Just Keep It Up!

Oh, you really love your life now.

Consider your fame doubled since the little film of you and San hit the internet. Already amassing four million views in the first forty-eight hours, your phone has been ringing off the hook. San’s last advice about finding an agent now is at the top of your priority list. You’re debating actually asking Hongjoong if he’d be interested in being your agent, knowing his workload is already mountainous. Adding to it wouldn’t exactly help his already packed schedule. Still, San seemed to encourage the idea. 

The check hit your bank account the day after. $2,000 for one scene. You glanced at your laptop with an inquisitive look, comparing the amount to your last liveshow. Not bad, really. In your research – actual research into the porn industry – you knew that adult film actresses get paid somewhere around this number. That is, when they’re seasoned, popular superstars. San’s level of fame. They must’ve given you higher pay than normal to entice you to come back. You have a feeling that San may have talked them into it. 

Whatever the reason may be, you very much enjoyed spending their money, taking Yeosang out to dinner with it to celebrate. 

Ever the sweetheart, he tried to insist on paying for some of it, at least. But you were just as insistent on doing everything yourself. It felt nice to not have to worry about the price of anything. Freeing. And when the two of you toasted your glasses of champagne at your private rooftop table above the city, you quietly thanked San and Afterdark for their contribution. 

Of course, you told Yeosang everything. He admitted that he hasn’t watched it yet, not wanting to overstep a boundary he wasn’t certain of with you. Yeosang isn’t exactly a regular observer of your liveshows either, he only knows that you do them. So, you recount the entire experience. From the driver, to the dressing room, to the set and the aftermath. His face tries not to twist into a scowl every time you mention something that San did, still a bit pissed off on your behalf that there was no aftercare provided even when you told him that it was your own fault. To his credit, he’s able to keep his emotions in control, letting you continue your story. First impressions die hard, misunderstanding or not. 

“I still can’t believe his agent asked you for another collab so quickly after,” Yeosang had said, shaking his head at the thought. “Do you think you will? From what I’ve heard, he’s rarely with the same girl twice.” 

Your fingers absentmindedly played with your napkin as you answered, “I mean probably. If it’s a rare opportunity, then I should go for it, right?” 

Yeosang shrugged, taking a long sip of his champagne. “It’s entirely up to you. But, I say do it.” 

It’s been a week since the shoot. Seven days since you found the purple flowers outside of your door, and three days since they wilted and dulled beyond saving. You hated to toss them, so you kept some of the petals with the intention of drying and saving them in a journal or something. The idea is nice. They reminded you of your accomplishment, for your career, and for yourself. And, of course, you kept the card. The humorous finishing touch of a thoughtful gesture. 

Two days ago, you went live again. You prefaced it would be a ‘casual’ live, just to talk with everyone, and blushed at all the comments in the chat. Everyone sang your praises, telling you which parts were their favorites, when they busted, how they wished they were San, how they wished they were you, and how much they loved the film in general. You’ve definitely gotten better at receiving compliments as they flooded in, thanking everyone repeatedly until the two words began to sound foreign. 

The main question, the one that kept coming up over and over again, ignored by you as much as possible: is there going to be another collab between the two of you again? And when? 

Another email, currently sitting in your inbox, contains the same inquiry. 

Hongjoong sent it three days ago, giving you some time before he proposed the idea to you again. You know you must be stressing him out with your week of sudden absence, not replying to him at the same speed you once did, but you’ve been unsure of what to say. Or how to word it. The sheer amount of money you two could earn from a collab on your camshow makes you wonder what the hell you’re waiting for. You know why. It’s just that you won’t admit it.  

Nevermind that your notorious four offered to collectively pay you another $2,000 if you and San do another collab – you’re not really in it solely for the money anymore. Well, not as much as before. You simply pretend not to see the comments, even though the amount of people who want to know, and collectively wish for a Round Two, overwhelmed the chat section of the screen. 

During the live, you also couldn’t help but notice that a certain user had joined again. Without saying anything in the chat, [mntn3000] tipped you another $1,000. You weren’t even in the process of taking your clothes off when he sent that donation. Normally with these talking-only lives, you don’t get paid very much in comparison to the other kind of lives. Intriguing, indeed. 

Throughout your time in front of the camera, answering questions and letting your tank top strap fall ‘innocently’ off your shoulder, you kept searching for his username to pop up again. It was strange to you, how much you were focusing on this one random person who, the last time the two of you ‘interacted’, was rather blunt and disarming. You think you like the mystery. It keeps you on your toes. 

When it finally did pop up, it was right in the middle of you explaining how you aren’t allowed to say anything in regards to what you and San talked about while on set. Everyone wanted to know what he’s like in real life. You’re pleading the fifth. Speaking of keeping the mystery and intrigue of someone, you’re happy to keep who San really is behind the scenes private. 

Upon seeing the username, you straightened up a little more, reading the notification quickly to see if he donated, said anything, or left. 

Turns out, he did all three. 

[mntn3000]: collab with him again. 

[mntn3000] has donated $2,000

[mntn3000] has left the stream

You tried not to gawk at the amount. Definitely one of the highest anyone has donated to you in one go, topping only himself a little more than one week ago. You could almost hear the steam coming out of ‘Woo’’s ears, wherever he was. And the blunt tone from the last show had carried over into this one, not sugarcoating anything for you. 

Two thousand dollars, exactly the amount you were paid to shoot with San. The number shouldn’t bother you this much, you should just take it and run, be grateful this mystery man is giving you so much money, and sleep peacefully at night. But something’s still nagging at you, even two days later. 

Several things are, actually. 

The card on your nightstand may as well be vibrating, shaking the entire wooden structure to get your attention. The number on the back of it, scrawled in blue ink, lays in wait. Perhaps a week is long enough to make him wait. You risk being in danger of him just dropping the idea – and you – altogether. 

The thought is enough to finally put yourself into action.     

Laying on your stomach on your bed, you triple check that the numbers on the cardstock match the ones you’re typing into your phone. You don’t want to confuse a poor stranger with what you’re about to say. Admittedly, you check about two more times. Your trust in your abilities to be detail-orientated has severely come into question ever since you fucked up the forms. 

Once you’re absolutely sure that the numbers all match up, your thumbs hover over the small keyboard. You have two options to choose from for an opening text. The first option is boring, standard: ‘Hey, it’s Y/N :)’. The second option cuts right to the chase: ‘I’m taking you up on your offer. Let me know when? 👀’.

You go back and forth on the emoji use. Something so trivial, and yet you waste about five minutes deleting it, replacing it, and then using it again. You thought you had grown a backbone when it comes to risky texts or emails, as of late. Apparently not. This isn’t even that risky. You mainly are worried that he won’t respond. But you’ll never know until you send it. 

How annoying. 

You roll your eyes at yourself and just decide to send both of the two options. He’ll have to get over the fact that you double-texted. Fuck it. He gave you his number for you to text or call it, not just for additional decoration among the flowers. 

One tap, and it’s gone, out of your reach. 

Restless, you decide to get up and take your mind off of it. You unravel your two-inch thick yoga mat onto the floor in the living room, and open the blinds to get some late afternoon sunlight in. Normally, you prefer to do pilates and yoga early in the morning, before the sun even rises. It’s a chance for you to center yourself before the day begins. However, your sleep schedule has made this rather difficult to wake up in time for. Recently, you’ve just been doing pilates and yoga at night. Today is a special case. 

It’s late June now, a crisp, blue sky kind of day where the sun preheats the concrete city to prepare for the overbearing heat of July. You’re happy to report that your air conditioning is running at full capacity again. After complaining about it – again – to Yeosang, he finally made you call the landlord to do something to fix it. A maintenance guy was there within the hour. Since then, you’ve kept your apartment rather cold, as if trying to make up for lost days of wallowing in the rising heat. Now though, the sun coming in from the windows won’t hinder your desire to work out during the day if you want to. And you do. 

You find comfort in the stretches, admiring how each day you seem to be able to reach a little further, bend a little easier. Knowing you keep getting better is a good motivator. You’ve curated your own workout playlist, currently humming through a portable speaker, and the beat of the current song is perfect for 

You and him have unfinished business. Unanswered questions. 

One of them being what he meant by ‘manners’. 

You sit in a straddle position on your mat, thinking it over for the thousandth time. Maybe you’re just overthinking the entire thing. It’s entirely possible you could’ve just read the interaction wrong. But you have a feeling he did mean something by it. You lean forward, wincing a little at the pain in your legs as your elbows rest on the floor. Another question you have, you already know the answer to. You figured it out in the moment, but you’re still curious. That pretty woman on set, the one San had dismissed, was most likely there in case he needed help staying aroused during breaks – a ‘fluffer’ as they’re known. You guess what you really want to ask him is how often he needs her. The question comes from a place of ego for you, you know that. You’re rather happy he didn’t need her for your scene together. And Hongjoong had said something to that assistant that he didn’t think she’d be needed at all before the two of you were even on set together. 

You walk your hands backwards, straightening up and shifting into child’s pose. The faint rubbery smell of the mat and the plush foam against your forehead is just what you need right now. You can feel each muscle in your back relax one by one, clearing any tension there and in your shoulders as well. The sunlight coming in from the window warms the back of your neck and your arms, and you feel like you can stay like this forever. It’s tempting. 

A low growl of your stomach prevails over that temptation. 

The task of making dinner calls you away from the mat, but at least you feel more energized to do it. You’re thinking grilled chicken alfredo. Something else comforting to distract you from waiting to hear back from San. You wonder what he’s doing right now. Or who. 

Once the mat is rolled away, you ban yourself from thinking of San for the time being. 

Instead, you call Yeosang as you get out all the necessary pots, pans, and ingredients for your dinner this evening. It’s a tad early for dinner, almost six o’clock, but with your sleep schedule, this will basically be your lunch. 

Yeosang picks up on the fourth ring, groggy and mumbling. 

“I’m up, I’m up. I’ll be there in a second…” he says, sheets rustling in the background. 

“What?” You laugh, pausing your movements to see if you heard him correctly. 

He makes a small noise before sighing. “Oh, hey,” he grunts, sounding like he’s finally waking up for real. “Thought you were Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung is the friend that always drags him out on Friday nights. They’ve known each other since childhood, according to Yeosang. You’ve still yet to meet him. 

“Going out again?” You ask, already knowing the answer. 

“Is it Friday?” 

“It is.” 

“Then, unfortunately, yes.” He deadpans, groaning into his pillows. Considering the time, they’re probably going to pregame somewhere first before going into the city’s nightlife district. 

You laugh, setting a pan down on your gas stove and spraying it to death with cooking oil. “‘Unfortunately’?” You ask, capping the bottle and placing it back in your cupboard. “Why ‘unfortunately’? Not feeling it tonight?” 

Yeosang sniffs and yawns before replying, “Not particularly. He’s trying to turn me into an extrovert. And get me laid, but that’s separate.” 

You laugh again, “And he’s been unsuccessful, huh?” 

“Why do you wanna know?” Yeosang teases, sounding more awake now. 

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you. Hopefully the scoff that you let out gives him a clue, though. 

“Excuse me for being interested in your life,” you joke back, pouring the fettuccine noodles into the now boiling pot of water. “Just wanna know if my best friend is now an extrovert who finally has game.” 

Yeosang snorts, “Well, we’ll see what Wooyoung can do for me.” 

The two of you continue to talk, about nothing really. You, while you cook, and him while he gets dressed and ready. He complains how Wooyoung keeps texting him – apparently they have each other’s location on – and asking where he is. In the past three minutes, he’s threatened to drag Yeosang out of his apartment five times. You ask him several times if he’d rather come over to your place, trying to entice him with your planned meal for the night. 

“Tempting,” he says, “but Wooyoung is already coming to put me in my grave.” 

You boo, snapping a picture of your dinner in process to further brag about staying in. It’s so funny how the roles have reversed recently. Usually it’s you going out all the time, and Yeosang stays home. You have to admit, you do miss it. Maybe you’ll drag Yeosang out tomorrow night, if at all possible. 

“Did you ever text San?” He asks. 

So much for trying to get your mind off of him. You stir the pasta absentmindedly, eyes flickering over to check on the chicken sizzling in the pan next to it. 

“Yeah, I did. Haven’t heard anything back yet.” 

He hums, not saying anything for a moment. That damn first impression again. Nevertheless, he theorizes that San’s probably just busy and will text you later tonight. You hum in agreement, nodding to yourself. It’s what you were telling yourself, too. You hope he’s right.  

A few minutes later, in the background on Yeosang’s line, you can hear muffled banging. You can only assume it’s Wooyoung coming to collect your best friend for the night. 

“Be safe,” you say, wrapping up the call. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“What, like have fun?” 

“I’m hanging up on you.” 

“Goodnight~” Yeosang sings, hanging up on you first. 

It’s perfect timing actually. By the time he hangs up, the only thing you have to do is drain the pasta and then plate everything. You don’t really feel jealous or like you’re missing out by not going with Yeosang, you’ll probably see him tomorrow. With how crazy this past week has been, it’s nice to sit and do nothing for a night. You’ve tailored your notifications so your phone doesn’t go off every two seconds, keeping it on a Do Not Disturb setting with select people and apps as exceptions – you add San’s contact to it as you sit down in your living room to eat. You send one more picture of the finished product to Yeosang, and then toss your phone next to you on the couch, intent on finding something to watch. 

As you eat, you take a second to look around your apartment. Still half unfinished, some moving boxes shoved into the hallway closet and pushed to the side of the entryway, nothing on the walls yet. The floor to ceiling windows on your right could use some curtains eventually, but you haven’t found the right ones. It’s not like you want to cover them up. You’re thinking lace would be nice, and the sunlight through them could make pretty patterns on your living room floor. 

The apartment itself, beautiful and everything you wanted, still feels like something’s missing. Lacking in a certain area that you can’t put your finger on. You stab at your food with your fork, annoyed that whatever it is isn’t an obvious fix. Your eyes flicker over to your phone. 

Whatever, you tell yourself. I’ll figure it out.      

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

San texts you back later that night, right as you step out of the shower. 

The ringtone nearly makes you hit your forehead on the glass door, not expecting to hear it so loudly through your bluetooth speaker. You stand in your bathroom, staring at your phone like it shouldn’t exist for longer than you’d care to admit. It’s a herculean effort to not read it immediately. You’re trying to force yourself to be patient, finishing one thing before jumping to another. In this case, it’s getting dressed and completing your after-shower routine. Naturally, you speed through the whole routine, leaving parts of your hair still damp, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now. 

