause, because you didn’t know Jin was steady with someone. Else you wouldn’t have said what you said.

 “And y’all won’t fuck nasty like that.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in, just enough that your lips brush his when you speak.

“No?” You lick between his parted mouth, pulling back with a smirk. “And… we would?”

“Like animals.”

And then he cups the back of your neck and crashes his lips into yours.

Monday comes faster than you’d like.

You don’t know what you were expecting from Yoongi exactly. A text, maybe? Something more than the thumbs up he sent after you told him you got home safe. Friday night feels like it happened in a vacuum, sealed off like crime scene evidence the second he booked you that Uber.

You’ve spent the weekend turning it over in your head, wondering if things are supposed to be different now that you’ve had sex. Are you supposed to be different? Is it going to be awkward?

You’re about to find out.

You don’t usually hang around after hours unless there’s a reason.

Tonight, the reason is Jimin, who’d dragged you in with the promise of early access to the new tracks you’d be helping to choreograph. You felt a little strange when you entered the studio and found just two members of Bangtan and one of their producers, who nodded at you casually as you entered.

So here you are, curled up on the couch in the corner of the studio, laptop open but mostly forgotten, as the last bits of a track play through the speakers. You’re too deep in thought to notice the delivery guy come in, but you do notice when Yoongi picks up the coffee tray, wordlessly plucking a cup free and walking it over to you.

He holds it out, no expression, no explanation.

“Hyung,” Jimin calls lazily from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. “Where’s my coffee?”

Yoongi doesn’t even glance up. “Just grab a Coke from the fridge.”

You stifle a laugh as Jimin groans dramatically, dragging himself up to rummage through the mini fridge.

A few minutes later, Yoongi slips out of the room, muttering something about finding Namjoon because he should have joined you all 30 minutes ago.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Jimin flops back down beside you, grinning like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to spill. “That’s him flirting, by the way.”

You blink at him. “What?”

Jimin points at the cup still in your hand. “Hyung doesn’t even order me coffee.”

“Why would he? You’re an annoying lil bitch.”

Jimin playfully slaps the visor of your baseball cap down so that it covers your eyes.

Which works out just fine because as you glance down at the cup again, you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth seeping into your palms. You shake your head, trying to play it off, but the corners of your mouth betray you, tugging up into a smile you can’t quite hide.

You take a sip of your warm drink and pretend it doesn’t taste sweeter somehow.

Namjoon finally walks in ten minutes later, forehead sweaty, hoodie hanging off his shoulder. Yoongi follows behind him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Namjoon says, already reaching for the aux like he owns the place. He knocks over a cup of pens as he does so.

Then, his eyes land on you. “You ate?”

You nod, lifting your coffee, lipstick-stained spout and all.

“That’s not food,” Namjoon shakes his head, dimples deepening, as he reaches for something in his pocket. “This one’s better.”

A tiny Quaker Oats bar, a bit warm from pocket heat, lands on your lap.

“Thank you.”

The crinkle of the granola bar mixes with Jimin’s whines. “Why doesn’t anyone give me food?”

In the weeks that follow, when tour prep shifts into high gear, nothing else really happens—not in the way you thought it might, at least. Yoongi doesn’t seek you out. Doesn’t text. Doesn’t bring up that night, ever. You’re not really suprised, considering…

But you do notice he lingers in small ways. A bottle of water left by your things before you even realize you’re thirsty. A quiet “eat” when the catering after a shoot finally finishes setting up. The occasional glance. Maybe even a tiny smile here and there. You fall into an easy rhythm with him, familiar but not quite the same, and you catch yourself thinking, maybe something did shift. 

Maybe this is just how it starts.

Rehearsals just wrapped up and your heart is reckless with exhaustion.

You’ve never asked anyone out before. Let alone a fuckin’ idol. But you’re young and dumb. Heavy on the dumb, actually. Anyway, you’ve already slept together. And you’re convinced the chemistry is off the charts. So, why not? And it’s just hanging out anyway. It’s not that deep.

You approach Yoongi as he’s wiping off his neck with a white terry cloth, still breathing heavily. It’s probably serendipity, how everyone else has already slipped out of the room, leaving just the two of you.

He lifts his eyes towards you, mouth slightly agape as he gulps oxygen back in.

Ugh. 

Your earlier bravado is slowly evaporating.

This is stupid. So stupid. But wasn’t it him who said if you know you’re going to crash, accelerate harder?

“So there’s this café in Yeonnam,” you say, stopping in front of him as he ties his shoelaces. 

“Apparently, the building it’s in has been standing since the Joseon dynasty. Crazy. Used to be an apothecary or a medical clinic and they restored it so well it looks so legit...”

You’re blabbing. His face is unreadable, but you press on, fumbling toward hope.

“You’re into historical shit… Daechwita vibes, right? Anyway, the place looks pretty cool. If you’re free sometime, we could—”

There’s an audible inhale as Yoongi stands, dusting off his jeans, slow and careful, before he lifts his head towards you.

“Look,” he says, and you already know how this ends just from the weight of that word. You wish the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.

“I’m not really…” he tilts his head, like you should know. Like you shouldn’t even be having this conversation. “You get it, right?”

You force your face into something neutral, something that won’t betray you. Shrug like embarrassment is not a fire razing you from the inside.

“‘S all good.” You smile albeit tightly. You even pat his shoulder as you pass, casual, almost laughing. But inside you’re ash.

