카라멜 쿱스야또 Recs

“She clearly said no. Multiple times.” The deep voice booms from behind you, and it feels hauntingly familiar. Your entire body freezes, and you cannot bring yourself to turn around, petrified of the face that awaits you.

You are suddenly more terrified of a mere voice than a drunk stranger forcing you to go home with him. It’s because this voice comes with so many memories; memories that haunt you every day, and you shove them down only for them to spring back up when you are alone in your bed at night. 

The man comes to stand next to you, peering at your face in the low lights of the bar. “Are you okay?”

You had a couple of drinks, so in the back of your mind, you were praying that your tipsiness had you mistaken. That hope is crushed when you look up at him, your eyes locking with his. The man’s face changes, recognition setting in, and almost instinctively, he takes a step back.

“Seungcheol.” You whisper, uttering the name you have not dared to whisper in almost five years.

— 

5 YEARS AGO

“I think that it is best that we break up.” You announce, your voice louder than usual, so that he can hear you through the pouring rain. Your boyfriend stands in front of you, soaked to his bones, and it takes all of your self-control not to extend the umbrella over his head and usher him inside your shabby little dorm.

No, you need to be cruel tonight.

“I don’t understand,” he pleads, his eyes frantically searching for yours. “What did I do wrong?”

You love me. You love me too much, Seungcheol.

“I don’t like you anymore. You are so...burdensome.” You hiss, trying your level best to keep your voice steady. “You know I am going abroad to get my degree. This won’t work anyway.” You grip the handle of the umbrella tightly with both hands, directing all your energy at the flimsy plastic.

“You are joking, right?” He whispers, but you hear him. You vividly see the desperation in his eyes despite the darkness of the night, and you wish he knew how much worse you feel.

Gathering all your resolve, you take a step back. “Delete my number, Seungcheol. Don’t contact me again. I thought I owed you this much. Goodbye.”

You don’t stop, you don’t look back. You don’t know how he looked as he watched you leave, and you are thankful for that. You could not bear to see him in any more pain. More than that, you are glad he cannot see you, your crumbling facade as big droplets of tears rolled down your cheeks.

— 

The bouncer escorts the drunk creep away after Mingyu, Seungcheol’s friend—once upon a time, your friend too—explained the situation.

You and Seungcheol are yet to speak to each other, quietly watching the yelling man get escorted outside.

You should leave. 

Your feet are frozen, however, and you are not sure what the best way is to get out of here. Should you just run outside and not look back? Or should you strike up a conversation before leaving?

“Well, look who it is.” Seungcheol decides to speak finally. With every passing second, his lips curve into something sharper than a smile, his eyes laced with venom and delight.

Yeah, this is not going to end well. Then again, what did you expect?

“Hi.” You whisper, looking away. The less you speak, the better.

Seconds pass. He keeps staring at you like a hawk before bursting into a belly laugh of mockery. “Really? Hi? That’s all you have to say after so many years?”

“I think I should leave.” You state, your voice firmer. Avoiding his eyes, you step past him to get your purse from the stool, ready to dash for the door. 

“You haven’t changed, have you?” He asks, his voice deep and grave, stopping you in your tracks. “Always the coward. Running away. Go on, run away, little sheep. That's the only thing you can do.”

You turn your head to look at him. His eyes flash with hatred and mischief, his cruel smirk turning into a nasty, predatory grin, laced with tipsiness as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

He is drunk. He is picking a fight with you. You need to leave.

Mingyu comes at his side, making sure he does not lose his balance. His friend’s eyes meet yours, apologetic, nonverbally telling you to just leave for the better. You turn away with determined steps.

“For fucks sake!” His voice booms, garnering attention from others. You are once again forced to look at him. His droopy stature and the haziness in his eyes tell you he is drunk, and you know drunk Seungcheol very well. That is when he becomes his most stubborn self.

“The least you can do is thank me!” He yells, his body leaning forward as Mingyu struggles to stabilize him. “Hyung, please.” He whispers, getting him to stand upright. From somewhere, a woman comes rushing, immediately putting her hands on Seungcheol to check on him. Blond hair, tall, thin, and pretty—you get the message.

With one last look at Seungcheol, you walk out of the bar. 

— 

On Monday morning, your supervisor, Daisy, steps into the office a little late, but she has that smile plastered on her face that tells you good news awaits. 

Looks like she has finally secured the deal.

Last week, she announced that the company has a chance of taking on a very big client, and judging by the look on her face right now, you can tell that the client is secured. On any other day, you would be brimming with excitement to know who this VIP client is finally, but after the happenings of Saturday night, a perpetual gloom has overtaken you.

You should not have gone for a drink that night.

The memories of Seungcheol still linger, stitched to your skin and carved in your mind, leaving you restless ever since. One thought leads to another, and before you know it, your mind is occupied by the thought of him only. It is a vicious cycle.

It is not fair. Why did you have to bump into him out of all the people in the world? And why did it have to be a bar thousands of miles away from home? What was he even doing there? Should he not be back home in Seoul? He has a business to run after all.

From beside you, Seungkwan, your co-worker pipes up, “What has got you smiling like that this morning, boss?”

Daisy laughs. “Our client is on the way, folks. Meeting room in five minutes.” She points at you, Seungkwan, and Yoona. “You three are on the team with me.”

“I see you are still keeping the suspense.” Yoona pouts. 

“You bet,” she winks, sitting down at her desk. You smile, watching your coworker’s reaction as you gather your notebook, pens and other necessary documents before heading to the meeting room.

As Seungkwan sets up the projector, Daisy takes a seat opposite you on the meeting table, keeping the head chair empty.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asks, setting down her tablet, her gaze narrowed at you. “Normally, you would be the most enthusiastic. Is everything okay?”

You sit up straighter and clear your throat. “Yeah…I just did not have a good night’s sleep.” You reply. She does not seem convinced, but decides not to push you further.

Five minutes later, Choi Seungcheol walks into the meeting room.

—

The project is a market expansion campaign.

Choi Industries is now looking to enter the European market, and to get the job done, it seems they found your marketing firm to be the perfect ally. This is your worst nightmare—no, something worse than your worst nightmare. What cruel ploy of fate would lead to this, you and he working together in a foreign land?

The meeting is tedious and painfully slow.

You do your best not to make eye contact with Seungcheol or even look in his direction. Of course, that does not mean you do not feel his eyes on you, and you know for a fact he is plotting ways to get to you. The first blow comes as the meeting rolls to an end. Seungcheol directs the words towards Daisy. “Did you know that Miss ___ and I went to the same high school?”

“Really?” Your boss regards you with surprise. Suddenly, all the eyes in the room are on you. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, your pleading gaze directed at Seungcheol. He continues, “We were really close friends. Really close.”

You feel faint. Under your breath, you mumble, “Not that close, really.”

Daisy is happy. “Well, that makes this project much more fun. I’m sure we will all work together well and make this a successful campaign!”

Seungkwan and Yoona nod, sharing their agreement, while you sit with your head low, praying that this is all just a very, very bad dream. Your boss calls your name, prompting you to snap your head up. “I have another meeting now. Why don’t you see Seungcheol to his car?”

What?

“Me?” You blink, terrified. Your eyes meet his for a brief second, and judging by the look in them, you know he was waiting for an opportunity like this. An opportunity to devour you whole and spit out the bones.

“Yes, you,” Daisy repeats. With a hard swallow, you nod, quietly trailing behind Seungcheol towards the VIP elevator. The moment the doors close and the metal box starts descending, you feel your stomach drop.

He turns to look at you, eyes shining dangerously. “What a coincidence, huh?”

You stand mute, pressed against the elevator wall, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. 

“This is going to be so much fun,” he hums, a smirk taking over his lips as he steps closer to you. Slowly. One step after the other. The air thins, and your nostrils fill up with the smell of his cologne. It seems faintly familiar, a mixture of bergamot and citrus. It is distracting and alluring. It becomes increasingly difficult to find your words and then—

A hand snakes around your waist, pulling you tight against his body. Then, his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is brutal. It almost feels like a punishment, hard and merciless, but also addictive. His body pressed against yours, his hands in your hair as he devours your mouth like it is his last meal. You give in to the desire, meeting his tongue with yours, equally wanton until your brain finally snaps back to reality, and the logical part of your brain starts to go back online. With a harsh grip on his chest, you push him away, panting for air. “Shit. We…we should not have done that. You—you have a girlfriend.”

You cringe at yourself. Really, that's the first reason you give?

Seungcheol’s thick brows knot into confusion. “I saw the woman that day in the bar. The blonde,” You wipe your lips as you explain. Yep, your lipstick is smudged, and you probably look like a clown. 

Seungcheol smirks. “Look at you all worried. She’s a fling. I don’t do girlfriends. Not after what you did to me.” The look in his eyes shifts, and you have to take in a deep, shuddering breath to find your voice back. “Anyway, we are working together now, and that—that was highly unprofessional.”

“Don’t look at me like that.. Like it was only me.” He licks his lips, taking a step closer to you. “You were practically eating me up like a touch-starved whore.” His eyes darken as his lips form a flat, thin line. “It was a one-time thing. Don’t expect that to happen again.”

The elevator doors open with a soft ding, and he marches away without wasting another breath, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded. You stand rooted in your place, infuriated at his audacity but the sear of his kiss leaves behind a maddening tingle on your lips.

— 

As the week goes by, the project starts to take its baby steps, and you are thankful that Seungcheol does not drop by again. His secretary shows up throughout the week for updates and monitoring, letting you work in peace with your colleagues. 

You cannot imagine seeing him again after kissing him in the elevator. And the audacity of that man! Telling you not to expect it again, as if he did not initiate the kiss, and acting like you were begging him for it!

Ultimately, that kiss has earned Seungcheol a permanent space in your head; thoughts of him following you around all day and all night like a shadow. You find yourself zoned out or daydreaming, every now and then, during lunch or a tea break, earning suspicious looks from your coworkers.

The more excuses you give, the more suspicious they get. You have worked with them for a while, and they know something is up with you. Thankfully, none of them has figured anything out yet. But the way Seungcheol has been behaving, you doubt it will take them long to connect the dots.

—

On Friday, you are the last one to leave the office. As you pack up your belongings, ready to get home, Daisy calls you.

“Hey, I just received your mail for the moodboard. It looks great. I think we can go ahead with it.”

“Lovely,” you stifle a yawn as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Are you still in the office? Seungkwan said you would be working late.”

“Yes…why?”

“Please do me a favour and get a copy to Seungcheol right away. Get his approval tonight so that we can get started from next week,” Daisy announces. You still, your fingers tightening around your phone. 

“Wait, why do we need his approval?”

“Come on, ___. You have seen how sensitive he is. He has a reputation for being nitpicky; it runs in the family. I’m sure he won’t say no. It’s just a formality. I know it’s late, but he lives nearby. I will give you the address. I would have done it myself, but I am an hour away.”

A dejected sigh escapes your lips as you pinch the bridge of your nose, dreading approaching Seungcheol with the storyboard. “I don’t think I can do this.” You whisper to yourself. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Daisy asks from the other end. “Normally, you are so confident in your work, ___. What's going on?"

“I guess I am just tired.”

“You can have a nice, long break after this project,” she assures.

“Right. Thanks.” You mumble.

— 

It is almost 9 in the evening when you reach the mansion that Seungcheol is staying at. You don’t know if it is his family property or if he is renting it, but either way, it screams luxury. A butler receives you at the front door, guiding you down the long, warmly lit and polished corridor, tints of gold, brown and cream surrounding the space. 

You are led to a small living area next to a library, and as you step in, you find Seungcheol bent over the pool table, his eyes razor sharp as he takes a shot. Next to him stands Mingyu with a cue stick in one hand and a glass of whiskey in another. As the balls scatter across the table, he sighs, “Looks like you are winning this one, Choi.”

Seungcheol smirks, reaching for his own glass of whiskey, gulping it down all at once. You are frozen in your spot, your eyes transfixed on the uninterrupted view of his flexing biceps thanks to the tank top he is wearing. 

Suddenly, your throat is dry and you have forgotten what you came here for. Damn it, you should have taken the butler’s offer of having something to drink.

Mingyu is the first one to spot you, snapping you back to reality. “___?” He calls, his voice somewhat confused.

“Hi,” you give him an awkward smile as Seungcheol turns around. His face falls, a frown forming in his brows as his eyes land on you. You continue, worried that you would stumble over your words, “I needed Seungcheol’s approval for the ad storyboard.”

“Great. You guys chat. I’ll get you something to drink. What do you want?”

The strongest of whiskey would not be enough right now. “Tea would be lovely,” you smile at him. With a nod, the taller man steps away, leaving you and Seungcheol alone in the room. Instantly, the place is shrouded with a thick blanket of tension, eerily quiet and suffocating.

Seungcheol gazes at you for a few seconds before going back to his game, ignoring you like you are not standing right there. “I’m busy,” he announces.

Oh god.

“I understand. It’ll only take five minutes.”

He rolls his eyes with a huff, marches over to you to snatch the file out of your hands and roughly flips the pages. Not even ten seconds later, he tosses the file on the coffee table and resumes his game. “Yeah, this won’t work.”

He has to be kidding right now.

“Seungcheol, please. The least you can do is be a tad bit serious about this. It is for your company.” You plead, unamusedly watching him focus on aiming at the cue ball on the pool table. He takes the shot and, after a satisfied hum, says, “I know. And I am very serious about this. Which is why I am telling you, it needs to be redone.”

“No, it does not, Seungcheol. You did not even take a good look at it.”

“Or maybe you are not that good at your job as you think you are.” He hums casually. “I’m sure it is a hard pill for you to swallow, since you are so used to being the best since high school. Best student, best debater—oh, I heard you won the employee of the month last month. Congratulations for that, by the way, but it looks like the same won’t happen this month.”

His words burn. They are like ice picks on your skin and you know he knows. He is deliberately hitting you where it hurts.

You never had much in life. Your academic accomplishments have been your everything, and you have carried that dedicated, hardworking mindset to your workplace. So far, the response has been good, and more than that, you don’t need anyone to tell you how good you are at your job.

You know you are.

“You are being unprofessional, you know?” You decide to be civil, placing the files on the nearby coffee table. “You’re bringing up old things that are not related to this project. I’m afraid I need to remind you to keep your personal and professional life separate.”

His body freezes. You see his jaws clench as he stares at a fixed spot on the wall for a few beats. Then, a moment later, he is standing right in front of you with the pool stick in his hand, his burning gaze set on your face.

He is so close you can smell his cologne, and instinctively you take a step back, only for him to take a step closer. “Listen to me very carefully, ___. I fucking loathe you. I cannot look at you—hell, think about you for a second without remembering what you did to me. So I don’t care if I am being unprofessional right now. In fact, I want to be. When I saw you at the meeting on the first day, you know what the first thought I had was?”

You look away, your heart racing in your chest. It is too much—his proximity, his words, his gaze. Your mind starts short-circuiting, and the air feels too thick to breathe.

“Look at me.” He hisses. “I wanted to kick you out of the team right away. I wanted to make a scene and announce that I would not work with your company if you were on the team. But then, you know what I realized? Keeping you on the team would be so much more fun. I could ruin your life bit by bit and see you suffer.”

Tears of infuriation brim in your eyes. 

“Remember how you called me a burden?” he whispers, chuckling menacingly. “I will show you how burdensome I can really be. News flash, ___. I am your client now, not your stupid boyfriend, and you have no choice but to do as I say.”

Dropping the cue stick on the ground with a loud thud that makes you jolt, Seungcheol walks past you. You clutch your chest with one hand, trying to breathe in large gulps of air. It takes a moment for you to notice Mingyu standing at the doorway with a cup of tea in his hand, looking helpless and apologetic.

Blinking back the tears, you force a smile at him. “I will get going now.” Your hands reach for the files on the coffee table, your fingers numb and shaky.

In silence, you head for the front door. 

—

In the end, your proposal gets the green light after Daisy approaches Seungcheol the next day. After some minor changes, you get to work with Seungkwan and Yoona, thankful that you don’t have to deal with Seungcheol again.

Later that week, you have a private chat with Daisy, informing her that you and Seungcheol parted in not-so-amicable terms after high school. You try to share as little information as possible, and thankfully, she understands your predicament. She assures that you won’t have to deal with him directly from now on, and you breathe a sigh of relief. That's the end of that.

The month rolls by. The project continues to take shape. You see Seungcheol very few times, and whenever you do, your interaction stays limited to curt greetings and professional politeness. Over time, you have gotten very good at pretending that he does not affect you. Putting the mask on has been easy, and when you are in the office, busy with the project and seeing your work come to life first-hand, your past with him almost seems insignificant. 

Because it is the past. You don’t have the luxury to let yourself slip while thinking about the good old days. Seungcheol can do that, but not you. Surviving in a foreign country by yourself has been a challenge, and thankfully, you have managed to remind yourself what truly matters.

Seungcheol will leave once the project is over. You will go back to your life and he to his. That's how it has to be.

— 

Seungcheol is treating everyone to dinner tonight, as a celebration for the successful wrap-up of the campaign. You, Daisy, Seungkwan, and Yoona from your firm and Seungcheol’s secretary, and two other employees from his end. At first, you did not want to join them, but when you heard that it is one of the finest restaurants in town with a stellar menu, paid for with his black card, you decided not to go would be a huge loss. After all, you have been working like a dog for this project behind the scenes, with barely any recognition, and this is a perfect opportunity to drain his card, though you doubt it would leave barely a dent in his wealth.

At the long, rectangular dinner table, you make sure to sit as far away from Seungcheol as possible, right at the end, while Daisy and his employees occupy the seats near him. Despite your insistence against it, Seungkwan sits next to you.

“It’s more comfortable here.” He says. “I am not in the mood for socializing. It’s bad enough that we have to pamper his ass all week and now, we have to eat dinner with him.” He grumbles under his breath, making you laugh. “Well, at least he’s paying for the meal.” You reply, taking a sip of water.

“The only reason I am here, can’t say no to a free fancy meal.” Seungkwan huffs. You have come to confide in Seungkwan over the past couple of months. Little by little, you shared your colourful history with him, and he has developed a dislike for Seungcheol as well. 

It is fun to have people to gossip with.

Dinner starts smoothly. Despite having some worries on the back of your mind that Seungcheol would strike up a conversation with you and make not-so-subtle remarks on your performance, he leaves you alone. You enjoy your dinner, chatting with Seungkwan about work and future plans, Yoona casually joining your discussion every now and then. 

Just before dessert, you get a call and excuse yourself from the table, heading towards the ladies' room with your phone pressed to your ear. The male and the female washrooms sit along the same corridor, and right when you are about to turn left, you see Seungcheol emerge from the men’s room. 

Right, he was not at the table when you left.

His eyes lock with yours and your steps falter, slowing down to a stop in front of the door as you hang up the call. The gears in your head start shifting, debating on whether to acknowledge him or go your way.

“Was the food to your liking, Junior Assistant ___?” He addresses you by your title, the sarcasm potent in his tone.

His eyes darken immediately, flashing with venom. “Don’t piss me off, ___.”

He just cannot help himself from picking on you, can he?

You force a smile on your face. “Yes, it was delicious. Thank you for your generosity, Vice President Choi.”

God, help me. “I did not mean to—”

“Stop smiling all the damn time. Stop acting like you are not affected by me.” He hisses, a snark on his lips. He takes one step after another, his shoes making a crisp click sound as he nears you. You look around frantically, worried someone will see you in such proximity to him.  

“Stop getting on my nerves,” he breathes, his face hovering inches away from yours. With no room to escape, your back is pressed against the door, “Seungcheol…this is the ladies—”

Ignoring your scandalized gasp, he pushes you inside, stepping into the ladies' room with you. “What the hell are you doing?” You whisper-yell, eyes skimming around to see if anyone is inside. The stalls appear empty, thankfully.

Unaffected, he keeps his blazing eyes on you, backing you towards an empty, open stall. “Stop with the facade. I know you are doing it to push my buttons.  You get off torturing me, no? All worked up while you don’t bat an eye, acting like our past does not exist.” You feel his hot breath against your face.

“I do not,” you whisper, trying your best to look away. You are surrounded from all sides by his warmth, his touch and his presence. It is hauntingly familiar, messing with your sensitive, tipsy brain and lowering your guard. 

His words undo something inside you. The breakup with him had left you undone and you have carried on like that, a chunk of your heart empty, left behind in front of your dorm in Seoul. The knowledge that you are treading into dangerous territory claws at you, neon red alarm bells going off in your head, yet you are helpless against yourself. 

“I think you are drunk, Seungcheol.” You manage.

There is a subtle shift in his gaze. With a scoff, his lips break into a smile, like you are the most amusing creature he has ever laid eyes on. “Ha. I could drink all the booze in this world and still not be drunk enough to forget you. Trust me, I have tried.”

Seungcheol is your weakness, always has been. Maybe your touch-starved soul desires to feel his warmth against your skin, or maybe it is the selfish desire of your teenage self to have his eyes only on you that keeps you rooted to your spot, looking into his eyes. In silence, you drink him in—the slope of his nose, his long, fluttery eyelashes, his moles, and his beautiful eyes that look at you in pure hatred. 

Your lips tingle with the memory of the messy, wanton kiss you shared with him not so long ago. You crave to feel it again.

“I hate you,” he breathes after a moment, the look in his eyes shifting from pure venom to hazy with lust. “I hate you so fucking much, ___. I wish I could burn you to the ground. I wish I could destroy you.” His voice grows heavy with each word and you let yourself believe that he does not mean them.

“I know,” comes your meek reply. 

The man groans, the sound coming from the deepest part of his chest, resonating through your body as he hastily grabs your shoulder and pushes your face upwards, stealing your lips for a bruising, toe-curling kiss. It is a kiss that makes you forget where you are or what your name is. 

“Please, Seungcheol.” You moan, your entire body a flame. You feel his kiss in every nerve, the precision and roughness of it altering your brain chemistry. You are no longer yourself, lost in a space between mind-bogging lust and the memories of old days when he used to be deep inside you like this after sneaking into your dorm late at night.

Seungcheol roughly shoves you against the wall, his body nestled close to yours in the cramped space as his free hand slips underneath your blouse. His kiss is dizzying, like always. Right now, it feels particularly harsh and raw; all other thoughts flying out of your head and making you forget to breathe. His hungry lips trail over your mouth and then your jaw, his body keeping you pressed against the stall wall as he links his fingers with yours before pinning them straight above your head.

“Seungcehol,” You utter his name like a mindless prayer. The man does not acknowledge you, unbothered by your pleas. Instead, he steals another kiss, this one more languid as he takes his sweet time exploring every bit of your mouth with his tongue. With his every movement, your moans grow louder as you feel the wetness between your legs increase. Some part of you knows how depraved this is, making out with your ex—who clearly hates you—in a bathroom stall. Still, the thought dominating your mind is how frustrated you feel, pinned to the wall and unable to touch him, feel his body underneath your fingertips after so long.

You writhe, trying to free your hands from his grip, but it remains futile. “Please,” you whimper between kisses. “Please, Seungcheol.” Looks like that is all you say.

“Keep your mouth shut.” The man grunts. He presses you roughly against the wall with one hand, pushing your body upwards slightly so that he can undo the zipper of your skirt, loosening the material around your waist. Then, his hand goes underneath your skirt and without any warning, his fingers cup your core, roughly, so, feeling you through your panties. “You are soaking through your underwear,” Seungcheol mutters as he feels the wet fabric pressed against your core.

“I need you,” you mewl, letting your head fall to the side to give him better access to your neck. His lips meet your skin with a hum, the sound so deep and throaty you feel it in your core. His lips do not break contact with your skin, kissing and sucking your sensitive flesh until your whole body shakes like leaves in a tree. 

“Fuck, I need you, please.” You beg, digging your nails into his shoulder and grinding harder against him, desperate to ease the throbbing ache between your legs. Seungcheol, finally satisfied with the red spot blooming on your neck, lets you go, loosening the grip on your body to let you slide down the wall.

“You are still a temptress, you know? You fucking ruined my life years ago and you’re still ruining it.” Seungcheol hisses between pants, shuffling inside the small space to undo the zipper of his trousers. One of his hands grips the flesh of your ass, letting you lift one leg and wrap it around his waist. Once his hold on you is firm, his eyes lock with yours for a brief moment as he lines himself up with your entrance, before thrusting in deep.

A pathetic, muffled shriek rips from your throat, your head banging against the stall from the impact of the pleasure. All thoughts of subduing your moans go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you, rough and restless, his fingers gripping your flesh in a hold that will leave marks for days to come.

“You like it?” He taunts, his lips curved into a snarl. “You like my cock ruining you? Does it remind you of the old times?”

One particularly hard thrust and your head lulls forward, your hands desperately clutching on to his biceps. “C-Cheol” You shudder, eyes squeezed shut, your mouth hanging half-open.

“That’s right. Only say my name,” Seungcheol pants harshly, his voice strained as he pauses for a moment and remains fully buried inside you, toying with your pleasure. You can feel his grin against your shoulder before he pulls back all the way out and then thrusts back in. The force makes your body jolt but you do not have enough time to recover as he builds a pace, pushing in and out of you in movements so strong, your back arches and your toes curl in your heels. Your brain feels like mush as you fail to utter anything, your mouth simply hanging open to let out breathy pants as you close your eyes and feel every ridge of his cock move in and out of you.

You can feel how much he hates you. 

It is an addictive, blissful experience, a high you never want to come out of. “Yess…” you mumble mindlessly, the force of his pace blanking your mind, freeing you from the curse of your own thoughts.