Jumping into bed with bated breath, you finally unlock your phone and click on the message. 

[san]: hey pretty girl 

[san]: thought you’d never ask ;)

Every worry that he’d tell you to fuck off, or that he doesn’t remember or want you anymore disappears in just seven words. You really wish you could get a hold of yourself again. You hate feeling like a lovestruck teenager gushing over her celebrity crush. Maybe tomorrow, after you unpack more of those boxes you’ve been procrastinating, you’ll work on regrowing a spine. Have some maturity and be a professional. And yet, the butterflies in your stomach still flutter happily, eager to see him again. 

And you don’t want to make him – or yourself, for that matter – wait any longer than necessary. 

[y/n]: couldn’t keep you in suspense for too long

[y/n]: when are you free? 

You wait a couple seconds to see if it’ll change from ‘Delivered’ to ‘Read’ before exiting out and opening Instagram to distract yourself in the meantime. You note the time in the upper lefthand corner of the screen. Half past nine. You’ll definitely be up for a while, so you just settle back against your pillows and scroll through Reels. 

But he texts back in the middle of the third reel.

[san]: how kind of you

[san]: email hongjoong back before he has an aneurysm and i’ll tell you

Oh, fuck. You totally forgot about that. 

You don’t reply to him, reaching for your laptop at the foot of your bed to pull up the email you’ve been avoiding. It’s sandwiched sadly in between two unread emails, mostly junk. There are other proposals in your inbox, several other talent companies wanting to book you, but nothing as exciting as this one. The little star next to Hongjoong’s name, marking it important, sets it apart from the rest. It reminds you of the first time you saw an email from him. Just over a week ago. Not a long time whatsoever, but it feels like you’ve lived multiple lives since then. Your status has definitely changed. Yourself, not so much. 

Tying your hair up to get it out of your face, you reread his message. 

__________________________

Dear Miss Y/N, 

I hope you’re doing well. Thank you for joining us on Friday for the shoot, it went exceptionally well, and everyone involved enjoyed working with you. 

Because of this, we would love to extend an offer for another collaboration between the two of you. If at all possible - and wanted by you, of course -  we’d like to ask you to consider having San as a guest-star on your liveshow. 

If accepted, you and I will work closely to ensure all of the details and safety measures of the recording are carried out. Mostly, this will be on your terms, as it is your show. As always, please don’t hesitate to reach out with any questions or concerns, and I will try to respond in a timely manner. 

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing back from you. 

Sincerely, 

Kim Hongjoong 

Talent Agent, Afterdark Productions

[email protected]  

__________________________

You’re quite sure ‘enjoyed working with you’ is a polite exaggeration. 

You bury your face in your hands as you remember stressing out the crew by neither of you taking breaks. Only once. Talk about insane first impressions, you can’t imagine what they thought of you on that day. 

It’s a short and sweet message, similar format and wording to the original one that started this whole thing. Motivated, but still unsure of how to word your response, you type slowly. Each sentence doesn’t come easily, and you probably overthink it too much, but at least you’re doing it. Finally. 

Now the ball is rolling again. 

The concept of seeing San for the same purpose in the near future is almost overwhelming. To be honest, you’ve been kind of riding a certain type of high ever since you left Hongjoong in the Afterdark lobby. You know full well they’re both after you for this next collab. It’s rather normal in your line of work, to be desired, wanted, sought after. But there’s something different about it now that you’re on an equal playing field as your admirer. It’s more fun. And the two of you have natural chemistry, and good banter. Two things that are notoriously uncommon nowadays. And with a relative celebrity, no less. 

Although, you guess you’ll have to start seeing yourself as one soon as well. Your name is known. 

It’s currently sitting pretty at the number one spot on the site you use to go live. The most recommended and popular camgirl right now is you. With much thanks in part to the Afterdark collaboration. You make sure to add a couple sentences in your response draft to express your gratitude towards the Afterdark team, and to Hongjoong himself. He truly made everything to do with the collaboration so much easier. Though you were doing just fine on your own, the explosion of your popularity really is partly because of him and San. They elevated your career higher than you thought possible. When you first turned on your camera, laptop pointed at your bed, you never thought you’d get to this level. Number one, thousands of fans, and thousands of dollars in your bank account. It makes you feel accomplished. Proud. 

Eventually, you complete a reply that you’re happy to send off to him. You grin at the memory of the speed of his response the last time you accepted an offer from him, and wait around in your inbox to see if that will be repeated again. 

When nothing from him comes up after five minutes, you decide that you’ll be productive and wash the dishes from dinner. You really are trying to work on your impatience in regards to when people respond to you. It’s a little hypocritical of you considering you made both Hongjoong and San wait seven full days before hearing anything back. 

The dishes are distracting enough. Almost. You keep glancing at your phone on the counter, nearly dropping a plate when you try to place it onto the drying rack without looking. Maybe you need to do another round of yoga to calm the hell down. You roll your eyes at yourself and take four deep breaths after safely stacking the pan into the drying rack. You’re being ridiculous. 

He’s just a guy. 

It’s the influx of attention that’s making you crazy, surely. There’s no one to walk you through how to navigate newfound, sudden relative fame. Just as you are in your liveshow, you’re on your own for this. 

Now you’re strongly considering asking Hongjoong if he could possibly be your agent. 

Finishing up the dishes, you dry your hands on a small hand towel. If you actually go through with it and ask him… wouldn’t that technically mean you’re signed with Afterdark? You’d have to ask him or San. You think you’re putting off asking because of that very reason. Afterdark isn’t a camshow company. Even though you loved doing the collaboration with San, you don’t think you’d like doing traditional porn forever. You much prefer having everything set up the way you want it, with only one camera to worry about, and the closer fan connection. 

It’s also definitely the convenience of already knowing Hongjoong that keeps you from looking elsewhere. And you trust him, so far. It’s something to think about. You’d rather have all the information in front of you before you jump into anything semi-longterm like that. 

As you walk back into your bedroom, phone in hand, you get another message. 

[san]: thank you, baby ;)

[san]: when we do it is really up to you, if we’re shooting at your place

[san]: i’ll find time 

You lean against your bedroom doorway, fingers idle above the keyboard. He’s right, this time it really is up to you and whenever is convenient for you. Your schedule is probably a thousand times lighter than his, though. Since you do most of your shows late at night, you theorize that it’s more than likely that he has more free time during that time of day. However, you know a lot of his shoots are filmed at night. Technically the one you were a part of, included. 

‘I’ll find time’, he said. 

Without looking up from your phone, you make it back to bed and slowly sink down onto the mattress. All the while, rereading that message. You know you’re dangerously close to reading between the lines here, possibly lines that don’t even exist. From what you know of San so far though, is that he doesn’t mince words. He’s incredibly honest about what he wants, and makes a point to go after it. Even so, you try to brush off any thoughts of a deeper meaning.  

The next text from him pops up as you’re just starting to type a response. 

[san]: you wouldn’t be free tomorrow night would you? 

Tomorrow. Saturday night. They’re pretty equivalent to Fridays in terms of how much traffic you can get on a livestream. Add San into the mix and… you exhale slowly, imagining a number beyond your usual income. Going out with Yeosang can wait. You grin as you start to text San back. Yeosang has no idea that San just saved him from another consecutive night out. If he knew, maybe that’d improve his view of him even more.  

[y/n]: something tells me you’re making hongjoong’s job a whole lot harder by scheduling these things so last minute

[san]: let me deal with joong

[san]: it’s my first saturday night off in four months and i want to see you again

[san]: so… can i see you tomorrow? 👀

Your breath catches at the end of his second text, fingers frozen over the keyboard. The wording he used in particular is what gets you. Makes you pause. He could’ve said ‘I wanna fuck you again’, or ‘I wanna be with you again’. ‘See you again’ sounds like a lighter way than just saying he wants to come over and make money on camera. Like he’s actually interested in you. He wants to spend his one Saturday night off… with you. You silently curse Wooyoung for making Yeosang unavailable to give you his thoughts on all of this. If there’s an underlying message or tone, or if he’s just stating facts. You’re on your own for now.  

[y/n]: i’m free :)

[y/n]: do you wanna come over around 9?  

[y/n]: i usually go live around 10 or 11

[san]: sounds perfect

[san]: should i bring anything? 

You sit and think about it for a moment. Not really? Although, you’re not sure what he has in mind. If he’s thinking in terms of the show, then all he needs is himself, pretty much. If he’s thinking of more flowers, you’ve got an open vase for them. 

[y/n]: i can’t think of anything right now..? 

[y/n]: just yourself ! (or whatever you want to bring tbh)

There’s a longer pause in between his next text back to you. 

[san]: okay :3

[san]: i’ll see you tomorrow then ;)

Right. 

You drop your hands into your lap, looking up from your phone in disbelief. It takes forever for your heart to stop racing, matching pace with your thoughts. 

Already planning in the silence of your apartment, you start making a mental list of everything you need to do before he gets here. You need to clean your bathroom, the kitchen, the bedroom, and the living room (basically your entire apartment), do laundry, get ready, light candles to make your room smell good, set up the tech equipment, eat somewhere in the middle of all of this, and shower and get ready as well. Unfortunately, you’re looking at a day where you have to be up earlier than mid-afternoon. 

But if this is the reason for it, you can’t complain. 

You hop out of bed, assessing how much time you need to put aside for cleaning. Which areas need more attention than most. It shouldn’t be anything too crazy. You only moved in a month ago, and you keep your spaces tidy. It’s just that you want to impress him. Make a strong second impression. You think you’ll start with your bedroom first, as that’s where most of your time together will be spent. 

A shiver runs through you as you stand in the middle of your apartment, arms folded. Barely twenty-four hours from now, you’ll be live. With him. 

You run a hand through your hair, breathing deeply. 

Which version will you get this time?   

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

Today may be the first day in several months you wake up before three in the afternoon. 

It’s half past two, but it’s still earlier than normal. No alarm needed. The afternoon has started without you, meeting time already on the horizon. You don’t waste time lazing in bed, you have a lot to do before San arrives. Even though you’re not expecting him at your door until nine tonight, you’re restless. So, you give yourself small tasks to do. Like, for example, try to get your best friend up from your couch. 

Last night, Yeosang texted you after you finally calmed down enough to get back in bed. You were nearly halfway through the fourth episode of a K-Drama you’re half-interested in when your phone buzzed. Twice, in succession. 

[yeoyeo🌻]: no one interstng, comingg o ver :3 

[yeoyeo🌻]: u bbetter br awake -.- 

You almost rolled your eyes at him for thinking you would be asleep before three in the morning. Not likely. Not with the unexpected development happening tomorrow. There’s simply too much to think about. 

[y/n🌸]: i’m awake 

[y/n🌸]: i’ll unlock the door, just lock it behind u pls

Even after Yeosang got to your apartment twenty minutes later, you didn’t move out of bed to greet him. He knows the drill. Even before you both lived in the city, the two of you had an open door policy. You’re too engrossed in replaying everything earlier – somewhat still in disbelief it happened at all. 

Tonight though, you know you’ll see him. In your apartment. And you have a considerably large window of time to put in effort towards how you look. Roughly six hours. Plus, it’ll be the first time you see him since the shoot.  

Almost like a sped up version of last night, you move around your apartment like a pinball, going from one room to another. You check on Yeosang, who’s turned over with his back facing you on your couch. Faintly, you see the dim glow of his phone, so you know he’s awake. Just deep in his hangover and not in the mood to talk yet. You’re like that when you’re hungover as well. 

One of the tasks you give yourself is laundry. You want to have every outfit option available. When the machine happily rings out a little tune at the start of the cycle, you hear Yeosang groan into the couch cushion, covering his ears with your throw blanket. Wait until you bring out the vacuum. The man needs coffee desperately. And something for his head, if you want him to even consider drinking ever again. At least he’s not holed up in your bathroom. 

You force yourself to slow down a bit, taking time to make coffee for Yeosang and make yourself a late lunch / early dinner out of your leftovers from last night. You sit at your dining table, and eventually Yeosang drags himself over, sitting across from you. He takes small sips of the coffee you made for him, turning his face from the sunlight coming in through the windows. You really do need curtains. 

“Look who’s finally up,” you tease, twirling the pasta around your fork. 

Yeosang groans, “Don’t remind me.” 

“Wooyoung’s success rate for you is looking a little grim.” You smirk, covering your mouth as you speak and chew at the same time. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “he was successful last week.” 

Your head pops up again. “You didn’t tell me!” 

It’s not that surprising that Wooyoung was successful. Not really. Anyone trying to advertise beauty like Yeosang’s isn’t exactly in for a hard sell. No one would hesitate to go home with him, it’s just that he’s shy. Quiet, as well, which sometimes makes people think he doesn’t want to talk with them. That’s where most of Wooyoung’s heavy lifting comes in, you imagine. 

“You were pretty busy with San,” he points out, shrugging nonchalantly. 

Ah. That would be why. All your rambling to him about the shoot, he probably didn’t think to bring it up until now. You’d hate to have this friendship feel one-sided, so even though you’re absolutely dying to tell him about what happened last night – and what will happen tonight – you take a step back. 

“Well, go on. Tell me about last night.” 

Yeosang shrugs again. “Same bar, same people. No one caught my attention. Got way drunker than I meant to though. Wooyoung went home with someone, but he texted me this morning so he’s fine. Nothing really to report… some guy got thrown out for trying to start a fight, but that’s pretty much it.”

He reaches over and steals a piece of chicken from your bowl. You jab the fork at his hand as he pulls away, victoriously popping it into his mouth. 

“Maybe next time will be better,” you say. Yeosang groans at the very idea of a possible ‘next time’. 

“Next time, I’m not drinking a damn thing. This sucks.” He mumbles, taking a big sip of his coffee. He winces as it goes down, like it’s tequila. 

You nod along, absentmindedly twirling more pasta around your fork. He tilts his head, trying to read your faraway look. 

“San’s coming over tonight,” you blurt out. No build up, just straight fact. 

Yeosang raises his eyebrows. “For what?” 

“Gardening. What do you think?” You laugh, feeling good to get some of your nervous excitement out. 