“Oh, get that shoulder pop on 2.0 sharper,” you toss on the way out. “I’ll tell Junho to run it with you again tomorrow.”

Behind you, his eyes slant with what you can only tell is pity.

You make it to the hallway before the first tear slips free, quick and traitorous and pathetic, falling soundless onto the worn carpet. 

You’re already a few beats away when you hear it, “Hey Y/N!“ and then frantic steps.

You don’t stop walking. No. No fuckin’ way. You speed up.

He can’t see you like this. 

You round the corner and run straight to the fire exit to extinguish the heat of shame before you’re burned to a crisp.

It’s sort of easy to get back into the normal swing of things, despite everything. You’re not friends. You probably never will be. And that’s okay.

You have your dignity.

You have the girls. 

You have Rei. 

…who proceeded to scream at you when you explained to her why your eyes were bloodshot the day after you made that reckless decision to ask a world-famous idol out.

She had to re-orient you how this goes. The boys are not off-limits per se, but they do have limits. Fuck, it’s not like you forgot, you just thought… it was different. You were different. Or you could be, given your history. You’ve been in the team for years now and you’d like to consider yourself not just a colleague, but maybe even a friend.

Because there was that one time in Hannam when he… fuck. It’s probably irrelevant. Unimportant. You’re just making it a thing.

And you know what, honestly, you’re fine with rejection. You’ve had practice.

Jongho, back in fifth grade, returned the paper heart you gave him because Bora sent him one first. Bigger, more glittery. 

Baekhyun, in college, dumped you for that French exchange student with ginormous tits.

Even recently, word got to Seokjin about your little drunken speech, and he wasted no time reminding you exactly where you’ve always stood—firmly in the friend zone. He has a girl after all.

It was during the Swim choreo shoot. Jin flicked your forehead when he caught you staring too long during break. He was sweaty and his lips were really plump and pink, and…

“Focus,” he said. “I know I’m handsome, but you can’t do that. Next time, I’ll have to charge you.”

You flipped him off. And thank God he laughed like a windshield wiper, otherwise it would just be really unfair.

As always, you survive. You move on. You always do.

But the real problem? Life is dangling you the man of your dreams like a keychain and you can’t seem to catch it.

Yoongi’s haircut. Right before tour.

It’s almost cruel, because Yoongi’s long hair is most revered by society, widely beloved. Tiktoks and shrines were dedicated to that lionesque mane. ARMY yearned for it. Scissors were manifested to disappear within a 5-mile radius from him.

But you? You personally liked cleaner cuts on guys. When you joined the team circa-MOTS, he had that sharp, neat cut that you were very much into. 

To add insult to injury, you’ve always liked Nerds. You consider yourself one, too.

And now Yoongi’s walking around with this new pair of specs—rimless frames, whenever he feels like wrecking your equilibrium. It sits low on his nose when he’s tired or playing League of Legends Chess during breaks or sipping on his coffee in between takes, and it’s…

Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.

Comeback season officially starts and everything else falls away. Days blur into soundchecks and rehearsals, quick meals eaten standing, ears popping from cabin pressure.

There’s no time to think about anything else when you’re moving from the Netflix show in Gwanghwamun to New York for that Spotify event and then back home again. You’re running on three hours of sleep and caffeine, counting formations in your head even when you’re off-work. You don’t have time to breathe, but somehow it’s easier like this.

Once in a while during rehearsals, Yoongi still asks for your input on how to execute a move better. Of course you give it; it’s your job. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when he, famously allergic to eye contact, suddenly makes an effort to meet your gaze.

Honestly, you don’t know why he bothers. He doesn’t owe you anything. No line was crossed without your consent. And whatever that was, it’s not happening again. You almost wish you could just hate him, because that would be easier than this neutral middle ground you’re stranded in.

But you can’t.

Because you see the quiet way he takes care of people, especially Jimin. He shows up, every time, steady and professional and so annoyingly good at what he does. There’s something about that you can’t ignore.

You respect it, because you respect him.

Maybe that’s the worst part. Because he didn’t string you along and didn’t blur the lines more than you let him. You gotta hand it to him, he shut it down clean.

So… you just gotta move on.

Right?

And you… You’ve built this life carefully, piece by piece. You didn’t fight this hard just to get distracted now. So you buckle up. You lock in.

It’s days before the World Tour kicks off and you’re knee-deep in rehearsals. Day in, day out, you’re in the dance studio, double-hatting as a dancer and an assistant choreographer. You’re exhausted–bone-deep, muscle-aching tired, but you’re focused on the grind, on making this show the best fucking tour in history. The boys deserve it. The whole team deserves it. So do you.

You used to rewind dance practice videos frame by frame, pausing just to study the angle of an arm, the timing of a step. Back then, it was just you, your reflection, and the stubborn belief that if you worked hard enough, you could belong in rooms like this. And now you do.

“Let’s start?” Seung Eun calls and everybody hops back into formation. You drop your strawberry lip balm back in your bag.

There’s this sequence in Hooligan.

You and the other dancers crowd Yoongi during his verse, closing in until there’s barely any space left between bodies. It’s choreographed, calculated chaos. You’re meant to get in his face, invade his space just enough to look dangerous, just enough to feel menacing for him. And he’s supposed to hold eye contact, like he’s unbothered. 

For this run, you’re standing in for Kian, who pulled his calf muscle and needed to get iced real quick. Injuries are part of the game, but there’s always a medic on standby to ensure any impact is minimized.

The music starts and your bodies move to the choreography. You slide into position on the last count, stepping into Yoongi’s space. He recites his line.