“Are you going to come, little slut?” He hums in your ear. You have lost your voice so your body speaks for you, shaking and nodding at his words. “Of course you will. You are always such a whore for me,” he hums, nibbling the skin of your neck. One of his hands reaches below to touch your clit as he wastes no time rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the pads of his finger, all the while continuing to thrust inside you earnestly.

“Seungcheol!” You scream, your entire body jolting.

Your reaction makes Seungcheol smirk as he chases his own high, seconds away from erupting inside you. He places your clit between his thumb and index finger, giving you a particularly harsh rub followed by a pinch.

You are catapulted over the edge. 

Your vision goes white, your entire sweat-coated body twitching from the intensity of the pleasure. It only amplifies as you feel Seungcheol spill inside you, his warm release filling you up and dripping lazily out of you. 

After a short lived moment of silence, things turn mechanic. Seungcheol untangles himself from you, that mask of indifference and boredom taking over his face once again as he cleans himself up with tissues, quietly handing some to you as well. He refuses to meet your gaze, or even acknowledge your presence, finishing his work in lightening speed and stepping out of the stall. You sit on the toilet lid for a long time, processing what you just did, before fixing your clothes and cleaning up.

By the time you step out after you have managed to gather yourself, both mentally and physically, Seiungcheol is no longer in the restaurant. 

—

When your intercom rings on Saturday night, it's almost 10 pm. It is Mingyu, completely taking you by surprise. You open the door and stand unsurely as the taller man regards you with an unreadable gaze.

“I was not expecting…you.” You blink, wondering if all the wine got to your head.

“Were you expecting Seungcheol, then?” He half-jokes but you don’t smile. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” you murmur, fetching a glass for him. As you take a seat on the couch, Mingyu pours himself a drink, saying, “Something happened between you and Cheol yesterday.”

“Of course,” setting aside your confusion, you show him in. “What would you like to drink?”

“I see you are drinking by yourself.” He points at the bottle of red wine and the glass on your coffee table. “I guess I’ll join.”

Oh god. 

You don’t look at him, busy taking a sip. Mingyu continues, “He has been weird since last night. Came to my place straight from the dinner, saying he fucked up.”

You offer nothing.

“Ugh, for god’s sake,” Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, his voice laced with frustration. “You guys are so…” his words fail him.

“You guys had sex, didn’t you?”

“I’m still too sober for this.”

“I can’t believe I am talking to you about this but it was hate sex, Mingyu.” You rub your forehead. 

“It should not have happened.” You announce. “I was weak and I gave in to temptation. Can we put it past us now?”

“You were not the only weak one, trust me. Seungcheol is acting like a fucking teenager.” Mingyu makes a face, sipping his wine.

“If it was, he should have fucked you out of his system, not come home and whine about it continuously.” He regards you impassively, like he is trying to deduce something from your face. 

“What is your point? Why are you here?” You throw him an exasperated look.

“You two need to talk. I am sick and tired of taking his bullshit and walking on eggshells around the two of you.”

“Right.” You roll your eyes and lean back on the couch. “Finish your drink and leave. I want to be alone.”

The man stays silent, quietly but leisurely sipping his wine. Time ticks by slowly as your mind wanders back to Seungcheol. The desire to ask Mingyu what he said about you grows and you know the longer he stays, the stronger your urges will grow.

Did he like it? Does he regret it? Does he miss you? 

You bite your lip and finish your drink. Next week is the launch event for the campaign, and you already have your work cut out for you. Mr. Choi, along with the board of directors, will fly in from Seoul for the press conference, which is daunting enough. Right before this very important day, you had sex with Seungcheol, the one person you should not have. That too in a fucking bathroom.

Your whole life seems like a joke to you. 

Your train of thought is led back to reality when you hear Mingyu murmur, “He was going to propose to you.” 

You still.

The whole world stops. Your hand stills mid-air, failing to reach for the wine glass as you soak up his words. There is a dreadful, sinking feeling in your chest that grows rapidly larger each second, swallowing you whole. With all your being, you pray that you heard him wrong.

“What did you say?” You whisper, your face devoid of colour.

The man sighs, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face. “God,” he huffs, “Seungcheol was going to propose to you that month back in high school. I went with him to choose the ring. Of course, he was not going to marry you right then. He wanted to make a promise to you before you both went to college, and after you got your degree, you would get married. That was his plan.”

You are at a complete loss for words. Mingyu’s words feel absolutely unreal, a haunting mirage of a past that almost feels like a dream but somewhere deep in your heart, it makes perfect sense. It makes sense that he was planning to put a ring on your finger.

You two were madly, hopelessly in love. You dreamt of a future together and made a thousand different plans. You thought of the many, many possibilities, yet not once did you imagine breaking up. 

How naive you were.

“After you broke up with him, he went crazy. He was actually batshit insane.” Mingyu shakes his head. “I never saw him like that, ever. He would drink himself to death and get into fights almost every day. He even got into a motorcycle accident and spent a month in the hospital, recovering from multiple surgeries on his knee. His father was livid, and it made things much worse.”

You feel like throwing up. Your heart has shrivelled up, folding back into itself inside your ribcage. The air feels too heavy for you to breathe in, the weight on your chest only growing larger each second.

“It was only after Mrs. Choi’s desperate and relentless begging in the hospital that he got his shit together. As his father wished, he agreed to aim for SNU, get his degree and then take over the company.” Mingyu sighs, a heavy stillness hanging in the air. “I don’t think he ever became normal. He’s just…different now. More reckless about everything. He basically became an asshole.”

Stunned, you stare at the ground. A lone drop of tear strolls down your cheek and you have to take in a few large gulps of air before you can find your voice. “Well, I am glad he is okay now.” You murmur, keeping your voice as neutral and uninterested as possible as you reach for the wine glass and chug the liquid down.

Mingyu frowns, “Don’t be like that. Don’t pretend that you don’t care.”

“I d-don’t!” You yell, but your voice breaks. A sob struggles free from your throat, and you have to bite your lip to keep from bursting into tears. Mingyu looks at you pitifully. “Gosh, ___. You are both miserable.”

“I am fine, Mingyu.” You announce, looking away and wiping your tears. “You should leave now.”

Ignoring your words, Mingyu scrutinizes you. “For old times' sake, can you at least tell me why you broke up with him? The real reason, not some bullshit excuse. I will not tell Seungcheol, I promise. I just need to know for my own peace of mind, because no matter how hard I thought about it, it never made sense.”

You sigh. “I was insecure.”

Mingyu makes a sound of annoyance. “The truth, ___.”

“It is the truth.”

—

5 YEARS AGO

The living room is ornate, decorated tastefully with expensive mahogany furniture. Alongside one wall hang dozens of pictures, mostly family portraits and pictures of Seungcheol’s grandfather when he started the Choi Industries. 

Blowing on your tea, you take a sip and watch seconds tick by in the large grandfather clock. Seungcehol’s father called Seungceol away for a moment, stating that they needed to talk privately while his mother went to put dinner in the oven. It has been a while, and they have yet to show up, leaving you feeling awkward in the large, polished space. Until now, silence has been hanging in the air when suddenly, you hear muffled voices that keep rising in pitch. It sounds like someone is having a heated argument. 

Half worried and half curious, you leave your spot on the sofa and carry down the hallway and towards what looks like Mr. Choi’s study, the place from where the voices are emerging. The door is not fully closed, leaving a good couple of inches gap that gives you a view of the people inside.

Seungcheol’s father stands behind his large desk, while your boyfriend stands facing him, a burning look in both of their eyes. Seungcheol’s mother stands between with her back towards the door, slightly hampering your view of the two men.

What is going on?

“Do you really have to be like this, father?” Seungcheol fumes, his voice laced with desperation.

“Yes, I have to!” The older man booms. “You have lost your mind. I let you be at first, thinking that you were not serious about her, but what? You want to go abroad to study with her? And not even to a prestigious university, but a basketball program? Are you insane?”

“Father, I don’t want—”

“You know I love basketball!”

“You are too old for that. You need to get serious and study to get into Seoul National University. My son will take over my business, not go abroad and play some stupid sport!”

“She has gotten into your head. She is using you for your money, you idiot!”

“Father, watch how you speak about her.” Seungcheol hisses.

“Enough, both of you. She is still here. We can have this conversation later.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do, boy! Did you forget what type of family she comes from? She comes from nothing, for god’s sake! Her father is a deadbeat alcoholic. Her mother lives with her boyfriend! She has no family, no home. How could you date someone like her?”

“Enough, father!” Seungcheol, seethes. His mother rushes to his side, trying to calm him down.

“Get some sense into his head!” Mr. Choi snaps. “He has gone insane. There is a limit to my patience. How could he think of bringing her here? How could he think I would accept her!”

You have heard enough.

With quiet steps, you go back to the living room and sit down at your spot, wringing your hands. Your fingers shake, matching your breathing, giving you a very hard time holding back tears. You fail to do so, and a tear slips down, making you do your utmost best not to break into sobs. Hearing footsteps down the corridor, you quickly wipe your face and reach for the teacup. Seungcheol steps into the living room, followed by his mother. His face gives away nothing when he speaks, “Sorry about the wait. My father got an important business call, so he won’t join us for dinner.”

“No, it’s okay,” you smile, standing up. “Actually, I got a message from my friend. There is a leak in our dorm because of the rain. She needs my help to move stuff. I should get going.”

“I will come with you.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to.” You rush, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “It’s raining outside. I will take the bus. Goodbye, Mrs. Choi. It was lovely to meet you. Please convey my apologies to Mr. Choi.”

That was the first and the last time you were inside Seungcheol's house.

—

“Deep down, I always knew it would not work. How could it? We were so different. I always found it unbelievable that we were dating. Every day felt like a dream. When I heard them talk, it was like a wakeup call. His dad's words were bitter but they were the truth that I knew deep down. I have always been miserable. It was a sheer stroke of luck that brought Seungcheol into my life. It was a small period of blessing, and I wanted to leave it at that. Simple.” You whisper, your eyes trained outside the window, watching the darkening sky. In the distance, you hear thunder rumble.

Mingyu remains silent.

Minutes tick by. You swallow the hard lump lodged in your throat before looking at him. “What’s done is done. This project will be over next week and then we won’t have to see each other again.”

“Right,” Mingyu nods, his head moving unsuredly. “Don’t you think you owe him an explanation? It still eats him up because he does not know what he did wrong. All his anger towards you is just misplaced hurt.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Your voice is a shaky, sorrowful whimper. “It kills me every day when I remember what I did to him. He deserves an explanation, yes, but it hurts to even stand in front of him. Maybe under different circumstances, I would have made an attempt, but now? I think we are past everything.”

Mingyu stares at you for a beat. “At least for your sake, I think you should talk to him. I am looking at you now and it’s clear you are suffering as much as he is. And I know a thing or two about guilt. It eats you alive.”

You remain silent.

“You are barely holding on by a thread, ____. You broke up with him, but he had people around him for support that helped him get back on track somehow. You need to stop suffering by yourself,” he trails off.

“I have always been alone, Mingyu.” You offer him a sad smile.

“You don’t have to be.”

—

The week starts off busy, the hours dragging on and on as you work with Seungkwan and Yoona to perfect everything for the launch event on Thursday. Seungcheol drops by the office on Tuesday for a meeting with Daisy. You thankfully do not have any interactions with him, only catching a glimpse of him as he left her office.

The glimpse itself was heavy enough.

Like a compass always seeking north, his eyes locked with yours for a few seconds, his gaze heavy and almost…guilty. They were not burning with hatred for once, and the somber look on his face was once again a cruel reminder of what happened Friday night.

Work, thankfully, kept you busy and you had no choice but to push Seungcheol to the furthest corner of your mind.

When you see him the next time, it is Thursday morning, in the opening ceremony. You shake hands with him, all polite and business-like, posing for photos, talking to the his guests and his team. 

You don’t think of the way how his eyes stay on you a second longer each time. You don’t think of the way how the look in his eyes shifts your gaze finds his, how they burn quietly with heavy, unsaid emotions. You don’t think of the way your eyes search for him in the crowded room, finding solace in having him within your sights, dressed in a stunning three-piece suit, the epitome of perfection, and a glaring reminder of why you would have never worked out.

No, you don’t think of any of those things. You think of doing your job right, staying on top of things and working alongside your team to prepare for Mr. Choi’s arrival.

And when he does, things go smoothly.

He does not recognize you. You honestly did not expect him to. But somewhere deep within you, there was a fear, an irrational one, that he would recognize you from before, and maybe discredit everything your team has been working for so far. 

Nothing such happens. It’s just another round of business smiles, another round of introductions and photos. It’s just you amongst a sea of faces.

— 

The event wraps up just before noon. As the hall clears out, echos of praise and hums of approval hang in the air. You join Daisy and the CEO of your company for one last small talk with Mr. Choi and his men. In the small group, Seungcheol and you stand opposite each other, sneaking glances when the other person is not looking. 

At some point, the group moves on with their conversation, strolling away while you and Seungcheol stay in your place. When you gather the courage to look in his eyes, he appears jittery, nervous, and awkward at the same time, much like how you feel.

“Good work today.” He murmurs, his voice scratchy. 

“Thank you.”

Silence. It becomes suffocating as you struggle to find the right things to say. You know your time with him is coming to an end. What is the right way to bring an end to this relationship?

“I am sorry about Friday night.” He finally speaks. You blink and wait, understanding that he has more to say. His eyes remain on the ground, “I am ashamed of the way I behaved. It was very…unprofessional and…I don’t know…I just…lost control and…”

“I understand, Seungcheol.” You offer, giving him a small smile.

“Right.” He blinks. 

More silence.

“Seugcheol?” You whisper, realizing this might be the last time you are calling his name. He gazes at you with a somber look.

“I need to tell you something.”

He stays mute for a beat. “Go on.”

For a second, the world slows down. Time stops and creates a space where it is only you and him, and the haunting memories of your love. It is a comfortable, precious, but momentary bubble—one that you wish you could stay in forever. Swallowing the hard lump in your throat, you whisper, “I am sorry. I am sorry for breaking up with you the way I did.”

Silence. 

He blinks, staring at you with an unreadable expression, making you wonder if he even heard you.

“A little too late for that, no?” He says with a mock smile, shifting his gaze to look outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows. 

“Yes.” You reply. “And I am sorry for being so late as well. I have owed you this apology for a long time, and I wanted to say it out loud to you, even though it is too late.”

He sighs, nodding his head, not looking at you.

“I did not mean the things I said that night. I am sorry.” You repeat, your voice catching at the end. He finally looks back at you and, for a long moment, stares at your face. You see his eyes shine, mirror the turbulent emotions in yours, and for a moment, you get a glimpse of the Seungcheol four years ago. The boy who wore his heart on his sleeve, dreamt big things, and loved you more than anything else. You see the last five years flash by his eyes. 

“I am sorry for my behaviour over the past few months,” he says after taking a deep breath. “It was immature of me.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice feather light. For some reason, you feel like crying. “I understand.” Something about this conversation solidifies your idea that this is goodbye. You are not going to see him again.

He nods and gives you a tight-lipped smile that does not reach his eyes. “Well then, good luck.” Sparing one final glance at you, he turns around and marches towards the exit. You watch him leave, committing the view of his back to your memory while holding back a sob. You will not cry until he is out of sight. 

A few steps in, he turns around and calls your name. “Can you tell me now why you really broke up with me?”

You could not.

You force a smile, friendly but casual. “It does not matter anymore, right?”

For a brief second, disappointment flickers in his eyes. He remains silent for another second before giving you a smile that mirrors your own—amicable but rehearsed. “Right.” He pauses, “Best of luck, ___.”

He walks away before you can reply.

— 

It is going to rain today.

In the empty convention hall, you sit facing the window, the half-empty bottle of wine keeping you company in the silence. Time ticks by slowly as the darker clouds roll in, followed by the pitter-patter of the rain.

The doors open, revealing Seungkwan carrying a plate of dessert and an empty glass. “Heard you were here. I knew you would be moping, so I decided to join you.” He announces, taking a seat next to you.

You smile. “Good choice. The view is lovely here.” 

He sits down on the chair next to you, putting the plate of tiramisu between the two of you. “I got this for you. People generally eat ice cream and cry but they did not have any ice cream here.”

With a soft chuckle, you reach for the spoon. “I assume they left.”

Seungkwan knows who you are referring to. “Yeah, Daisy and I saw them out. President Choi was very pleased with us. I think we can expect a good bonus.”

“That’s good to hear,” you murmur, mindlessly sucking your spoon.

Seungkwan pours himself some wine. “Seungcheol's friend—Mingyu, I think, also came. They are all going out for lunch. President Choi is flying out tonight.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

Next to you, your coworker falls silent, watching the rain fall steadily outside. “I don’t think President Choi recognized me.” You mumble, more to yourself.

“That’s a good thing, no?”

“I guess.” You pause, taking a sip of your wine. “But it hurt. It made me feel so insignificant. I knew I was insignificant, which is why I broke up with his son in the first place. But realizing that he did not even remember my face after saying all those things really put everything into perspective.”

Seungkwan remains silent next to you.

“I am a good worker but I would never make a good prospect for his son,” you chuckle, shaking your head at the pathetic situation as you remember him complimenting your hard work.

“Did you tell him why you broke up with him?” He asks. You finish your wine and set the glass down. “No. How could I? I could tell that his relationship with his father is still very strained. Why make it worse? No point in crying over spilt milk.”

“But he will never know the truth.”

“Maybe it is better this way. I apologized to him. That should be enough to move on.”

Your colleague does not say anything. In silence, he finishes his drink while you watch the rain, the sky flashing purple with distant rumbles of thunder.

“Let’s go and stand in the rain.” Seungkwan suddenly announces. You cock an amused brow at him. “What?” He pouts. “This is the perfect mood for that. You are depressed and it’s raining outside. Go and soak in the rain or something. Cry your heart out and then leave him here. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

You reflect upon his words. Yeah, it is about time.

“You’re right, let’s go.” With a resolved sigh, you stand up, followed by Seungkwan, who excitedly trails after you. The large compound in front of the hotel is silent and empty, save for the occasional cars that drive past down the main road. Your steps slow down as you walk past the entrance and stand under the portico, feeling the chill in the air that accompanies the heavy rain.

“On a second thought, maybe getting wet in the rain is not the best idea. It’s quite chilly.” Seungkwan murmurs as you both stand and watch the rain. You hum, looking at the grey sky, “Yeah. I don’t know how they make it look romantic in the movies. This feels depressing as hell.”

“Probably has something to do with your mood.” Your colleague whispers drily. You roll your eyes. “Do you know how long our rooms are booked?” You ask him. “Didn’t Daisy say something about us staying over if we want to?”

“Yeah. We can stay the night.” He affirms.

You sigh a breath of relief, crossing your arms and making yourself smaller. “Good. A warm bath sounds lovely right now. Let’s—”

You are cut off as a sports car pulls into the driveway at rapid speed, way faster than the speed limit. Your breath catches in your throat when you realize whose car it is.

Mingyu’s.

“What in the fucking romcom is going on?” Seungkwan snickers next to you as you hold your breath, expecting to see a familiar face. A second later, Seungcheol gets out from the passenger’s side, his eyes immediately finding yours as he stands in the rain, staring at you. One glance at him and you know he knows. You can tell from the look in his eyes, the way his brow is subtly knotted, and the clenched muscles of his jaw.

Mingyu could never keep a secret.

The driver’s side window rolls down, revealing Mingyu, who looks at you and goes, "Don't fuck it up this time, seriously." Then, he points to Seungkwan, “You, get in. Let's give them a moment.”

“Yep!” The man rushes past you and gets in the car. Mingyu throws a cheeky wink at you before pulling out of the driveway with a loud roar of the engine.

Once again, silence falls, save the constant hum of the rain, as you and Seungcheool stand face to face.

Why is he standing there in the rain? It reminds you awfully of the time you broke up with him.

“Seungcheol—” You take a step closer, feeling the smallest drops of water hit your skin. It’s cold. It’s cold and you don’t know what you want to say or why you called his name. 

The man takes slow but determined steps towards you. “I’ll ask you once more. Why did you break up with me?” His voice is steady but loaded with a thickness that you have not heard in a long time. 

The raindrops have engulfed him by the time he stands under the portico with you, dripping down his temples to his chiselled jaw, and you swear he has never looked more handsome, drenched in the rain, his breath coming out heavy with an unmistakable look in his eyes—hope.

“Seungcheol,” you breathe, a small smile spreading into your lips. It’s relief. “It does not matter.” You reply, and this time, you mean it. It truly does not matter anymore. Not when he came back. Not when he is standing in front of you.

He exhales a long breath, taking another step closer to you. He stands in front of you, intimately close, so much so that you can count the raindrops on his face. 

A lot of things go through your mind. You don’t know how to articulate them, so you bask in this feeling of delight and warmth. You bask in his gaze, tender and warm, just how he used to look at you, years ago. 

“You should dry up,” you whisper, still hypnotized by his eyes.

“You should have told me.” He whispers, his voice feather-light, almost drowned out by the sound of the rain. You look at him in confusion.

“You should have just been honest about your feelings. The things my dad said about you that day…they were unforgivable. It kills me to know that you heard them all and here, I have been living hating you, completely oblivious all this time.”

“It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me,” His voice sharpens. “To me, it is the present. I would never have found out unless Mingyu told me.” He takes a breath, running a hand through his wet locks, “Gosh, ___. I feel like I failed you. I did not make you feel safe enough to be honest with me.”

“Seungcheol, no. I was insecure—”

“I would have let you go, I swear. If I knew that you had heard all the things my father said, I would have let you go voluntarily because it was just too shameful. I would have given you your space, and then, I would have come to you. I have always wanted to do that. No matter where you went, I was ready to follow.”

Tears sting your eyes.

“I should have been honest with you. I’m sorry.” You murmur, looking at the ground, your head hanging low.

“Fuck,” he hisses and, in the blink of an eye, engulfs you into his arms. “Don’t apologize, please. If anyone should be sorry, it is I. I am sorry for every fucking thing. God, I don’t know how I could ever make it up to you. I keep failing you, ___. I almost did it again. Thank god Mingyu told me everything.”

“He promised me he would not,” you mumble into his chest, a smile blooming on your lips. 

Seungcheol gently removes you from his chest, his eyes searching for yours while your smile fades, wondering what is going on in his mind.

Ever so tenderly, he reaches out cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. His eyes remain devoted to you and only you, while his right hand wraps around your waist, pressing your torso to his. You feel like gasoline is running through your veins, ready to ignite at any moment.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers.

The rain has faded into a drizzle by now and you see the grey starting to fade from the sky.

“Yes.” You reply, closing your eyes.

The fire ignites when his lips meet your tender and soft, slow and passionate, deep and lingering. Both of your hands claw at each other, despite being skin to skin, it is not enough. The empty void you have been trying to mend for all these years has opened with a gaping split, and only he can mend it.

Only he could ever.

The kiss continues. Tears roll down your face. The rain stops and the sun shines again.

“I love you, Seungcheol.” You rest your forehead against his, pouring your heart out. “I love you so much. I never stopped loving you.”

“Me neither,” he breathes. “You never left my mind. Everything reminded me of you. Even when I was hating you, I was in love with you.”

A small, sad smile makes way onto your lips. “Do you think we could go back to what we were?”

“We don’t have to go back.” He replies firmly. “We can be better now. I, for one, don’t want to go back. I was foolish to lose you. I won’t do it again.”

“Things haven’t changed.” You whisper, eyes locked with his.

He makes a sound of amusement. “No, everything has. I know the truth now, so everything has changed.”

“Do you mean it? I don’t think I can survive another heartbreak, Seungcheol. I have enough ghosts already.” You try very hard not to let your voice crack.

His arms tighten around you. He pauses for a moment, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his eyes sharpening. “No more ghosts. It’s just you and me, now.”

His lips reconnect with yours, soothing your worries. 

After a long, long time, you won’t go to bed haunted by ghosts. Ghosts of him and your past. The thought is a balm to your cracked soul.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes now.” You murmur, taking a look at his soaked clothes. He raises a teasing brow at you, a smirk playing on his lips. You roll your eyes, stepping into the hotel. Seungcheol quickly reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours.

Smiling ear to ear, you walk inside. 

For a bonus epilogue, 1 month into the future, click here or head over to my Patreon!

This work is cross-posted on AO3.

© startlightxsvt 2025 | All Rights Reserved. Do not copy, translate, adapt, or repurpose any of my works.

a/n 2: This was supposed to come out a long time ago but I've been so swamped with a research paper and conferences that I could not make time to finish the minor editing. I also got really sick last week, during my bday, on top of that lol, so I've just been feeling miserable for a while. Anyway, I am glad that I could finish this and put it out for you guys. I don't think I will be able to upload any other fic this year as I have a lot of coursework due. If I am not dead, I hope to return with some bangers next year. I have some abandoned drafts and some interesting ideas in my head, so let's see where the wind takes me.

On a different note, I have recently been wondering/overthinking as to whether my content is substantial, in the sense that I don't want my works to be the same rehashed tropes or just in general unsubstantial pieces (fyi, I am not looking down at any other writers or comparing my works to others). It's a trial and tested pattern here that pwp fics always get more traction, which is not wrong but I think I have always been a writer who is very lore/plot-heavy. I always find smut the hardest to write and even though I like indulging in pwp fics once in a while (like my last dilf cheol fic which did numbers!) I am always looking forward to writing complex/dramatic plots. And in relation to this, I'd just like to add that I am very proud of Scars Leave a Beautiful Trace. I generally always find my work cringy when I reread it, but I think the SLABT universe is very well-crafted. I truly had the most fun time writing it; in my head it was playing like a kdrama lol, and I really appreciate all the love it has got. Please keep showing it more love, y'all!