“The collab? Already? Damn, he must want you bad.” He smirks, setting his coffee mug down. The smirk doesn’t reach his eyes, though. Not out of jealousy, but caution. 

You wave his words away, ignoring them as if they couldn’t possibly be true. It’s a money opportunity, and he happens to be nice. That’s most likely all it is. You tell yourself that you can be okay with that reality. 

You almost fully believe it. 

“Everything with him always happens so fast…” you sigh, half-heartedly chewing your food. 

Yeosang shifts in his seat, obviously holding himself back from making a joke. You look up at him through your eyelashes, daring him to. He hides behind another sip of coffee. 

“You know what I mean, perv.” You mumble, only making Yeosang laugh into his drink. 

He holds his hands up like he’s surrendering, signalling that he means no harm.    

Bowl now empty, you bring it over into the kitchen sink, putting off washing it until later. For now, you just run some water into it to soak. Yeosang’s still working on his coffee, only taking small sips now to not overwhelm his stomach. Smart boy. 

“Are you feeling any better?” You ask, gesturing to the coffee. 

Yeosang nods slowly, careful to not move too much and aggravate his headache any further. “Getting there,” he says, “think I’ll go home and nap soon. Have you seen my wallet, by the way?” 

You look around you, like it’ll just pop up right in front of you, but to no luck. He doesn’t seem too bothered about it. He knows he had it when he fell asleep here, feeling it in his jean pocket. It must’ve fallen out somewhere. 

He stretches his arms up over his head, groaning again as he feels something crack. He walks back over to your living room and folds up the blanket he used, setting it over the back of the couch where he found it before heading for the front door. 

Yeosang looks up at you as he puts his shoes on in the entryway. 

“I hope everything goes well,” he says. “Seriously.” 

“Thanks, Yeo,” you reply, “me too. Now go get some sleep, please.” 

After a quick hug, and an agreement to text him if you find his wallet, he’s out the door, bound for his well-needed nap back home. 

The laundry machine beeps again, and you check the time on the oven clock to see how much time you have left. You still have a little less than five hours to get ready. You walk back over to your phone on your way to collect your laundry from the wash, just to see if you’ve missed anything from San. Not yet. 

But Hongjoong emailed you back twenty minutes ago. 

You sit right back down at the dining table, opening the notification. 

__________________________

Dear Miss Y/N, 

Thank you for the kind words, and for getting back to me. 

We are delighted to hear that you are willing to do another collaboration with San. Since we already have your forms from the last shoot, there is no need to fill those out again. However, I will attach a long-term discretion form for you to sign that will cover any other future collaborations in the future, just so you don’t have to do it every time. 

Because this collaboration will be held on your liveshow, please let me know if we should prepare or know anything in advance, or if there are any set rules you may have about your show. 

Due to the last minute scheduling, if you wouldn’t mind sending this to me by 6:00PM at the latest, that would be much appreciated.  

As always, I look forward to hearing back from you. 

Sincerely, 

Kim Hongjoong 

Talent Agent, Afterdark Productions

[email protected]  

__________________________

If you wanted a distraction from looking at the clock, you got it. 

‘Any set rules’. You draw a blank. 

Going live is pretty straightforward, you just hit ‘Go Live’ and start from there. The difference is it’s all raw and real. No physical audience, no crew breaks. You handle everything yourself, from the technical side to the entertainment side. On and off camera. If there were to be rules on your liveshow, you suppose one of them would be the same as Afterdark’s first rule: consent. They didn’t make you feel trapped once the scene started, and neither will you once you click that button. It’s important. You want San to have the same out that you had, if needed. 

You type that into the response draft. 

A similar question to the one San asked last night jumps out as your eyes filter through the email again: ‘...let me know if we should prepare or know anything in advance…’.  

Again, you have to think about it for a moment until it comes to you. It’s nothing that Afterdark, Hongjoong, or San really has to worry about, as you’ll be the one to take care of it – just that you’ll be the one wrangling your fans in the chat. The chat is real time, and sometimes nasty comments happen in real time. You do your best to ignore them, and your four attack-dog admins are pretty good at booting them from the livestream quickly, but you should still let them know it can and does happen occasionally. Since it’s your show, though, you’ll deal with it if it happens. You’ve gotten good at ignoring them, remembering the people saying such vulgar, terrible things are probably insecure, lonely, jealous people. You don’t know how used to real-time ‘critiques’ San is, but that’s definitely something to prepare for. 

It’s added right alongside the consent rule. 

Altogether, you only kill about ten minutes writing the email. Most of the time, you spend sitting in motionless silence, trying to think about anything else to tell them about going live. Nothing too important is really coming to mind. Everything else you could say isn’t much different to what one would expect from doing a camshow right out of the gate. 

The form he attached is an easy DocuSign, able to sign by just typing your name straight into the document. You sign it gladly. 

Satisfied with what you have, you send it off. One step closer to it actually happening. 

Again. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

The only other time your apartment has been this level of clean was when you moved in. 

Every countertop is sparkling, and every room smells like apples and cinnamon. It’s more of an autumnal scent combination, but you like what you like, no matter the time of year. You bathe your room in soft lighting, only turning your LED fairy-lights on to create your usual camshow atmosphere. The color of them, you’ll get San’s input on when he gets here. 

There’s no clutter, everything tidied up and or swept into a closet or under your bed. You’ve yet to put all of your shelves up. The moving boxes, you had to come to terms with. They’ll just have to stay where they are. By the time you get around to those, you’re already cutting into the time you wanted to spend getting ready. An everything shower, as usual, and a blowout takes time. Your arms have been putting in some serious work all day, and more is still expected of them later. 

To give them somewhat of a break, as you’re waiting for your hair to dry once out of the shower, you place your laptop onto your lap, pulling up the Discord chatroom. You quickly type in that the second collaboration is happening tonight – surprise! – and to make sure they don’t miss it. As if they ever would.

[fix0nmi]: FUCK

[mars9843]: y/n pls think of my mental health 

[woogoesthere]: im gonna start breathign into a paper bag

[puppyu.u]: omfg i cant wait

They’ll spread the word to other fans outside of the chat faster than you can. 

You wander into your kitchen, intent on getting a snack to boost your energy. You’re going to need all the carbs you can get to tackle your hair and do a live with San. The quickest snack to have is one of your mini yogurt cups. You grab a spoon and sit on your couch, forcing yourself to slow down and take a breath for a second while you eat. You’re halfway done, double-checking the state of the living room when you notice something peeking out from under your coffee table. 

Upon closer inspection, you recognize it as Yeosang’s wallet. 

Shit. 

You place the yogurt down, in favor of your phone and the wallet. Snapping a picture of it, you send evidence of its recovery to Yeosang. He texts back quickly, as always. 

[yeoyeo🌻]: oh thank fuck

[yeoyeo🌻]: i was starting to think i actually left it at the club

[yeoyeo🌻]: do you mind if i swing by and get it now??? he’s not there already is he

You glance up at the time. It takes Yeosang roughly ten minutes to get to you, eight if he rushes. It’s late enough that he won’t be delayed by traffic if he drives. 

[y/n🌸]: not yet but u gotta get here now

[y/n🌸]: i still have to do my hair

[yeoyeo🌻]: omw rn‼️

As a repeat of last night, you think you’ll just leave the door unlocked. San hasn’t texted you yet, so you try to calm down about rushing Yeosang. He’ll message you when he gets home, as he stated in a text he sent this morning. 

Yogurt gone, you throw the empty cup into the trash and check Yeosang’s location. He just left his apartment. You unlock your door and head back into your bathroom, feeling a bit rejuvenated from the snack. 

For a couple seconds, you stare at your hairdryer, in denial of how long it’s going to take. Phone still connected to the bluetooth speaker, you switch playlists, going for a more sultry mood instead of an upbeat one. Bedroom pop. You toss your phone onto your bed, and get to work. There’s no time to delay it any longer. 

Barely into the first song, you feel the vibe. 

Singing along to the songs that come up on shuffle help distract you from the pain of holding your arms up for so long. The beauty gods must be smiling upon you tonight, because your hair is coming out perfectly. With every section you blow out, the slight curls fall just right every time, without fail. 

You can only hope this kind of luck carries over to your makeup as well.  

As you unclip the third-to-last section of hair, you hear sounds coming from your front door. You turn off your hairdryer and listen, just to be sure it’s Yeosang and not an intruder. 

“Where’d you put it?” You hear a familiar voice shout. 

Good, it is Yeosang. 

“It’s on the kitchen counter!” You shout back, “Next to the fridge!” 

You really hope he doesn’t say anything else because you promptly turn the hairdryer back on, effectively blocking out all noise. After a minute or so, you hear a faint knock on your bedroom door. You lean back, finding Yeosang standing there, trying to not scare you by alerting you of his presence first. He leans against the doorway to your bathroom, wallet secured in his pocket. Hopefully for good this time. Content to just watch you and hang out for a minute, he waits until the hairdryer gets turned off. 

Even though he can see you clearly in the mirror, you turn to him. 

“Good?” You ask, fluffing the front and the back with your hand. 

“Good,” he confirms, helping you wrap up the cord to the hairdryer and placing it back on the counter. “Need me to hand you stuff for your makeup?” 

“Please.” You nod, gathering everything you’ll need. 

You lock in the blowout with some light setting hairspray. Just as you came to realize last week, you know your hair is going to end up messy anyway. Nevertheless, you like the way it looks. Before, and after. 

Sitting on your bathroom counter, nose to mirror as you do your eyeliner, you and Yeosang perfect a little system. He’s watched you do your makeup so many times before, he knows what to hand you next after you complete a step. It’s like a two-person bucket brigade of makeup products. After a couple of minutes, you start to get suspicious of how much time has passed. 

“Can you grab my phone for me?” You ask Yeosang. Your makeup is so tantalizingly close to being done. All you have to do is evenly wing your eyeliner, curl your lashes and apply mascara. Done. 

Yeosang nods, hurrying off to collect your phone. 

“San texted you,” he says as he comes back, handing it to you for you to read. You hold your breath, noting that it was sent fifteen minutes ago. 

[san]: just got home

[san]: i’ll jump in the shower and be omw soon

“Fuck–” you hiss, abandoning your idea for perfectly matching winged eyeliner and just making sure the waterlines are clean instead. “Yeo, how long does it usually take for you to shower?” 

“Five or ten minutes, maybe?” He says, “If I was getting ready for what he’s gonna do though, probably closer to ten.” 

You love having a male encyclopedia as a best friend. Any question you may have about guys, he has an answer. ‘Years of experience’, he’d say. 

As soon as you’re satisfied with your eyeliner, and you’ve curled your lashes, you look back down at your phone. You’re about to send San your address when you remember the flowers at your door. The freak already has it. Instead, you send him parking directions, even though they’re pretty straight forward. The lot is easy to find by the apartment building. 

What you don’t know is how far he lives from you. 

Setting your phone down, you waste no more time getting ready. Once again, you look to Yeosang for the final approval. He gives you the go ahead, and the two of you walk back out into the kitchen. 

“You have your wallet this time?” You ask, grabbing yourself a water bottle from the fridge. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, proving it. You nod once, twisting the cap off of the bottle and pouring it into your reusable one. It’s light purple. You wonder if San will say anything about it. Especially when he sees your room with all of the purple accents. 

He’s gonna be in my room, your inner voice screams. Your nervous energy hits you hard again, and you have to shake it out of your hands. The overthinking comes back in full swing, too. 

“Should I make him dinner? What the fuck do I do?”

Luckily, Yeosang is as calm as ever. “If he mentions being hungry, order a pizza like a normal adult.” 

“Nothing about this is normal.” You mumble, leaning against the kitchen counter, burying your face in your hands. 

Yeosang chuckles, texting someone on his own phone with one hand. “Pizza’s less stress, less romantic than if you actually make him something,” He pauses, gaze shifting towards you. “Unless ‘romantic’ is what you’re going for?”  

“No! No, I’m just trying to be a good host.” You deflect. 

“Mhm.” 

“This isn’t a date, Yeosang.”

He shrugs, trying – and failing – to hide a smile. “Sure, it’s not.” 

You cross your arms. “We’re literally meeting up to fuck on camera. For money. What kind of freaky-ass dates are you going on?” 

“Wooyoung gets me into some freaky-ass situations,” he says, successfully bringing some of your nervous energy down a couple of levels. 

You roll your eyes and point at the door. 

Just as if you summoned him by doing so, there’s a knock on the front door. 

Both of you freeze, hoping you just hallucinated it. But Yeosang gives you a look. He definitely heard it too. Unless it’s a rare case of folie à deux, San is actually here. 

“Shit–” you whisper, hurrying to the door. 

There’s no time to calm yourself down, nor prepare yourself before you open the door. No, you just get hit in the face by San’s otherworldly beauty head-on. In the hallway lights, his naturally tanned skin glows beautifully, his clear skin shining without any need for highlight. He’s holding a folded hoodie and has a backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s the most dressed down you’ve seen him up until now: grey sweatpants and a tight, white T-shirt. Part of you doubts that it's meant to be tight, it just is on him because of his muscular form. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen him since the shoot day. Your first instinct is to stare at the ground, avoid eye contact, mumble a greeting he’d have to lean in closer to hear. But he’s just a guy. And the girl you just saw in your bedroom mirror would look him right in the eye. If he’s not being awkward around you, then neither should you.

Lost in the sight of him, you miss how his eyes light up when he sees you. 

“Hi,” he smiles, slightly bowing with his head. 

“Hey,” you greet, a true master of words. 

There are those dimples again. They complement him so well. 

Before you lose focus, you open the door wider, forcing yourself to remember that he’s not here just so you can stare at him in the hallway. He steps in as you make room for him to enter. Almost immediately, his eyes land on Yeosang, still leaning against your kitchen counter. 

Both of them straighten at the sight of the other.  

“San, this is my best friend, Yeosang.” You introduce them. 

Yeosang bows his head in greeting, which San returns politely after a brief hesitation. 

“Will he be joining us…?” San asks, looking at you confusedly. 

Yeosang jumps in before you can say anything, “Oh, no, I was just on my way out. Y/N, I’ll text you tomorrow.” 

You could kiss him right now for not staying any longer. Yeosang always knows when to make an exit. The two of you exchange goodbyes, he nods once more to San, and he’s out the door. 

The door closes automatically behind your best friend, but you step forward to double check it anyway, as you always do. Behind you, San is silent. He keeps his folded hoodie in his arms, looking down at the floor. His confident air seems snatched away.  