“Hooligan, like hooligan, ttaeryeo buswo like hooligan…”

You tilt your chin up slightly, eyes on his—ready, steady, professional. But that’s when it shifts.

His gaze doesn’t land where it usually does with the others. It drops to your mouth. 

Anyone else might miss it, but you don’t.

And suddenly you’re hyper-aware of the way you’re breathing, the way your lips part just slightly, the way your body feels a fraction too close to his.

“Sigan dwaesseuni jom bikyeo jom…”

His next line stumbles.

“Ah, fuck—”

The music cuts.

Yoongi lifts a hand, already half-turning away. “My bad.”

There’s a ripple of movement around you as everyone resets, but you’re still standing there as blood rushes up your neck, your cheeks warming before you can stop it.

You glance at him. He glances back.

And then, quieter—almost under his breath—he mumbles to you without meeting your eyes. “That‘s… distracting.”

You gulp.

When the next sequence starts, there’s a faint smudge of red staining the back of your sleeve. You don’t remember doing it. But you do remember how Yoongi doesn’t miss a single beat when Kian steps back in to take your place.

⊙⊝⊜ Goyang, SK, April 2026 ⊙⊝⊜

“Stay safe out there!” Namjoon calls just before the curtains are drawn and the opening beat of Hooligan detonates through the speakers.

The crowd goes wild as the bassline rattles your ribs, syncs with your pulse, turns your body into music before you even think. On cue, you surge forward with the rest of the dancers, breaking through the curtain like a wave, energy ripping out of you in sharp bursts, boots slamming against the stage in perfect unison. 

You’re gripping a red smoke stick, heat blooming in your palm as it spits thick plumes into the air, bleeding color into the stage until everything is drenched in crimson. It curls around your bodies, around the lights slicing down from above like blades, burning the stage with fire without flames.

Man. Goyang hits different.

Maybe it’s because it’s home. Maybe it’s because this is the first real show where everything finally clicks into place—not just in your head, not just in rehearsals, but out here, in front of thousands of people screaming like the world is ending.

The 360 stage feels massive under your feet, lights slicing through the dark in perfect sync, pyro exploding at just the right beat. Every cue lands. Every formation locks. Every transition you’ve drilled into muscle memory finally breathes.

It’s insane and you feel even more insane because you’re in it. On stage, moving with everyone, keeping up, matching energy, feeding off it. The crowd roars and it vibrates through your bones, through your chest, through everything.

As rain pours down from the sky like blessings from above, you feel genuinely alive. Even though you’re damp and drenched and soaked to your very core, there really is no place else you’d rather be.

When you hit backstage after the encore, everyone’s wet, loud, breathless, half-laughing, half-shouting over each other, still riding the high of the first show. You don’t even think; you’re just moving, adrenaline buzzing under your skin as you high five whoever’s in reach, grinning like an idiot.

“Good job!” someone yells.

“You killed it!” another voice.

You barely register who’s who.

Hoseok finds you in the middle of it all and just pulls you into the biggest hug, squeezing tight like he’s just as proud of you as you are of yourself.

“You did so good,” he says, bright and warm and Hobi, and you laugh into his shoulder, still catching your breath. He praises you like you’re the global superstar, not him.

When you pull back, everything’s still squishing about, still loud and electric. 

Namjoon messes up your hair. Jungkook gives you a high five. Yoongi’s across the room, exchanging quick fist bumps with some of the dancers, head dipped, saying something you can’t quite catch. Then he looks up and sees you.

There’s a split-second of indecision. But, you smile. He nods. A tiny one. He looks a little tired. He’s never been one to hide when he’s exhausted, but just like you he’s glowing. Tired, but certainly happy.

And then someone grabs him from the side, pulling him into a quick hug, and the moment’s gone just as easily as it came, replaced by high-pitched screams, and too-tight hugs from your girls.

⊙⊝⊜ Tokyo, JP, April 2026 ⊙⊝⊜

You find Hobi slumped against the wall of the green room, half-hidden behind a rack of wardrobe like he’s trying to make himself smaller than he is.

You’d heard. Everyone had, in that quiet, careful way news like that travels—soft voices, lowered eyes, staff moving around a little more gently than usual.

You hesitate for a second, unsure if it’s your place. When you think about it, Hoseok isn’t just one of them to you. He’s your mentor. The reason you’re even here. The first person who saw something in you and decided it was worth something. And more than that, he’s someone you really care about.

Before you can think yourself out of it, you move closer. He looks up and red-rimmed eyes meet yours. Then, something in his expression breaks the distance you were trying to keep. You’re kneeling in front of him the next second, and he’s leaning into you, folding into your arms like he’s been holding himself together for too long.

His sobs are quiet, restrained, but they shake through him all the same.

You wrap your arms around him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles into his back.

“I’m sorry, Hobi,” you murmur softly. “I know she meant everything to you.”

He lets out a shaky breath against your shoulder, voice breaking. “I hate this. I should be home. I should be there, but I…” his grip tightens slightly. “I fuckin’ can’t.”

Your chest caves at that.

“She knows,” you say gently, pulling back just enough to look at him. “She understands. She’s looking down on you right now, smiling, so proud of you. I promise.”

Hobi looks up at you then and for a second, beneath the stage makeup and styled hair and everything that makes him him to the world, he just looks like a little boy.

Small. Hurt. Lost.

As your heart breaks a little, a soft cough breaks the moment.