What I'm trying to say is, I just hope that you guys, as my audience, are happy and find meaning in my work. This community is truly precious to me and I realized that I have taken this appreciation for granted. It truly means a lot to have so much love and support here, in my little corner of the internet. I am grateful to have a space to express myself and get so much love in return. My request would be for you guys to leave any feedback you have on my work and suggestions for any particular type of writing that you would like to see from me in the future. I have recently opened another tumblr account where I post random thought dumps and whatnot and I would have shared the link here, but I realized many people I know irl follow this blog and I don't want them to follow me over there because the writings there are very intimate?? lol, anyway, I'll try to build an audience over there as well from scratch and we'll see how that goes. In future, perhaps I'll share some writings here.

Stepping back, eyes scanning his jacket for a speck of dust, he called to you, “He really said that?” Wonwoo reached to adjust the shoulder pads, “That you never have time for him? You spent all your days off with him the last time I checked – this is the first time I’ve seen you in-person . . . three months?”

“I know,” you mumbled, your voice muffled. Your hands must be covering your face.

“You’d think he’d know what he’d be getting into, dating a resident doctor, huh?” Wonwoo asked rhetorically.

The only response he got was a small ‘puff’ that echoed into his walk-in closet – the sound of your back meeting his comforter. Wonwoo chortled softly to himself. Satisfied by the look of his suit jacket, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and made his way out. The right corner of his lips curled into a small smile as you came into view just as he expected: Flopped onto his bed with your legs dangling over the edge, still dressed in your outerwear, hands covering your face.

“I’m gonna end up lonely as fuck because of my job, god,” you groaned, “Why did I think it’d be a good idea to be a doctor all things considered? I’ve been fucking up my left and rights since second year of medical school, I work six out of seven days of the week, I’m probably vitamin D deficient with how little I see the sun – there are no windows in that closet of an office they give residents in the hospital, it’s dark when I arrive, the sun is already setting when I leave. The only good thing out of this is that I don’t have to dress up for work and can live in scrubs – for now.”

“Aaaww,” he cooed teasingly, “You won’t be lonely.” Leaning against the white painted door frame, Wonwoo unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolling them up his arms. “You got me.”

“That’s different,” you deadpanned. “You’re missing the point, Wonwoo.”

“And you’re being dramatic,” he berated, running his hand through his jet black locks to loosen the tight and groomed style he was sporting earlier. “Who needs a man when you’re going to be a six-figure-making physician in a year or two? You can take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine in two years maybe, but not in two months,” you sighed, pushing yourself up from his bed.

“You’re gonna let a mere man ruin your next two months?”

“No – I mean, yes, I’m gonna mope because I’m a little heartbroken and I really thought he was . . . it.”

“Oh god,” Wonwoo scoffed. You weren’t looking, but he pointed at you anyway. “For the record, I told you from the beginning I never liked him.”

“I told my mom about him,” you blurted.

Wonwoo fell silent, his lips pursing into a small o-shape. This was no laughing matter now. You lived several miles away from home and have been doing so since starting medical school when he met you through a mutual friend. It wasn’t that you weren’t close to your family, but because of your busy schedule, there were only select parts of your life you ever told your mom. You were a listener more than you were a talker – opting to listen to your mom’s anecdotes of what’s been going on at home rather than sharing your day-to-day at the hospital over your weekly phone calls. Not to mention, Wonwoo recalled you told him that your parents were rather invested in your love life, stuck in a traditional mindset, terrified that you’d become a spinster unless you brought home a promising candidate before you hit your early thirties. Though Wonwoo could respect it, he wasn’t sure he could ever quite understand your parents’ urge to get you married so quickly, let alone if it was with the wrong person.

“My cousin’s getting married in two months and I’m flying back home for the wedding,” you explained, “He . . . was supposed to be my plus one . . . meet my cousin, my brothers . . . meet my parents.”

Wonwoo nodded slowly, eyes falling to the side and gazing out his bedroom window. The two of you were getting that serious. He was surprised you hadn’t burst into tears already – perhaps you already did or you were just a tougher cookie than he thought.

“Have you told your parents about your break up?” Wonwoo inquired.

You shook your head slowly. “I . . . I-I’m scared,” you sucked in a sharp breath, “They seemed so . . . ecstatic to meet him? And they told all my aunts and uncles I’m dating some hot shot . . . I’d hate to that away from them – or worse,” your eyes widened at your sudden epiphany, “I get scolded for being dumb and letting a boy play me.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brows together, the last comment catching him off-guard. “He didn’t and It wasn’t your fault though?”

“It takes two tango, so maybe it was,” you noted, “And my parents don’t see it that way.”

“It wasn’t and they won't.”

“Maybe.”

Wonwoo sighed seemingly hopelessly, pushing himself off the doorframe. His footsteps shifted side to side as if he was contemplating something – uncomfortable even. The space between your brows dipped slightly as you narrowed your eyes, continuing to observe him. As if the room was suddenly feeling stuffy, he let out a long and heavy breath – not out of fatigue or relief, but rather . . . nerves? His hand came up to tug at the black knot at his throat. It must've been tight because his (anatomical) right eyebrow quirked in distress, his fingers flexed harshly as he pulled it loose – you were able to make out almost each tendon running along his metacarpals.

“Date me instead,” Wonwoo stated firmly.

You blinked at him owlishly. “W-what?”

Pulling the shorter end out from behind the black piece of silk came undone, falling limp in his hand. His thumb and index finger came up to unclasp the opaque plastic button below his Adam’s Apple that bobbed up and down as he gulped down the invisible lump forming in his throat.

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” Wonwoo continued, his eyes flickering from the tie in his hand and back to you. “As your plus one.”

“D-don’t you have work?” you stammered, still processing his offer, “Planes to fly? Places to go?”

He tilted his head to the side nonchalantly, turning back around to re-enter his closet. “I’ll rearrange my schedule to ask for vacation time off – fly as a passenger for once.”

“But –”

“When’s the date?”

. . . .

And so that was how you found yourself here, dressed to the nines in a flowy lavender silk evening gown with Wonwoo’s warm (and surprisingly smooth) hand wrapped around your own sweaty fingers. His grip wasn’t too tight, but not too loose – comfortable, if you will. Visible and connected enough to show that you weren’t single, but also not squeezing the life out of you to make it obvious that the two of you were trying to hide a bigger secret. Your cheeks ached from grinning so widely in front of your parents, hoping they’d buy your fake love story with your handsome friend.

On the contrary, Wonwoo was seemingly a natural at this. He looked almost no different from his daily uniform: Sans the heavy navy blue jacket, he wore a crisp white collared shirt with black detailing on his (anatomical) right shoulder paired with a pair of black slacks. The shirt fit him nicely, slightly loose around the shoulders and tucked in tightly at his waist, highlighting his broad shape. Shoulders rounded back, his usually messy bangs slicked back neatly to the side exposing his forehead and better highlighting his sharp alluring eyes, he stood tall and confident. Despite how simply he dressed relative to other guests and against the extravagant gold and blue decorations, he stood out. A genuine and warm smile played on his lips as he greeted your parents.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he bellowed, pulling away his hand from your father and bowing his head slightly at them both.

You could tell from the way your mother’s mouth was held agape and her eyes were lit up like fairy lights lining the walls, she was an absolute goner for him Wonwoo.

“So, uh,” your father grunted, eyes zeroing in on your intertwined hands. He waved a finger between the two of you, “How long have the two of you been together?”

Wonwoo turned to look at you and because you felt obligated to in order to simulate chemistry between the two of you, you did too. He took you by surprise though – his gaze a little too loving, the small curve of his lips into a shy smile a little too affectionate.

Your breath hitched; the story the two of you rehearsed on the airplane ride here got trapped in the back of your throat. His stare was hypnotizing as if he turned your brain into mush.

“Gonna tell them or should I?” Wonwoo whispered.

The saccharine in his voice was heart fluttering – you weren’t sure if you wanted to vomit or laugh right there. Frankly, you were growing concerned if you were going to be able to pull this off. You still had half of the cocktail hour and the rest of the reception to go.

“I-I, um, w-we,” you fumbled, tearing your gaze from him. You let out a breathless chuckle, racking your brain for the timeline of your fake relationship.

Tugging you close to his side, Wonwoo turned back to your parents, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost four years now – met through a mutual friend, but have been seeing each other for the last year and a half.”

“Oh,” your mother hummed softly. “Why didn’t you tell me he was one of your friends? If I had known you had someone so handsome in your life–”

“Mom!” you protested.

“What? I’m just stating facts,” she replied.

Wonwoo gave your hand a tight squeeze, a deep, breathy chuckle bellowing from his chest. “Y/N’s . . . a little shy when it comes to how we got together. No one really expected it – not even us.”

“And what is it that you do for a living then, son?” your father jumped to the next question.

“Dad,” you deadpanned. Of course, he’d ask about Wonwoo’s occupation.

“A pilot, sir,” Wonwoo replied without hesitation.

Your dad raised his eyebrows, nodding fervently with an impressed look crossing his face. “You must have great eyesight.”

“I can see a thing or two,” Wonwoo joked in return.

“Well,” your mother finally intervened. You saw her waving at one of your aunts from afar. She wrapped a hand around your father’s arm, gently ushering him to move. “It was lovely meeting you finally Wonwoo – can’t believe she kept you hidden from us for so long, but Y/N’s father and I have a few more guests to greet. We’ll see you both around, and please, do enjoy yourself!”

Wonwoo and you bid your parents goodbye, waving at them mostly to watch until they were out of earshot and you could finally stop fake smiling.

As your lips flattened, Wonwoo took you by surprise. As if it was second nature, his hand slipped from your own, snaking past the small of your back and settling on your hip. Heat crept onto your cheeks as he pulled you close into his side. His lips grazed against the shell of your ear – you could feel him smiling, his warm breath raising the hairs on the back of your neck. From afar, anyone would think of it as two lovers whispering sweet nothings to one another. However, a stern warning came instead.

“If you keep grinning like you shit your pants, someone’s gonna catch onto us tonight,” Wonwoo whispered. He pulled away and glanced back at you. It terrified you how easily it was for him to smile so . . . warmly at you, like you were the apple of his eye – the love of his life. “Relax, hm?”

You swallowed harshly, your throat growing dry. You nodded – your face still straight nonetheless. He rested against the granite bar, spinning you to face him, his hand never leaving your waist once. Teasingly, he brushed the tip of your nose with his finger before letting both hands now rest on your hips.

“You’re freaking me out,” you muttered.

He tilted his head coyly at you. “Just doing my job as your,” he paused, his voice dropping an octave, leaning towards you, “fake,” he leaned back, his voice returning to its normal volume, “boyfriend.”

“This isn’t your first time being recruited as a fake date, is it?” you folded your arms across your chest. “Bet – Younghee invited you out when she needed a plus one back in January to her aunt’s renewal of vows.”

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, his nose ridge crinkling, eyes disappeared into crescents as his smile widened. Your heart pumped erratically, the memory of that one drunken night where you told him you liked this particular smile. He had claimed it manifested this way because his eye muscles were attached to his nose muscles.

“Seungkwan went with her if you don’t remember,” he explained. One of your relatives must’ve breezed by behind you, watching because Wonwoo’s eyes tracked after someone. He continued, indifference in his tone, “I just . . . really like you.”

With a heavy sigh, you patted his shoulder, slipping your hand back into his – ignoring the way your chest tightened at just how well your hands slotted into one another. “Uh-huh, yeah,” you did your best to hide the squeak in your voice, turning to face forward towards the tall linen-draped tables, “We have a long night ahead of us, so keep it up, buddy.”

. . . .

The evening flew by surprisingly fast without an issue – well pertaining to your fake relationship that is. Cocktail hour ended smoothly, Wonwoo meeting a few more of your cousins. No one batted an eye when you accidentally spilled some champagne down the skirt of your dress – their attention was locked on your handsome date as he indulged in their questions about his job as a pilot and where in the world he’s visited. You rejoined your parents and your younger brothers during dinner. Surprisingly, Wonwoo bonded really well with them, finding common interest in FPS video games and anime shows (you didn’t even know Wonwoo was into anime). A few of your aunts came by during cake cutting and desserts to meet him as well. You chuckled at the way he didn’t have to do much to charm them, merely nodding and smiling as they rattled off about how much they’ve already heard about him from their kids, themselves, and their own families, wishing their own kids brought back someone as dashing as him. There was a hint of jealousy and jab in their words, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

First dances were danced, bouquets and garters were tossed, and the lights of the reception hall were finally dimmed for a lively evening. Guests flooded the dance floor as the DJ, a lanky young man dressed in a snapback and a heavy black jacket with zipper detailing on the pockets, turned on a heavy dance beat and colorful flashing lights. A set of large headphones around his ears, the DJ (one of your other cousin’s boyfriend you’d later learn), bopped on his own as he twisted the various knobs on his beat board. Neither of you quite the dancer, Wonwoo and you stayed in your seat, watching your cousins, sober and drunk, shimmy on the floor.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” you announced after a little while. You peered at him through your lashes. “You want something?”

Wonwoo leaned forward by your ear. “Just water,” he shouted over the beat.

You nodded, gathering the skirt of your dress as you got out of your chair. On your way over, someone caught your elbow. You spun around, pleasantly surprised to see Rina, one of your childhood friends you grew up with, greeting you with a bright smile.

“Hey!” she squealed while linking your arms.

“Hi!” you replied. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night.”

“I don’t blame you,” she chirped as the two of you reached the bar counter. She was quick to hail down the bartender, requesting a green tea shot. You asked for Wonwoo’s glass of water and your lemonade.

Rina’s eyes flickered behind you. “Been busy introducing everyone to tall and handsome,” she walked her index and middle finger up your forearm playfully, smirking when she noticed the sheepish smile gracing your face. “Heard he was a friend turned lover? A pilot too – caught yourself a good one finally.”

“He’s alright,” you muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Rina scoffed, “If a man that handsome looked at me like the way he looks at you, I’d melt right here and now – I wouldn’t give a damn it’s my cousin’s wedding they’re cleaning me up at.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, taken aback by her comment. Your mind was already flitting through the memories of the day with Wonwoo – how did he look at you exactly?

“What?” you shook your head, “You’re being dramatic.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she held her fist to her mouth to mimic an announcer with their mic – she used to do this all the time in high school to tease you. “This is why they say love is blind.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to use that phrase,” you chuckled.

The bartender made his way over with your drinks. You both offered him a small thank you and tip, before parting from the counter and continuing your conversation.

“It’s not,” Rina lifted the opaque mint green liquid to her lips, “But you must be really blind not to see how his eyes go all soft and heart-shaped whenever he looks at you.”

He’s just naturally a good actor.

She tilted her head back, downing the drink in one ago. With a satisfied sigh, she turned back to you, a silly grin on her face. “Seriously though, I’m really happy for you – he seems to really like you.”

But it’s fake.

“Thanks,” was all you could say. You gave her a tight smile – though, Rina could tell it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The two of you slowed to a stop a few tables away from your date.

She narrowed her eyes coyly at you. “Just . . .” she clamped down on your shoulder and gave you a firm squeeze, “Think twice before you let him go.” Rina turned, her body perpendicular to your own, her eyes set on Wonwoo who was peering over curiously. She waved at him, offering him a warm smile. He returned the gesture, eyes then flickering to you.

“That,” she formed a rectangle with her fingers, “is a man in love, sweetheart.” Rina turned to you, giving your arm one last firm squeeze. “It was good to see you,” she winked, “With him.”

Not a single drop of alcohol in you that night, your mind started to spin as you watched her frolic between the tables like a happy little girl in a field of daisies, joining her friends back to the dance floor. Your legs suddenly felt wobbly – you worried you wouldn’t be able to make it back to Wonwoo in time without spilling your drinks.

There was no way in hell Wonwoo could, let alone would, love you by choice. Yes, he loved you as a friend, but no more, no less. He’s been by your side since your second year of medical school. He’s wiped your tears (and your snot) when you feared you would fail your board exams. He’s seen you at your wildest, handing out your number to strangers like gum when you were tipsy at the bar. He’s picked you up from the hospital when you could hardly open your eyes, the stress of an overnight shift hanging heavy on your limp body. Not in a single one of those moments, did anything he did ever suggest he could possibly be in love with you.

Rina was just drunk.

She wasn’t thinking rationally – just seeing things because her vision was going blurry.

Even if Wonwoo liked you . . . what did that mean for you?

“Everything okay?” Wonwoo asked slowly as you settled into your seat. His hand settled into the small of your back and for once that evening, it wasn’t soothing – it was burning hot. You jumped at his touch. “Whoa.”

“I’m fine,” you quipped, swiping at the invisible hair in your face. You shoved his glass of water into his hand. However, rather than drinking it, he placed it to the side; that same hand coming to caress your own.

“Uh . . . did your friend say something?” he asked. “Something you didn’t like?”

Yes – but you might have liked it.

“No,” you lied.

“You’re lying,” he squinted at you.

Fuck – were you just that easy to read or did he just . . . know you that well?

“It’s . . . umm . . . getting hot in here,” you chuckled half-heartedly, “I’m gonna go get some fresh air, okay?” You moved out of your seat, breathless suddenly. “J-just stay here – please.”

Wonwoo frowned, watching you back up towards the grand doors. Normally, he’d respect your boundaries and let you be. You were the type to need space when you were distressed – you knew to come to him when you needed to. However, right now, that didn’t seem like the right thing to do as he watched you spin around, bundling up your dress in your fists so you wouldn’t trip as you dashed into the red carpeted halls. He stood up taking the widest strides he could to reach you without drawing attention.

Standing in the wide doorway, his head whipped left and right, frantically searching for you. He caught sight of your dress rounding a corner and took off jogging after you. It was fortunate you weren’t the best at walking in heels – in combination with his long legs, he caught up with you quickly, reaching for your elbow. Breathlessly, Wonwoo pulled his weight back to slow you down, causing you to stumble into his chest (rather un-elegantly might you add). He was quick to catch you, setting you against the wall. When you tried to duck and escape, Wonwoo was a beat faster, bringing his left arm up to cage you in.

“Can we not be cliche and do this here?” you complained.

Wonwoo tilted his head to the side, ducking his head to try and catch your downcasted eyes. “Mind telling me what’s going on then?”

Your breathing grew shallow and uneven. With how quiet the surroundings were, you wondered if he could hear the erratic beat of your heart like you could. It boomed in your ears, drowning out the bass of the party a couple doors down.

“Hey,” he tried again, his voice softer.

Wonwoo was good to you – too good now that you think about it.

Patient.

Caring – even if he teased you a lot.

He listened.

He laughed when your jokes weren’t that funny.

And the scariest part?

He made time for you – pilots were busy.

They flew everywhere: Hong Kong, Paris, LA, Osaka, Milan, Dodoma.

But when you needed him, he was there – hell, even changed his work schedule to accompany you to a wedding in a small city with no attractions (except for the fountain that mimicked the one in Rome) and voluntarily subject himself to the scrutiny of your family.

Even now when you were tearing down the hall, he was tender in drawing the answers out of you.

In the one in a thousand chances Rina was right, how could you confront him now? You weren’t even sure of your own feelings. Had enough time passed since your break up? Did you want him in that way? Or were you too just caught up in the moment?

Slowly, but fearfully, you willed yourself to look up at him. Eyes wide boring into his own, you noted the concern that was etched into the space between his brows, the slightest frown downturning the corner of his lips.

“Would it be insane to think,” you started softly, pressing your back flat against the wall. The plaster felt cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, curling your fingers into fists. “That you might . . . like me?” you gulped, “More than a friend?”

Wonwoo’s face was stoic at first, his eyes studying your face. They traced your features from your hairline to your black mascara coated lashes to the cute tip of your nose that he touched earlier that day, finally falling on your lips – the remnants of your lip gloss probably stained on the lip of the cup of lemonade you were sipping on earlier. He wondered if your lips tasted like the drink – sweet with a hint of bitterness from the lemons they were made of.

Gradually, his features softened. The dip between his brows rising again, a tender glint flashing in his brown irises. The corner of his lips finally curving up – his nose following suit. Like he’d always explain - the muscles of his face were all connected.

Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

Wonwoo leaned in close, his bangs that fell out of the slick tickling your lashes.

Stepping back, eyes scanning his jacket for a speck of dust, he called to you, “He really said that?” Wonwoo reached to adjust the shoulder pads, “That you never have time for him? You spent all your days off with him the last time I checked – this is the first time I’ve seen you in-person . . . three months?”

“I know,” you mumbled, your voice muffled. Your hands must be covering your face.

“You’d think he’d know what he’d be getting into, dating a resident doctor, huh?” Wonwoo asked rhetorically.

The only response he got was a small ‘puff’ that echoed into his walk-in closet – the sound of your back meeting his comforter. Wonwoo chortled softly to himself. Satisfied by the look of his suit jacket, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and made his way out. The right corner of his lips curled into a small smile as you came into view just as he expected: Flopped onto his bed with your legs dangling over the edge, still dressed in your outerwear, hands covering your face.

“I’m gonna end up lonely as fuck because of my job, god,” you groaned, “Why did I think it’d be a good idea to be a doctor all things considered? I’ve been fucking up my left and rights since second year of medical school, I work six out of seven days of the week, I’m probably vitamin D deficient with how little I see the sun – there are no windows in that closet of an office they give residents in the hospital, it’s dark when I arrive, the sun is already setting when I leave. The only good thing out of this is that I don’t have to dress up for work and can live in scrubs – for now.”

“Aaaww,” he cooed teasingly, “You won’t be lonely.” Leaning against the white painted door frame, Wonwoo unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolling them up his arms. “You got me.”

“That’s different,” you deadpanned. “You’re missing the point, Wonwoo.”

“And you’re being dramatic,” he berated, running his hand through his jet black locks to loosen the tight and groomed style he was sporting earlier. “Who needs a man when you’re going to be a six-figure-making physician in a year or two? You can take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine in two years maybe, but not in two months,” you sighed, pushing yourself up from his bed.

“You’re gonna let a mere man ruin your next two months?”

“No – I mean, yes, I’m gonna mope because I’m a little heartbroken and I really thought he was . . . it.”

“Oh god,” Wonwoo scoffed. You weren’t looking, but he pointed at you anyway. “For the record, I told you from the beginning I never liked him.”

“I told my mom about him,” you blurted.

Wonwoo fell silent, his lips pursing into a small o-shape. This was no laughing matter now. You lived several miles away from home and have been doing so since starting medical school when he met you through a mutual friend. It wasn’t that you weren’t close to your family, but because of your busy schedule, there were only select parts of your life you ever told your mom. You were a listener more than you were a talker – opting to listen to your mom’s anecdotes of what’s been going on at home rather than sharing your day-to-day at the hospital over your weekly phone calls. Not to mention, Wonwoo recalled you told him that your parents were rather invested in your love life, stuck in a traditional mindset, terrified that you’d become a spinster unless you brought home a promising candidate before you hit your early thirties. Though Wonwoo could respect it, he wasn’t sure he could ever quite understand your parents’ urge to get you married so quickly, let alone if it was with the wrong person.

“My cousin’s getting married in two months and I’m flying back home for the wedding,” you explained, “He . . . was supposed to be my plus one . . . meet my cousin, my brothers . . . meet my parents.”

Wonwoo nodded slowly, eyes falling to the side and gazing out his bedroom window. The two of you were getting that serious. He was surprised you hadn’t burst into tears already – perhaps you already did or you were just a tougher cookie than he thought.

“Have you told your parents about your break up?” Wonwoo inquired.

You shook your head slowly. “I . . . I-I’m scared,” you sucked in a sharp breath, “They seemed so . . . ecstatic to meet him? And they told all my aunts and uncles I’m dating some hot shot . . . I’d hate to that away from them – or worse,” your eyes widened at your sudden epiphany, “I get scolded for being dumb and letting a boy play me.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brows together, the last comment catching him off-guard. “He didn’t and It wasn’t your fault though?”

“It takes two tango, so maybe it was,” you noted, “And my parents don’t see it that way.”

“It wasn’t and they won't.”

“Maybe.”

Wonwoo sighed seemingly hopelessly, pushing himself off the doorframe. His footsteps shifted side to side as if he was contemplating something – uncomfortable even. The space between your brows dipped slightly as you narrowed your eyes, continuing to observe him. As if the room was suddenly feeling stuffy, he let out a long and heavy breath – not out of fatigue or relief, but rather . . . nerves? His hand came up to tug at the black knot at his throat. It must've been tight because his (anatomical) right eyebrow quirked in distress, his fingers flexed harshly as he pulled it loose – you were able to make out almost each tendon running along his metacarpals.

“Date me instead,” Wonwoo stated firmly.

You blinked at him owlishly. “W-what?”

Pulling the shorter end out from behind the black piece of silk came undone, falling limp in his hand. His thumb and index finger came up to unclasp the opaque plastic button below his Adam’s Apple that bobbed up and down as he gulped down the invisible lump forming in his throat.

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” Wonwoo continued, his eyes flickering from the tie in his hand and back to you. “As your plus one.”

“D-don’t you have work?” you stammered, still processing his offer, “Planes to fly? Places to go?”