“I’m sorry about that,” you say, turning back around to face him, “he came over to get his wallet back right before you got here. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  

Fuck… You know how bad this looks and how fake it sounds. You peek up at San, hoping he believes you. It doesn’t seem like San was really listening to your reasoning, though. He recognized Yeosang as the guy from the video. Several different emotions at once seem to be battling for dominance on his face, not knowing which one should win and be felt. 

San sniffs, shifting his weight. “Does he, um… know what we’re doing?” 

“Yeosang?”

San nods. You tilt your head, not fully understanding what he’s trying to ask. 

“Going live. Yes, he knows.” 

San’s eyes are still glued downwards, anxiously picking at a small piece of dead skin by his cuticle. Guilt shrouds him like a weighted blanket. But instead of holding his questions in, he asks you them. He’s been down a similar road to what he thinks is happening now, and he really hopes he’s wrong. 

“Are you dating him?” 

You’re quick to reply, “No, I’m not.” 

“I just… I wouldn’t want to get in between something–” San starts to say, and you take a step closer to him. Hopefully proximity will drive home that you’re telling him the truth. 

“We’re really good friends, but that’s it. I wouldn’t keep a relationship secret from you.”

San scratches the back of his neck, “You’d be surprised how many people do.” 

That gives you pause. You can hear the underlying hurt in his words. His trust must have been broken many times before, you can’t exactly blame him for trying to get to the bottom of what you and Yeosang’s relationship really is. You never told him about it. Why would you? The only thing he knows is that he was with you during a live once. Sure, you’d prefaced in the beginning of that video with Yeosang that he was just a friend helping you out, but most people skip the beginning to get right to the action. Most people would assume you’re dating or involved in some way without any other context. They only see that a hot guy is fingering you on camera, kissing the top of your head when it’s all over, and that you appear comfortable in his arms. 

His reluctance to meet your gaze makes you wonder. 

Was his initial offer for a collab a shot in the dark? Did he even dare to hope that you’d say yes? 

You want to put all of his worries to rest right now. You grab your phone off the kitchen counter, unlocking it. “If I call Yeosang right now, he’ll tell you the same thing. I swear to you.” 

San lifts a hand to stop you, finally meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna come across as…” he trails off, struggling to find the right word. You fill in the blanks yourself. 

Jealous, perhaps? 

You move closer to him, gingerly placing a hand on his back. “It’s alright, Sannie.” 

You don’t know where the nickname comes from, but it seems to have an affect on him. He freezes. You can feel his spine stiffen, and his breathing halts for a moment. It lasts maybe two seconds before he resets. He scratches the back of his neck again, not quite meeting your gaze anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize quickly, taking your hand off of him, “should I not call you that?” 

San is just as quick to explain himself, “Oh, no it’s okay. I, um… actually, I love when people call me that.” 

Now that he’s turned back towards you again, you can see why he avoided looking at you in the first place. He’s blushing. Just as he would if your roles were reversed, you smell blood in the water. And you’re ready to follow it. 

But you want to make absolutely sure that he trusts you. 

“You believe me, right?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, trying to meet his eyes again. “I genuinely wouldn’t do that to you.” 

San nods a little slowly, convincing himself first and foremost. You give him the time to do so. You open the fridge and grab another water bottle, offering it to him. He accepts it, unscrewing the cap and pinning it between his fingers as he takes a sip. 

“I believe you,” he says carefully, like he’s still not one hundred percent convinced. 

You don’t take offense. If you came to his place and a girl was there before you’re scheduled to mattress-act, you’d have some conflicting thoughts and feelings about it too. 

He screws the cap back on and sets the bottle down on the counter. Then, he looks at you. Fully. 

He drinks in your appearance, just as you had when you opened the door. Appreciating every detail, all the effort you put in for him. Head to toe, you look perfect. Absolutely beautiful. He can see the worry that still lingers in your eyes, hoping he doesn’t think of you as someone who would betray his trust or lie to him. It was just a shock. Not who he expected to see in your apartment, if anyone at all. Plus, if Yeosang really is your boyfriend, he must be totally fine with someone else fucking his girlfriend on camera for the world to see. Granted, there are some men that wouldn’t mind, but he hasn’t met many. 

San looks over his shoulder, just now hearing the light music coming from the direction of your bedroom. The singer’s voice is smooth, low as they sing alongside a deep bassline and an accompanying synth. The thought of you getting ready to this kind of music makes him grin. Mood music, for sure. 

“No one else is in my apartment,” you jokingly promise, “it’s just my speaker.” 

He chuckles, breaking any leftover tension between you, and straightens up. He lifts up his hoodie, silently asking where he should put it for now. You take it from him, opting to hang it up in the coat closet. It’s your first time using said coat closet. He sets his bag down next to your kitchen island for now, out of the way so neither of you will trip on it. 

As you’re hanging the hoodie up, you don’t notice that he’s moved closer behind you. When he places his hands gently around your waist, he doesn’t miss how you inhale sharply, not expecting it. He hums as he feels your body slowly relax into his touch. You freeze in place for just half a second until your brain catches up. You close the door and press back into him. 

He inhales deeply, sighing into your hair. You copy him, if only to steady your pounding heart. Just you, him, the faint music in the background, and the promise of what’s to come in the near future. 

You turn around to face him properly, shyly wrapping your arms around him, over his shoulders, hands clasped together at the back of his neck. Memories of last week flood your brain. They make it almost impossible to focus on the present, as every reminder of his touch only brings you right back to that day. The last time his hands were on you. 

No one’s watching you now. Not yet, anyway. 

His gaze is soft as he looks down at you. It’s nice like this. A chance to get used to each other again, outside of the ‘set’. Or, in this case, your bedroom. The time you spent rushing, making sure you were getting everything done, hurrying through everything, suddenly slows from a sprint to a crawl. 

Still, you can’t quite make eye contact with him for more than a second.  

“I believe I owe you something.” He says, gently squeezing your waist. 

Right. But does he mean now? Before the live? You weren’t expecting that. However, you’re starting to look forward to the unexpected every time San is involved. He really is like if a ‘go with the flow’ lesson came to life to teach you the mentality. 

“Can I make it up to you first, pretty girl?” he whispers, searching for your reaction. 

You nod, looking up at him like you’re hypnotized. 

“Words, baby.” 

You nod again before snapping back into reality. “Yes.” 

He smiles again, melting you from the inside out. The two of you stay like this for only a moment or two longer before pulling away. He leans down to collect his backpack again, slinging it over one shoulder. You don’t even question what he has in it. 

Dazed, you force yourself to move your feet forward. 

“Um, my bedroom’s this way.” You lead, spine tingling as you walk, knowing he’s following right behind you. 

The dim, golden light and the faint scent of cinnamon caresses your senses as you enter your room. You stand in the middle of it, eyes checking to make sure everything is as clean as you left it before giving yourself something to do. You check the integrity of your tripod, even though you’ve never had a problem with it before. Your laptop sits open and ready in the center of the bed, waiting to be moved and angled just right to capture everything. 

San sets his bag down again, by the foot of your bed. You want to ask what’s in it so badly, but your mouth is going dry. Taking a quick glance around you, you realize both of you left your respective water bottles out in the kitchen. 

“I’m gonna go grab our waters,” you tell him, stepping back towards the door, “I’ll be right back.” 

You need a minute to breathe. To chill out. You jog into the kitchen to get rid of more of your pent up nerves, and also not wanting to idle when Choi San is in your fucking bedroom. Two deep breaths in and out do nothing to slow your heartrate. Clutching both your reusable and his plastic bottle in your hands, you slow to a walk just out of view of your doorway.  

The image of Choi San sitting on the edge of your bed nearly puts you in cardiac arrest. 

The fairy lights you turned on instead of the ugly overhead light make him look ethereal. Unreal. His body is relaxed, leaning back on his hands as he waits for you. You try to ignore how good his arms look, how you can see the faint lines of his abs through his shirt. His freshly washed hair falls perfectly across his forehead. You’ve never had this much gender envy before now. 

You only hope you’re as appealing to him as he is to you. 

When you fully step into your room again, his feline eyes find you immediately. He stands up to meet you in the middle, grabbing his water from you. 

“Thanks, baby.” He says smoothly, finding your hand again. 

Rather boldly, you lead him back towards your bed. He follows easily. 

“So,” you start, turning to face him as you sit down on the side of your bed, “how do you want to make it up to me?” 

It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t shake as you speak. 

San stands in front of you, not joining you just yet. He places his water on your nightstand before his hands card through your hair. You close your eyes, loving how gentle his touch is on your scalp. A small noise escapes you before you can stop it, and he grins. 

He nods towards the head of your bed, “Can you lay down for me, baby?” 

Honestly, you think you’d lie down in oncoming traffic if he asked you to. The rich timbre of his voice is clouding your mind, wanting to hear more and more. Wanting to be good. So you do as he says, scooting yourself backwards until you’re laying against your pillows. 

You watch as he walks around to the side of the bed, joining you from there. Your core clenches around nothing as you watch him lay down next to you. However, your hungry gaze softens as he silently guides you to lay against his chest, pressed by his side. 

His arms wrap around you easily, breathing in the sweet fragrance of your shampoo and perfume. Your hand rests in the middle of his abdomen, cheek to his chest. One of your ankles crosses over his, finding yourself wanting to be as close to him as possible. 

“Mm…” San sighs, eyes closing. 

After hours of stressing, cleaning, and prepping, your mind is finally quiet. Almost blank. Only the sounds of your breathing and his, and the soft music still coming from the speaker in your bathroom. You think back to last week, and how much you craved this as you watched him walk away. A stupid mistake on your part cost you something you needed to have after sex, but it’s happening now. Before anything happens. 

And you really appreciate that. You didn’t realize how much you needed this before until now. Your body relaxes into his even more, and he holds you tighter, whispering praises. 

“You were such a good girl for me,” he breathes, his hand lightly rubbing your arm. “Made me feel so good… everyone loved you.” 

You hum, burying your face into his chest. Everything you longed to hear last week, he’s saying it now. 

“Took everything I gave you so well. Knew I had to have you again.” 

Now you shiver. The thought of him deciding the same day that he wanted to be with you again nearly sends you into overdrive. He feels you clench your thighs together and purrs. 

For your sanity, he lets the relative silence wash over the two of you again, content to hold you like this for a little longer. But now your memory has been activated, replaying every moment of what you remember from last week. Soaking the bed, riding him, hearing him moan with his dick in your mouth, the warmth of his cum spilling inside of you. You’re not sure how long you two have been laying here, but you know it’s all going to happen again, and soon. In the comfort of your apartment. No director or bright lights, no cameramen in your face. If you simply ignore your laptop, it really will be just the two of you. 

San feels you getting a bit restless, and he kisses the crown of your head. With his right hand, he tilts your chin so you’re looking up at him. His thumb presses ever so slightly on your bottom lip, silently asking for entry. Your mind blanks as you open your mouth, his thumb sliding into your mouth. Eyes fluttering shut again, he praises you as you wrap your lips around the digit. Your restlessness vanishes almost instantly with the pressure against your tongue. 

“Is that what you need, baby? Need something in your mouth?” He asks, watching you closely, filing this information away for later. 

You hum around it, feeling like you’re drifting already. Everything feels warm. Light. You’re almost sleepy, and you have to consciously make sure you’re not drooling all over his hand. He definitely has seen clips of your camshow before; you always subconsciously or purposefully have something in your mouth. It’s just comforting for some reason. You haven’t really delved into the psychology of why, but it is. Now that you think about it, your oral fixation is probably why you got so wet while sucking his dick last week. In the moment, you didn’t put two and two together. 

After a few more minutes, you feel him start to pull his hand away and you whine. He shushes you, stroking your arm again. 

“Keep being good for me, and I’ll give you more later.” 

That shuts you up. 

You nod against his chest, quietly sighing. The promise of ‘more’ makes you antsy against him. You’re not sure if he’s trying to calm you down, as aftercare suggests, or rile you up for the live. Maddeningly, you think it’s somehow both. 

He moves some hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear for an unobstructed view of you. You look up at him again. 

“Can I kiss you, baby?” He whispers. 

You can’t say ‘yes’ fast enough. Actually, you don’t even bother. 

As soon as the question leaves him, you push yourself up to press your lips to his. He tastes just as good as he did last week. Minty and warm. San sighs in content, hands framing your face. You think you could kiss him forever. It just feels right. Kissing him before the camera is on you is reminiscent of the ‘warm up’ last week as well. A private prelude to the main event. 

He takes his time, tilting his head to kiss you even deeper. His tongue slips into your mouth without any resistance or fight from you. It’s all so dizzying; the skill of his lips and the softness of his tongue combined with the weight of his warm hands on your body. 

A soft, whiny noise escapes you, into his mouth, and he smirks against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. Your eyes flutter open, meeting his. You may be teasing him a bit as you look at him with Bambi-like innocence. It never fails to get you what you want, or to motivate a man to just touch you already. 

You double down, to really drive it home. “Sannie, please…” 

It works somewhat, the nickname he told you that he loves makes him tense a little. He loves to hear you say it. Nevertheless, he sees right through your underlying intentions. He’s a professional after all, he’s seen that look before. He’s heard every plea.  

“That little innocent act won’t work on me, kitten,” he whispers, moving down to press a hot kiss to your neck. “You forget I can see who likes my films. I know which ones you touched your pretty little cunt to.” 

Without needing a mirror to confirm, you know your cheeks are burning bright red at this point. He fucking knew the whole time. That’s what you get for having an uncreative username on the sites his films are on. Dammit.  

Hating the power imbalance, you gather enough breath to speak up. “Mhm… and you probably jerked off to every single one of my lives, haven’t you?” 

“Guilty,” San chuckles, breath hitting your neck. “Made me cum so fuckin’ hard every time.”  

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes to try and pull yourself together. So you were right. But… all of them? Was he just exaggerating? Have you seen his username in the chat before? You don’t know whether to feel caught out or embarrassed, but his lips find yours again, and you sigh, content to not overthink it anymore. 

The two of you are on equal playing fields again. He knows you’ve watched his videos, and you know he’s seen yours.  