You glance over your shoulder. Yoongi stands a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them, like he walked in on something he wasn’t meant to interrupt.

“I—um…” he shifts slightly. “They told me to come get you.” He means Hoseok, but for some reason, his eyes are fixed on you.

“Shit,” Hobi exhales, scrubbing at his face as he pulls away. “Yeah. Yeah, give me a second.”

Hobi stands, walking over to the makeup station, picking up a tissue and carefully blotting at his cheeks, trying to undo what he can.

It feels like your cue to leave. Rei’s probably already looking for you anyway because there’s a hole in the formation.

Hobi disappears into one of the changing rooms, pulling the curtain shut behind him as he gets ready.

You turn to go, but a hand catches your arm.

“Y/N,” Yoongi says quietly, before his fingers lose their grip.

There’s something in Yoongi’s expression that stops you for half a second. You don’t know what it is. But mostly you think, it’s gratitude sitting heavy in his gaze like he doesn’t know all the words for it.

You shrug lightly, because it doesn’t feel like something you should be thanked for. It’s the least you can do for someone who changed the trajectory of your life without ever asking for anything in return.

He just nods, still looking at you. You see his fingers reaching then drawing back.

It’s… a lot. More than you’re used to with him.

So you look away first, swallowing the tightness in your throat before the sting in your eyes turns into something else.

⊙⊝⊜ Tampa, FL, April 2026 ⊙⊝⊜

Being in America is always exciting. Something about stepping onto U.S. soil flips a switch in the boys, like there’s something in the water, or maybe it’s just the distance from home loosening something in their bones.

Tae, for one, fully commits to the bit—gray sweats, tank tops, lewd little ad libs to the choreo. No one questions it. Angel is definitely going through it. Lucky bitch.

Jungkook is on his phone 24/7, liking everything in sight to send any and all users in a frenzy to fuel them until their next life. He also films these borderline menacing TikToks alone in his hotel room at ungodly hours, looking fucked out because well, he probably has done just that.

Jimin wakes up one day and decides he wants to have an even longer ponytail. And suddenly the internet is in shambles, ARMY collectively just losing their shit.

And that’s just the maknaes. 

It’s fascinating to watch all of them, seeing different versions surface depending on where they are, like they’re all just slightly more themselves here. Or maybe just slightly less guarded.

After the last show in Tampa, the members decide to treat the crew to KBBQ at some nearby strip mall. You squeeze into a long table with some of the dancers and a couple of the boys, smoke from the grill curling into your hair, soju flowing a little too easily.

For one reason or another, as people made room for others, and chairs were moved left then right, you somehow end up in front of Yoongi like you just played musical chairs. 

“How’s it going?” you say.

“Not bad. You?”

You shrug, “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

The awkwardness is like a knot that loosens as drinks flow. Then, the easy back-and-forth comes like you do this on a daily basis instead of pretending you don’t think about him at all.

“You’re in a good mood,” you say, watching as he pours you another shot.

“Am I?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “You talk more when you are.”

He huffs softly, like he doesn’t agree but won’t argue it either. He looks pretty like this, barefaced and sleepy. Then you remember something and you decide to be a menace. “Give me a reason to not tattle.”

His brows meet in the middle. Confused. “What do you mean?”

“Oh you know full well.” You mimic a head turn and flail your arms.

Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink. He fumbled the Run choreo. AGAIN.

“I recovered faster this time.”

“Not the point,” you reply pointedly.

“I ate in Day 1.”

“You did,” you nod. “Not the point though.”  

He gives a wary glance over at Hoseok who has half a rib inside his mouth at the moment, when he looks back at you and challenges. “Name your price.”

“RP gift card. Could use some new arena skins.” You smile sweetly, knowing he’s been obsessed with LoL Teamfight Tactics, too. You’ve seen it on his phone.

“Fine.” Yoongi laughs, actually laughs,  because he didn’t expect the response. “We should play sometime.”

And it was your turn to not expect that response.

“Oh, alright. Sure.” You nod, a little flustered even as you recall the nugget you’ve seen from one of his interviews. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Yoongi smiles, so gummy and wide, like he has a praise kink that you just discovered. “Thank you. Diamond is very hard to achieve.” So you let him brag a bit, before you decide to knock him down a peg.

“Trust me, I get it.” You bring the spout of your beer to your mouth and before you take a swig, you quip. “I’m a grandmaster.”

His jaw hits the floor and you almost spit your beer out. “You are not.”

You tilt your head as if to say, try me. He is still waiting. And the smirk disappears from his mouth when swipes of your screen later you show him your profile and your level is as you disclosed.

“Wow.”

“I know. Wow.” You say, smug. “Anyway, do you think you’re gonna get away with it, or is there a fan cam already circulating?”

“You tell me. I don’t watch those things.”

“My phone probably heard us and is about to add it to my algorithm. I’ll let you know.”

“Taehyung-ie threw me off, honestly.” He leans back and exhales deeply.

A giggle slips out of you because you know exactly what he means. “Yeah, no, everyone was just feeling it. Kookie did the dougie to Life Goes On. Namjoon was fucking the air to Butter of all songs. Insane behavior from all of you, actually.”

“I’m innocent.” 

Oho. “You’re not off the hook.” You wag your finger.

“Wae?”

“Baepsae.” You lean your chin on your palm, referring to the Army time surprise song.

“What?” 

“You got real close to a camera and let ‘er rip.”

“Did no such thing,” His lips stretch into that infuriating bracket-like grin. He’s obviously lying.