He tilted his head to the side nonchalantly, turning back around to re-enter his closet. “I’ll rearrange my schedule to ask for vacation time off – fly as a passenger for once.”

“But –”

“When’s the date?”

. . . .

And so that was how you found yourself here, dressed to the nines in a flowy lavender silk evening gown with Wonwoo’s warm (and surprisingly smooth) hand wrapped around your own sweaty fingers. His grip wasn’t too tight, but not too loose – comfortable, if you will. Visible and connected enough to show that you weren’t single, but also not squeezing the life out of you to make it obvious that the two of you were trying to hide a bigger secret. Your cheeks ached from grinning so widely in front of your parents, hoping they’d buy your fake love story with your handsome friend.

On the contrary, Wonwoo was seemingly a natural at this. He looked almost no different from his daily uniform: Sans the heavy navy blue jacket, he wore a crisp white collared shirt with black detailing on his (anatomical) right shoulder paired with a pair of black slacks. The shirt fit him nicely, slightly loose around the shoulders and tucked in tightly at his waist, highlighting his broad shape. Shoulders rounded back, his usually messy bangs slicked back neatly to the side exposing his forehead and better highlighting his sharp alluring eyes, he stood tall and confident. Despite how simply he dressed relative to other guests and against the extravagant gold and blue decorations, he stood out. A genuine and warm smile played on his lips as he greeted your parents.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he bellowed, pulling away his hand from your father and bowing his head slightly at them both.

You could tell from the way your mother’s mouth was held agape and her eyes were lit up like fairy lights lining the walls, she was an absolute goner for him Wonwoo.

“So, uh,” your father grunted, eyes zeroing in on your intertwined hands. He waved a finger between the two of you, “How long have the two of you been together?”

Wonwoo turned to look at you and because you felt obligated to in order to simulate chemistry between the two of you, you did too. He took you by surprise though – his gaze a little too loving, the small curve of his lips into a shy smile a little too affectionate.

Your breath hitched; the story the two of you rehearsed on the airplane ride here got trapped in the back of your throat. His stare was hypnotizing as if he turned your brain into mush.

“Gonna tell them or should I?” Wonwoo whispered.

The saccharine in his voice was heart fluttering – you weren’t sure if you wanted to vomit or laugh right there. Frankly, you were growing concerned if you were going to be able to pull this off. You still had half of the cocktail hour and the rest of the reception to go.

“I-I, um, w-we,” you fumbled, tearing your gaze from him. You let out a breathless chuckle, racking your brain for the timeline of your fake relationship.

Tugging you close to his side, Wonwoo turned back to your parents, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost four years now – met through a mutual friend, but have been seeing each other for the last year and a half.”

“Oh,” your mother hummed softly. “Why didn’t you tell me he was one of your friends? If I had known you had someone so handsome in your life–”

“Mom!” you protested.

“What? I’m just stating facts,” she replied.

Wonwoo gave your hand a tight squeeze, a deep, breathy chuckle bellowing from his chest. “Y/N’s . . . a little shy when it comes to how we got together. No one really expected it – not even us.”

“And what is it that you do for a living then, son?” your father jumped to the next question.

“Dad,” you deadpanned. Of course, he’d ask about Wonwoo’s occupation.

“A pilot, sir,” Wonwoo replied without hesitation.

Your dad raised his eyebrows, nodding fervently with an impressed look crossing his face. “You must have great eyesight.”

“I can see a thing or two,” Wonwoo joked in return.

“Well,” your mother finally intervened. You saw her waving at one of your aunts from afar. She wrapped a hand around your father’s arm, gently ushering him to move. “It was lovely meeting you finally Wonwoo – can’t believe she kept you hidden from us for so long, but Y/N’s father and I have a few more guests to greet. We’ll see you both around, and please, do enjoy yourself!”

Wonwoo and you bid your parents goodbye, waving at them mostly to watch until they were out of earshot and you could finally stop fake smiling.

As your lips flattened, Wonwoo took you by surprise. As if it was second nature, his hand slipped from your own, snaking past the small of your back and settling on your hip. Heat crept onto your cheeks as he pulled you close into his side. His lips grazed against the shell of your ear – you could feel him smiling, his warm breath raising the hairs on the back of your neck. From afar, anyone would think of it as two lovers whispering sweet nothings to one another. However, a stern warning came instead.

“If you keep grinning like you shit your pants, someone’s gonna catch onto us tonight,” Wonwoo whispered. He pulled away and glanced back at you. It terrified you how easily it was for him to smile so . . . warmly at you, like you were the apple of his eye – the love of his life. “Relax, hm?”

You swallowed harshly, your throat growing dry. You nodded – your face still straight nonetheless. He rested against the granite bar, spinning you to face him, his hand never leaving your waist once. Teasingly, he brushed the tip of your nose with his finger before letting both hands now rest on your hips.

“You’re freaking me out,” you muttered.

He tilted his head coyly at you. “Just doing my job as your,” he paused, his voice dropping an octave, leaning towards you, “fake,” he leaned back, his voice returning to its normal volume, “boyfriend.”

“This isn’t your first time being recruited as a fake date, is it?” you folded your arms across your chest. “Bet – Younghee invited you out when she needed a plus one back in January to her aunt’s renewal of vows.”

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, his nose ridge crinkling, eyes disappeared into crescents as his smile widened. Your heart pumped erratically, the memory of that one drunken night where you told him you liked this particular smile. He had claimed it manifested this way because his eye muscles were attached to his nose muscles.

“Seungkwan went with her if you don’t remember,” he explained. One of your relatives must’ve breezed by behind you, watching because Wonwoo’s eyes tracked after someone. He continued, indifference in his tone, “I just . . . really like you.”

With a heavy sigh, you patted his shoulder, slipping your hand back into his – ignoring the way your chest tightened at just how well your hands slotted into one another. “Uh-huh, yeah,” you did your best to hide the squeak in your voice, turning to face forward towards the tall linen-draped tables, “We have a long night ahead of us, so keep it up, buddy.”

. . . .

The evening flew by surprisingly fast without an issue – well pertaining to your fake relationship that is. Cocktail hour ended smoothly, Wonwoo meeting a few more of your cousins. No one batted an eye when you accidentally spilled some champagne down the skirt of your dress – their attention was locked on your handsome date as he indulged in their questions about his job as a pilot and where in the world he’s visited. You rejoined your parents and your younger brothers during dinner. Surprisingly, Wonwoo bonded really well with them, finding common interest in FPS video games and anime shows (you didn’t even know Wonwoo was into anime). A few of your aunts came by during cake cutting and desserts to meet him as well. You chuckled at the way he didn’t have to do much to charm them, merely nodding and smiling as they rattled off about how much they’ve already heard about him from their kids, themselves, and their own families, wishing their own kids brought back someone as dashing as him. There was a hint of jealousy and jab in their words, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

First dances were danced, bouquets and garters were tossed, and the lights of the reception hall were finally dimmed for a lively evening. Guests flooded the dance floor as the DJ, a lanky young man dressed in a snapback and a heavy black jacket with zipper detailing on the pockets, turned on a heavy dance beat and colorful flashing lights. A set of large headphones around his ears, the DJ (one of your other cousin’s boyfriend you’d later learn), bopped on his own as he twisted the various knobs on his beat board. Neither of you quite the dancer, Wonwoo and you stayed in your seat, watching your cousins, sober and drunk, shimmy on the floor.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” you announced after a little while. You peered at him through your lashes. “You want something?”

Wonwoo leaned forward by your ear. “Just water,” he shouted over the beat.

You nodded, gathering the skirt of your dress as you got out of your chair. On your way over, someone caught your elbow. You spun around, pleasantly surprised to see Rina, one of your childhood friends you grew up with, greeting you with a bright smile.

“Hey!” she squealed while linking your arms.

“Hi!” you replied. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night.”

“I don’t blame you,” she chirped as the two of you reached the bar counter. She was quick to hail down the bartender, requesting a green tea shot. You asked for Wonwoo’s glass of water and your lemonade.

Rina’s eyes flickered behind you. “Been busy introducing everyone to tall and handsome,” she walked her index and middle finger up your forearm playfully, smirking when she noticed the sheepish smile gracing your face. “Heard he was a friend turned lover? A pilot too – caught yourself a good one finally.”

“He’s alright,” you muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Rina scoffed, “If a man that handsome looked at me like the way he looks at you, I’d melt right here and now – I wouldn’t give a damn it’s my cousin’s wedding they’re cleaning me up at.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, taken aback by her comment. Your mind was already flitting through the memories of the day with Wonwoo – how did he look at you exactly?

“What?” you shook your head, “You’re being dramatic.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she held her fist to her mouth to mimic an announcer with their mic – she used to do this all the time in high school to tease you. “This is why they say love is blind.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to use that phrase,” you chuckled.

The bartender made his way over with your drinks. You both offered him a small thank you and tip, before parting from the counter and continuing your conversation.

“It’s not,” Rina lifted the opaque mint green liquid to her lips, “But you must be really blind not to see how his eyes go all soft and heart-shaped whenever he looks at you.”

He’s just naturally a good actor.

She tilted her head back, downing the drink in one ago. With a satisfied sigh, she turned back to you, a silly grin on her face. “Seriously though, I’m really happy for you – he seems to really like you.”

But it’s fake.

“Thanks,” was all you could say. You gave her a tight smile – though, Rina could tell it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The two of you slowed to a stop a few tables away from your date.

She narrowed her eyes coyly at you. “Just . . .” she clamped down on your shoulder and gave you a firm squeeze, “Think twice before you let him go.” Rina turned, her body perpendicular to your own, her eyes set on Wonwoo who was peering over curiously. She waved at him, offering him a warm smile. He returned the gesture, eyes then flickering to you.

“That,” she formed a rectangle with her fingers, “is a man in love, sweetheart.” Rina turned to you, giving your arm one last firm squeeze. “It was good to see you,” she winked, “With him.”

Not a single drop of alcohol in you that night, your mind started to spin as you watched her frolic between the tables like a happy little girl in a field of daisies, joining her friends back to the dance floor. Your legs suddenly felt wobbly – you worried you wouldn’t be able to make it back to Wonwoo in time without spilling your drinks.

There was no way in hell Wonwoo could, let alone would, love you by choice. Yes, he loved you as a friend, but no more, no less. He’s been by your side since your second year of medical school. He’s wiped your tears (and your snot) when you feared you would fail your board exams. He’s seen you at your wildest, handing out your number to strangers like gum when you were tipsy at the bar. He’s picked you up from the hospital when you could hardly open your eyes, the stress of an overnight shift hanging heavy on your limp body. Not in a single one of those moments, did anything he did ever suggest he could possibly be in love with you.

Rina was just drunk.

She wasn’t thinking rationally – just seeing things because her vision was going blurry.

Even if Wonwoo liked you . . . what did that mean for you?

“Everything okay?” Wonwoo asked slowly as you settled into your seat. His hand settled into the small of your back and for once that evening, it wasn’t soothing – it was burning hot. You jumped at his touch. “Whoa.”

“I’m fine,” you quipped, swiping at the invisible hair in your face. You shoved his glass of water into his hand. However, rather than drinking it, he placed it to the side; that same hand coming to caress your own.

“Uh . . . did your friend say something?” he asked. “Something you didn’t like?”

Yes – but you might have liked it.

“No,” you lied.

“You’re lying,” he squinted at you.

Fuck – were you just that easy to read or did he just . . . know you that well?

“It’s . . . umm . . . getting hot in here,” you chuckled half-heartedly, “I’m gonna go get some fresh air, okay?” You moved out of your seat, breathless suddenly. “J-just stay here – please.”

Wonwoo frowned, watching you back up towards the grand doors. Normally, he’d respect your boundaries and let you be. You were the type to need space when you were distressed – you knew to come to him when you needed to. However, right now, that didn’t seem like the right thing to do as he watched you spin around, bundling up your dress in your fists so you wouldn’t trip as you dashed into the red carpeted halls. He stood up taking the widest strides he could to reach you without drawing attention.

Standing in the wide doorway, his head whipped left and right, frantically searching for you. He caught sight of your dress rounding a corner and took off jogging after you. It was fortunate you weren’t the best at walking in heels – in combination with his long legs, he caught up with you quickly, reaching for your elbow. Breathlessly, Wonwoo pulled his weight back to slow you down, causing you to stumble into his chest (rather un-elegantly might you add). He was quick to catch you, setting you against the wall. When you tried to duck and escape, Wonwoo was a beat faster, bringing his left arm up to cage you in.

“Can we not be cliche and do this here?” you complained.

Wonwoo tilted his head to the side, ducking his head to try and catch your downcasted eyes. “Mind telling me what’s going on then?”

Your breathing grew shallow and uneven. With how quiet the surroundings were, you wondered if he could hear the erratic beat of your heart like you could. It boomed in your ears, drowning out the bass of the party a couple doors down.

“Hey,” he tried again, his voice softer.

Wonwoo was good to you – too good now that you think about it.

Patient.

Caring – even if he teased you a lot.

He listened.

He laughed when your jokes weren’t that funny.

And the scariest part?

He made time for you – pilots were busy.

They flew everywhere: Hong Kong, Paris, LA, Osaka, Milan, Dodoma.

But when you needed him, he was there – hell, even changed his work schedule to accompany you to a wedding in a small city with no attractions (except for the fountain that mimicked the one in Rome) and voluntarily subject himself to the scrutiny of your family.

Even now when you were tearing down the hall, he was tender in drawing the answers out of you.

In the one in a thousand chances Rina was right, how could you confront him now? You weren’t even sure of your own feelings. Had enough time passed since your break up? Did you want him in that way? Or were you too just caught up in the moment?

Slowly, but fearfully, you willed yourself to look up at him. Eyes wide boring into his own, you noted the concern that was etched into the space between his brows, the slightest frown downturning the corner of his lips.

“Would it be insane to think,” you started softly, pressing your back flat against the wall. The plaster felt cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, curling your fingers into fists. “That you might . . . like me?” you gulped, “More than a friend?”

Wonwoo’s face was stoic at first, his eyes studying your face. They traced your features from your hairline to your black mascara coated lashes to the cute tip of your nose that he touched earlier that day, finally falling on your lips – the remnants of your lip gloss probably stained on the lip of the cup of lemonade you were sipping on earlier. He wondered if your lips tasted like the drink – sweet with a hint of bitterness from the lemons they were made of.

Gradually, his features softened. The dip between his brows rising again, a tender glint flashing in his brown irises. The corner of his lips finally curving up – his nose following suit. Like he’d always explain - the muscles of his face were all connected.

Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

Wonwoo leaned in close, his bangs that fell out of the slick tickling your lashes.

All he knows is that late one night, after a few too many whiskeys, his boss had told him he’d never get on the board if he didn’t settle down. All the execs were traditionalists, apparently, and wanted to give the position to someone who’d use it to support a family.

Wonwoo had tried to argue, tried to explain that he didn’t see himself settling down, that he was the right person for the position, that cats should count as family. 

Nothing got through, and that night, Wonwoo poured his boss into a cab and left work feeling defeated. 

Mingyu had called, picked up on the exhaustion in his voice, offered to bring food over and brainstorm ideas. Now, Wonwoo didn’t normally go to Mingyu for ideas, just out of self-preservation, but he was feeling a little desperate. 

He’d been working toward this position for five years now - starting in the mailroom and moving up step by step, with Chief Financial Officer as his end goal. It was finally in his sights, but one pesky little factor was keeping him from reaching CFO, and he knew that rat bastard Alan Connor was vying for the position too.

Connor was already engaged to a nice woman named Helen, and if Wonwoo didn’t figure something out, he’d be glaring at Alan over a celebratory dinner. And he knew the douche would request seafood, knowing full well Wonwoo hates it and would have to pick at the sides like a peasant. 

No, Wonwoo simply could not allow it.

He supposes that’s why he’d listened when Mingyu mentioned knowing someone trying to avoid international tuition for their Master’s Program. And he’d listened when Mingyu said they’d considered getting married to obtain citizenship. And he’d listened when Mingyu offered to put him in contact with them, saying that you could solve your problems together. 

The next thing he knew, Wonwoo was standing next to you in front of the minister, sliding a ring on your fourth finger to the tune of Mingyu’s loud weeping in the aisle behind him. 

It was awkward at first.

Wonwoo had a spare room and you were looking for a place to stay, so the logical decision was for you to move in with him.

You’d been like a ghost the first few weeks, staying in your room most of the time, mainly emerging to cook or get water. It was only after he’d gotten takeout for the fifth night in a row that you’d appeared in the kitchen, telling him that if he wouldn’t let you pay rent he could at least stop getting delivery and let you cook for him. It made sense to say yes at the time - Wonwoo was getting tired of eating nothing but restaurant food, and you would be cooking for yourself anyway, so it wouldn’t be hard to double the portion. 

That was Wonwoo’s first mistake. 

Well. 

Second, probably, after marrying you in the first place. 

Because agreeing to your proposal meant he came home to delicious smells and soft music and you, dancing in the kitchen in your pajamas, with a glass of wine in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It was so heartwrenchingly domestic that Wonwoo started wondering why he didn’t want a family in the first place. 

It got worse when his cats started liking you more than they liked him. Maybe it was because you’re so warm, both in personality and body temperature. Maybe it was because you were home more often than he was, doing online temp work until your citizenship went through and your tuition was adjusted. Maybe it was because you were happy to pet them until they were tired of affection, or because you let them sleep on you, or because you spoke to them so sweetly. 

Wonwoo’s not sure, but he does know he literally felt his heart clench in his chest the first time he walked in on you cradling Mr. Mittens like a baby.

Queen Bea was wrapped around your shoulders like a fur stole, and your fingers were running up and down Mr. Mittens’ stomach, his purrs audible from the front door. He’d stopped in his tracks, eyes wide behind his glasses, breath caught in his throat, because Mr. Mittens didn’t even let Wonwoo hold him like that. 

(Mr. Mittens had been adopted to help soothe Wonwoo’s anxiety, but he discovered soon after that Mr. Mittens himself had even worse anxiety, and thus entered into their lives Queen Beatrice, his emotional support cat’s emotional support kitten, who now runs the entire household)  

Then you started school, and Wonwoo announced to the company that he’d gotten married to his long-term girlfriend. The financial advisors at your university were a bit suspicious at the sudden change in your marital status, and he had colleagues asking him left and right what you looked like and for cute photos from the vacations he’d lied about going on with you. It was starting to make him nervous, and it must have been obvious to you because you’d had the genius idea to stage couple photos.

You disappeared and came home one Saturday afternoon with various outfits and props, and Mingyu in tow to act as your cameraman, and off you all went.

(Gyu’s a self-proclaimed Instagram whore so he had a lot of ideas, and knew spots all over the city that could be passed off as more exotic locales). 

Wonwoo felt so stupid after for thinking it would be a safe outing, that he wouldn’t be put further at risk of falling for you with every snapshot of you kissing him on the cheek or wrapping a scarf around his neck or staring at him like you love him. You’d dragged him all over the city that day, your hand warm in his, Gyu trailing behind the two of you and shooting Wonwoo eyebrow wiggles every time he turned around. He’d felt like such a newlywed, posing for pictures with you on his arm, and it just made things all the more dangerous for him.

But it worked, the pictures got the financial aid office off your back and got him in closer with his superiors, and Wonwoo learned nothing.

(Conveniently, one of the places you’d fakecationed was where the President had honeymooned)

For posterity, Wonwoo had set his favorite photo from that day as his lockscreen, and stubbornly ignored the butterflies that rose in his stomach every time he checked his phone. 

It got a bit more difficult when the board started asking why Wonwoo didn’t bring you to any company functions.

There were… a lot. 

And before, Wonwoo hadn’t felt the need nor the desire to attend the many dinners and parties and cocktail hours the board paid for, but now, he had a wife. Wonwoo had a wife. 

And Alan Connor didn’t, yet. It was time for you to start making appearances, and the excuse that you were studying for an exam or working on a paper could only pass for so long, so Wonwoo dragged you with him to the next dinner party. 

That turned out to be a great decision because not only were Connor and Helen unable to attend, but you, Wonwoo discovered, were a natural at charming old traditional dudes and their wives.

You had knowledge on seemingly every topic, and you had the whole table leaning in to hear your every word without coming off like a know it all. You’d fielded the flirty (and sometimes sexist) comments from the men with grace, subtly twisting their words to compliment their wives instead, leaving the women blushing and hiding smiles behind cloth napkins.

You were a revelation, honestly, and even got the board to help clean up at the end of the night without twisting any ears. It was the most fun Wonwoo had ever had at a company function, and he’d resolved to bring you to every possible one after. 

Which was yet another mistake, because Wonwoo had failed to consider the possibility that he’d be charmed too, by your intelligence and kindness and wit. And he was charmed, beyond belief, falling deeper with every outing and falling harder with every sleepy smile you’d send him from the passenger seat afterwards, the way you’d pad into the living room, makeup gone and hair loose, pajamas on and arms ready to snuggle. 

With Queen Bea and Mr. Mittens. Not with Wonwoo. 

Never with Wonwoo. 

It was getting harder to pretend he didn’t wish it was him you pulled into your arms at the end of the night. 

And now here Wonwoo is, staring at you from across the ballroom, his eyes tracing the line of your neck and his smirk hiding behind a champagne glass as you tilt your head back to fake laugh at his coworker.

The crystal chandelier refracts flecks of light on you, golden beams dancing on the soft skin exposed by your slip dress, and Wonwoo tries not to let his eyes linger too long on how the silk fabric drapes over your chest, glides down your body, outlining everything he gets to see but not touch.

His only consolation is that you don’t let anyone else touch either, and he smiles secretly when he sees you grab the touchy asshole’s wrist before his hand can land on your waist, flicking it away from you with disdain. Wonwoo’s first move as CFO will be convincing the board to transfer that guy to Alaska.

You turn on your stilettos to stalk toward him and Wonwoo tries to compose himself, smoothing down the lapels of his suit and straightening his tie, hoping you didn’t notice him watching the interaction.

“Hi honey,” you breathe, then hiss through teeth clenched into a smile, “I swear to all that is holy, if one more of your bastard colleagues tries to feel me up, I will be sending this pointy ass heel through their foot.” 

Wonwoo laughs, gives you explicit permission, and tries to pretend your rage doesn’t turn him on before wrapping a loose arm around your waist and guiding you over to the champagne table. God knows the both of you could use another glass. 

His eyes shift behind his glasses, trying not to follow the drop that slipped past your lips and is currently trailing down your neck, descending toward your chest rapidly. It will show up on the silk, and you’ll be annoyed he didn’t tell you, but he can’t find it in himself to say anything or to stop the drop rolling into your cleavage. You must feel the chill, because you catch it daintily with a cocktail napkin before it gets that far, and he looks away just in time to see Alan Connor storming over. 

“You’re getting the promotion, dickhead, congratu-fucking-lations,” Connor all but shouts at Wonwoo, voice barely low enough to avoid attracting attention. 

“What do you mean? How do you know?” Wonwoo can’t keep the excitement out of his voice and glances over at you only to find you still glaring at Connor for calling him a dickhead. He feels his heart swell and can’t suppress the fond smile rising on his face, feeling so lucky to have a fake-wife as protective as you. 

“You just had to get married before me, didn’t you? Do you know how long I’ve been planning this? How hard it’s been to put up with her?” his rival seethes, chest rising and falling rapidly, face reddening with rage. 

Now Wonwoo really doesn’t know what Connor’s talking about. 

“Put up with who?” You say in unison with Wonwoo and look over to him with a little smile, your eyes glittering. You sound a bit more suspicious than Wonwoo, who sounds more bewildered than anything. 

“Helen! She’s not my fucking fiancee, she’s an actress, you idiots,” he grits out with derision, “I hired her to pretend to be engaged to me so those old bastards would give me the promotion! I was willing to fake a goddamn pregnancy if it got me CFO,” Connor shouts, gesturing wildly, eyes bulging. 

Wonwoo and you are both struck silent. He can feel his heart pounding, both at the fact that he’s going to be the new Chief Financial Officer and at the fact that Connor had been faking his relationship too. Not as well as Wonwoo was, apparently, if he dislikes Helen this much. 

You barely have time to gather yourselves before another voice booms out above all the chatter stirred by Connor’s outburst. 

“Alan Connor. Thank you so much for reassuring me the board made the correct decision. I expect your letter of resignation on my desk tomorrow morning,” President Laybourne states jovially, though his eyes are burning with ire. 

Connor pales, “Bu-but sir, tomorrow’s Saturday! Can we just discuss this like civilized adults, please?”

His pleas are unsuccessful. 

Wonwoo tries not to feel smug as he watches his former enemy be escorted from the hall by security, coughing to cover the laugh attempting to escape him when Connor shoves the guard's hand off his shoulder and shouts, “I can walk by myself!”

The fear rises within him again when the president lingers, eying you and him and the way you stand so close together. Wonwoo doesn’t know when it happened but your hand is entwined with his, fingers twined together, and your other hand is clutching at his forearm, wrinkling his suit. 

“Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” the president chuckles, “get it? Because you have cats.” 

Wonwoo laughs much too loud, and he can feel your nails digging into his skin even through the wool of his jacket, telling him to tone it down. 

“Yes, we do have cats,” Wonwoo agrees breathlessly, nodding his head until his glasses start to slip down his nose and your hand appears to still his head and gently push the frames back up to rest correctly. 

President Laybourne eyes him again before continuing, “The promotion is yours, Mr. Jeon. Welcome to the Board of Directors,” he finishes with a smile and his hand primed for a shake. 