One of his hands travels down, narrowly missing your breast on purpose. He squeezes your waist again, your hip, and your thigh before resting there for a moment. You whine into his mouth, feeling how close his hand is to your wet core. Your entire body is on high alert, ready to beg him to touch you. And soon. To encourage him, you let your hand drift as well, finding the outline of his dick through his grey sweatpants easily. He groans, low in his chest, hips canting up to meet your touch, seeking more. You wrap your hand around his length and stroke it once. Slowly. 

“Fuck… fuck, baby, let me check you,” he says, turning onto his side to get better reach. 

You lay on your back, legs parting for him immediately. 

He cups your heat over your panties first, feeling you instantly grind your hips into his hand, trying to feel more. You’re already soaked through. Just like he thought you were. Heat rises on the back of his neck and he bites his lip to keep himself in control. You’re so fucking good for him. So responsive. As a little reward, he rubs his fingers against your clit, making you feel how wet you are there. You whine right away, back naturally arching at the feeling. He alternates between looking at where his hand is, and your reaction to him finally touching you where you so desperately need him. 

“Your fans may have to wait a little longer.” He murmurs.   

“They’ll wait,” you breathe. And you’re not lying. You’ve yet to break a promise of going live, and something as big as this happening, every single one of them will wait all night if they have to. None of them are going anywhere. 

You glance at your laptop, still laying in wait on the other side of your bed. There must be people in the waitroom for the live show already, and you can’t wait to see how many. They’d all probably kill to see San touching you now. 

Like you said though, they’ll just have to wait. 

San sighs, teasing your center with his fingers. Not quite pressing against it hard enough, but definitely enough to make you whine and debate begging him for more. You keep quiet though, wanting to see what he does more than anything. 

He keeps his touches slow, like he’s savoring the feeling. No longer as frantic, you follow his lead, matching the pace with your hand wrapped around his clothed member. Your wrist moves in time with his, pausing for just a couple seconds when you feel his fingers hook into your panties, moving them to the side. You stop breathing, watching him and waiting for what your body is currently screaming for. 

Both of you moan at the same time as he finally slips a finger inside of you. 

Automatically, your core clamps down on it as hard as it can, not wanting to let him go, but also trying to stop him from reaching any further. 

San reconnects your lips to his, slowly hooking his finger upward. Your back arches and you whimper into his mouth, a little embarrassed that you’re this sensitive. As a result, you tighten your grip around him, slowly stroking him through his pants until you feel him shudder. He’s getting harder, gradually growing in size the more you touch him, but he does a good job of holding himself back. Years of practice, no doubt. 

When you feel his hips subtly grind upwards, trying to feel more of your touch, you reluctantly let go. Before he can wonder why, your hand dips below his waistband, wanting to touch him properly. You don’t know whether or not you’re surprised to find that he’s not wearing anything underneath his sweatpants. Honestly, now you feel a bit foolish that you put panties on. They’re only going to be taken off anyway. 

Just as you remember, his skin is soft and warm under your touch. The head of his cock is slightly wet from precum, and you use your thumb to coat the rest of his length with it. He shudders again, looking down to watch your hand moving underneath his pants. 

Even with just one finger inside of you, you can hear how wet you are with any slight movement he makes. Your breaths are heavy and short as a familiar dull warmth begins to spread within your lower stomach. You groan, lifting your hips to try to get him to go deeper, but he just eases them back down. 

“You want me, baby?” He whispers, breaths becoming heavier. 

“I want you…” you confirm quietly, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. 

He hums in your ear, driving every system in you absolutely crazy. “Such a good girl… so wet for me.” 

His words spark another memory from last week. The question he teased you with before and during the shoot. He knows damn well why you’re wet right now. 

But then he withdraws completely from you. Your body tenses, trying to keep his finger in to no avail. You can only watch as he raises his hand up to the lights, admiring how it’s glistening from your juices, before placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your hand around his cock pauses, entranced. 

San moans as he slowly pulls his finger out of his mouth with a quiet pop. “Tastes just as good as I remember,” he muses. 

You glance over at your laptop again, knowing you have to start the live now. Not just because you’re about to be late, but also because you’re seriously about to jump his bones. 

“We have to start soon,” you say shakily, pulling your own hand on him away, and pushing yourself up onto your elbows. 

San hums in acknowledgment, helping you to sit up the rest of the way. The two of you don’t move or speak for a minute, collecting yourselves enough to start. To act like you weren’t seconds away from foregoing the show entirely and just fucking off camera instead. As usual, you push away any thoughts that that means something deeper. There are no feelings here. Not when it comes to what he does. 

Now that you have a chance to really look at him, you notice something. He looks tired. Not quite exhausted, but definitely end-of-the-day tired. He moves slowly and deliberately, carefully choosing what he spends his energy on. A twinge of guilt aches in your chest. You don’t want him to push himself to do this. He should have a real night off. 

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, hoping that you’re not insulting him in any way by asking. “We don’t have to do this tonight.” And you mean it. 

You have no obligation to go live, and even if you have never broken a promise to go live, you want to put him first. The audience can wait, and so can you. By the next time you two meet up, maybe there’ll be even more people in the waiting room because of the advance notice. You’ll figure it out. You always do. 

San hesitates, subconsciously starting to pick at his cuticles again. It’s obvious his professionalism is battling against him, and you bite your lip. 

“It’s really okay–” you start to reassure him again, but he shakes his head. 

“I’m good,” he says, “I promise. It’s just been a long day.” 

He smiles, trying to really sell his words. For a brief moment it works, but only because you love his smile so much. You nod, mostly to yourself. You don’t believe him completely, and know he’s probably just trying to be nice and stick to the plan for tonight. He probably is worried he’ll disappoint you and the viewers if he bails.  

You have no idea he’s trying to talk himself out of the same thing you just were moments ago. 

He can’t afford to have any feelings towards you. It’s just lust clouding his judgement, that’s all. An intense attraction he’s simply not used to. You really tick off many of the boxes for him; sexually, yes, but especially in terms of personality. That’s what’s most hard to find in this industry. You challenge him, easing into banter like a second language, and you submit to him so effortlessly while still keeping that fire within you. You don’t fawn over him or beg for his attention. 

There’s no need anyway. You already have his attention. 

And you’ve had it for a while now. 

You roll your shoulders back, dragging your laptop over to see if everything is good to go. Just as you expected, there are already five thousand people waiting. The number jumps higher every other second. Even though you expected higher ratings than normal, you can hardly believe it. Just another reminder of the impact of the first collaboration. Also, a good motivator. 

You swing your feet off the opposite side of your bed, leaning forward to place your laptop on the stand, angling the camera just right. You and San fill the screen, and the mouse hovers over the ‘Go Live’ button, ready when you are. 

Not quite yet. 

San moves across the bed so he’s sitting next to you, in front of the camera. The tips of his ears are red, and his face is flushed, but it doesn’t show up too much on screen thanks to the dim, golden lights. His hand lands close to yours on the mattress, mere millimeters from yours. Pretending you don’t notice, you check your appearance on screen, fixing where your hair had gotten a little messed up. You glance at the clock. Four minutes until eleven. 

“I should’ve asked you earlier,” you preface, looking down at your lap before making yourself look up, “but, do you have any questions about what to do?” 

He tilts his head to one side, confused. “‘What to do’?” 

“Yeah, like, interacting and engaging with the audience. I can do most of that, if you’d like.” 

“Oh…” He says, taking a moment to think. “I don’t think so? Hongjoong kinda explained it to me when he got your email. I’ll watch you first and go from there, I think.” 

You nod. It’s a good plan, one that you probably would’ve suggested to him yourself. 

“Any rules for me, Ms. Director?” San asks with a lazy grin. 

“Oh absolutely. Five of them, in fact.” You say sarcastically, laughing as you recount the five rules you had to memorize while on the Afterdark set. You can’t exactly harp on them too much. After all, they’re in place for everyone’s benefit and well-being. 

He shrugs, “Sue me, I’m used to structure.” 

“It’s okay, I’ll guide you through it.” You smirk, patting his hand. It’s only an excuse to touch him again. Nevermind that his hands were all over you, even in you, a short time ago, you’re just so impatient. Especially when it comes to him.   

It’s nice to have this moment to laugh together before the live starts. It gets rid of any remaining anxiety or tension. If the camera was on right now, no one would guess that you both had your hands down each other’s pants only minutes ago. 

Speaking of, the clock continues to tick down. Only one minute left until you’re due to go live. 

“Where do you want me to cum?” San asks you bluntly, casual as can be. Simply collecting information. 

Your thighs press together at the mention of it. “Oh, uh– inside. Please.” 

Fuck. 

You glance up at him as he looks down at his lap. He nods to himself, dusting something off of his pants. You may have given yourself away there by adding ‘please’. He probably has guessed it already, but you kind of love when guys cum inside of you. It heightens the pleasure for you, and you love trying your best to keep their cum inside. 

San straightens up, snapping you out of your wandering thoughts, and looks over at the screen. The parallels from last week and the juxtaposition of the changed roles aren’t lost on you. Now he’s the one in unfamiliar territory. He’d listened carefully to Hongjoong’s retelling of what you said in the email. The difference between posting a video and waiting to receive feedback, and going live, receiving the feedback in real time. There are no breaks or retakes. He takes a deep breath. 

He looks down at your hand, still lingering on top of his. 

Locating your phone in the tangled bedsheets, you hit ‘pause’ on the music. You hope that afterwards you remember to actually manually turn off the speaker so it doesn’t die, but you know you won’t. 

You take this moment to slow down as well, calming that inner horny voice. It’ll happen. Right now though, you need to focus on his comfortability and, like you said, guide him through it. You suspect he’ll be a natural – there’s not much to it that he isn’t used to. The absence of a crew or script is really the only major change. Nevertheless, you don’t want to assume, just in case. 

You squeeze his hand once, getting his attention. 

“Ready?” 

San nods, straightening his back and tapping into his professional, camera-ready persona. “Ready.” 

The world seems to wait for you as your hand hovers over the trackpad. One miniscule effort, barely a muscle used, and you’ll be live for the world to see. Or, more specifically, six thousand people and rising. You’re not sure why you’re hesitating, you’ve never been quite this nervous to do your show. Then again, your anxiety may not even be related to going live, rather the anticipation of the recreation of last week. Not exactly worry, but acute awareness. 

For the first time in a long while, he’s actually kind of nervous. San glances at himself on the screen, making sure his thoughts aren’t visible on his face. Subconsciously, he squeezes your hand back. Like a knee-jerk reaction, that’s all you need to finally press down on the trackpad, hitting the button. 

And you’re live. 

The chat erupts at the sight of you two in one frame again. Already, some small donations begin to pour in, and you lower the volume of your laptop so the dinging isn’t as loud. As usual, you wait about ten seconds for the notification to go out to anyone who has them on and isn’t in the livestream yet before starting. 

“Hi guys,” you say with a smile and a wave. You laugh at everyone’s reactions, catching a glimpse of the comments ‘Mars’ and ‘Puppy’ send. 

Six thousand eight hundred people now. Still climbing. Jumping, actually. Seven thousand, eight thousand, nine thousand. Ten. 

San follows your lead and waves as well, his other hand finding yours again, just out of frame. His eyes scan the comments, coming in faster than he can process them. You seem at ease, in your element. More so than last week, that’s for certain. You relax right into it, automatically knowing what to expect and how to navigate the live. The only thing different about this show is him. 

[user458673]: oh my god oh my god oh my god

[gbgirlie_12]: omfg im literally shaking i cant wait

[fix0nmi]: so fucking beautiful, y/n

[user547391]: san pls say hi to me

“‘I was not expecting this at all’,” you read, nodding in agreement with the comment. “Oh, neither was I.” You laugh to shake out some more nerves and to fill the silence. 

San ducks his head to hide his grin before regaining his composure again. A proven professional, once again. “Did you guys like the collab?” 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, feeling kind of proud that he asked your audience a direct question. Well, they’re not really your audience anymore. Not tonight, anyway. Regardless, he took initiative. He’s a good scene partner, no matter what environment you drop him in. 

More comments flood in, detailing everything they liked about the film. Some are very detailed, but they flit by so fast it’s impossible to read every word. The general consensus seems to reflect the current five-star rating the video has. 

Not bad for a rookie. 

[mars9843]: @ woogoesthere @ fix0nmi @ puppyu.u guess we gotta pay up 

[woogoesthere]: gladly 

You giggle reading their comments, knowing that without fail that your bank account will be two thousand dollars fuller is definitely enough to brighten your mood. Not counting the donations that continue to be sent in. Apparently San sees that exchange too, because he looks at you with a slightly confused expression. You pat his hand, silently letting him know that you’ll tell him later. 

He wishes his heart would stop pounding so much. Honestly, he’s not that nervous, his nerves are settled and his breaths are even, but for some reason his heart has simply not gotten the memo. It’s starting to hurt his chest. 

[user401078]: pls start i’m begging

This is something San should’ve clarified with you: how to start. With pornography it’s pretty cut and dry; you start when the director tells you to. Easy. He’s watched your lives before, you’re good at segueing into the main content. Regardless, even if he’s on your turf now, he still has that infamous reputation for being rather bold. 

Since you moved closer to him, you don’t have much time to register him closing the distance between you. He wraps an arm lazily around your shoulders, smirking when you turn to look at him in slight surprise. 

He raises an eyebrow at you, nodding towards the laptop. “Keep talking, kitten. Don’t mind me,” he says. 

That’s your first indication that he’s onto something. 

You hesitate before turning back to face the screen. It takes even longer to refocus on the comments, thoughts racing wildly as you feel his other hand ghost up your thigh. The second indication. 

“‘I don't know if I wanna be San or Y/N right now’,” you read, giggling. “Let us know at the end!” 

Your eyes catch some blunt, bordering rude comments; faceless, nameless accounts you don’t recognise, but you just ignore them for now. You can already see that ‘Woo’ and ‘Puppy’ are on it, kicking people out or blocking their ability to send a message. They’ll take care of them for you. 

You’re just about to thank them when San’s hand drifts higher, fingers pushing between the seam of your legs to part them slightly. As a reflex, you swallow hard, halting any sounds of surprise. You can hear him smirk, his breath lightly hitting your ear. He nods towards the laptop again, not needing to repeat himself to get his previous message across. 

Keep going. 

“There’s so many people here– mmh– th-thank you guys for joining,” You stumble in the middle of your sentence, breath hitching when San leans in to kiss your neck. 