“Don’t even play. I saw the smile you tried to hide when you turned around, you dog.”

“So you were really watching me, huh?”

“I was monitoring the performances from backstage. As it is my job.” 

“Mhm,” he hums, biting his lip to hide a smile as he shakes his head.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything,” he chuckles, voice a little higher than usual.

“Silence is admission.” You point your chopsticks at him and smirk. “It’s fine. You were just feeling yourself.” 

You thought you were gonna have the last laugh. But as always, Yoongi knows how to render you speechless.

“And if I am,” he tilts his head slightly, eyes straight to yours. “What you gon’ do ‘bout it?” 

You have a comeback. You definitely do. It’s just stuck in your brain traffic, unable to come out.

He pushes his glasses up higher on his nose bridge and the single action almost makes you fall to your knees.

God, you hope he doesn’t notice.

But he does. 

That’s the only explanation for the text that you get while you’re settling in your hotel room that night. 

Rei is on her bed already semi-snoring, her phone still lit up as a TikTok live seller continues to peddle a hyaluronic acid sheet mask bundle. 3+1 event—you’d check it out if you didn’t have a booty call staring back at you.

You check it again. Still not sure if you’re reading the text correctly.

Yoongi: 2004 Yoongi: come over if ur feelin it

So you find yourself on his floor thirty minutes later, the faint scent of your perfume still clinging to your blouse as you walk down the hallway.

Room 2002 has a very loud and dramatic show playing inside. For sure it’s one of the members as they’re typically roomed in the same floor. You just don’t know who.

A few steps over is your destination. Room 2004.

Fuck. You’re doing this. (Again.)

Except… There’s a sound.

No. A moan.

Your knuckles are frozen, inches from the door.

Someone is definitely having a great time in there.

You check the text again, because maybe you got the room wrong. 

The numbers match. And yet, the math is not mathing. If he invited you, then why—

Oh.

Oh shit.

You look at your messages again and realize, all at once, what happened.

Your reply sits there with a red exclamation point. Which only means one thing. It was Unsent.

You:  yeah, i’ll come ❗

Well.

Now?

No, you won’t.

“Fucking shit,” your phone flies out of your hand when you trip on the carpet floor like a complete klutz. You can’t believe you’re risking injury and getting benched for the rest of the tour for this stupid cat man.

“Y/N?”

Noooooooooo

You straighten up immediately, thankful it wasn’t Yoongi’s door that flew open. “Namjoon, hi.” 

“Is this yours?” he bends to pick up your phone, which is resting by his doorway. 

“Yeah, umm. That’s mine.”

He studies you as you take the device from his hand. Your screen is still bright and open and your Kakao app is just there. Ain’t no way he didn’t see who’s on your thread.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m totally fine.” You pocket your device, forcing a light smile. But before you can say anything else, Namjoon is pulling his door wider.

You stay rooted in place, even as your eyes dart inside the plush suite. You realize he is wearing a black tank top and matching pajamas. 

“I got food and a drama. Could use some company,” Namjoon says simply. No malice, no undertone. You’re sure Namjoon has no way of knowing you had a lacy thong underneath, so this is really just a simple invitation to hang out. 

You consider it. At the same time, you think, huh, his dimples are really, really deep. Your reply came easy after that. “I–sure, yeah. I’m down.”

“Cool.” he tilts his head, gesturing you in.

The night settles into something softer in Room 2002, the noise in your brain fading into nothing thanks to room service, wine samplers from the mini bar, and Namjoon’s running commentary over a drama. He’s literally such a yapper. You lean back into the couch, listening to him more than watching the show, letting his voice fill the space instead of your thoughts.

It’s easy hanging with Namjoon. No guessing. No second-guessing. And you don’t realize until now how much you needed Namjoon’s friendship until now, but you’re glad he is offering it.

And maybe more than that, you’re glad he didn’t ask any questions you couldn't answer even if you tried.

The next day, rumors fly that Gwayoung from Digital was bragging about being on the receiving end of that tongue technology.

The same day, you also receive a 50,000 won gift card credited in your mobile game.

You know it’s from the same person. And you know which one you would’ve wanted more.

The tour goes on. It starts off like a high you can’t come down from. New cities, new crowds. You collect moments like souvenirs—late-night convenience store runs, inside jokes backstage, someone filming content here and there, drinking sessions inside someone’s hotel room. There’s always something happening, always someone around. You don’t have to think too much because everything moves too fast. It feels like living ten lives at once, and for a while, it’s enough.

But somewhere along the way, the novelty starts to thin out. The cities blur into one long stretch of airports, hotel hallways, empty highways, and backstage corridors that all feel vaguely the same. You wake up and sometimes it takes a second to remember where you are. Your suitcase never really gets unpacked—just opened, lived out of, closed again. Everyone’s tired in that bone-deep way that makes even laughter feel like effort. You’re surrounded by people all the time, and somehow, it still feels lonely.

You and the girls have a kind of unspoken understanding between all of you now, forged in cramped dressing rooms and shared mirrors, in the quiet rituals of getting ready before a show. Someone’s always borrowing someone else’s lip tint, someone’s fixing a crooked lash, someone’s complaining about a bruise they didn’t notice until they caught it under the harsh vanity lights.

“Why are we like this?” Angel groans one night, poking at a purple mark on her thigh.

“Occupational hazard,” Bina shrugs, already halfway through redoing her eyeliner for the third time.