Wonwoo tries to compose himself, gently untangling your fingers from his and wiping his hand off on his pant leg, just in case it had gotten sweaty, before taking the other man’s hand and firmly shaking it once. Wonwoo’s hand searches for yours as soon as he lets go, probably clutching your fingers tight enough to cut off circulation. 

“You know, I always thought there was something off about Alan and Helen. They seemed…  a bit too fake, a bit too perfect,” the president shakes his head, staring into the distance, “I just didn’t feel like they loved each other, not like Marci and I do. Not like you and your wife do,” he finishes with a clap on Wonwoo’s shoulder that nearly knocks him over before saying goodnight and returning to his wife. 

“Well, now we can never get divorced,” Wonwoo jokes. 

You laugh, saying, “That’s fine with me,” under your breath, and Wonwoo laughs too, before he processes what you’d said and starts to feel like he might die. 

“What? What did you say?” He asks, somewhat desperately, nearly out of his mind with hope. 

Your eyes grow wide, your mouth snapping shut, and you rush out in one breath, “Um, nothing, I’m gonna go see if they put out more of those spring rolls, I’ll be right back!” 

You try to spin and speed away, but Wonwoo is faster than you and catches you by the elbow gently before you can run to the snack table. 

Your eyes won’t meet his, and he ducks and moves around trying to catch your gaze before you finally turn back to him, and he begs, “No, please, tell me what you said.” 

Wonwoo knows he looks pathetic, practically panting and imploring you with his eyes to be honest, his brows pinched so close together they’re skewing his glasses, but he doesn’t care.

If you said what he thinks you said, it will change everything. 

You gnaw on the inside of your bottom lip, looking at him through the sides of your eyes, before your shoulders lose all their tension and you sigh, “I said it would be fine with me. If we never got divorced.” 

You sound defeated and small, like this is something you’ve been holding back, and Wonwoo feels all the air in his lungs exit in a whoosh before both hands fly up to cradle your face and pull you into a searing kiss, months of pent up love and adoration and fondness and lust pouring from his lips into yours. Your shoulders bunch up a bit and your hands move to cover his, and Wonwoo fears for a second that you’ll pull away, tell him that wasn’t what you meant, but you just pull him closer, kissing him back until you’re breathless too. 

Eventually, Wonwoo realizes both that you need air and that you’re at a public function hosted by the company of which he’s just been made Chief Financial Officer, and gently detaches from you. He stays close though, can’t bear to go further than a few inches, and you stare into his eyes before breathing out, “Should we go home? I think we should go home.”

Wonwoo nods before you’re done talking, and he makes straight for the exit on light feet before you veer to the side, tugging him towards his colleagues, and he remembers the two of you should say your goodbyes. 

He’s as quick as he can be about it, shaking hands and accepting toasts, and hears you tell everyone how proud you are of him, knows you mean it, and his heart starts swelling. 

Then Wonwoo hears you say, “My husband and I should be getting home, have a great night!” and something else starts swelling too.

(His dick. Wonwoo is talking about his dick. Oh you got it? Good.)

AN: hiiii so this was a sleepover fic turned oneshot for the lovely @lenireads who was the first person to join my taglist!! thank you so much for supporting me and i hope you enjoy!! there will be a smutty part two, don't worry!!

PART TWO

ALTERNATE ENDING

taglist: @confusedbansheee @junhui-recs @burningupp-replies @heeseung-lover686 @favehoshiposts @gyvswhore @jaysawake (unable to tag) @1004luvangel @bangchanbabygirlx @Baldi-2 (i know you filled out the taglist again but i still cant tag u for some reason im so sorry) @just-here-to-read-01 @gaebestie @noryyyyyyyyy @heavenly-mobo @smalliechelle @shuabby1994 @snowgirlfallen @noraehey @swinterr @fr0g-filez

you can join my taglist here

Warnings: lil bit of weed; mentions of drinking; mentions of eating; cramps mention (not specified as menstrual so even if u don't menstruate you should be good to go), mentions of having kids but its even smaller a blip than the drugs; he lifts reader up (lbr this man is massive and i believe that if he couldn't lift you he'd just work out till he could), i mention his body a lot bc im obsessed with it what can i say, he's asleep for like half of it sorry, a bit of crying but not as much as in bartender!seungkwan pt 2

tagging: @confusedbansheee @lenireads @junhui-recs @burningupp-replies @heeseung-lover686 @favehoshiposts @gyvswhore @jaysawake @1004luvangel @bangchanbabygirlx

“Sleepy?” Jihoon asks from bed with a soft voice, face nearly expressionless, but you can see the love in his eyes, like always. You’ve gotten good at reading Jihoon over the two years you’ve been together but the man doesn’t always offer up his emotions freely. In his music, sure, but in life? Unless he’s laughing, it can be hard to tell how exactly he’s feeling. If you ask, the answer will usually be hungry, or most often, tired.

Jihoon is always tired, working long hours in the studio as a producer and even longer hours at home as a songwriter. You can always hear him singing in the spare bedroom turned home studio, and every time one of his songs comes out, you wish it was his voice instead. He sings for you, sometimes, when you can’t sleep. Most of the time, he sings when he thinks you’re already asleep (he doesn’t need to know you're faking and you don’t need to know he knows you’re faking). 

You realize you’ve forgotten to respond to him and nod with a gentle smile, bending down for a kiss which he returns contentedly. He’s used to it, knows you drift off sometimes, especially when he sparks a thought in you. 

You’re still thinking as you crawl into bed beside him, leaning in for one more kiss before nuzzling your head into his shoulder. 

You have a lot of thoughts about him, at all times.

You didn’t last long as friends, maybe two or three months, because your traitorous brain just wouldn’t shut up about him. 

His friends had been high the night you met, bragging to you about what a star Jihoon was and trying to get you to date him. Jihoon, meanwhile, looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole, especially when the platinum blonde one (whom you now know as Soonyoung) held his hand up and curled his fingers at you, hissing, “Tiger’s gaze!” and then stared at you with narrowed eyes for approximately 45 seconds. 

It only got worse when his other friend (sweet, kind, loud Seokmin) started singing something from King Arthur at the top of his lungs; his voice would have been beautiful if it wasn’t directly in your ear and echoing off the empty streets.

Jihoon did his best to wrangle them, apologizing sincerely before dragging them away and shooting one last pinched smile over his shoulder at you.  

You’ve never told him but that night, you went home and googled the fuck out of him. You’d tried every combination of Jihoon and producer and music and songwriting you could think of, throwing in other random words just in case they worked. Nothing did and you fell asleep that night frustrated, and no more informed than you were when you started. 

Now obviously, you know you didn’t find anything because he produced under a pseudonym. 

Your eyes wander over the shelf of awards, all won by Woozi or Universe Factory. Jihoon had been reluctant to put them up, being the humble man he is, but you wanted to celebrate him. You wanted him to look at them and feel proud. And then look at you and feel supported. He may not say it but you know he does. 

You can feel Jihoon’s breath even out and look up at him to find his heavy eyelids closed and his lips open just a bit. His throat will be sore tomorrow if he sleeps with his mouth open like that, and he won’t absentmindedly hum around the house if it is, so you hold your breath and carefully push his chin up with one finger to close it. You wait, just to make sure you haven’t woken him, and thank your lucky stars he’s a heavy sleeper. 

Now that you know he’s sleeping and won’t perceive you (as he so often does), you let your mind wander. 

You think about how you’d run into him again, on that same street, with the same friends, just a few weeks after the first time. You’d pretended you didn’t remember him, or that night. 

Even then he knew you were lying. Jihoon’s always been able to see right through you, down to the insecure and messy parts you try to hide. 

He let it slide though, let you pretend, knowing somehow you needed to protect yourself just a little bit longer. Soonyoung and Seokmin (they repeated their names to you what felt like a hundred times) somewhat desperately attempted to convince you to join them on their night out.

Jihoon had tried to free you, give you an out by saying that you were probably busy and had plans of your own, his eyes boring into you to make sure you knew what he was doing. 

You only needed a few seconds to decide you didn’t want to be free. 

So you joined them, and learned you shared mutual friends, and suddenly two friend groups became one, and then you were seeing him every weekend. You always thought you could feel Jihoon’s eyes on you, but when you’d look over he’d be in a seemingly deep conversation with someone else, usually Jun. 

Jun was one of the friends you had in common, you’d met him at work and Jihoon had known him since middle school, and he was perhaps too delighted when your friend groups merged. 

You honestly couldn’t tell if Jihoon even liked you as a person until your friends insisted on swimming in Jun’s apartment complex’s pool. It was freezing out, halfway through November and mid cold-front, and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was jump in a cold ass pool.

Everyone else had gone in, everyone but you and Jihoon. Your friends had tried to goad you for a bit but eventually gave up and started trying to drown each other, as boys do. 

You’re sure Jihoon could tell that you did want to get in, but you didn’t want the teasing or punishing splashes that were sure to follow, because he came and sat next to you on the lounger, and said quietly, “what if I go in first?” 

With wide eyes, you’d turned to him, shocked that A) he was talking to you unprompted, and B) that he was offering to get in the pool at all. He’d been adamant he didn’t want to get his clothes wet, saying that he hadn’t brought anything else to wear, that he hated the way water felt in his slides. Jun had offered a shirt, but you and everyone else knew it wouldn’t fit Jihoon. He was just too big, so very big and dense and muscular and…

You shake your head, reminding yourself that he’s asleep and values his rest and wouldn’t appreciate you awakening him by feeling him up. 

Maybe he would though, he always gets the cutest blush whenever you appreciate his body in any way, shape, or form… and his form is so…

No! Jihoon needs his rest, he doesn’t sleep enough and he works too hard for you to wake him up now, even if you desperately want to trace your fingers over his pecs. 

Your mind wanders to when you’d accidentally went from friends to more than friends to lovers to partners. 

Jihoon wasn’t much of a drinker, and neither were you, so you were often paired up as designated drivers. Neither of you minded, preferring to keep a clear head and make sure your friends didn’t concuss themselves or impregnate anyone, but it meant you spent a lot of time together.

A lot of time together, late into the night, surrounded by drunk people who wouldn’t remember what you said in the morning. 

So you and Jihoon entertained yourselves by making fun of your friends’ antics. You shared secret smiles when Seokmin inevitably climbed on a table and started belting out show tunes. You giggled to each other when he launched himself onto Mingyu’s back and declared himself king of the world. You blindly slapped at each other’s arms and stifled smiles when Soonyoung started trying to make out with whoever was closest to him and subsequently got pushed away with a palm to the forehead. 

That’s usually when one of you would decide the group had had enough for the night, and worked together to corral everyone into your respective cars. One night though, after assigning seats and buckling everyone in (thank fuck you both drove SUVs), Jihoon gently caught your hand before you opened the driver’s side door and pulled you aside. 

He’d looked nervous, which was uncharacteristic of him, and you were instantly worried he was going to tell you he was tired of chaperoning.

Terrified you’d be on your own from now on, left to somehow babysit twelve grown men without Jihoon’s firm, large hand, you twisted your fingers together and stared at him apprehensively. 

“Do you think you’d maybe… some time… want to get-” Jihoon pushed out a breath, shaking his head from side to side a little, before continuing.

“Would you wanna get a drink sometime? With… just me? We could leave the kids at home for once.”

A half-smile pulled at his lips, nerves evident only in the bunching of his muscles and the way he couldn’t quite meet your eye. 

It had taken everything in you to pretend you didn’t just see a flash of the two of you dropping toddlers off at your mom’s house before running back to the car together and escaping into the sunset.

Jihoon must have taken your wide eyes and silence for a rejection though, because he started backtracking. He didn’t get far before you interrupted him.

“Actually there’s a place nearby where they wander around with various grilled meats on sticks and cut it right there onto your plate. It’s all you can eat. We could go there instead?” You offered hopefully. 

Jihoon had looked right at you then, like he was seeing all the way down to your bones and into the annoying, stupid organs they protected (a heart that beat too hard around him, and a brain that he could scramble with a single touch).

But his face was more open than ever, eyes clear and focused on you. It was scary almost, to have all of his attention, all of his concentration, on you like that. Scary until he broke out into a full grin, eyes crinkled and dimples creased in his smile lines.

And that was all it took, just one smile and he’d burrowed his way deeper into the depths of your heart and every groove of your brain, and you knew somehow you’d never be able to disentangle them from him. 

Jihoon’s been stuck there ever since, carving out his own space in you with every late night spent cooking together, every early morning spent staring at each other, every long day spent caring for one another. 

His care always shows in the little things: in the way he makes two portions when he has to leave early for work so he’s sure you eat breakfast, in the way he noticed that you hate when his toes touch you in bed and started wearing socks without you having to ask, in the way he can always tell when you have cramps and appears every four hours to give you pain meds because you’d forget they exist otherwise. 

The longer you’re with him, especially now that you live together, the more sure you are that you want this to be your life, forever.

You’ve already read all of the books on his side of the bed, even though they’re about songwriting and you don’t have a poetic bone in your body. There’s a picture of him on your nightstand, framed carefully, and he’d bemoaned the fact that it was just him and not you together. 

But how could you resist? His mouth was open wide, kabobs in each hand, and uninhibited, ravenous joy in his eyes. It’s one of your favorite pictures of him, and you know Jihoon knows it’s because it reminds you of that first date at the Brazilian steakhouse. 

You smother a giggle in his shoulder, remembering how Jihoon had invited you back to his place after. 

You’d worried things were moving too fast until he turned on a movie and immediately fell asleep, his massive shoulders tipping into you until he was practically in your lap. You hadn’t been able to move for hours, both because you didn’t want to disturb him and because he was just too heavy, and even with dead legs and a screaming bladder, you still wouldn’t change a single thing about it. 

You don’t mean to, but sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back asleep, so you just lay on your side and watch his chest rise and fall. It’s soothing to you, the pattern of his breaths and the sound of air moving through his lungs. A reminder that he’s here with you and feels safe with you and loves you (Jihoon can sleep anywhere but he doesn’t like sharing a bed, a fact that changed with you). 

This usually happens on rainy days or Mondays or when things feel a bit more complicated than normal.

Being with Jihoon isn’t always easy; it’s not even close to his fault but it can be hard contending with his demanding schedule, and sometimes he pours so much emotion into his music he doesn’t have a whole lot to spare for you. You never doubt that Jihoon loves you, but there are days that he’s a bit closed off, a bit unavailable. 

Those are the nights that you stay awake on purpose, just so you can watch him sleep and remind yourself that he wants to be here with you, and that he’s here to stay. 

You’re still not sure if Jihoon thinks you haven’t noticed the paper rings he’s been leaving all over the house. He has to have noticed that they disappear though, snatched with delicate fingers and deposited straight into your jewelry box as soon as you find them. You’re too scared to put them on, worried you’ll tear the paper or get them wet or lose them, but you know they’re for you. 

He’d told you somewhere near the six month mark that his writing changed when he met you, got deeper, truer, his words finally tied to real experiences, and you’ve listened to every song he’s put out since then. 

Same dream, same mind, same night was basically a proposal in itself, even if it was sung by someone else. Last month, he’d led you into his studio, gently pushing you down by the shoulders to sit in his chair before starting the guide track of IF you leave me and immediately running from the room.

You’d emerged fifteen minutes later, your face wet with tears and sobs caught in your throat, walking straight into his arms and staying there for hours. 

Your mind lingers on one lyric in Same, same, same.

Promise me eternity, if you feel the same way as I do

You feel the sudden urge to look at the rings, to try one on for once, so you carefully roll out of bed, thanking yourself for not having wormed your way into his arms yet. Shuffling on quiet feet to your dresser, you open your jewelry box, holding your breath and praying it doesn’t creak. 

The paper rings are there, as expected, but you notice something new this time. 

A metal one, white gold, with a diamond wrapped in delicate golden vines, dotted with tiny gemstones. You look closer, realizing that the gems are his and your birthstones. 

Your breath catches in your throat, tears welling up immediately, and you almost curse Jihoon for making you cry so late at night, before you hear rustling behind you and his tired voice. 

“Took you long enough, that thing’s been in there for days,” you can hear the smile in his tone, hear the way it forms his words and coats them with love, “didn’t you notice I stopped leaving paper ones for you to find?” 

You can hear blankets moving through the roaring in your ears, fingers quivering around the ring until Jihoon reaches around you and takes it from your grasp. He must know you’re frozen, unable to turn around on your own, because he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder and spins you slowly himself. 

Your gaze meets his and you’re shocked to see inklings of tears in his eyes, your eyebrows raising and the fondest smile stretching your lips. Jihoon tries to kneel but you follow him, sinking down onto your knees until you’re both sitting on the floor of your bedroom, in the home you share. 

He rolls damp, playful eyes at you, and you can only shrug and let your watery smile grow.

Jihoon should know by now that you’ll always follow him. 

“I had a plan, if you didn’t find it in the next few days,” Jihoon begins, voice quiet but strong. 

“I bought you a music box programmed to play the song I wrote the night I first asked you on a date, one you’ve never heard before, and I was going to have it waiting with all the rings inside when you got home from work.”

You nod, biting your lips into your mouth to stifle the sob, forcing yourself to focus on him even through the fogginess of your tears. 

Jihoon just narrows his eyes at you lovingly, a little chuckle escaping under his breath, before shifting to sit with his knees crossed, and pulling you to sit sideways in his lap. His arms wrap around you, cradling you and letting you gather yourself enough to listen to him, and he carries on with his speech. 

“You know I like to have control over my life, over who’s in it and what happens and where it goes, but when I met you, I started wondering what could happen if I didn’t control everything. It felt like a sign when I saw you again, and then when we had friends in common, it felt like the pieces could fall into place if I would just let them.”

Jihoon disguises a sniffle in a cough and like the loving, caring person you are, you pretend to be fooled. 

“So I tried to let go. I wasn’t successful at first,” you snort, remembering the way he always pretended he hadn’t been looking at you, and he bops you gently on the head with his nose in retribution. 

“I wasn’t successful at first,” Jihoon continues pointedly, digging his chin into the top of your head a bit. 

“But I got better at it, better at letting go and letting things happen, and being around you got so easy I didn’t even have to try anymore. And then I asked you out for drinks, and I thought you were turning me down but you proposed meat instead, and that’s when I knew,” Jihoon nods with finality, seemingly finished. 

“Is that- Are you… done?” You ask, tilting your head to stare at him. 

Jihoon stares back, face flat, before he breaks out into laughter, his cackles bouncing off the walls of your bedroom and your heart. You can’t do anything but join him, resting your head on his shoulder and giggling into his neck. 

“No, I’m not done. I was pausing for dramatic effect, I thought you’d appreciate it!” He says breathlessly, pressing a kiss onto your forehead, pausing to let his lips rest there a moment. 

“That’s when I knew that I was in trouble. That if I got to be with you, got to love you, I’d never want anyone else. But I was ready, I am ready. And if you are too, then,” Jihoon pauses to pull away enough to look at you, voice soft and serious.

“Marry me?” He unwraps one arm from around you and holds out the ring, nestled in his palm and looking so so delicate compared to the size of his hand. 

You feel like your throat is closing up, clogged with joy and love and wishes fulfilled. You can only nod, reaching shaking fingers out to Jihoon, watching as he slides the ring onto your fourth finger. It fits perfectly, sparkling even in the moonlight and warm from his skin. 

Staring at it on your finger for just a second, you take a deep, steadying breath before tackling Jihoon to the floor and kissing him like your lives depend on it.

He goes willingly, you know because Jihoon’s withstood your attempts to tackle him before, and he lets you kiss all over his face with his eyes scrunched shut and the brightest grin you’ve ever seen him wear. 

You lay there together on the floor, his body cushioning yours from the hardwood and you promising him in your mind to massage away all the aches tomorrow, talking late into the night and falling asleep together, breaths in sync. 

You wake up in bed, eyes swollen from crying the night before, and jerk as your phone vibrates again on the nightstand. 

Oh, so that’s what woke you up, you think, reaching over to flick the button and silence the buzzing. 

Jihoon’s not in bed with you, but you can hear him singing in the kitchen, a song you don’t recognize. Something about being ready and wanting to run away and someone being his escape? 

You start to roll out of bed, toes tapping to the beat of his song, but stop when you see your phone light up again. Your eyes grow wide at the amount of notifications, the such a beautiful night groupchat being responsible for all of them.

Rubbing your eyes blearily with the back of your hand, you scroll through the messages, trying to catch up. 

You see apple cash being exchanged, demands for pictures, requests for the full story, and know Jihoon must have told the guys.

Some people might be upset that he’d shared the news without asking, but you just smile, because it had been them who brought you together in the first place. 

It was Soonyoung who growled at you when you were passing him in the street, forcing Jihoon to grab him by the arm and apologize profusely to you.

It was Jun who called the night you first agreed to hang out with them, who recognized your voice and shouted at Jihoon until he passed the phone to you.

It was Seungcheol who begged you both to be designated drivers, desperate to the point of offering the two of you gas money and his firstborn child.

It was Seokmin who broke out into love songs every time you and Jihoon so much as glanced in each other’s direction, and Mingyu who carried him away before either of you got too embarrassed and annoyed to even look at one another. 

Memories flicker through your brain like vintage film, your mind recalling moments you and Jihoon shared with each and every one of the guys.

Moments that led you to each other, brought you closer together, allowed this love to grow.

Facilitated it, even. 

You’re so lost in thought you don’t notice Jihoon coming in until he scoops you up into his arms bridal style and hauls you into the kitchen, setting you down on the counter and placing a plate of steaming scrambled egg mess on your lap and a fork in your hand.

You reel a bit, trying to catch up to the abrupt location change, and ask Jihoon, “what was that for?”

Jihoon smiles at you, dimples on full display and cheeks pushed up high, and says, “Practice.”

AN: so if y'all couldn't tell by my blog, woozi is my ult and i fear i may be straight up in love with him, evidenced by this fic. i made myself cry with this one and you're legally obligated to tell me if it made you cry too!

this is the pic reader has framed

:'-)

The highlight of waking up is getting to send you a good morning text (and kicking his feet in bed at the sleepy selfie you send back). One of his favorite hobbies is planning dates; at first you’d worried that you weren’t contributing, but Chan reassured you that he lived for it (his pinterest board confirmed this). 

He enlists the help of his friends far too often, but he doesn’t think they mind. Chan’s pretty sure they think it’s cute and kind of embarrassing actually, which is how they love him most. 

He asked Soonyoung to help him choreograph an interpretive dance to show you his love, Mingyu and Seokmin to cook for your one month anniversary (Seokmin took it upon himself to act as entertainment), Jeonghan for flirting tips, Seungcheol for… money (and clothes!), and Seungkwan for a full supplement regimen because you mentioned being iron deficient once. 

He’d almost asked Jihoon to write a song that he could play during your first time together, but he thought that might be a bit much (he also didn’t want to share any details about your sex life without asking you, it felt disrespectful). 

Sometimes Chan wonders if he’s coming on too strong, but miraculously, you seem to like him just as much as he likes you. 

You text him all day, memes and pictures and things that remind you of him. You told him in the beginning that you want to hang out any time you’re both free, so he knows you like to be with him. You initiate cuddling more than he does, pushing him gently onto the couch and laying on top of him, petting his deltoids and sighing. 

You also always seem to know when he’s upset somehow: popping into the studio when he’s ready to tear up in frustration at not getting a move right; calling him when the guys’ teasing gets to be a bit too much; squeezing his hand over the gear stick when he starts to get anxious in bad traffic. 

You know him so well already, and Chan can only hope you feel like he knows you too. 

He’s about to know you even better, he thinks, and wipes his sweaty hands on his pants before heading to the door and letting you into his apartment. 

You look beautiful as always, radiant in your t-shirt and jeans, and Chan pulls you into a kiss before you can even say hello. 

He might be a little eager. 

(and a little hard) 

You kiss him back though, pressing your body up against his, probably feeling his dick poking into your stomach, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, Chan thinks you might like it, your hand trailing down his chest to land on the button of his jeans, and he shivers when your nails scratch at the sensitive skin of his stomach. 

You break the kiss to grin at him, hooking your fingers into his belt loops to pull him closer before wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. Chan squeezes you back, sighing into your hair and breathing you in. Fuck, how do you always smell so good? 

“Hi Chan,” you exhale, your body relaxing against him. 

“Hi baby,” he responds softly, feeling more and more of your weight resting on him. 

“Are you okay?” Chan asks, a bit concerned that you’re barely able to hold yourself up. 

“Yeah, just exhausted. I didn’t sleep well last night and it was a really, really long day,” you do sound tired, and he could kick himself for not noticing the cute circles under your eyes. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs into your neck, still holding you snug against him, his arms locked around you, “do you wanna take a nap?”

You nod into his neck, sniffling slightly, and Chan is horrified to feel the dampness of your eyelashes. 

He crushes you tighter to him, heart palpitating, fear like he’s never known striking his chest, when you start to cry. 

“Babe?” Chan asks frantically, one hand flying up to run over your hair, the other clutching your waist. 

“Sorry,” you whine, burrowing deeper into his chest, “I’m just really sleepy and you’re so nice and warm and buff and I love you.”

Chan melts against you, his knees barely able to hold up your weight and his own, alarms and echoes of, “buff and I love you,” sounding in his brain. 

“I love you, baby. Wanna sit on the couch while I clean off my bed?” 

You nod, waiting for him to release you from the cage of his arms and letting him help you stumble to the sofa. 