Your eyes threaten to close already, but you stubbornly keep them open. For what, other than to just listen to San’s direction, you’re not sure, because you’re definitely not reading the comments as closely anymore. 

His lips move slow and soft on your neck, humming when he finds your sweet spot, just under your ear. The hand now between your legs is dangerously close to your center. When he nips at your neck, you make a small noise, tilting your head further to the side to give him easier access. 

[user623490]: so hot

[only1fan]: i’d kill to be san rn 😭

[fix0nmi]: looking so pretty bbg 

The last comment makes your face heat up. It’s probably so obvious how flustered you are, and if anyone’s going to catch it, it’s ‘Fix’. 

“‘San, please fuck her already’,” you read out. “Yeah, San. I think you sh-should listen to them.” 

San, however, promptly ignores you and the comment. His hand abruptly moves from between your legs to sneak under your shirt, rolling one of your nipples between two fingers. You can’t hold back a whine from the sensation, and you bite your lip to keep any more at bay. His hand gropes you rough and slow, hard squeezes that he lets linger on your skin before he repeats the pattern. He bites your neck as his thumb circles around your nipple, humming as you gasp. 

The screen seems to get further and further away as your head swims from the sensations. He licks a lazy stripe up your neck, just under your jaw, distracting you from where his hand is slowly returning to. Legs parted for him already, it’s all too easy for his hand to slot between them, just barely touching your center. Your breath hitches again, looking down to watch him tease you. 

His fingers press into your inner thigh, so close to where you want him instead. You bite your lip, placing your hand on his leg if not just to ground yourself. You can feel him smirk against your skin. 

The first touch to your core is electrifying. 

A bolt of lightning races through you, warming your stomach and turning your thoughts into static. His touch is bold, firm. And he doesn’t wait around once he feels how wet you are through the thin lace; he skilfully moves your panties aside and sinks two fingers deep into your heat. 

Your eyelids immediately drop halfway, mouth parted as your body struggles to get over the shock of the much needed intrusion. You missed how he touches you, like he somehow already knows your body inside and out. Like he’s committed it to memory since last you saw him. 

He pulls away, but only just to begin to coax your shirt off of you. His hands glide up your body, gathering the fabric as he pushes it upwards, sneaking in a handful of your breasts on the way. You lift your arms up to help him, and your shirt is discarded somewhere onto the bedroom floor. You don’t look at the screen anymore. Only at him. 

San tugs at your bottoms next, and you quickly get rid of them, sitting there in nothing but your dampening panties, waiting for him. He hums, admiring the sight in front of him and further ignoring the chat. You look so ready for him, so eager to be good for him and to put on a good show for your fans and his. 

He almost wants to be nice. Almost. 

His hands frame your face and tilt it so you’re looking up at him. 

“I’m not gonna fuck you yet,” he murmurs, and you clench your thighs together at the mere mention of it happening again. And soon. He’s so blunt sometimes, it kills you. “I brought something for you first.”

You tense up, having a sense of what it may be. 

He gets out of your bed, circling around to the foot of it where he had deposited his backpack earlier. You scoot back against your pillows, watching him a little nervously. After digging around in it, he looks up at you once he finds whatever he’s looking for. 

“Can you close your eyes for me, kitten?” 

Fuck. The dramatic irony of it all. You obey of course, plunging yourself into the dark and the unknown. You can hear him straighten up, slowly walking back around the bed and climbing onto it again. The bed dips right by your leg. The audience must be going absolutely crazy, if the sounds of donations are anything to go by. He sets something down near your foot, but leans over you. Gathering your wrists above your head, something soft loops around them, tying them together. You exhale shakily, anticipating and nervous. He doesn’t miss how your thighs are practically glued together, clenching every so often. 

You almost jolt when you feel his lips on your body again, making his way down from your neck to your hipbone. The lower he gets, the heavier your breaths become. Every press of his lips is intentional, unhurried. His breath tickles your stomach. You whimper when his tongue licks your hipbone, hips involuntarily hitching upwards for more. 

“San…” you whisper, hoping he hears your plea within his name. 

Oh, he hears it. 

Whatever he placed by your foot is picked up again, and he wordlessly shows it to the camera. You so badly want to open your eyes and see what it is, what he has planned. But you’ll find out soon enough. 

You feel him kneel between your legs, letting you rest the one farthest from the camera around his waist. The other he keeps flat against the mattress, so your audience can see everything. Everything slows and quiets. With bated breath, all you can do is wait. 

One of his hands trails up your thigh, pressing down on your hip, keeping you still. As if you’re going anywhere. Twelve thousand people watch as he hovers a vibrator mere centimeters from your clit. Blissfully unaware, you’re currently trying your best to not be impatient, keeping yourself quiet and still. 

A choked gasp from you cuts through the sudden buzzing sound in the room. A loud moan of his name when it finally presses against your clit is music to San’s ears. He pushes your hips back down flat when you try to tilt them upwards. 

“Look at me, baby. Eyes open.” 

It’s difficult, but you manage to open your eyes at least enough to see him. It takes even longer for your vision to focus, locking in on the sight of San kneeling before you, watching you hungrily as the low hum of the toy fills the room. It’s pink and long, maybe an inch or so longer than San, flexible and soft. There’s no mistaking what it’s shaped like, either. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, dragging the head of the toy up and down your dripping center, collecting your arousal. As he continues to do that, he looks over at the laptop. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he says, and if you weren’t busy trying to subtly grind up into the vibrator with every pass, maybe you’d be more surprised by how easily he’s taken control of your show. “Everytime someone donates three hundred dollars, I’ll increase the speed.” 

Suddenly, the chat comes alive again.

‘Mars’ is the first to donate, followed closely by ‘Woo’. Of course they wouldn’t hesitate. The comments are divided into people that encourage and beg others to donate, and those that are throwing their money at you. Realistically, the settings on the toy only go up so high, but San is good at pacing it. Additionally, not everyone is donating the requested amount, either. 

You never thought you’d ever consider trying to beg your viewers to stop donating. But here you are, and they’re merciless tonight. Just as hungry for San to wreck you as you are. Morbidly curious as to how far he’ll push you, wanting a front row seat to your unraveling. 

[puppyu.u] has donated $300 

[wifey0707] has donated $50

[fix0nmi] has donated $300 

[videoking] has donated $300

[woogoesthere] has donated $300

[mars9843] has donated $300

The toy speeds up higher and higher, pressing harder against your clit. The buzzing gets incrementally louder, and so do your moans and cries. It’s harder to keep your legs still, but his palm is consistent and firm against your hip. You’re not going anywhere. 

“Say ‘thank you’ to your fans, kitten,” San instructs, glancing at your laptop screen again. 

Somewhere in your hazy, frantic mind, you’re able to snap back into character long enough to obey him. 

“Thank you,” you cry, nails digging into your palms. “F-feels so fucking good, thank y-you.” 

You’re not really thanking them though. Not completely. You address the ever-growing audience, but you keep your eyes on the man above you. The one who you want to impress and be good for more than anything else. It doesn’t go unnoticed. 

San’s previously stern, concentrated expression, softens just noticeably enough for you to catch. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, barely audible. As if he’s only saying it to himself. 

Your casual, throwaway statement of ‘bring whatever you want’ in your email to Hongjoong comes back to bite you in the ass. Hard.

San’s gaze drifts back to the chat, just to see what everyone’s saying. He doesn’t want to look away from you for too long. Your reactions are more important to him than what a bunch of horny strangers have to say. 

[puppyu.u]: fuck pls make her cum soon 

[woogoesthere]: ^^^ shes so fuckign pretty when she cums

‘Woo’ is right. You are. But he won’t make you cum just yet. As if you read his mind, you whine and arch your back, silently begging him for more. 

San tilts his head. “Aw, I know, baby, I know. Feels so good on your cute little clit, doesn’t it?” 

“Pl-please, please sir…” 

“I’m right here. Tell me what you want.” Tell them.  

“Want–” you, your brain finishes, “want more… please, sir.” 

You whine a mixture of his name, pleas, and expletives. The vibrations and the pleasure only grow stronger as he slips the phallic shaped head of the vibrator into your pussy. You’re trying your very best to not be too loud, you have neighbors after all. But who can blame you? Even if someone does come knock on your door, you highly doubt you’ll stop everything to go answer it. 

San leans forward, closer to your face, wanting to see every reaction up close. He doesn’t want to miss anything. Your lips are a bit dry from breathing through your mouth, and your legs are shaking around him. 

“Wish it were me instead?” He asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer. 

He looks down between you. His wrist slowly twists, coaxing the toy deeper into you. “‘Yes’, what?” 

“Yes sir,” you correct quickly. “Fuck, yes sir.” 

He hums, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I know, kitten,” he says, dragging the toy out an inch before pushing it deeper than before. “Just let me play with you a little longer.” 

You start to whine again, but he shuts you up by closing the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. Instead, you moan into his mouth, happy to feel more of his weight on you and the warmth of his skin. He’s still dressed, though you hope that will change soon. 

Nearly fully enveloped in your core, San takes his time to drag it in and out of you. The strong vibrations rattle you from the inside out, stirring the low heat in your stomach to a boiling point. You have to break the kiss to catch your breath, cheek to cheek with him. 

“Pl– San, please, can I– please…” Everything you say is disjointed and breathy, unable to speak much more coherently than that. 

He nips your neck, kissing a spot he marked up previously. A lovely bruise already begins to bloom across your skin. He angles the toy slightly more upward and you nearly knock your head into his. He’s quick to push you back down, keeping that hand firm on your hip. Your bound hands come down, reaching for his wrist to push him away, but he ignores you. 

“Don’t cum until I say so, kitten,” he orders. His tone is serious. He means it. 

Brief, blurry visions of what he does during his punishments with his costars – if needed – run through your mind. It’s enough to not make you want to disobey his order, but you don’t know if you’re physically able to follow through. This has to be cheating. In some way or another. Maybe he wants you to fail. 

It’s definitely a possibility, especially with him. He brought this toy for a reason, knowing full well he could get you to this desperate point just as easily with his own hands. Admittedly, you’re a little scared to find out the reason. You have a feeling that because last time was all about overstimulation, this time will be about edging and denial. 

You hope you’re wrong.  

Especially as your orgasm builds and builds, no matter how hard you try to suppress it. 

San can feel how tight you’re getting around the toy whenever he pushes it back in, the resistance growing little by little. He straightens up to kneel over you again, fixated on you and you alone. 

Force of habit, you look to your left, checking the screen to make sure that you’re both fully in frame. 

“Keep your eyes on me, kitten.” He says, voice low, eyes never leaving your body. “Only on me.”  

Shit. You look back up at him, hoping you’re still in the clear as far as not finding out what it’s like to receive a Choi San punishment firsthand. He quickens the pace of the toy, palm resting on the base of it to put forth more effort into shoving it forward. 

“San,” you warn, voice breaking. 

He ignores you, captivated by the loud, wet squelching sounds your pussy has begun to make every time the toy slides inside of it. He knows he’s not being very fair. Actually, he’d love nothing more than to just spend the next hour making you cum over and over until you beg him to stop. It's a morbid curiosity that keeps him from giving you permission. An inner desire to see how long you can hold on just because he told you to. Information to file away for later. Specifically when he’s in his room at night, biting the hem of his shirt as he strokes his cock to the thought. 

Your legs tighten around his waist, using him to try and push yourself away from the toy so it doesn’t reach as deep. It’s scrambling your thoughts as you try to hold yourself together. 

“San!” You exclaim, hurtling towards a high you don’t want to reach. 

He shushes you, pushing your legs back down with his free hand. “Shh, just ten more seconds, baby. Hold it for ten more seconds. You can do it.” 

Tears pool in your eyes, but you nod anyway. Your palms sting as your nails dig into them. 

“Ten… nine… eight…” he counts, dragging the toy halfway out before shoving it back into you. 

[puppyu.u]: oh my god

[user200985]: i hope she fails lmaooo

“Seven… six… five…” Halfway there. 

The angle makes the toy dig right into your g-spot every time. Your ears ring with the monumental effort you’re putting forward. Throat constricted by limited air intake, you inwardly swear and curse, praying that you’ll be able to get past ‘one’. 

But it’s all too easy. San takes his free hand, resting on your leg, and places it just above your pubic bone. His thumb rubs your clit slowly. Maddeningly. Again, your legs attempt to close, but are blocked by his body. A garbled cry rips itself from your throat. 

“Four… three… two…” So fucking close. 

You can’t hold it, you can’t. 

But you don’t get to make that decision. On the count of ‘one’, he rips everything away from you. His breathing is steady as he watches you come to terms with what he just did. Tears escape down your cheeks, and all you want is to bring your wrists down to cover your face. Every vein feels like a livewire. You’re frozen where you are, sobbing uncontrollably as you feel what would’ve been quite a powerful orgasm recede back. 

Discarding the toy by his side, he leans over you again, pressing a brief but deep kiss onto your lips. It almost makes up for the ruined orgasm. Almost. His face keeps that stony indifference as he pulls back, that concentration he’s famous for in scenes like this. 

Inside, he’s thrilled. 

Not to mention proud, as well. He knew you could do it, even if you didn’t think so yourself. It almost makes him feral to see you like this, dangling on the edge of pleasure that only he can provide, but he’s a good actor. Nothing is given away on his face. He busies himself by untying your hands, easing them back down to rest by your side. Instead of keeping them there though, you wrap your arms around yourself in a self-hug. 

Instantly, his protective side kicks in. 

He ducks down, making you look at him. One of his hands cautiously moves some hair out of your face and you lean into his palm. A good sign. You’re really fine, you just felt so empty so abruptly it was like whiplash. You haven’t been edged by someone in quite a long time. And not ever like this. 

You nod once, letting him know you’re okay, just calming down. He rests his forehead against yours, letting you ground yourself with the pressure there. 

“Such a good girl, kitten,” he whispers, kissing your nose. 

San stays close until your breaths return to normal. Full, deep ones that are no longer interrupted by whines. Your eyes flutter open again, a little self-conscious about how long you took to calm down after being edged once. You tilt your head up to kiss the corner of his mouth, and he grins. 

“She’s alive,” he says, shoulders hunching when you lazily hit his arm. 