“Is that the one that you banged on the clothing rack, or, ahem…”

Angel’s face heats. It was Tae. Rough Tae, as per usual.

Rei rolls her eyes. “Alright, we know you’re getting it good. No need to shove it in our faces.”

“You know who I wouldn’t mind shoving something in my face?” Lisa pipes in. She’s one of the newer dancers that joined the US leg.

“Who?” You ask, curious.

“Yoongi. Fuck. He looks so daddy these days. Literally need that.”

Rei shoves a protein bar into your hand, with a stern look to match. “Eat.”

You do, because if you don’t you might say something you’ll regret.

Since that late night hallway encounter several stops ago, you and Namjoon have somehow made hanging out into a thing. It just happens seamlessly. Over meals, passing conversations end up lasting longer than expected. 

Off-handedly, he confides in you that he struggles to sleep. You piece together the rest on your own. Military life has altered his mental state in ways he is still struggling to undo and it’s been tough, but at least he’s a work in progress. 

As far as you know, he’s the only member who doesn’t really… distract himself the way the others do on tour. Nobody waiting for a quick one backstage, no regular to help release all that adrenaline after long shows.

So instead, he watches dramas. It’s funny, really. But you guess, it works for him. He really likes those cheesy lovey dovey ones or those about heartache. Tells you it’s the closest he can feel something real and he lets them play until he passes out.

He invites you to join him sometimes.

At first, you’re suspicious. You wouldn’t have blamed him (or minded, to be honest) if there were other intentions. Everyone has needs, after all. And honestly, you would have been flattered to be considered by a catch like him. But after the third or fourth time of bingeing on drama and food, it becomes clear that he doesn’t want you like that. And you have to admit—he’s a fun time. So it’s cool.

When you hang out, he tells you about the books he’s reading, summarizing them in a way that makes you want to pick them up yourself. You tell him about choreography ideas, about how certain movements sit in your body, about how you think music should look when it’s danced.

“You think in shapes,” he says once, mimicking the way your hands move as you explain.

“You think in paragraphs,” you shoot back.

He laughs at that, dimples deep, eyes soft. “True.”

“Long-ass paragraphs, actually. Mr. Yapper.”

Sometimes, when the days feel too long and the nights stretch a little too quiet, you find yourself standing outside his door without really remembering how you got there.

No matter, Namjoon always lets you in.

⊙⊝⊜ Las Vegas, NV, May 2026 ⊙⊝⊜

One night, you get a message from Hobi inviting you for drinks. You haven’t hung out with him in a while, so it was a no-brainer when you said yes. You don’t go out every night at every tour stop, but you made an exception this time.

You put on something cute. Not to impress Hobi particularly, but because you know he always dresses well, and you will not be caught dead looking shabby beside him. Lips a little glossy and cheeks a little rosy, you make your way to the hotel bar, heels clicking against the marble. 

But instead of Hobi, you find someone else instead.

“Hey.”

“You stalkin’ me?” Yoongi smirks at his lowball.

“Yup, this is exactly what this is. Call Mr. Lee,” You deadpan, sitting on the bar stool beside him. “Where’s Hob-ah?”

He shrugs. “Not his keeper.”

“Is there another hotel bar?” You ask the bartender who was polishing off a wine glass.

“Yes, miss. There's another on the 31st.”

Realizing you might’ve gotten the venue wrong, you grab your clutch and start to slide off the stool. “I guess I’ll—”

“Stay.” 

He says it so quietly, almost like he was hoping you don’t hear it.

You pause.

When you look at him, he’s not even looking at you—just staring into his drink like there’s something at the bottom of it worth pondering. You know you should leave, but you don’t.

“You look… a little worse for wear,” you say as you settle back into your seat.

“You can say I look like shit.”

You glance at him, then nod once. “Okay. You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

A beat.

“Everything okay?”

He shrugs. Noncommittal. Dismissive. Yoongi core.

You signal the bartender for a drink, letting the noise of the bar fill the space between you for a while as you wait for your cocktail.

It’s him who breaks first.

He slides a bowl of roasted edamame toward you, like a peace offering he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“I dunno,” he mutters, more to the glass than to you.

You wait.

He exhales, long and slow, the amber liquid in his glass rippling with the movement.

“I keep listening to the album and it all just…” He trails off, jaw tightening. “Trash.”

You blink, shock evident in your face. “What do you mean?”

“Like I should’ve done it differently.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Every track. Every arrangement. Feels like I missed out on changing something obvious.”

“That’s just—”

“I know,” he cuts in, already shaking his head. “I know it’s not real. I know it’s just…” He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “Fatigue. Whatever.”

But it doesn’t sound like he believes that.

“I can’t turn it off,” he adds, quieter now. “Even when I see how fans enjoy the songs, the doubt just eats at me.”

There’s something raw in that. Something he doesn’t usually let slip. You watch him for a second, really look at him. And it pulls something up from the back of your mind:

Hannam-dong.

A random weeknight. You’d gone out alone, too proud to call anyone after your ex ended things over something stupid that somehow still shattered you. You were busy ugly-crying over your gin until someone slid into the seat beside you.

Him. Yoongi.

“What are you doing here, Yoongi?”

He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You looked like you needed someone.”

“You heard me crying from across the room?”

“It was a bit loud, yeah.”

Your face crumples again and you let out a broken sound, covering your eyes. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing…”

“It’s fine,” he says, voice low, even. “No one’s looking.”

You sniff again. “I look disgusting.”

“You look like you’re crying.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not.” He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you.