Chan makes sure you’re comfortable before speedwalking to his bedroom and carefully pulling the door shut. He rockets around the room, blowing out candles and shoving rose petals into a baggie, scream whispering at Alexa until she turns the fucking music off, going over in his mind anything else he needs to do. 

He didn’t want you to come in here and see all of this, and think he was expecting anything of you tonight. Chan doesn’t ever expect anything from you, except maybe, like, your love and attention, but definitely not sex, and he never wants to make you feel like he does. 

He looks over his room one last time before taking a deep breath and going to retrieve you from the couch.

You’re dozing, curled up on the cushions with one hand tucked until your face and the other balled up in a cute fist by your chest. He hates to wake you up, but the couch isn’t that comfortable and he really wants to snuggle you, so he shakes you awake gently and tugs you to bed. 

You follow his lead with half shut eyes and rumpled clothes, your hands going to your jeans once you make it to his room. Chan looks away as you shove them off, undoing your bra and taking it off from underneath your shirt.

(how the fuck did you do that??)

You crawl into bed, staring at him with disgruntled eyes until he strips to his boxers and climbs in next to you, lifting his arm for you to slide under. Your fingers trace over his bare skin as you rest your head in the crook his shoulder makes, and now Chan feels sleepy too.

(and a bit hard still)

His eyes flutter closed, your breath evens out, and you fall into sleep together. 

Chan wakes with your body stretched out on top of him, your breasts pressed against his chest and your leg wrapped around his. He can feel his dick poking your thigh, and when you wake up, you’ll feel it too. 

He’s not sure what to do here. If he pulls away, he might wake you up and you’d seemed to really need the rest. But if he stays like this, he’ll only get harder, the warmth and weight of your soft thigh on his cock making him dizzy. 

He's still thinking when you awaken, your back arching in a deep stretch, keening sigh leaving you as your limbs reach. Chan stretches with you, pretending to have also just stirred, but you dig your chin into his pec and send him a knowing smile. 

He smiles back sheepishly, trying to pull his hips away from your leg, and you roll your eyes and shift to lay on him fully, your thighs spreading as you straddle him. 

You’re too far down his body for him to really feel the heat between your thighs, but his dick is pressed against your stomach, and he throws an arm behind his neck so he can return your gaze comfortably. 

“What are you thinking?” Chan asks quietly, contentedly. 

“I’m thinking I want to know what your plan for tonight was,” you smile at him indulgently, tapping your fingers on his skin, “what was it I heard when I first got here, smooth jazz?” you ask with a teasing voice. 

Chan laughs and looks away shyly, a bit embarrassed at being called out, and you shake your head and lean up to give him a chaste kiss. 

“You don’t have to be nervous. We talked about having sex tonight, it’s not like you were springing it on me,” you remind him. 

“Yeah, I guess. I just- it all feels kind of… dumb and cliche now,” he admits softly. 

With fondness clear in your eyes, you shift up until you’re right on top of his dick, just two thin layers keeping you apart. Chan's hands latch onto your hips and he shivers at the heat between your thighs, familiar but new, different now that he knows he’ll get to feel it, feel you. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, grinding down on him, a wet patch growing on your panties. 

“It was smooth jazz, and I had rose petals, and candles, and lube,” he gasps. 

“All the first time necessities,” you sigh, hips still moving against him. 

“Exactly!” Chan exclaims, bucking up and leaking precum onto his boxers. 

You just get him. 

His fingers tap the flesh over your hip bones as he gathers the courage to ask, “can I make you cum first? Just in case.” 

It’s hard to admit he might not last, but he feels safe with you, and you’d said that communication during sex was nonnegotiable. 

You reward him by sitting up and tugging your shirt over your head, your breasts bouncing gently with the movement and your nipples pebbling in the cool air. 

Chan’s brain misfires, eyes caught between looking at your face and looking at your chest, and you seem to realize this, taking one of his hands from your hips and placing it on your breast. 

Your flesh is warm under his palm, soft and plush, and Chan thinks he would die to get his mouth on you right now. 

“Can I?” He asks, sitting up and leaning in slowly with his lips parted, gaze volleying up and down as he gets closer. 

You nod, sitting still to allow him free reign. Chan takes advantage of the opportunity, swooping in to lay kisses and suck little bites into your skin before wrapping his lips around your nipple. It hardens further in his mouth, and he lavs his tongue over the bumps, taking long pulls and sighing against you. 

You taste good. Chan’s not sure how to describe it, but he knows he wants more, and nibbles his way over to your other breast. He leaves the indent of his teeth on the underside, licking a broad stripe up to your nipple and sucking it into his mouth. 

You’re squirming, head tilted back and fingers caught in his hair, and your hips jerk against him in short bursts. He wonders if you can cum like this, but decides to save that for another time, really wants to feel your wet heat under his fingers and perhaps his tongue, if you’re down for it. 

Chan pulls off of you with a pop, brushes his thumbs over your nipples and drags his hands down to the waistband of your underwear, “Can I take these off, baby?”

You nod, gasping and lifting your hips so he can start working your panties down, and it’s Chan’s turn to gasp when he sees how wet they are, sees the dark spot on his boxers (that’s probably from him too, though). 

He shifts you off of him gently, laying you on your back and hovering over you to slide the underwear off. The arm bracing him trembles and he feels the back of his neck grow hot when he takes in the sight before him. 

You’re sprawled on his bed, skin vibrant against the color of his sheets, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your eyes half-lidded with desire, desire for him. 

Chan is so glad, so so glad he asked to take care of you first, because he already feels like he’s right on the edge. 

It’s a lot, it’s everything, being close to you like this, seeing you like this, touching and tasting and breathing you in. 

It’s almost too much when you shyly spread your legs, hands covering your tummy and toes wiggling with nerves. 

Chan realizes he’s been staring at you a bit too long, sweeps you into a fiery kiss to apologize, running his free hand down your body and smoothing it along your thigh. His fingers get closer to your heat with each pass until wetness coats his fingertips, and Chan groans into your mouth, his touch skimming your slit. 

He lets you get used to him, just passing lightly over you until you whine and arch into his hand, before gliding a finger between your folds. He brushes over the swollen bundle of nerves, rubbing lightly, and then slowly sinks a finger inside you. 

You’re so wet, soaking really, and scorching hot, and Chan is worried he won’t even make it through this without cumming in his boxers. He can’t stop imagining what you’ll feel like around him, even as he grinds his thumb into your clit, slides another finger inside, crooks them in an attempt to find your g-spot, pulls your hips back down with his free hand when they buck up. 

You’re getting louder, breathier, moaning and sighing and whimpering his name, and Chan thinks you might be close, sucks air into his lungs to ask, “Baby, can I put my mouth on you?” 

“Yes yes yes, Chan,” you whine, your hips bucking up into his touch, and he shuffles down the bed to lay between your legs. 

You’re so pretty up close, spread open and glistening for him, and Chan groans, holding your lips apart with two fingers and licking between them. 

Your clit throbs under his tongue, your walls clenching around his fingers, and Chan tries to keep his cool, he really does, but he just can’t stop himself from sucking your clit into his mouth and moaning into your pussy, pushing a third finger inside and scissoring you open, throwing his free arm over your hips and anchoring your pelvis to the bed. 

“Good, baby?” Chan checks in, face wet with you and voice rough with want. 

You nod, biting your lips between your teeth to hold in your sounds, and Chan draws his fingers out of you, sinking one into your mouth to gently pull your jaw down. It doesn’t work, mainly because you immediately hollow your cheeks to suck the taste of your own wetness off his skin, and Chan groans in both defeat and devotion. 

Fuck, he wants you to cum, wants to make you cum, needs to see and hear and feel you break apart.

He withdraws his hand from your mouth to sink his fingers back inside, digits gliding smoothly with how soaked you are, and purses his lips around you, suctioning your clit with his mouth and tonguing it in pulses, matching his pace with the clenching of your walls. 

You gasp when his fingers curl inside of you at a new depth, and he exclaims victoriously into your pussy, crooking them again and again into your g-spot, deliriously happy that he’d found it, until you break with a cry and gush around his fingers. 

Chan is in awe, instantly obsessed with everything about how you cum, and he can’t wait to ask you for a day to make it happen as many times as you’re physically capable of. 

He almost wants to see it again now, but he’d miraculously made it through this without cumming in his boxers, and he really wants to feel you around his dick, if that’s something you still want. 

You do, he learns, as you guide him up to you with a hand in his hair and pull him into a searing kiss, licking his lips clean of you and pushing his boxers down with your toes. 

He’d already discussed it with you, and as you have an implant and you’d gone to get tested together, you’ve decided to forgo condoms. 

Chan almost came on the spot when you brought it up, but he held it together then like he’s trying to now, panting lightly as you rub his dick along your pussy, getting it wet and lining it up with your entrance. 

You wait for him to make the move, and his forehead falls to your shoulder as he sinks into you, breathing wet gasps against your skin. 

Chan’s never done this without a condom before, and he’s not sure he’ll live through it. 

You fit him like a glove, just a bit of a stretch to push through, and your pussy sucks him in deeper and deeper until his balls meet the soft skin of your ass. 

You whine when he bottoms out, your back arching, your breasts pressing against his chest, and Chan has never experienced anything hotter in his life. 

He knows he only has so much time before he tumbles over the edge, and slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, hoping to take you with him. 

You tighten around him and all of the blood that should be in his brain is flowing through his dick, making it throb against your walls and spit precum inside you. Chan tries to think, tries to remember the deep breathing exercises Wonwoo taught him, but he’s forgotten everything he ever knew as he fucks in and out of the molten velvet of your pussy. 

Chan's brain feels frighteningly empty, occupied only with you and how you feel around him, devoid of any thought that isn't your name.

He manages, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby, shit, love you so much, love you love you love you,” all nearly sobbed into your skin as he cums. 

The fingers on your clit and his dick jumping against your g-spot push you over the edge, your walls clamping down around his cock, making him shiver and whimper into your neck. Chan can hear you gasping, little whines escaping you as you clench and pulse, your wetness mixing with his cum to seep out of your entrance. 

He pulls away slowly, mixed cum dribbling from your pussy to drip down your ass onto the bed, and he freezes, transfixed by the sight. He wants to push it back inside you, plug you up with his fingers and lick you clean with his tongue, but you're squirming already and he remembers you've never had anyone cum inside you before.

He hefts you into his arms, swiftly carrying you into the bathroom, hoping your thighs are pressed together tightly enough that nothing drips out onto the dark carpet. He wouldn't really care if it did, but he knows his landlord would.

The shower heats up as you sit on the toilet and wait for his cum to trickle out of you, and he crouches in front of you, setting his hands on your knees.

"How was it? Did you hate it?" Chan asks nervously, fingers denting your flesh and lip bitten between his teeth.

You stare at him incredulously, face screwing up in concern, before saying, "Channie, it was amazing, of course I didn't hate it. Did you think I'd hate it?"

"Well, no," he starts with a blush, "but I just wanted it to be good, and special, and what you deserve. I just wanna make you happy," he continues quietly, shyly.

You smile at him gently, weaving your fingers into his hair and pulling him into a soft, sweet kiss.

Pulling away, you breathe, "Babe, it was good, and special, and more than I deserve. You are good, and special, and more than I deserve."

He stares into your eyes, not a lick of deception in them, and beams as he pulls you into another kiss.

"I love you," he whispers into your lips, feels his heart flutter when you whisper it back, and helps you stand and climb into the shower.

You wash each other slowly, chatting about your respective days with shampoo hands and sudsy bodies, you giggling at him when he becomes entranced by the bubbles drifting over your breasts.

You let him make you cum one more time, with just his fingers inside you and his mouth around your very clean nipples, and Chan thinks he could die happy when he feels your heart stutter against his lips and hears you sigh his name, slick leaking out around his fingers.

You'd designed a skincare routine for him, and you stand together in front of the mirror, wrapped up in fluffy towels and patting serums into your skin, and discuss your plans for the next day.

You pull on pajamas and clamber into bed, your head resting on his chest and his fingers drifting up and down your spine, and continue to whisper quietly, considering your options. Chan was thinking about taking you to this brunch place with bottomless mimosas, and wonders if he could get Vernon to be your DD, but you offer to make breakfast instead.

He's heard about your famous sleepover pancakes and has wanted to try them since he met you, so he eagerly agrees and tentatively asks if he can maybe perhaps eat you for breakfast first, and you giggle into his pec, shaking your head a little.

"You really liked it that much?" you ask, voice full of wonder.

"Are you kidding? I think I liked it more than you did. I honestly thought I might cum before I could even get inside you," he responds, feeling a bit embarrassed at the admission.

"More than I did? Channie, we didn't even need the lube. And that would've been hot!" you reassure him, petting his skin gently, digging your fingertips into the muscle a bit.

"We didn't need the lube because my mouth was literally watering at the taste of your pussy, babe," Chan says, laughing as you press your face into his chest in shyness, still unused to him talking like this.

"Yeah, well, you got me wet before your tongue ever did," you remind him bashfully.

"We should probably stop talking or I'm gonna get hard again," Chan warns you, feeling heat pool in his stomach at your words.

"That's fine, I wanted to get your dick in my mouth anyway," you say serenely, holding his gaze and letting him see the want in yours.

His cock twitches under your leg, and Chan groans, wondering if he'll ever know peace again.

(He won't, but he likes it.)

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It was a cold night when you had first summoned Yoon Jeonghan - a demon -  into your life. It had been by pure accident and you never meant for it to happen. You were drunk and all bad decisions happen when people are drunk. There was no friendship at the beginning but he began to show up more and more frequently and would never stop annoying you with his constant popping out of nowhere.

Fast forward a few months and you’re dating the very same demon and it was definitely the happiest you’ve ever been. The relationship the two of you had was amazing and more than perfect. Jeonghan being a demon didn’t affect and what it did affect was mostly good.

Like now when he’s behind you, prying your pussy open with his slim fingers as you face the camera that he had set up. 

It was your boyfriend’s idea to film a sex tape with you and you being you couldn’t refuse such a lewd idea. Jeonghan had smirked at your eagerness in the moment but you knew he was just as turned on by the idea. 

“Are you getting turned on because of the camera sweetheart?” Jeonghan sneers and you let your eyelids flutter shut as his fingers dip into your soaking folds. “You like the idea of being recorded don’t you? Such a filthy girl.”

His fingers sink into your hot core and you clench around him immediately causing Jeonghan to chuckle. You love the feeling of his fingers inside of you and you simply couldn’t wait for his cock. Every thought in your head was of Jeonghan and you weren’t complaining.

“H-Han!” You gasp when he pinches your sensitive nub. 

His digits continue to thrust in and out of you and there is a slick sheen coating his fingers. Your walls are tight and you could feel the prominent bulge that was pressing in the flush of your ass.

“You’re such a slut.” He growls, hands coming up to your neck and he rests his hands not too tightly. You try to turn around to give him a kiss but he tightens his grip - forcing you to face the camera. 

Jeonghan’s fingers curl and he presses against your bundle of nerves that cause you to buckle over with a moan. All that was coming out of your mouth were whimpers of his name and various noises of pleasure. He scissors you open - making sure to give the camera the perfect view of your pussy. 

“Show the camera how much of a whore you are for me.” He tugs you up by your hair so that you are inches away from the camera lens. “Aren’t you such a dirty girl, getting fucked by a demon.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you clench around his digits again. “Yes - a-ah! Only for you Han, only for you!”

Every second that goes by has you giving into the pleasure more and more. Something about his dark hair falling into his eyes as he pistons his fingers in and out of you has you squeezing him harder. You lean against his chest, shuffling your hips as they try to grind down on his hand.

“You need to cum darling?” He whispers into your ear and he places a lingering kiss behind it and your heart melts at the action. Leave it to Jeonghan to fuck your brains out and then kiss you sweetly. 

“Y-Yes Han, need to c-cum!”

Jeonghan curled his fingers and you spasm around his hand. Your high washes over you and you can’t help the loud moan that escapes your lips. Your eyelids close and even in the utter darkness you can imagine Jeonghan’s hands as they glide across your body, caressing each and every part of you.

He whispers dirty praises in your ear and it only makes you whimper.

Jeonghan pulls you off his cock and pushes you down on the bed. His dark hair falls into his eyes and you can see the horns poking out from his tussles of hair. They were black and curved upwards and you simply couldn’t imagine him without them. His hands slide down to just above your pussy.

“You want my cock sweetheart?” His voice is sweet like honey but it holds such lust that you find yourself nodding to his words. “Such a pretty girl.” He purrs and drags one of his fingers down to press on your sensitive cunt.

The second he thrusts into you you’re thrown into a world of ecstasy. Nothing can compare to the blissful feeling that he evokes. His cock filled you up and stretched you out deliciously. Jeonghan groans as he slowly drags his hips. Your face was face down in the sheets and his grip on your hips is sure to leave bruises tomorrow. 

The camera is still rolling and the mere thought has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You didn’t think something like this would turn you on so much but it did. The thought of watching this with Jeonghan over only causes your pussy to clench around his dick. 

“Fuck sweetheart!” Jeonghan starts to pound into you quicker, the lewd noises of skin on skin filling the room. 

“H-Han!” You squeal as he hits the perfect spot and you slump down in defeat as he continues his ruthless movements.

“Look at the camera for me Y/n.” He pulls your hair so you face up and he thrusts from behind you harshly. “Tell the camera how much of a good slut you are for me, hm?”

Your cheeks burn in humiliation but you can’t deny that it makes you even more hot all over. “I’m s-such a dirty slut! A-Ah! Fuck-”

Both of you are in a hazy state of lust and bliss and Jeonghan fucks you harder and harder. He’s rough and you love it. His hands wander across the expanse of your back and he leans down to place kisses across your shoulder blades. His cock twitches inside of you and you squeeze down onto his harder. 

“Shit!” He curses as he pushes his hips against yours and empties his load. You moan as you cum as well, both of your juices mixing with each other. 

Jeonghan waits a few seconds before pulling out. You can feel the cum dripping from your pussy and you’re too worn out to get out of your permission. You hear the noise of Jeonghan lifting the camera up.

“Look at that perfect pussy.” You can’t see him but you only know he’s grinning from ear to ear right now. His finger gathers the cum that’s leaking out of you and fingers it back in. “Gonna keep you all stuffed full of my cum sweetheart.”

Even then your heart swells at his words.

"well, why'd you have to wear a skirt anyway? hmmm?" he retorted.

you sputtered in response, rolling your eyes and nudging him away playfully. "it's hot outside and i thought you could behave and watch the movie that we both waited months to see! silly me."

seungcheol was only amused by your reply, not at all put off by your half-hearted shoves. he tipped his head back in a laugh, tugging you closer to him on the couch before pressing his face into your shoulder.

"you're so cute when you're annoyed. also, name one time i've behaved when you're in one of these short little skirts?"

well, he had a point there, now that you thought about it. there was definitely a correlation. but you hadn't worn this skirt - which wasn't even that short - with the intention of getting felt up during the movie. you'd hoped maybe he'd wait until after.

"okay, you might be right," you conceded.

that was all it took before seungcheol was reaching for the remote to stop the movie, tugging you onto his lap easily with one hand. you were like putty for him, but you didn't mind.

it wasn't like his soft touches during the movie or just his mere presence wasn't enough to have you halfway turned on already, anyway.

he'd only been back from tour for a week or two and you'd already fucked in every room of your apartment at least twice - and yet, you were insatiable. you couldn't get enough of his hands, his lips, or his skin on yours.

"c'mere, get this off," he murmured, easily tugging your top off and tossing it across the room. "god damnit. lace? and you're still gonna pretend like you didn't want me to fuck you instead of watch the movie?"

you blushed as seungcheol's eyes admired the intricate red laced design of your bralette, one of the many lingerie purchases you'd made while he was gone, because he was always a sucker for silk and lace and garters only he was allowed to rip off of you.

it was sort of like a coping mechanism every time you came upon videos of him enjoying himself on tour and you felt a bit of an emptiness in your heart - you'd log online and shop around for a new bra and panty set or a sheer slip that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

so far, cheol had barely even scratched the surface of your new, expanded collection.

"you like it?" you asked, slipping your fingers through his hair and grazing your fingernails along his scalp. "i'd show you the matching panties, but i'm not wearing any."

you watched as seungcheol's expression shifted from one of awe to the one that meant danger for you. a cocky smirk, his tongue pressing into his cheek as his eyes roamed your body.

"so fucking naughty," he said, shaking his head. "you act so sweet but here you are sitting next to me, no panties, pretending like you don't want me to flip you over and fuck you until you can't even remember your own name."

with each word, his hands roamed from your waist up the curve of your torso, thumbs only grazing the fabric over your nipples until both hands cupped each side of your neck. you felt your breath catch in your throat, all senses heightened as warmth spread through your belly.

"naughty for you," you whispered. "only you."

seungcheol's eyes filled with desire, his jaw working and chest puffing up only slightly at the reminder that you were his. it got him every time, satisfying that possessive side that you had no problem feeding into.

"that's right," he said through his teeth, pulling you so close his nose brushed yours. "gonna make sure you never forget it."

even though you were slightly elevated over him at this angle on his lap, he didn't let you forget he was the one with the power. one hand still on your throat, he trailed the other all the way down your body until it nestled between your thighs.

you whimpered as he made contact with your center, his thick fingers wasting no time dipping into your entrance to feel just how wet you'd gotten for him. he wasn't feeling gentle today, but you didn't mind. you liked it either way.

"undo my jeans," he told you, his words just barely penetrating the fog of arousal once he'd eased one finger inside of you.

you followed his orders quickly, hands finding his belt and fumbling to unfasten the metal. it was a little hard to focus, considering the slow pace he'd began between your legs, but after a minute you managed to get his belt undone and his jeans opened.

"that's a good girl," he muttered, rewarding you with a ghost of a kiss against your lips. "knew you could be good for me."

"cheol," you whispered, your hands reaching for the waistband of his briefs. you knew better than to slide your fingers inside, but you had to at least feel him, thick and hard through the fabric. "want you. no, need you."

seungcheol kept his hold on you, forehead now pressed against yours as he shook his head ever so slightly. "you're too tight, baby. gotta stretch you out if you're gonna take me."

"i can take it," you whined, hips shifting impatiently. "please, let me try."

he was clearly amused with your protests, not even a little bit swayed. it wasn't often that he changed his mind, but you thought it was worth a shot.

"you're squeezing around one finger, but you think you can take this?" he asked, hips lifting up so his cock pressed more firmly into your hand. "c'mon, you know better."

your bottom lip jutted out in a pout which only made your boyfriend grin, despite how absolutely frustrated you were after only a few minutes of teasing. he did, however, add a second finger with his next stroke, completely cutting off any coherent thought you'd been forming.

"that feel good, sweetheart?" he asked, knowing full well you wouldn't be able to form a response. "you're getting so wet. fucking soaking my jeans."

you moaned, lips forming a retort but getting lost in a moan once his thumb started pressing circles into your clit. it didn't help he was curling his fingers with each upstroke, bumping dangerously against your g-spot.

if he kept it up, it wouldn't be long until you were pushed over the edge just from his fingers.

"ch-cheol," you managed, forcing your eyes open so that you could look at your boyfriend. "don't wanna... cum like - like this."

as much as he liked to hold up the illusion of control, seungcheol wasn't about to force you to cum when you didn't want to or make you hold back an orgasm for his own selfish desires. there was a time and place for denial, and honestly, he rarely had the self control for that anyway.

"okay, baby." he told you, pressing a sweet kiss to your jaw. "got carried away a little, didn't i?"

you only hummed in response, shoulders sagging with relief when he slipped his fingers out of you and you felt your impending orgasm finally retreat. at least it bought you a few minutes and you could cum on his cock instead of his fingers.

"open," seungcheol said simply, hardly giving you a moment to prepare before he was shoving his two fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself on his digits.

you were so taken off guard (and really, you shouldn't have been - he loved to make you lick yourself off his fingers while he watched) that you hardly noticed his other hand dropping from your neck to free his cock from his briefs. he gave himself a few strokes before lining up with your entrance.

almost subconsciously, you lowered your hips to meet him halfway, finally feeling his impressive length and girth bottoming out in one go. seungcheol groaned, muttering something undoubtedly filthy under his breath that you couldn't catch.

your mouth dropped open in a loud moan and his fingers dragged down your lower lip, trailing your saliva down your chin and neck messily. both of his hands settled on your hips, pushing your skirt up so that he could appreciate the sight of his cock filling you up.

you, on the other hand, were already seeing stars, feeling every single inch stretching you out deliciously. this was why you'd wanted to cum around him. it couldn't compare to his fingers, no matter how precisely he could hit your g-spot like that.

no, this was much, much better.

"cheol," you reached for him, hands gripping onto his shoulders to ground you back to earth. "feels so good. won't last long."

as his eyes lifted back up to your face, he couldn't help the arrogant smirk that formed on his lips. it really did get him every time, knowing you were this far gone for him already, only him.

"c'mon sweetheart, can you move your hips for me? yeah, just like that," he praised once you began a slow grind, no doubt feeling his cock deeper than ever. "good girl, just roll them like that, nice and easy."

tears rimmed your eyes from the sheer pleasure, so overwhelmed by how perfectly seungcheol filled you. it was like a new sensation every time, no matter how many times he'd had you falling apart for him just like this.

"s-so good. can feel you so deep like this." you wanted to close your eyes but you didn't want to stop looking at him. you didn't want to miss the way his brows furrowed with pleasure, head tilted back against the couch cushion, eyes scanning down your body.