You don’t say anything back verbally, just a small noise as you cling to him. It’s obvious you want him to keep going, to touch you again, bring you back to the edge and actually push you over it this time. Believe him, San does too. Not only did he deny you of release, he denied himself the joy of watching it wrack through you. But if he’s going to make you cum, it’ll be by his own doing, not solely some toy’s. 

Deeming you okay to continue, San helps you prop yourself up against your pillows, which also helps get rid of the ringing in your ears. You take a moment to rest, promising yourself to check in on everyone in the chat in a moment.   

San beats you to it, just curious to see what the viewers are saying. The utter depravity in real time catches him a bit off guard. 

[user334763]: I’d pay big money to see him make her black out

[hot4hottt]: fuck this slut san!!!!!! 

[xdcfcdxjkabt]: ughhhh wish my girlfriend looked like you 😔

[dommmm2527]: make the bitch cry

[useher2450]: fucking whore 

His nose scrunches a bit the more he reads. You’d defended your viewers, saying that the majority of them were nice and respectful. Honest, but still respectful. These must be the new batch of viewers that are coming from his side of the industry. Granted, he sees a couple of messages that are clearly from your longtime fans, being more encouraging. And polite. Just like you said they are. Two admin users are busy kicking the worst offenders out or revoking their chat privileges, however, the volume of the messages the new fans are sending are beginning to oversaturate the chat. 

San makes his mind up in less than a second. He leans over, closer to the laptop, making all the women viewers go absolutely crazy. He smiles, pretending it’s directed towards their comments and compliments, but it’s all a distraction. The mouse finds the ‘Off’ button on the screen and his smile remains as he disables the chat entirely for non-subscribers. 

If they want to talk, they’ll have to let their money speak for them instead. 

When you open your eyes, before you can turn to look at your laptop, San blocks your view. His lips return to yours, kissing you hard enough to make you dizzy all over again. You melt into him again, hips subtly tilting upwards to search for something to grind against. The search yields great results, finding the impressive outline of his cock through his pants. He groans into your mouth when you deliberately grind against it, one of your hands coming down to rest on his waist, just shy of dipping underneath the waistband. His skin is warm under your touch, and you press your palm down a little harder, eventually rubbing his lower back underneath his shirt. You can feel the lean muscles in his back under soft skin, and you wish he’d take his clothes off sooner rather than later. 

To kickstart that wish, you pull at his shirt, blatantly letting him know exactly what you want. You watch greedily as he pulls away from you just enough to tug his shirt over his head, dropping it onto the floor. At the sight of him, you almost sigh in relief. In the dim, golden light of your room, his tan skin is radiant. The definition of his abs and chest make you want to reach out and touch, if not just to ensure that he is in fact real. Nevertheless, you keep your eyes trained on his face, waiting for him to tell you what he wants. 

Instead of a verbal hint, San slowly slots his knee between your legs, pressing it against your center. You whimper, feeling a shock go up your spine at the initial contact. 

Your hand migrates down again. This time, it dips under his waistband, wrapping around his hardened cock and stroking it once. His breath stutters against your cheek, and you can feel him pulse under your touch. Groaning, now he’s the one grinding into your touch, wanting more. 

You have half a mind to work him up, only to take it away as well. But something tells you he’s expecting that. 

What you do though, is sit up fully, kissing his neck before he can push you back down. One of his hands presses into your back, and he closes his eyes, sighing deeply. You’re quite content to just spend the next hour making out with him. Unfortunately, you know your audience will be expecting more than just that. 

Maybe off camera… 

You scrunch your nose, as if that will make the thought go away. Feeling you do so, San pulls away just enough to make sure you’re alright. Before he can say anything, you hook your thumbs into the lace of your panties and drag them off. A rush of cold air against your core makes you shiver, but you hide it well. Resting your hands back on his shoulders, you swallow hard to ensure your voice doesn’t break again. 

“Lay down,” you whisper, already moving over to give him room in the center of the bed. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t fight you on it, following your direction right away. He rests against the headboard, eyes fixed onto yours. You shift as well, on your knees, turning to face him. Leaning down, you begin to plant slow kisses to his collarbone, down the center of his chest; mirroring what he did to you earlier. You make sure to arch your back for the audience’s viewing pleasure, giving them a pretty sideview. San’s head tilts back, breathing deeply. He never takes his eyes off of you. One of his hands twitches like he’s waiting to do something with it at the right time. As you kiss his stomach, you can feel how tense he is. When you start to move lower, he places his hand on the back to your head to stop you from going any further. 

You blink up at him, wondering why he doesn’t want you to go down on him. Actually, he does. Oh god, he does. He just doesn’t quite know how to tell you the shoot today was kind of centered around that. If you were to put your mouth on him, he may just combust. He also doesn’t want you to think that you’re hurting him, or – god forbid – bad at it. From experience, he knows that isn’t true. 

To ease any worry, he smiles at you, guiding you back up to kiss him once more. 

“Don’t wanna wait,” he whispers, making up a believable excuse. “Need to be inside you now, baby.” 

You don’t move immediately, still searching him to see if he’s lying. Your next movements are slow. Less confident, more cautionary. He raises his hips to help you take his pants off, his cock laying against his stomach. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the spamming chat. Every user name is highlighted blue, indicating that it’s only your subscribers commenting.  

Huh. 

Choosing to not dwell on or investigate it further for the time being, you refocus on the man currently underneath you. Last time you saw him like this was a week ago. A shiver runs down your back. You wrap a hand around his cock once more, leaning forward to kiss him as you position yourself above it. He guides you with both hands resting on your hips, ready to help you sink down onto him. With one last groan from him into your mouth, you waste no more time. 

The blunt pressure of the tip of his cock pressing against you already has you clenching. Luckily, you’re wet enough for there to be little resistance. The head slips inside somewhat easily, and both of you gasp at the same time. San tilts his head back again, eyes fluttering shut. His hands tighten for a moment or two before relaxing again, but there’s a constant pressure from his fingertips. 

He makes a quiet, choked sound as you slowly sink down. Inch by inch, until you’re fully impaled by it. You shudder involuntarily, biting your lip to keep relatively quiet. The tears you shed earlier resurface in your eyes once again at the joy of being filled by him once again. Neither of you even have to move for it to feel good. 

Like before, it just feels right. 

And he voices that sentiment, fighting to continue to breathe normally. “Fuckin’ made for me, kitten. Aren’t you?” 

You could sing right now. The praise lights up every part of your brain, and makes you eager to prove him right. You rock forward, loving how you can feel him twitching inside of you. He’s so hard, so big. Every inch of his length is pressed against your inner walls, and you feel him with every miniscule moment. 

His hands lift you up an inch or two, encouraging you to start moving. You drop back down fast, sparks popping in your stomach. Gradually increasing the pace, you’re riding him just like you were last week. The sounds are sinful. Unmistakable lust in every moan, and whimper of his name. The evidence of your arousal coats his lower stomach and thighs, not that he minds very much. 

You try hard to breathe through your nose, not wanting your throat and mouth to get dry, but the exertion makes it quite hard. It’s hard to breathe normally anyway. Especially when San starts to meet you in the middle, rolling his hips upwards whenever you sink back down onto him. Your hands press against his chest and shoulder, just to ground yourself a bit. You’re motivated to work harder for him, do all the work. 

It’s just a tad difficult because of how quickly your previous would-be orgasm rebuilds itself. 

Your body latches onto this newfound pleasure and expedites you towards the edge before it can be snatched away again. It doesn’t help that whenever you let yourself drop a little harder than before, you can hear quiet whimpers from him. Though your thighs beg for a break, you ignore them entirely, doubling down instead. 

San watches you through half-lidded eyes and shuddering breaths. One of his hands strays to your lower back, loving how you automatically arch a little for him once you feel his touch there. Because of how much he's already done today, he hates to admit that he’s already close. Not just that, but he’s so sensitive. A scene partner earlier today had really given him a taste of his own overstimulation medicine, doing everything in her power to keep him coming. The shoot had gone well, he thinks. There’s just one problem that he won’t admit to anyone, including himself. 

Every time he had closed his eyes, he envisioned it was you instead. 

It takes monumental willpower and self-control to not fall apart underneath you right now. Luckily though, he knows that you’re close. He uses his hands to pull you down, dragging you back and forth on his cock instead, and rubbing your clit. Your nails dig into his skin, but he doesn’t mind. He barely notices. Honestly, he’s too busy trying to ignore how fucking perfect you sound moaning his name. 

Every sound you make only gets better as San sits up and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. You push lazily against his shoulders, whining from every stimulation. 

Until he takes it away again. 

He holds your hips down, making it difficult for you to move anymore, and you cry louder than before. With every shiver through your body, and the uncontrollable clenching of your pussy around him, San has to grit his teeth and really fight against his instincts to cum inside of you here and now. 

Sooner rather than later, hopefully. 

Removing his mouth from your breast, he places a kiss in the center of your chest, just below your throat. You look down at him, still trying to stop shaking, and rest your forehead against his for a moment. Maybe a minute. San rubs your thighs, knowing they must be sore by now. 

“San…” you whimper in a pitched voice, wound tight by the second denial. You rest your forehead against his shoulder, forcing your lungs to breathe normally again. 

He hums quietly. “Yes, kitten?” 

Your words are stuck. Caught between wanting to beg him to let you cum, and wanting him to just keep you in his arms like this. Either one works. Both, too. But you just can’t articulate it. The constant pinging of donations in the background almost lulls you. 

San’s hands move to your back, supporting your body as he manoeuvres you so you’re laying down beneath him. Your head spins a little, so you close your eyes until the dizziness goes away. While you try to straighten yourself out, he pulls out of you. You only just realize you still haven’t answered him. Luckily, he’s not really waiting for an answer. He understands. 

Hovering over you, he kisses your cheek once before finding your lips again. His hand moves down between you, gently coaxing two of his fingers back into your core. When your breath hitches at the intrusion, he kisses you deeper, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You whine against him, so overly sensitive to any kind of stimulation now. 

“Need me, baby?” He murmurs, knowing damn well that you do. 

You nod quickly, “Y-yes, sir, I need you, I want it, please–” 

San cuts off your rambling with another kiss, effectively shutting you up. You can’t say that you mind. It blanks out your mind, just letting you focus on the feeling of him instead of thinking too much. So slowly that you almost don’t even register it, he withdraws his hand, replacing it with his cock. You feel the heaviness of it press against your clit first as he rubs his length up and down your folds, collecting your arousal from there. 

“Gonna let your fans see how well I fuck you?” 

Again, you nod in response, blinking up at him as his words sink in. He always just knows what to say to make you dumb for him. Slowly, he sinks back into your heat again, stopping halfway. Just to make you crazy. 

To distract himself from the feeling of you for a moment, San glances over at your laptop. The two of you are racking in new viewers by the second, and the comments come faster than he can read them. The donations are even faster than before, and in higher individual amounts at a time. Long gone are the days where you’d get a mere five dollar tip, while the big spenders may occasionally send you fifteen. Rarer were the twenty dollar donations. Now, the number in the corner grows and jumps almost every other second. 

[mars9843]: god baby you look so good

[user764590] has donated $150

[fix0nmi]: bro pls make her cum soon i cant edge myself again

[woogoesthere]: i busted ten minutes ago but tbh i’m ready to go again 😭

[mars9843] has donated $200

[puppyu.u]: m so fuckign hard rn goddddd

San recognizes the usernames from your lives that he’s seen before. It’s intriguing that there are people somewhere out there in the world that are edging themselves right alongside you both. In real time. If he had more energy, he’d fully take advantage of that. He’d torture everyone. He inhales deeply, trying to will his infamous stamina to kick in. 

You lift your head up to kiss his neck, trying to bring his attention back to you. It’s not a difficult task. He refocuses quickly, like he never looked away from you in the first place. To make up for the lost last few seconds, he grinds into you again, humming as you moan in his ear. He bites his lip, containing himself for now. He can feel himself slipping, wanting to just throw all cares aside and fuck you until he comes inside of you. But he won’t. Not yet, and not before he makes you cum first. Maybe two or three times, actually. 

He’s tired of waiting to feel the absolute heaven of you coming around his cock. Seven days is too damn long. Even though he’s had about twelve partners since last Friday, he remembers exactly how fucking good you felt specifically. 

“Get on your stomach, kitten,” he says, pulling out a little quicker than he means to. 

The sudden loss of him is like pouring cold water over you, snapping you into action in order to get warm again. You do as you’re told, but you’re almost shy in front of the camera as you look up into it. The small green dot next to the laptop camera is rather daunting as it stares down at you. The amount of people watching makes your eyes widen a little. This is your biggest audience yet. You wonder how many will stay, stick around for your next live where it’ll only be you, by yourself with your toys again. The sudden shyness slowly morphs into motivation, wanting to make all the new viewers want to stay, want to subscribe to you for more. 

You stretch your arms out in front of you, gripping the crumpled sheets, and you arch your back, staring into the camera with doe eyes. For added measure, you bite your lip, pretending that you have no idea what San is doing behind you, even though you heard him spit onto his fingers just a second ago. He doesn’t necessarily need to do that, you’re definitely wet enough, but he spreads it up and down his shaft to make it slide back in even easier. 

“Wait, they can’t see you,” you tell him, noticing that he’s cut off onscreen from the chest up. 

You’re just about to crawl forward a bit to adjust your laptop so it’s tilting a little more upwards, but that’s when he holds your hips and sinks deep into you once more. Every thought remaining in your head vanishes. Your back arches even more, pushing yourself back towards him to try and get him even deeper. One of his hands squeezes your hip before withdrawing to smack your ass. You jolt, not expecting it, and whine at the sting. He massages the area as he gradually starts to thrust into you. 

He leans down so his mouth is right next to your ear, “No one wants to see me, baby. You’re the star.”

Before you can even fully process what he said, he slams into you hard. Whatever response you were about to give to him is replaced by a surprised shriek, and your mouth hangs open until you remember to close it again. As if proving his point, once again, every number skyrockets. Viewer count, donation, comments, new subscribers. It’s obvious to you now – they like you loud. 

And so does San. 

“Oh, that’s it,” he purrs, fucking into you with a more set rhythm and pace, “let me hear you, kitten. Let everyone hear how good I’m making you feel.”   