You let out a weak huff, somewhere between a laugh and another sob, before taking it.

He didn’t ask questions or make it a big thing. Just sat there with his black face mask, providing you with the comfort of company. He let you talk when you wanted. Let you cry when you couldn’t stop. 

At some point, you’d leaned into him without thinking, and he’d just let you. Steady. Warm. He rubbed your back as you wrapped your arms around in his slight torso, sobbing slightly against his tee.

“Yoongi. Why are men pigs?” you sniff.

“I dunno. I’m a cat.” He shrugs. “...apparently.”

That makes you laugh, all wet and snotty. But it makes all the difference to lighten your mood.

“Look. I don’t know who the guy is. But I know he’s an idiot.”

“He is,” You nod immediately. “… but I am, too.”

A pause, before he chides. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I just…” You trail off lifting your head from his shoulder and looking up at the track lights hanging from the bar. “I just really love love, you know?”

He doesn’t interrupt.

“I like the idea of it,” you continue, words coming slower now, more honest. “Falling for someone. Growing with them. Having… I dunno, fuck…” you laugh weakly, shaking your head. “Someone to hold your hand ‘til it’s all sweaty and gross, like… I love that shit.”

It sounds stupid out loud.

“So even if I knew he wasn’t it, I tried to hold on. Because I’m scared of being alone. And I’m scared I won’t find someone who’d want me again.”

Jeez, that was a lot to unpack. You expect him to say something dry. He’s good at that.

No words come.

Instead, his fingers brush against yours where your hand rests on the bartop.

You glance down.

He’s not looking at you. Just placing his palm on the back of yours, before turning it over. And slowly, his hand closes around yours, fingers interlacing between each digit.

You’re staring at your conjoined hands and then his stoic face. He doesn’t look back, but he squeezes your hand tighter as if to say: I’m here. Not forever. But at least you’re not alone for now.

And that was enough. That night, you had someone to hold your hand til it was all sweaty and gross. You swallow, something tight in your chest easing just a little.

He walks you out after, hands still clasped. Makes sure you get into a cab. Waits until the door shuts before stepping back. Your hand feels cold without the feel of his when the car drives off.

But after that… nothing. He never brought it up again. Neither did you. Life got complicated. You don’t know what happened during his enlistment. So now you both just act like it didn’t happen.

If you will be honest, you still think about Hannam-dong sometimes. More than you will ever admit.

You’re reminded of it every time you see that random quote hanging on your foyer.

“The most romantic thing in the world is being understood. It’s even deeper than love.”

Things with Yoongi never really took off. But you will always have Hannam-dong.

Yoongi looks at you now, the same way you looked at him then, a little lost, a little broken, trying to stay strong. So you don’t make it a big thing either. You just reach for an edamame, pop it into your mouth, pull the peel, and shrug lightly as you mash the beans with your teeth.

“Sounds like your brain needs to shut the fuck up for a bit.”

He huffs, something almost like a laugh slipping out. “Yeah,” he mutters. “If only.”

“For what it’s worth, Album of the year, in my opinion.”

Yoongi can’t stop his lips from curling.

Satisfied, you call for the server. “Let’s eat something first. Then we solve your existential crisis.”

He glances at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’m the best, right?”

He gives you a thumbs up. “Kkaepjjang.”

Ass.

You order food, which comes out quicker than expected, but what you really wanted to do to distract him comes in the form of a mobile game.

“You still play?” you ask, showing the app now loading in your phone.

Face instantly lighting up, he unlocks his phone and presses the same app sitting on the home screen. “One game.”

You grin. “Double Up?”

A small nod.

“Don’t drag me down,” he mutters as the queue pops.

“Tsss,” you shoot back. “I’ll carry.”

He huffs, but there’s no bite to it.

You fall into rhythm without needing to talk much—checking in here and there, nudging each other when it matters, covering where the other slips. Just quiet coordination, the kind that only happens when both people know what they’re doing.

At some point, you lose a round you shouldn’t have. You fumble a turn.

“I got you,” he says, and he does.

By the time the game ends—with a win you barely scrape—you’re both facing each other, knees touching, smiles plastered on your faces.

“Not bad,” you murmur, setting your phone down. “You did well.”

“But I always do well?” he replies.

You push him lightly. “Take a humble W for once.”

“No, cause I can’t remember ever doing poorly…”

“Oh my gooood, I’m tired of you.” You roll your eyes, attempting to swivel away from him, but his knees stop you.

He glances at you, something softer flickering through his expression. You look away first, because what’s with the face? You reach for your drink, swirling what’s left and sip.

“Thanks,” he says, and why are his fingers drumming on your knee? It’s kind of distracting, actually.

“Are you feeling a little better now?” You reply, forcing a neutral expression.

He pauses, exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I just got tired of my own head.”

And maybe it’s the fact that you’re sipping the final dredges of your margarita that the next words carelessly tumble out.  “Maybe you just need good head.”

The dining area is still loud around you, but somehow, between you and him, it has become z-z-z. His fingers cease tapping against your skin.

Panicking, you blab. “Just text Gwayoung. Or Haein… I’m sure they’re available. You don’t have to look too far, you know.”

His eyes bear a weight you didn’t anticipate. 

“I’m not,” he says quietly.

And the way he’s looking at you makes it very clear he’s not looking far at all. He doesn’t need to.

You don’t remember deciding to leave or how he even paid. Just the deja vu of how his hand found your wrist and the way you let it. Of how a door opens and then your back is firmly against it.