"fuck. baby, you can feel me inside of you. here, put your hand on your stomach," seungcheol said, voice gravelly as he reached for one of your hands.

pressing it down onto your lower stomach, your eyes widened once you realized you could feel his cock bulging against you from the inside. seungcheol couldn't take his eyes off it now and now it was all you could do not to cum right there.

with this position and the way you were grinding your hips forward and back, it was like you were constantly full and with each rotation, you felt his tip hitting your spot every damn time.

"cheol, cheol," you could only say his name at first, struggling with the words. "i'm close, oh god, baby..."

seungcheol finally tore his eyes away from the sight of himself inside of you, grabbing your hips and helping you along in your grind and increasing the pace just slightly.

"be a good girl and let go for me, yeah? cum all over my cock, so i can fill you up so good. wanna feel you cum first, hm?"

his words were enough to push you closer and closer to that precipice, at this point he was in complete control of your hips as you'd lost yourself to the pleasure and could only hold onto him weakly.

the hand on your stomach slipped down between your legs, knowing you needed just that little bit more to finally reach your high. the moment your fingers circled your clit the first time, you gasped, your orgasm washing over you in powerful waves.

just barely, you registered seungcheol's groan, his own orgasm only extending yours even further as you felt the warm pulses of his release. your body bent over his, arms snaking around his neck as your entire body shook with each pulse of pleasure.

"that's my girl, oh fuck, so so good. feels like heaven, you have no idea," you heard seungcheol mutter into your hair as you curled around him, your walls still pulsing with the aftershocks.

it took quite a while for your body to return to earth as seungcheol ran soothing hands along your back and pressed kisses into your neck, despite the thin layer of sweat you could feel on your skin there.

"can't move," you whispered, fully relaxed against your boyfriend. "no energy. must be carried."

seungcheol snorted next to your ear. "fuck that. i don't even think i can stand up yet. we might just have to stay here forever."

you scrunched your nose, finally sitting up to face him. "that's disgusting. we need to shower."

"okay, fine. just give me a minute," cheol agreed, gently lifting you from his lap to the cushion on the other side of him and pulling his briefs back up.

while he did up his jeans again, you had enough feeling in your lower limbs to stand from the couch, adjusting your bra and skirt.

when you turned back to see if he was finished, you realized cheol had lifted up the back of your skirt with one finger, admiring the view of your bare ass, a smirk turning up one side of his lips. "hey! stop that."

"literally cannot help it, baby," he told you with a laugh, unable to resist a quick but gentle slap to your backside. "agh!" he responded once you swatted back at him.

"and this is why we couldn't even watch one movie. all your fault!" you said, snatching your shirt up from the floor.

seungcheol laughed as he followed you back to the bathroom, wrapping his arms around your waist so that you were forced to waddle, giggling as he blew a raspberry into your neck.

"hey, we can try again after we shower."

you scoffed. "are you going to behave this time?"

He came to your door unannounced, knocking loudly on your front door and causing you to jump in your seat. Three sharp knocks against the door using his middle knuckles and then a few friendly taps because he realizes he's standing in front of your door and not his resident’s door. The sound echoes loudly inside your lonely apartment but isn’t loud enough to alarm your neighbors because he purposely leans his side against the door to diffuse the sound and vibrations. You can’t blame him for his habit - he’s used to knocking on so many doors in one night that the freezer part of his mini fridge is stocked with frozen sponges in plastic baggies so he can ice his swollen knuckles at night. You don’t even have to look through your peeping hole to know it’s him, but it’s weird because you know he should be on-call today. Still, the knocks are enough to scare you into thinking you’re still dorming in the universities.

He tells you he has an employee banquet a few days before the break and was worried that his makeup might smudge on his suit. He also brought your go-to drink order from the tea shop across campus, punching in your specific add-ons and adjustments into the kiosk before even deciding what new seasonal drink he wanted to try. You had no choice but to begrudgingly take your drink from him while you shuffled to the side of your door so he could come into your apartment.

"I thought you already knew how to do this.”

You see him hold up your hand mirror to his neck to look at the small bruise you left on the side of his neck a few nights ago. He sits cross-legged on your apartment living room carpeted floor while you sit on the ottoman next to him.

“Only for an everyday base routine for my face,” he frowns while softly poking his bruise. “But my neck makeup keeps smudging and I don’t know how to stop it from getting on my clothes,” he admits while he lowers the neckline of his t-shirt, thinking about the stains he left on his shirt collars.

You uncap the bottle you’re holding and spray the cool setting spray on his bruise. He fans the wet product with his hand while you dig through his toiletry bag for his color-correcting palette. You dip his tiny makeup brush into the palette and bring the product-coated brush to paint over his bruise.

“If you want me to stop marking you, you can just tell me,” you suggest to him while brushing another thin layer. You tap your pointer finger lightly around the harsh edges, blending the colors into his skin. An intrusive thought tells you to poke your finger deep into his skin, but you decide not to.

He ooo’s at how you’re blending the product, angling the mirror so he can better see how you’re working.  

“But I like them,” he says while you spritz another light layer of setting spray. “They remind me of you,” he softly confesses while you blow on his skin. He finds himself angling the mirror again so that the mirror now focuses on your face.

He giggles at the tingling sensation of your warm breath against the cold product, and he smiles to himself when he sees your concentrated expression through the reflection in the mirror – how you purse your lips and how your eyebrows furrow together. If he weren’t an RA, he would proudly wear his love bites as a badge for everybody around him to see. He wants people to tease him whenever they see the bruise poking out of his hoodie when his hood is down. It’s not to let people know he’s getting it on. That’s just not who he is.

But there is that part of him that wants others to know you’re his. He’s tired of soft launching you on his Instagram. That’s what people do when they want others to know they’re talking to somebody. But you’re just his friend. He’s completely fine with showing you off, but he respects your privacy, knowing how much you hate having your picture taken. It’s also not like his closest friends don’t know about his relationship with you, but if it makes you happy, he’ll take it. He likes what the two of you have. And after all, he doesn't care about the pictures. It’s the person whose plate is almost always pictured across from his, the hand holding the ice cream cone, the second shadow under the street light who he cares for.

The bruises feel sore, but he loves how you automatically coddle him afterward, especially after a heated session. You always have that worried look on your face, your lips pouty and frowny. He remembers the number of ridges between your brows when you ask him how he’s feeling. He always tells you that he feels fine, great even, but you always sigh with a defeated look on your face. You’ll walk to the fridge in nothing but one of his old t-shirts and grab him a cold metal spoon. He doesn’t know if the cold spoon hack works, but he lets you do it anyway. He’ll let you do anything if it means he gets to spend more time with you no matter how prickly you may seem on the outside.

Now, he’s spending more time with you on a lazy Tuesday night. He’s done for the day and doesn’t have any RA duties at night because the university recently handed on-call duties for the campus security to handle. On the other hand, you didn’t have anything scheduled for today and spent the entire day indoors. You’re still in your pajamas – a free shirt from a past school event and old running shorts that you never wore while exercising. There are leftover food delivery containers in your fridge from dinner. You tell him the importance of investing in a tinted sunscreen while pushing up your wired glasses. It’s ironic because he knows you haven’t washed your face today or applied any form of sun protection at all. The closer you lean into him to be sure he understands, the redder his cheeks flush. He hopes his mineral powder is enough to diffuse the blush or at least make it seem like it’s the redness from his acne.

Feeling a little hot, he reaches over to grab his fruit slushie-turned-juice from the coffee table and brings it to his lips. He sucks the concoction through the metal straw, letting the cool liquid settle in his mouth so he can savor it before swallowing. You notice the condensation dripping down his arms before he does, and you wipe it away with the edge of your t-shirt without any thought. Your drink is already long gone, finished within minutes after poking your straw through the flimsy plastic lid, washed and disposed of in your recycling bin. He wonders if the taste of his drink would linger on your tongue if he kisses you. And he wonders how the tangy sourness of his drink would contrast or balance the extra amount of sweetness in your tea.

But you’re done concealing the bruise, already sealed it off with the last layer of setting spray. Satisfied with your job, you plop yourself on the other side of the couch and grab the book you put face-down on the table when DK arrived at your front door. You tuck your legs under you and use the armrest as your elbow support as you resume your novel. DK types the makeup steps into his notes app and quickly cleans up his products, looking for something to do.

DK snakes his head between the open gap between your stomach and your book, putting his head on your chest. You pay him no mind, flipping another page while he thinks of a conversation starter. He relaxes into the feeling of your chest rising and dropping and the steady thumping of your heartbeat pulsing under his ear. He asks you what your novel is about while twiddling with the hem of your shirt, noticing it’s still a bit damp from before.

“Smut,” you nonchalantly answer him. You didn’t know much about the novel, but you borrowed it from your friend who kept raving about it while you visited her the other day. She claimed it was better than sex, but honestly, all you’ve been reading so far are overly detailed descriptions of scenery while the main character stares out of the parked car window.

“But you have me,” he teases you. He lets go of your shirt to poke you on your cheek between each word, “You. Have. Me.”

You swat his hand away from your face and subsequently decide to place your novel on his head to use as a stand. He huffs underneath the book, and you snicker at him, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. You think it’s cute whenever he’s being annoying, throwing tiny tantrums whenever he doesn’t have enough attention. You catch yourself lingering on the thought of what his neediness would be like if the two of you were together.

“I’m too lazy,” you flip another page after letting the thought dissipate. “You’re on your own unless you can find another way to do it.”

He huffs and lifts the novel from his forehead to sit up. He turns to you and untucks your legs from beneath you.

“Continue reading your book. Let me eat you out while you rest,” he tells you while pulling your legs with ease so only your upper back and head is leaning against the couch’s armrest. He rests your legs on each side of him.

“Go ahead, but wouldn’t that be a little boring for you?” you ask him while your eyes are still trained on your novel. Even though you spend a lot of time thinking about him manhandling you, his persona easily makes you forget about just how strong he is.

He grabs a cushion from the middle of the couch and tucks it behind your neck. He asks you if you’re comfortable. You give him a thumbs-up, and he gently pecks your thumb before moving your hand back to your book so you can properly hold your book. His little touches and kisses aren’t new to you, but you think it’d be a shame if his kiss transferred onto your pages instead of keeping it to yourself. You choose to hover your thumb above the pages, choosing to use your hand’s round fleshy thenar to hold the pages.

You lift your hips upwards so he can easily remove your bottoms. He tugs them off you as if he has all the time in the world, folding your shorts and undies and setting them on the coffee table like they’re part of the decoration.

“I don’t think I’d be bored,” he kneels himself in front of you and lowers himself so he’s flat against the couch. He gently lifts your shirt higher so it’s past your belly button and proceeds to hook your legs over his shoulders. “Read to me? Out loud?” he asks you while massaging the outside of your thighs.

You lift your book, looking at him quizzically. However, when you see the tiny fading red mark on his forehead from when you used him as a stand, you can’t help but agree to his request. He lowers his head to your core and quickly taps your thighs twice to tell you to read.

“Now, a black flashy standard motorcycle with matching black chrome wheels pulls into the driveway of the auto shop where your car is currently getting its engine replaced. The steady hum of the engine is enough to have every single mechanic in the vicinity turn their –,” you were doing pretty well at reading until DK, without warning, puts his warm tongue flat against your clit, licking upwards until it reaches your nub. “Ah – h-heads to stare at the bike,” you stumble with the last phrase.

He lets his spit drop at the top of your clit, watching it glide downwards along your ridges before catching it with his tongue like a little game of Plinko. He feels you tense under his tongue, causing him to hum in delight. He mumbles something about you doing good before attaching his tongue to you again.

“One of them whistles when the motorcyclist comes to a full stop in front of the open auto shop garages,” you try to ignore the fact that he’s gently blowing wind to tease you, to hear you stumble across your words. There is no way you are going to cave right when you started reading out loud, so you bite your lip when you feel his soft and open lips close around your labia. But you can’t ignore him no matter how hard you try.

He kisses you deeply, full-mouthed while his large hands lock around your thighs. Painstakingly slowly, he buries his face deeper into your cunt.

“Eungh- O-one of them whistles when the mo- oh,” you moan while your mouth hangs open when he circles the tip of his tongue around your clitoris. You move your novel away to look at DK whose entire face is gone. You can only see his bushy black hair.

He continues to circle his tongue around you while your breathing gets shallower. You feel your arousal building, causing your thighs to close around his head. He looks up at you looking back at him with a lustful expression. He sucks softly on your clitoral hood and pries your thighs open with his hands. He only winks, letting go of your skin through his lips before going back to eating your cunt.

“…motorcyclist can loudly rev his engine,” you manage to finish the paragraph with a little sigh of relief.

“Mmmh. Good job, baby,” he groans, praising you against your cunt.

He kisses the inside of your right thigh while moving your left leg off his right shoulder.

You find yourself frowning just a little bit when you think he’s finished, but truthfully, he’s only moving your leg off the couch so he can finger you while eating you out. He puts his right hand on your stomach and uses his thumb to rub your nub.

“I’ll reward you if you keep reading okay?”

He kisses your stomach and moves your shirt down so you wouldn’t shiver from being cold. If only he knew why you were shivering.

“‘Couldn’t you have driven here?’ you frown at your older brother w- ah- fuck. Fuck,” you jerk in your seat when DK inserts a finger in your cunt. You can feel him smile against you as he drags his tongue against your folds while his finger dips in and out of you knowing exactly how to drag a string of moans from your mouth, to make your legs tremble and shake.

All this, and you’re only half a page into reading out loud.

“…while he reaches between his legs to pass you his extra motorcycle helmet as you approach him,” you read while trying to ignore the fact that you’re gripping your borrowed novel with so much force that you probably bent the matte paperback cover. “He shrugs and passes you the helmet which you – mmm fuck just like that – begrudgingly fit over your head.”

You’re clenched tightly around his two fingers as he curls them in you while sloppily giving you head. You hear exactly how wet you are, how his fingers squelch every time he reinserts them in you, how his coated lips smack against your glistening pussy – devouring you as his life depended on it. You can feel your juices pool around your ass as he uses his left arm to hold you down whenever you lurch upwards. He moans profanities against you, but never at you. When he raises his head to take a break, he makes sure his fingers never stop moving. He always brings you to your high, and you feel so safe with him.

And he tells you you’re sweet. He always does.

Sometimes you’re sweet because he compliments you for doing something for him. He calls you sweet when you’re frowning about somebody criticizing your RBF. You like it when he calls you sweet when he calls you Sweetie. You like it when he says it with flair. You like it when he says it when you show him your project. You like it whenever he says it when you make him take a sip of any of your sugary drinks – the way his face contorts in total disgust, but he still manages to do so with a smile on his face.

He never called you my sweet, but god damn do you wish you could experience what it would feel like for him to call you his. But tonight he describes your flavor as sweet as you like your teas. He can’t stop praising you for how sweet you are, how you’re like dessert on his tongue. And you can’t get him out of your head.

“He leans forward and clicks open the motorcycle’s rear footrests with the back of his boot,” your face scrunches, but you continue. “When he is done, he looks back at you struggling – eungh Kyeom,” you struggle.

He only grips your thigh tighter as he alternates between fingering you and pausing so he can kiss your cunt like he’s kissing you during sex. He flattens his tongue against you and twists it so he can tease your hole. You’re whining and speeding through the last few words of the sentence, desperate to have him in you.

“Whoa. Whoa,” he temporarily detaches himself from you to grab onto your forearm as he raises himself above you. His lips glisten from the wetness, and the color of his flushed face compliment the color of his sore lips. “Slow down baby,” he tells you and kisses your cheek, “Wanna hear your pretty voice, okay? Just read and relax.” He strokes your hair and brushes away the strands covering your eyes, “I’m not going anywhere.”

But you don’t relax. How can you relax when he grips your hips, fingers dipping into your pelvic bone as he shoves his nose against your clitoris, sticking his tongue into your cunt? He bobs his head while he tongue-fucks you, nudging your nub and making your pussy throb even when he briefly comes up for air.

Your vision blurs as he continues to build your high, ignoring you as you continue to call out his name. The words on the page are replaced by stars when you tell him you can’t take it anymore. Heart racing and muscles tightening, you cum while his tongue is in you. And he laps you up as you convulse around him, back arching as you continue to come. He drinks what’s left of you like he’s drinking ice cold water at midnight – you’re insatiable. You moan his name into your book once more, hiccupping as he brings your left leg back on the couch.

“Yn,” he whispers as he removes your book from your face. He puts it on the coffee table without breaking eye contact with you. “What did you call me?”

You don’t hear him as you’re still struggling to catch your breath. Your pussy is still pulsing without pause. Everything is hazy, but you can see him reaching over for something in his cosmetics bag. You close your eyes, still undeniably horny and wanting more.

There is a little bit of shuffling and then the sound of a few light things dropping on the floor. He reaches under you and scoops you up as if you weigh nothing. You briefly remember him telling you about hitting a new PR where he could lift someone a little over his weight. But he brings you to your bed, only switching on your nightstand lamp.

He sits on the side of your bed while he strokes your cheek.

“Yn,” he whispers again while leaning closer to you. “Do you remember what you called me?”

You blink twice at him before slowly realizing. Your lips part in realization, and he only smiles at you.

He opens your nightstand drawer and pulls out a condom and your bottle of lube. Your fingers automatically fly to cover your lips in horror, but he only chuckles at your expression while he positions himself between your legs and leans over you. He coats his wrapped dick in the lube and rubs the remaining gel around your vulva. You whimper at the coldness, and he wipes the remaining bits on his thighs.

He leans over you again and rests his elbows on the sides of your face. He asks you again, gently, if you remember what name you called him.

You nod your head, breath hitching as you stare at him. It’s unfair, you think, to look as pretty as he is under the ugly yellow light your lamp emits. But he looks at you with so much care in the world, and you feel thankful that you’re spending your Tuesday night with him. You thank his lame excuse for intruding on your time for yourself. You thank him for spending time with you, for looking after you, even if he isn’t yours at that moment.

He aligns himself at your entrance while waiting for your answer.

You whisper it almost inaudibly, barely believing yourself as you let the word leave your mouth.

“Say it again,” he instructs you.

“Seokmin.”

You’re not sure if the two of you should have come up with one of those contracts you always read about in books when you first started the relationship. Maybe you should’ve learned from Lara Jean – a binding relationship contract written on notebook paper and signed in pen. There would be a couple of items on the list, a few weird ones, and then a majority of the items being standard ones. Standard item number one? No kissing. Standard item number two? No staying over after sex (sub-line: No cuddling). Standard item number three? No meeting unless it’s for sex. Maybe a weird item would be the option to try pegging. However, the last item on the list? No developing feelings for the other party.

If rules are made to be broken, but contracts signed by people older than eighteen are legally binding, then you would’ve been in jail by now.

His lips are locked against yours, groaning your name as he wraps your legs around his waist. He nibbles along your jaw as he makes love to you, slowly pushing deep inside you so you can feel his balls lay flush against your ass, feeling all of him in you. You call his name through a choked sob, your hands roaming around to find something to grab. Anything.

Your fingers find the back of his head, and you pull on his hair. And he flips like a switch, immediately pounding into you over and over again, praising you and calling you his.

Tonight, the rules have definitely been broken. And you’re starting to realize this isn’t the first offense.

.

“Okay so, I didn’t want to take it off because I wanted to see if my makeup would smudge, but I did it because I knew I was going to get hot.”

“Omg he wanted to keep his shirt on. He’s so quirky!”

“Stoppp,” he laughs while he passes the showerhead to you. “I can’t believe you’re the only person who tried to tell me a joke during sex.”

“It’s because I’m the only person you’ve ever had sex with,” you stick your tongue out at him while you rinse the body wash you previously bought with DK off your body.

“You too,” he retorts while turning around so you can rinse the soap off his body for him.

He grabs your shampoo from your hanging wire basket and plops a dollop into his hand. He tells you to look up while he lathers it in his hand before he brings his hands to massage your scalp. His fingers feel amazing while he massages you, so you close your eyes in the process, hoping to keep the shampoo out of your eyes.

He thinks you look like one of those dogs from the pictures you find online where the owner sticks a metal head massager on their heads. Your eyes are closed in contentment, and there’s a lazy smile on his face that he only gets to see so often. He can’t help himself but sneak a little kiss on your lips while he piles your hair into a mountain so that you look like that one guy from the first Incredibles movie.

You open your eyes to look at him, but you see that he’s purposely looking away, pretending to be interested in something else. You try to follow his eyes, but your eyes land on something dark crawling down the wall above DK’s head.

Being you, you blatantly point out the descending spider, and DK screams, slips, and crashes onto the tiled floor. Your bath products tumble down after him. You sigh, knowing you’ll have to clean up the mess and drive him to school tomorrow instead of sending him off tonight.

.

“Aww you care for me,” Dokyeom coos while you fuss over the ice pack on his ankle.

“I’m just making sure my Sybian isn’t too damaged,” you scoff at him.

You thought you would spend the night with a cozy book in bed while you wait for your face mask to dry. However, you find yourself blow-drying DK’s hair, letting him borrow one of your old t-shirts, and nursing his badly bruised ankle. It’s a wonder how he somehow didn’t end up spraining it after that nasty fall. You could’ve sworn you heard the cartoon swishing sounds while he tried not to slip.

Not to mention, he somehow talked you into cuddling with him in bed through several lame excuses.

Q. What if I fell off the bed?

A. Fuck, then pick yourself up I guess.

Q. What if I sprained my dick?

A. We have toys.

He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Although, you have to admit it feels very nice to sit in bed with him with his left arm around your waist while the two of you silently scroll through your phones. He leans his head on your shoulder and hugs you from the side. You tilt your phone towards him so he could watch you tap through your friends’ stories. You can tell he’s more needy than usual, probably from climaxing more than once in one night and then undergoing the shower incident following right after – he screamed while you crumpled the spider in a wad of tissue. He’s latching onto you like a parasite, but he does give you good dick so you think it’s more like a symbiotic relationship. The way he’s clinging to you makes you think it is what it feels like to be trapped under one of those large teddy bears you can buy at warehouse retail stores. 

He asks you if you’re going to the party on the weekend after you tap through the story of a mutual friend. You tell him you are.

“Be my date to the party?” he asks you.

You think he forgot you always go to parties with Jun and Chan.

“No thank you,” you politely decline his request, “I don’t do party dates.”

He pushes himself off of you, “Why not?”

“Because all of my past dates always left me for their friends and I would just spend every single party alone,” you grumble thinking about how many times you ended up taking care of drunk people you didn’t know because you ended up being sober the whole time.

“But I wouldn’t leave you.”

“There!” you exclaim while pointing your finger at him, “That’s what they all said to me.”

He frowns and crosses his arms, kind of upset you would think he would ever leave your side.

“Date or not I’m still not going to leave your side,” he grumbles while slinking down so he lays on the bed. He turns his body away from you to sulk.

The ice pack falls off his leg and tumbles to the ground. He continues to lay on the bed, not doing anything to pick it up so he can ice himself.

You know how stubborn he can be, especially when his pride is mixed in the equation. Part of you is proud he is sticking through being moody by refusing to move. However, you know how soft he is. If his future kid got a paper cut, he would probably end up crying harder than his kid. His kid would probably end up consoling him. His ankle must feel like pins and needles are sticking into it without the icepack, and he can’t do anything to distract the pain because his phone is out of his reach.

“Kyeom,” you gently shake his body. “You have to ice your ankle.”

He only shakes you off and brings his legs to his chest.

Usually, you would smack him with a pillow and call him dumb, but you think he’s suffered enough damages for the day. You know if you continue asking him to ice his ankle, he would just ignore you. So, you think either climbing on top of him or tricking him into breaking would be better choices. You choose the latter.

“Sigh,” you say out loud, pretending to talk to yourself. “If DK is sleeping then that means I’ll have nobody to cuddle with while I talk about my slutty costume choices.”

You see him slowly turn his head to look at you in the corner of your eye, but he quickly averts your gaze and turns his head back to its original position. You find yourself smiling at his action. He’s like a literal child. A puppy.

“Aww I thought Kyeom wanted to cuddle all night, but I guess I have to go to sleep because he’s asleep,” you tell him while leaning over him to check on him.

You see he’s pretending to sleep. He squints his eyes shut. His lips are poutier than usual, pressed in a thin line to probably stop himself from speaking.

“Maybe I’ll go sleep on the living room couch by myself so he can be more comfortable by himself,” you slowly move off the bed by trying to cross over his body.  

“Noo,” he wails while sitting up to grab you. He immediately yanks you back down, trapping you in his arms. “How slutty is it, Yn? HOW SLUTTY?”

.

You have your morning lab in a few hours, but you’re standing alone in your dark kitchen with your head stuck in the freezer. The only source of direct light comes from your freezer, and you’re glad you’ve lived in your place long enough to navigate in the dark. The green digital clock digits flash on your oven. It’s getting close to 4:00 am, but you can’t sleep.

The icepack, or more like a water pack at this point, left a giant wet spot on your carpet while it thawed. It now sits in a lumped form in the side door, wedged between a frozen loaf of bread and some microwavable pizza bagels. The coldness of the freezer feels nice on your skin, but it’s not enough to make you feel numb.

You feel hot and stuffy, and your mind has a million thoughts running around at once. You make him tell you why you should be his date to a stupid costume party, and he tells you he likes you. However, his dumbass knocks out immediately after while he’s still holding you tight in his arms. You’re left alone with your thoughts and a pounding heart while you wait for him to finally let go of you when he is asleep.