The next thing you feel is Yoongi’s soft lips sliding against your own. 

His hand drifts up the side of your neck, fingers settling at the base like he’s keeping you right where he wants you, and it does something weird to your breathing—shortens it, stutters it—without needing to press.

The strap of your dress sags against your shoulder, but you make no move to fix it.

Your fingers find his hair instead, threading through the longer strands at the nape. It’s softer than you remember, just enough length to catch between your fingers, and when you tug, he groans against your mouth, the sound going straight to your center.

Total brain fog. 

Your heartbeat, faint but present, is somehow the one that warns you about the risks. Because you’ve been in this situation before with Yoongi. You’ve been vulnerable in Hannam, and in his studio, and in the rehearsal space, and in room 2004. There’s a host of reasons why you should run away.

But it’s only taking one slow, smooth swipe of his tongue against the roof of your mouth for you to run in. 

Your mouths part at the same time, an accidental knock of teeth, before he catches your lower lip between his and sucks softly, almost sweetly.

God. Yoongi makes your head swim.

And all this kissing is making you feel like there’s something more, when there is none. You’d do well to remind yourself of that.

By some miracle you find the strength to pull away.

“Yoongi, if we’re doing this, just…” you place your palm gently against his chest, pushing him back. “Don’t confuse me.”

Yoongi frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I know what this is,” you say, still a little breathless. “And I’m down, but I just… let’s not…”

The words stall out, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold onto them. You inhale sharply, trying to piece together something that makes sense, something that doesn’t sound as messy as it feels in your head.

Because if you’re being honest—really honest—you’re already in deeper than you should be.

You never quite bounced back from his rejections. It lingers, quieter now, but still there, still tender in places you don’t like to acknowledge. And that’s not something you can tell him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Not when he’s this close. Not when his lips are a soft, distracting pink. Not when he’s looking at you like this—like, for once, all of his attention is yours.

So you decide on something, albeit hastily. You shift your weight, looking him dead in the eye. “You can’t kiss me.”

He studies you curiously, too amused for your liking. His eyes are transfixed on your mouth, observing how they’re still shiny from his own spit. “Too late for that, don’t you think?”

“No, you can’t do it again. Not anymore.”

If he is confused, he doesn’t let it show. He scratches his nape. “Just your mouth, right? Anywhere else is fair game?”

His eyes dip, trailing your body like he’s already mentally undressing you. You feel heat building beneath your skin.

“Yes.”

“Sweet.” His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, dragging lightly across your lower lip to wipe away the trail he left behind. Then he turns, moving further into his hotel room, dropping the keycard into an empty fruit bowl. “Anything else?”

You follow him in, dragging your feet on the plush carpet, still deep in thought.

You exhale through your nose, trying to keep your tone even. “Don’t make me sign an NDA.”

“No need, your current NDA’s already airtight.”

That—

You blink, thrown for half a second. The reminder lands colder than you expected, like a bucket of reality dumped over something that was just starting to feel… not real.

“Right.” You nod slowly, arms tightening across your chest. “Way to make a girl feel special, Yoongi.”

“Legal contracts don’t turn you on?” Yoongi drops to the couch.

“Not particularly. My dad’s a lawyer.”

He makes a face.

You snort. “What? Talking about my old hairy lawyer dad doesn’t turn you on?”

“Pass.”

That gets a real laugh out of you, the tension cracking just enough to breathe again.

He watches you when you do, like he’s taking note of something. Almost like he’s fascinated with you.

Then his head tilts slightly, a small gesture, almost nothing. “C’mere.”

You hesitate for half a second, but step forward anyway, closing the distance until you’re right in front of him, standing between his parted legs as he looks up at you.

His hand finds your wrist first, then your waist, guiding you down like it’s nothing. You end up on his lap, breath catching just a little as his hand slides under your dress, resting on your upper thigh.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, eyes dragging over your face, slower this time. “What does?”

The question sinks somewhere low, coiling tight, as he squeezes your soft flesh, so close to where you need him.

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already leaning in.

His lips brush your collarbone first, not really doing anything but press his mouth against your skin. It’s almost absent-minded, the way he does it, like he can ask a question and distract you at the same time.

You inhale sharply.

His mouth drifts lower, grazing the hollow between your chest, and your thoughts start slipping, unraveling faster than you can catch them.

“Yoongi…”

He hums against your skin, like he heard you, but doesn’t want to stop. Frankly you don’t want him to when you feel his lips latch on the top of your breast and your brain goes foggy, words dissolving before they can form.

And that’s exactly why you…

“Wait.” You feel the solidness of him under your palms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, as you lean back.

He stills, mouth swollen.

“Mm?” he hums, lifting his head but not moving far, like he’s willing to wait—but only just.

“Don’t you have your own rules?”

There’s a brief flicker of something, before his expression smooths back out.

He blinks once and huffs. “Don’t leave me on read.”

You almost react. Almost say something about that night, about the message that never sent, about the door you stood in front of, and the sounds that destroyed you before his friend picked up the pieces of you that shattered in front of room 2004.

But you swallow it down. He doesn’t need to know.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

You study him for a second longer, like you’re trying to find something deeper and coming up short.

“Okay.”

A beat.

It’s decided.

“So,” he says, voice lower, like it’s already done. “Are we gonna do this, or—”

“Fuck me, Yoongi.”

His mouth curves, just slightly one corner. “Gladly.”

Part 2

A/N: .....hi? :)

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