Truthfully, you want to tear your hair out. It’s not like you couldn’t wake him up to make him tell you whether or not he finished his sentence. However, you think you’ve already tested his patience enough in one day. You would trust his “I like you” more if he told you while he was drunk, but telling you and then immediately knocking out? You really don’t know if it could count as a confession.

So now you whisper scream into a frozen bag of mixed vegetables while you think about everything that happened this night. You think about him showing up at your door. You think about the hickies he leaves between your thighs. You think about the way he kisses you after you moan his name.

“Seokmin,” find yourself whispering his name.

You don’t understand how this name is so different from the others, but your fingers softly touch your lips as if you just whispered something you weren’t supposed to say. 

“Aww I get it. Jane Goodall. That’s so cute.”

“This is NOT a couple’s costume. I am clearly a hiker,” Chan angrily grumbles at the passerby while dumping another scoop of ice into the glass fishbowl on the kitchen island. He takes out his red handkerchief to wipe his hands and places it around his neck when he’s done.

“Why are you annoyed that people think you’re Jane Goodall? She’s one of the greatest scientists of our time. Do you not appreciate our women scientists? Women in STEM?” Jun asks him while he pops another sour gummy worm into his mouth. He licks the sour and sugary coating off his fingers one by one and wipes them dry on his monkey onesie.

You grab the bag of gummies from the table and dump the rest into the bowl. You tap and shake the edge of the bag until all of the remaining sugar falls into the bowl. Jun quickly plucks a worm out of the bowl before Chan turns around with a bottle of blue curacao in one hand and a bottle of coconut rum in the other hand. Chan insists on making fish bowls at parties for the three of you to share because he refuses to drink the jungle juice Jeonghan and Joshua make for parties. No matter how many times the two show Chan how they clean the giant clear plastic storage container they use for the juice, Chan absolutely refuses to drink from it. He argues that it’s a breeding ground for bacteria from people scooping the liquid with their cups, but Jeonghan dumbly replies that the amount of alcohol in the jungle juice should be enough to kill the germs.

By the time you’re done saying hello to some friends, Chan is already done making the bowl. He takes off his sunglasses and hangs it from his blue and grey colored top, looking at his creation with satisfaction. He swirls the bright blue concoction with three straws and tops it off with a paper umbrella toothpick he found in Jeonghan’s kitchen cabinets. Bon appétit.

The bright blue concoction stains your tongue, but it gives you a really nice buzz before you know how its aftereffects will hit you like a giant tsunami later. However, any precautious thought about getting too drunk and waking up with a massive hangover gets thrown out the window when Chan reminds you that the reason why the three of you took a ride-share cab is that you wantedto get fucked up. So the three of you smile and continue drinking.

.

The three of you are about two-thirds into finishing the fish bowl when you see DK and his friends stumble through the front door. DK’s dressed in the same slutty fireman costume he wears – the firefighter suit hanging low on his hips with the shoulder straps dangling, the hose on his shoulder, and the white tank top decorated with streaks of ash. You see Jeonghan greet him with a jello shot in his hand. The firefighter takes it from him and swirls his tongue around the perimeter of the jello, loosening it from the tiny container, and knocks it back swiftly in one go. He passes the container back to Jeonghan with no amount of blue raspberry flavored gelatin remaining on the inside. And all you can do is stare at him with your straw in your mouth while your friends attempt to play Jenga in their buzzed states.

It’s not long before you take your eyes off DK and realize that you finished the rest of the bowl by yourself. You tap in while Jun taps out of the game so he can happily scoop the slimy gummies out of the bowl and into his mouth. The tower looks jagged enough that one knee bumping against the table leg can easily knock the tower over. Shrek places their block on top of the tower with a shaky hand and sighs when the tower doesn’t topple over. A vampire bites their lip as they remove a side piece from the middle. You hold your breath as they slowly wiggle the piece loose, frowning when they successfully take it out of the stack and add it to the tower.

All eyes are on you as you hover your hand next to the piece that you want. You think if you take out that specific piece, you would make the tower a bit more balanced when it comes to how it leans. It also makes it harder for Chan to pull out a piece because he would end up shifting the balance if he pulled a block. Everything is in your favor – from the EDM song shuffling to a club song to your friends watching you silently – there is nothing that shouldn’t rule in your favor.

However, somebody behind you shrieks your name, and the tower topples. A few filled shot glasses are immediately placed in front of you, and everybody’s phone cameras are pointed at you, waiting to record you taking the shots. You sigh before bringing the first shot up to your mouth. You didn’t even get to touch the Jenga piece.

The perpetrator who stands behind you cheers the loudest every time you tip each empty shot glass over your head. He raises your hand in triumph and hugs you from behind your seat. The tsunami that’s been building up in the distance crashes. And by the end of it, you’re good as gone.

.

He tells you that no matter how comfortable his shoulder may feel at that moment, you do need to sit up and drink some water. And DK, for what seems like the nth time, hands you a bottle of water to drink.

He thanks the person who passed him the water bottle and stops for a minute. He points at him while scanning his outfit. “Hiker,” he finally decides on his answer.

“THANK YOU,” Chan yells at him while slapping him repeatedly on the back, unaware of his own strength, making DK flinch a little. Chan drunkenly decides that DK will become the fourth  person to drink from his fishbowl. He drags Jun, who is chatting up Trixie from the Fairly Odd Parents, with him to the kitchen to make a fresh batch.

DK is the type of person to make you forget, but not in a forgetful type of way. He makes you forget about your troubles. He makes you forget about the resident knocking on his door while the two of you hide in bed together. He makes you forget you’re at a house party in a room full of people. At that moment it’s just you leaning on his shoulder with his arm wrapped securely around you. None of you are hiding the fact that there’s something budding between the both of you. It feels nice, liberating even.

“Hi baby. You doing okay?” he asks you after making sure you drank until the waterline hit the top of the plastic label despite him being extremely drunk.

“I like it when you call me baby,” you mumble while falling back onto his shoulder, feeling yourself slowly sober up.

“Yeah?”

“But don’t tell anybody or else I’ll have your head,” you turn your head and glare at him.

“I’m not sure if that was a sexual reference or maybe you’ve been reading too many isekai mangas that Jun sends you,” he chuckles while laying your head on his shoulder. He almost sighs in relief when you don’t blame him for you losing Jenga earlier.

He gives an okay signal to any passerby who asks if you’re doing alright. 

“You weren’t by my side the whole time I was here. You’re a liar. Slutty liar.”

“I’m horrible aren’t I?” he kisses the top of your head.

“The worst.”

You never knew what “a beat” indicates in screenplays. You didn’t get why the screenwriter would want to indicate a pause. Nothing that you experienced in your life ever indicated a pause in the conversation. But now you understand. There are so many things you want to say, things you’re too afraid to say. You have questions for him, but you’re also happy he’s on your side. Maybe a “beat” is a filler. This pause in the conversation, you staring at him – eyes trying not to waver to his lips – it’s a mutual understanding between the two of you, something that makes up for what words cannot say. 

“I need to pee.”

.

Now is definitely not a good time to be confused about whether you need to pee or if you’re simply horny.

Tonight the two of you are sloppy, bodies pressed against each other in the quiet hallway of a house party. Someone occupies the hallway bathroom, and you’re leaning with your back against the wall. DK stands in front of you with his left forearm leaning against the wall in the space next to your right ear. He kisses along your jawline, nipping the base of your neck. The softness of his lips caresses your skin, blending into the waves while you slur your moans. He hushes you by covering his lips over yours. You prefer him closer to you so you reach behind his head to pull him into you. His mouth opens, and your tongue glosses over his. He meets you in the middle, circling his around yours and groaning when you tug on his lower lip with your teeth. Your hand roams across his chest, and he pushes into your thigh, grinding against you. Both of you are too drunk, too lost in each other to care if others are looking.

He pulls his head back and looks at you with a hooded gaze. He can’t believe the sight in front of him and the ache he feels inside of him. He leans his head against the side of your ear, nipping softly at your lobe before talking to you in a low voice, “I want to pin you against the wall with your legs wrapped around my waist while I whisper every single thought I’m having about you into your ear. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk out of this party without me supporting you. Everybody passing by will see how well you take me while you beg for me to pound into you deeper and harder. Then, you’d have to say goodbye to all of your friends while trying to keep my cum from leaking out of your sore pussy. I want to be able to open your legs and see it seeping out of you while I fuck it into you again in the car.”

Another beat.

This time it’s different. You feel your knees buckle underneath his body, sliding slightly down the wall. You look at his face hovering over yours, practically begging him to kiss you again. Anything. But he doesn’t. The two of you stay silent while you hear cheers from the living room. Then he proceeds to pull away as if nothing happened between you. He has the dopiest grin on his face. He cheeses at you – tiny wrinkles at the edge of his eyes and his pearly whites in full view. You’re still struggling to process the stream of consciousness he spoke into your ear.

“I like your pizza costume,” he giggles while poking your costume, especially the edges of the crust that hang off your shoulders.

“I bought it because I thought it might humor you,” you mumble while he takes your hands in his.

You see how much he’s gushing with happiness. You think he’s so cute, happy that your costume has such a positive effect on him. But you’re slightly annoyed that he’s able to move onto a different subject so quickly while you’re still stuck on the last one. You want more.

However, he tells you he really likes you and leans in to peck your cheek. When he pulls back, the bathroom door opens, and out steps Lee Jihoon who immediately grabs DK by his left ear and drags him away from you. “No fucking in the hallway,” he reprimands his friend.

DK only smiles at you while he’s being pulled away by his ear, too drunk to care, two finger hearts pointed directly at you.

You can only stand next to the vacant bathroom, now soberer than ever and seriously turned on.

You wake up on the floor next to your bed and slowly push yourself off the carpet, feeling the soreness in your body. You look at the carpet indents in your arm and then your surroundings. You notice your bed is empty, and Chan is asleep in his extra set of clothes, sprawled on the floor near your bedroom door. You can’t remember what happened in the latter half of the night, but you can at least deduce that all of you were at least sober enough to change out of your costumes and get ready for bed.

Your body is sore from sleeping on your floor, and you still feel pretty groggy. Still, the sweet scent of something coming from the kitchen is enough to convince you to walk outside instead of moving onto your bed to sleep some more. You stand up, knees cracking loudly, and you cross over Chan to exit your bedroom. You think it’s Jun who’s cooking, but you see him in his monkey onesie, passed out next to your rack of shoes near your entrance with a spare blanket covering him.

At least he has a blanket, you think to yourself. You woke up cold and with nothing covering you.

You see him standing in front of your toaster, wearing the extra set of clothes he keeps at your place. You see him place waffles into your toaster, minding his business while he hums to himself.

“Why are you here?” you approach him and stand by his side. You can see used wine glasses in the sink and opened chip bags you don’t remember buying sitting on the counter. The four of you probably continued drinking after arriving at your apartment. You hope there’s nobody else sleeping in your place.

“I dunno,” DK shrugs and proceeds to greet you by pulling you into his arms while he stands behind you, keeping a close eye on the frozen waffles.

You don’t get how he can look like he didn’t spend all of last night drinking. He looks completely refreshed with the kind of glow, an aura, you have after a good workout…not that you ever experienced what it must be like. He just looks like one of those smiling actors in fitness commercials.

You can feel his chest rumble against your back as he tells you he’s sorry he couldn’t cook something better for the four of you because he’s been living in the dorms for years. He honestly hasn’t touched a stove since he went home last summer. However, he did perfect cooking frozen food in microwaves and toasters. It’s the least he can do. He also quickly adds that he’s sorry he’s cooking all of your frozen waffles and would gladly reimburse you. You tell him to fuck off. There’s no way you would ever make him pay you back for making breakfast. He should know that by now.

The toaster pops, scaring you a little. A long yawn follows, and DK chuckles at you rubbing your eyes. He removes the waffles from the toaster and tells you to close your eyes. You dumbly follow, believing he’s going to kiss you when he cups your face in his hands. Instead, he rubs the inner corner of your eyes with his thumbs. “Eye boogers,” he says.

“Gross,” you watch him flick them to the ground.

“You thought that I was going to kiss you, huh,” he teases you while adding more frozen waffles into the toaster.

You grumble at him and stand to the side, leaning against your fridge. Your arms are crossed, and you watch him go back to humming the song he was humming before. It’s the same song playing from the speakers when the three of you decide to bring DK back to your apartment as there was no way he would have been allowed on campus in his state. It was partly Chan’s fault for getting him so fucked up – he couldn’t find regular vodka for the bowl so he replaced it with some Everclear he found tucked away under the sink. Jun tells him he really needs to stop snooping in Jeonghan’s cabinets. That’s when your memory starts to clear.

“Do you happen to remember what you told me before Jihoon dragged you away?” you curiously ask him.

You expect him to deny the memory or laugh at your sudden boldness, but he tells you that he knows better than to drink to the point where he blacks out and loses his memory. He would also like to stay true to his word, all of it.

“If you’re going to fuck in the kitchen, at least give us the waffles first,” Jun groans from the hallway.

DK winks at you in response, but you don’t know if he was referring to his second confession or if he promised the reality of his sexual fantasy. Before you can clarify, Jun appears in the kitchen, opening the dishwasher to grab a ceramic plate.

It shouldn’t be this confusing. DK told you that he liked you twice. You’re also pretty sure you like him. Nevertheless, it’s DK. He tends to joke around and switch from topic to topic. He throws words of affirmation at everybody he talks with. He confuses you even when you feel like you shouldn't be confused. 

“God Yn. You can’t be doing this to me.”

He sits upright, and his hands are positioned to his sides, tightly gripping his bedsheets.

You use his thighs as your support as you ride him, slowly bouncing up and down so he can watch his cock appear and disappear into your cunt.

You feel him twitching in you as you let soft moans float out of your mouth as you arch your back more and lean your head back toward the ceiling. You make sure you gyrate your hips switching between circular and back and forth motions as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock. He wonders how your soft mewls would break into staccato moans if you were to continuously bounce on him, letting lust cloud his thoughts.

Then you lean further backward, practically grinding on him. He feels your ass rub against his balls, and he does everything he can to restrain himself from rutting himself upwards into your cunt. He knows your thighs are tired as your breathing gets heavier and the way you grind against him gets messier. You sit on him, your whole body trembling and twitching from pleasure simply from the feeling of him fitting so snugly inside you. He feels so warm today, so good, stretching you nicely as you tell him all he needs to do is to sit there and look pretty. You reward him by sitting upright, guiding his hands from behind his back so they rest on your ass. He kneads them roughly, feeling your skin fill the spaces between his fingers.

Your ass cheeks feel sore, and you can’t stop panting when grind on him, rocking him so crudely that his bed begins to squeak. You bring a hand in front of you to start rubbing your nub, and high-pitched whimpers instantaneously escape your mouth. Your soft circular motions increase speed, attacking your soft flesh and making you forget he’s in you.

“Hng Seok,” your face is scrunched in pleasure, “Fucking myself feels so good.” You smirk at him as you ride out your high, knowing very well it would piss him off. You can tell he’s already a little upset you’re fucking him in cowgirl when he doesn’t get to do anything but sit there. 

Annoyed, he brings his right hand upwards and brings it down quickly against your ass. The crisp slap rings throughout his empty room, and he feels you clench around him as you gasp out loud. He slaps your ass again, finding deep pleasure in watching you pulse and quake around him and hearing you moan. 

You lift yourself slightly upwards, having regained some energy, and reach under you to grab the base of his shaft. You watch his face contort from annoyance to surprise to pleasure as you stroke him, squeezing and releasing incrementally as you simultaneously fuck his upper half. 

You can tell he is about to cum when he starts reaching for your face. He wants to make out with you, to dig his fingers into your back as you suck his neck. He moans your name, cavernous and gutturally, and tells you you’re doing so well. His sweet, sweet baby. The way you’re fucking him makes him go feral. 

Just then, there is a knock on his door, and he immediately pushes you off of him, practically hopping off his bed so he can run to his door barefooted and naked. He tells them to wait a minute as he’s wrapping something up. 

You sigh, quickly following behind him so you can hide in his closet, already used to having his residents show up out of the blue. You hand him his sweater and a pair of shorts before climbing into his closet and closing the doors behind you. 

You hear him open his door a minute later. You’re not sure what the topic of their conversation is as everything sounds muffled. You hear DK tell them that he has to grab a few things first, and then he’ll meet them in their room. He closes his front door and opens his closet. 

He looks worried. You observe it must be something important or an emergency as he doesn’t bother to make himself look presentable or deodorize the smell of sex lingering on his skin. He tells you he’s sorry and that he’ll try to be quick. He kisses you on the forehead before leaving with his stuff. However, he tells you you’re welcome to leave. And you sit there in his closet, alone and naked, the spot on your forehead burning. The motion-sensor lights in his bedroom turn themselves off, and you know you’re fucked by the way he gave you a choice to leave instead of telling you, begging you, finding stupid ways to get you to stay like he always does. 

Your feelings are hurt, and you’re pathetically close to tears. Why is it that every time you look at him or talk to him, it feels like you have to stop yourself from having your confession burst out of your mouth? “I like you” always feels like it’s sitting on the tip of your tongue, and you’re too scared to confess to him. 

It’s dark inside the closet, but you’ve been in his room enough times to know what’s hanging above you and sitting beside you. His business shirts are hanging above your head. On the other side of the closet, he has his pants. They’re organized by fabric type and colors. The jeans hang on the far right side of the closet. The sweats and athletic tights are next. Then he has his business pants. Dark colors are on the right, and light colors are on the left. His clothing hanger hooks are always hung over the closet rod, never under. Yet, at this moment, everything feels so foreign, like you’re a new person in a new place. But it’s because you are a different person now – a person who has fallen for their friends with benefits. 

The metal front door whirs and clicks open. You can hear the automatic lights flicker. He tells you he’s alone and that you can come out as he sees your stuff in his room. You’re not replying. 

“Shit Yn,” he opens his closet to find you still sitting in the dark closet, staring into nothing. “Aren’t you cold?”

You shake your head.

“Did you go pee? You should go pee,” he says expressionlessly. There’s not an ounce of care present in his suggestion.  

He leaves your side and stalks over to his bed, throwing himself on it. He loudly groans into a pillow to rid some of his stress. You can only climb out of the closet, your jaw clenched. “I like you! I like you a lot” is still in your mouth, taunting you, threatening to escape. 

“Is he done yet?”

“Bro he literally just started. Have a little more faith in Chan, okay?” you mumble at Jun while looking at your phone. You lock the screen and place your phone face down on the table.

Today is a day for firsts. It is the first time Jun and you are trying the café across the nice-looking residential building near campus. It’s the first time you try an iced mint mojito coffee when you usually have its alcoholic counterpart. It’s the first time Jun had a professor cancel class this semester. It’s also the first time Chan hooks up with somebody he met on the dating app Jun set up for him. It’s also the first time you’ll openly admit that Jun somehow has the most “game” compared to the three of you. Strange universe.

Jun knows something is bothering you. Your comebacks have become snarkier, yet you’ve been more lenient with whatever he does around you. He once told you to pay for the three of your dinners, and you passed him your credit card without saying anything. And it’s not like DK hasn’t been becoming less of the topic of your conversations - you’ve been quieter. And he doesn’t know what’s going on because he’s scared you might punch him. So he doesn’t ask you and only looks around the café’s nice interior, choosing to count the number of glossy white honeycomb tiles on the wall.

“How can you walk up to somebody and ask them out even though you don’t know them?” you blurt loudly at him out of the blue.

“Me?” Jun dumbly asks you. He already forgot the tile number he was on.

You nod your head while you bring your drink up to your lips.

He leans back into his chair and crosses his arms.

“You know how blunt I am.”

You nod your head, recounting all of the times he was called out for his bluntness.

“I think you already know how I can sometimes rub people off in the wrong way because I accidentally say things that I don’t mean. Sometimes people like you understand me and sometimes people don’t. I guess it’s like people liking you? Sometimes people will like my bluntness and sometimes it comes off in the wrong way. So I think it’s the same for liking people? You either like somebody or you don’t? So I’ll ask anybody out as long as I’m interested in them because the answer is always a simple yes or no.”

You’re so confused.

“You literally jumped from one topic to another. I literally could not follow you at all,” you blink.

“Well I’m sorry,” he throws his hands up in defeat. He’s not used to giving helpful advice nor is he used to having people go to him for advice. He wonders if he should start counting the number of chairs in the café.

He remembers an interaction he had in front of your apartment building last week. He was surprised that DK would call him and ask if he could meet him in front of your apartment. Jun told him that Yn is home and that he could just knock on your door, but DK unequivocally rejected his idea and told Jun to come. Jun saw him walking back in forth in front of your apartment building sign with a bunch of ugly roses in his hand, obviously stressed out of his mind. He asked him what was wrong.

“I dunno. I think they’ve been avoiding me for some reason,” DK tells Jun once he feels calmer with the older boy around him. 

“But they’re literally wilting, bro,” Jun tells DK with clear judgment in his voice. “Some of the petals are black. I’d avoid you if you gave me wilting roses,” he points at all the petals with darkened tips and wrinkles.

“Yn will like them,” DK insists. “They think they look cool like that.”

Jun brought them to your apartment for DK, not wanting to ask or press him for more information. Although, he would have to admit it was a bit confusing to have DK ask him to deliver the flowers for him. Albeit, you are pretty scary when you’re mad. You were pretty enthusiastic when you saw the flowers in his hand, but you immediately slammed the door on him when he told you they were from DK. However, you did open your door again to let him use your restroom.

“Do you like DK but you’re having trouble figuring out whether or not he likes you?” Jun cautiously approaches you with his question.

You nod and spill your troubles to your best friend. You tell him about the two times he told you he liked you and about the day you hid in his closet. You tell him about the roses – how he didn’t text you or leave you a card so that you don’t know why he bought the roses and why he couldn’t deliver them himself. You tell him about the “not a date” dates and how he calls you pet names.

Jun tells you it sounds confusing, but it’s actually pretty normal to fall for your friend with benefits especially if you have a strong emotional connection. That’s how normal people fall in love. He feels for you and understands how confusing it must be for you when the two of you have basically skipped the dating part and landed in the married for thirty years part of the relationship without being in a relationship.

“But isn’t it tiring have to hide?” he asks you. “How many times did you have to hide because of a resident? How many times did you have to fake not knowing him or not liking him whenever you saw somebody flirting with him?”

“Too many times,” you admit. It’s exhausting.

Jun only nods and grabs his set of keys from the café table. He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, “Lemme buy you dessert while I pay for Chan’s ‘congrats on your first hook-up’ cake.”

You stare at your friend, “You aren’t going to give me helpful advice?” You’re dumbfounded.

“Who do I look like to you? Yahoo answers? Reddit? If you want helpful advice, suck it up and tell him that you need to talk to him and talk. It’s going to eat you alive before your future cats get to eat you.”

Fuck. Jun’s right.

Today is a weird day for firsts.

“But I literally just nutted,” DK tells you while you storm into his dorm.

He’s shirtless and is wearing those grey sweatpants that ride dangerously low on his hips. He looks like he just woke up from a nap, his hair messy and matted. A bottle of unscented lotion sits on his nightstand.

“Did you want to shower or do laundry with me later?” he asks you, letting his door shut behind him. He follows you to his bed. “Did you want to get dinner with me? We have a while until Chan’s night class ends. I know you usually wait for him so you can walk home with him.”

You sit on the edge of his bed and pat the space next to you, telling him to sit next to you. He sits next to you and looks at you with a worried expression.

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I have it in me to fuck right now unless you find a way to help me get it up,” he confesses while scratching the back of his ear. He’ll say anything to fill the awkward silence, but he’s glad to see you after being out of touch for a week.

He sees you frowning, and his breath hitches when you turn to him.

“You confuse me DK,” your voice wavers. “I like you so much, but you keep on sending me mixed signals by telling me you like me and then acting like nothing happened. And then you’re so kind to me, and you call me those names while constantly treating me like I’m in a relationship with you when I’m not.”

“Oh, Yn,” his lip quivers.

“You don’t understand how much I like you, how much I want to stop being friends with benefits with you. But you confuse me so much. Your kindness is confusing and I wish you were meaner so I wouldn’t have fallen for you…why are you crying?” you slap his bicep.

He flinches in pain from the slap because he’s still shirtless, but the tears keep running down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he cries while clutching his arm. “I thought I was being straightforward with my feelings, but I hurt you instead,” he wails, “I’ve started liking you longer than you could imagine.”

You don’t know how to react to him crying while confessing, so you awkwardly get up and walk over to his mini fridge to bring him one of his frozen sponge packs to ice his arm.

.

You kiss him back before closing his large metal dormitory door behind you. His keypad whirs and clicks its automatic lock into place, and you make your way to the hallway elevators, giddy on the inside.

You make your way past all the bright green dormitory doors and stop in front of the elevators. At the side of the elevator is the large classroom bulletin board with DK’s stupid laminated face smiling at you. This time the board is sky blue. You can recognize the clouds glued onto the board anywhere – they’re sheep repurposed into clouds from when he did the board about sleep facts. Hot air balloons decorate the board. Expensive cardstock letters spell the title: Love is in the air, and so are STDs! You snicker at the tiny rips in the blue background from students ripping off the taped condoms to use for themselves before stepping into the elevator.

Your phone in your pocket buzzes when you step out of the elevator and exit the dormitory. You pull out your phone while standing outside. It’s a text from DK. He says he’s been waiting for a while now, but he wants to be a bit selfish tonight. He asks you if you’re free this Friday night even though he knows your schedule like the back of his hand. He sends another text to let you know he’s horny again, but he missed you. A lot.