As per his request, seventeen thousand people hear just how good he’s making you feel. You don’t try to hide or quiet any more noises, and in the back of your mind, you’re already scripting the awkward apology that you’ll have to give to your neighbors tomorrow morning. The sound of skin against skin, and his hips colliding against your ass only add to the noise and the sin of it all. You can feel your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. What an introduction to the neighborhood. You only quiet yourself for a couple of seconds, just to see if someone has started banging a broom against their ceiling or floor yet.  

A particularly hard thrust followed by another slap on your ass makes you shriek again, but half of it gets muffled by the sheets as your elbows buckle underneath you. It reminds you of last week, when one of the Afterdark production crew ripped the sheets away from you so you could be heard clearer. 

You push back on him, causing the head of his cock to brush against your cervix and all the air in your lungs is suddenly stolen from you. He’s so fucking deep. He feels so fucking good. 

And you tell him exactly that. 

“I know, baby,” he says, delivering another smack to the side of your ass. “Needed to be fucked like this again?” 

“Yes!” You cry out, unashamedly. 

He hums, thrusts turning sharper, more controlled and powerful in lieu of speed. His eyes are glued to the laptop screen, hungrily watching your fucked out expression for everybody to see. 

Driven, and barely missing a beat, he locates the vibrator again. Past your whines and moans, you don’t hear it turn on again. You don’t even remember its existence until he presses it against your clit again. This time, you have to bury your face in the sheets to muffle your scream. It’s not a completely soundproof method, but hopefully it helps a little.  

San groans behind you, hips stuttering momentarily as your body clenches around his cock hard. So tight, he thinks for a second that you’re coming. To make matters worse for you, he is able to massage the toy in slow circles on your clit. 

“San–” you choke, barely breathing. “Please, San, please let me cum this time, ‘m so fucking c-close, please…” 

He hums like he’s pitying you while he quickens the pace of his thrusts again. You’re pretty sure by now the whole apartment building knows his first name. Part of you wonders if someone in said apartment building is one of the twenty thousand people currently watching. It’s entirely possible. 

The thought almost thrills you. Maybe you do like the voyeurism of it all. Obviously, you enjoy an audience. 

You whine his name again, seriously getting to the point where you won’t be able to stop your orgasm once it starts. Even if he pulls away, you think you’ll cum anyway. The toy presses harder, vibrations suddenly louder than before. In your feral mind, you wish he would slip the toy in next to his cock. That would make you cum in seconds. But you’ve never done that before, and you haven’t discussed it with him beforehand, so you know he probably wouldn’t even if you asked him to. Not while you’re live, at least. 

“Mm, okay, kitten. Cum for me…let me hear you.” 

But it’s never that easy with him, is it? 

At first, your body sings at his permission, knowing that he’s finally going to let you take what you want. A reward you’ve been chasing since the start of all of this. San, unfortunately, times it perfectly. Just as he feels your pussy start to contract and clench around him, and right when he hears your breathing stop, he pulls out. He keeps the vibrator on your clit, forcing you to cum that way instead. 

You almost collapse, crying and babbling from the unexpected loss of him. Your orgasm crashes into you but it feels hollow. He gave you what you wanted, but always on his terms. Damn, he’s good at winding you up. You struggle to breathe as your body shakes, hips grinding into the toy to try and make up for the emptiness inside of your core. Frustrated tears dampen the sheets below you. 

San takes the toy away next, just as your clit is starting to throb and hurt from the overstimulation of it. He sets it down somewhere, but you don’t really care to find out where exactly. He actually sets it a little too far off to the side, and it falls to the floor with a dull thud. 

Once the shock fades, all you want is to curl into a ball and cry, and beg him to let you cum on his cock instead. You hope ‘Woo’ is fighting for your behalf in the comments.

What you don’t realize is how close San stayed to you. You shift a little, easing a muscle in your shoulder, and you feel the tip of his cock brush against your pussy again. He pushes back into you without warning and your fingers curl into the sheets, already holding on them for dear life again. 

Instead of moving right away, San lets your body get used to his again. He leans down, kissing between your shoulderblades, and almost halfway down your spine. You can feel how much he’s throbbing inside of you, occasionally twitching, ready to cum as well. 

“So pretty,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder. 

As he speaks, he slowly pulls halfway out, and you brace yourself for whatever he may do next. But he just slows everything down, pushing back inside until his hips are pressed against your ass, filling you completely with his length. When he repeats the motion, it’s just as slow and controlled as before. He knows how sensitive you must be, every nerve frayed and alert. Unlike his other costars who he may have just left like this, wanting more, he fully plans for you to cum on his cock this time. Mainly because he also really wants to cum inside of you now. 

You whimper as you feel one of San’s hands curl around your throat, tilting your head up so you’re looking directly into the laptop camera. The weight and warmth of his body against your back offers only a shred of comfort. A small squeak escapes you as he presses himself against you, cock fully sheathed inside once more. You can feel him everywhere.    

“Look at them while I fuck you, kitten,” he says, his voice somewhere close to your ear.  

You blink up into the camera like the audience can help you. They can’t. Most of them probably wouldn’t even if you paid them. A couple of tears fall from your eyes, and the activity on the screen nearly explodes. The image of you, glossy eyed, and fucked out, is enough to earn you at least half a year’s worth of rent. 

The first couple grinds into you are torturously pleasurable. You feel like you’re losing your mind. One of your hands blindly reaches back to press against his thigh, as if that will lessen the stimulation in some way. He doesn’t swat it away, he simply lets it be, ignoring it as he starts to get back into his normal pace. 

The dull heat in your lower stomach burns brighter and brighter the more he fucks into you. The angle is different than before, and you know it’s the one he used last week to get you to squirt. You inhale shakily, breathing deep while you still can.  

This time is different, though. Now he’s chasing his own high, as well as chasing the feeling of you coming around him. Something he’s fisted his cock to the memory of for the past seven days. You’re still so tight, so wet for him, just like you were last week. He wants to reward you for this, even though it’s just how you are naturally. Sure, he enjoys semi-torturing you like this, riling you up so you beg for him in the rawest form of desperation, but if last week taught him anything, it’s that he enjoys blissing you out even more. You’ve been so good for him tonight. Taking everything without question or complaint. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, breath stuttering when you involuntarily clench around him, his words affecting you immediately. “Fuck… fuck, baby. So fucking good for me. Keep looking at them, baby. Let them see how pretty you are like this.”

Without the help of his hand around your throat, you doubt you’d be able to hold your head up by yourself. Your body feels like jelly, everything on autopilot. You can’t control the noises you make anymore. Every time his cock hits that spot inside of you that makes you see stars, a small squeal is forced out of you. A thin line of drool leaks from your mouth, dripping onto San’s fingers. Not that he minds. He’s watching you in the screen, and it’s only making him fuck you harder. Faster. 

He mumbles something about how cute you are under his breath, and you whine. You can’t process anything quickly anymore. Only how good he’s making you feel. Every press of his cock against that spot deep inside you hurtles you closer and closer to that familiar edge. All you can think of is him. Even though your body pleads for mercy and rest, you can’t bear the thought of him stopping, of all of this pleasure going away now that he’s finally letting you have it again. 

Through blurred vision, you can see your regular viewers encouraging you and complimenting you in the comments. 

[woogoesthere]: fffuckign hell baby u look so good 

[puppyu.u]: so prettyfor us sweetie

[fix0nmi]: gna mmake me cum again fukc

[puppyu.u] has donated $500

[mars9843]: keep takign hm babygirl

All the typos are clear signs they’re typing one-handed. The insinuation goes straight to your ego, as well as your core, feeding the steadily building fire there. 

You mean to thank ‘Puppy’ for his generous donation, but all that comes out is a whine of his username. Somewhere in the world, you can almost hear ‘Puppy’ coming hard into his hand. Because of this, it seems that everyone thinks that if they donate the same amount, you’ll moan their username too. A sudden influx of five hundred dollar tips floods the screen.    

Far from your focus, you can hear a special notification going off on your laptop, signalling to you that you’ve reached twenty thousand dollars in donations – your highest earning for just one show ever. 

As if you needed more incentive to keep going. 

“W-wanna cum,” you tell San, hoping he can understand your mumbling. “Please, sir, I-I wa– wanna cum on your cock.” 

San groans, his nails digging into your waist. He could be mean again, make you beg your audience for permission, make you beg him. But his greed takes over. Seven days is a long time to spend fantasizing; he’s done waiting for the real thing. 

“San–! Sir, please, please, ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, barely enunciating any of your words. 

He straightens up and plants a foot on the bed, using it as leverage to pound into you harder, more precisely. He can feel his dick hitting that spot deep inside of you, and he watches the way your pussy weeps around him. Stuffed to the brim with every inch of his length, and still crying for more. 

You scream at the force of his cock hitting your cervix, bullying your poor body from the inside out, forcing you to feel every spike of pleasure that it causes. A mixture of pleas and his name fall from your lips, getting lost in the tangled sheets below you. 

“Cum for me, baby,” San finally says through panting breaths. “Show everyone how pretty you look coming all over my cock.” 

You feel like you’re imploding. Everything collapses into itself as your high hits you from all angles. His hands are the only thing keeping you up, the rest of your body melting into the mattress. Your calves cramp as your toes curl, every muscle locking up while your orgasm peaks. Above all else, you could cry tears of joy that he doesn’t pull away this time. In fact, he makes sure every inch of him is buried inside of you, helping you ride it out. 

Through your haze and high-pitched moans, you hear him whimpering behind you, still pulsing inside of you and chasing his own high. 

“Tell them where you begged me to cum,” he orders. Damn, he’s good. “Tell them, kitten.” 

You whine, suddenly shy as you address the audience. 

“I-inside. I want him to cum inside.” 

Blindly, you reach behind you with your waning energy, finding his hand and pulling it up towards you. Now leaning over you again, you manage to push yourself up, turning your head enough to try and kiss him. He meets you halfway, kissing you for a brief moment before resting his forehead against yours, eyes screwed shut as he gets closer and closer. All the tiredness that came from his day today suddenly disappears. He only has one goal in mind. One thought. 

Wanting to help him reach it too, you quietly encourage him just like he did for you. “Y– you feel so fucking good… need you to fill me up. Wanna take it–”

San groans louder, eyebrows furrowing. He’s right there. His mouth finds your shoulder, biting it as he passes the point of no return. His cock slams into you twice more before stilling, and you can feel a warmth start to spread inside your lower stomach. His body stiffens above yours for a moment or two before shuddering, lowering some of his weight onto you. You don’t mind. You enjoy the closeness. 

He doesn’t move until his cock starts to soften inside of you. 

His lips linger on your shoulder, ghosting along the skin there before he straightens himself up enough to pull out slowly. He wants to watch your pussy try to keep him in, as well as his cum. The visual nearly gets him hard again. You whimper when he fully removes himself from your core, clenching to not let any of his cum leak out. Both of you breathe heavily, trying to return some air into your lungs. 

Your whole body trembles as you try to push yourself up to face your viewers.  

[user800510]: i’d never stop fucking if I was either of them tbh 

[user799790]: i think i just ripped my dick off

[woogoesthere] has donated $600

You can feel San become restless behind you, and you’re just about to turn around when he settles down on top of you once again. He moves your hair away, over your shoulder and attaches his lips to the side of your neck. You sigh, grinning lazily into the camera. 

“Hi~” you greet everyone again cutely, fighting to keep your eyes open. You giggle at yourself and the comments, and the blissful aftermath of another successful collaboration. You’re just the luckiest girl in the world. 

[mars9843]: took him so well so proud of u baby

[puppyu.u]: she’s such a good girl isn’t she?

Those two comments make you shiver. All the praise you’re receiving almost makes you dumb, floating on their approval. Your eyes flutter closed when San licks your neck, body still hypersensitive after coming. Below, you can feel some of his cum leak out, dripping down your inner thighs. Whining, you try to press your legs together, but get blocked by his knee in between them. You can feel his cock laying against the curve of your ass, twitching occasionally. Still semi-hard, and not softening completely as you may have expected. 

But you remember his basically nonexistent refractory period and swallow dryly. 

You wonder if he has the energy to go again, recalling how tired he was before the live. However, this is San you’re talking about. It’s entirely possible. 

As if to answer your thoughts, he drags his lips up to your ear.    

“Turn it off,” he growls, moving back down to continue sucking a dark spot into your neck. At the same time, he grinds his cock against your ass, the head of it grazing the seam of your pussy. 

You hesitate before nodding. Licking your dry lips, you struggle to pronounce your usual ending line properly as he continues. “Th–there’s thousands of others you c-could have spent your time with tonight, so thank you for… choosing us. W-we h-hope you enjoyed it.” 

Whimpering a pitiful ‘goodnight’ to everyone, you quickly turn the live off, dropping your head as the total donation pop up fills the screen. You’ll see however much it is later, when it hits your bank account. 

Almost as soon as the green light next to the laptop camera blinks out, San rolls you onto your back.   

You make a small noise of surprise as he reattaches his mouth to your skin, still peppering your throat with dark red and purple marks. He seems borderline frantic, like he’s trying to keep himself in control and only barely succeeding.  

“Wanna make you cum for me again…” he says, guiding your legs up onto his shoulders. “Only for me.” 

Just for him. Away from prying eyes.

You don’t say anything, just letting him position you the way he wants. You look down between your bodies as he rubs the full length of his cock through your folds, coating it in your juices. His words swirl around and around in your mind. It’s hard to process anything, much less what he means, but you can tell there’s some underlying meaning behind them. Your hands fly to his arms when he pushes in, stretching your sensitive walls once again. 

“San… fuck, oh my god–” 

His mouth presses into a thin line, eyes shutting as his cock is enveloped by your sweet, wet warmth for the third time tonight. Still tight. Just for him. At least, that’s what his horny, feral mind tells him. He dares to open his eyes again, looking down to watch his cock slowly disappear inside of you over and over, nearly losing his mind at the sight of a creamy white ring forming at the base. With every push inside, he can feel your inner walls spasming, and your legs shake around him.   

“I know, kitten,” he purrs, starting to fuck you even harder than before. Driven by something unknown to you. “God– you’re so good… so perfect. Could fuck you for hours.” 

He shivers at the thought, and you whine, knowing he definitely could. His stamina is famous for a reason. Maybe if there’s a third collaboration, you’ll put that statement to the test. Your pussy clamps down on his cock as you envision it. A truly sinful sight for the public to enjoy. Somewhere in the back of San’s mind, he files away a note to take a day or two off in the near future. With your permission and consent of course, he wants to dedicate time to proving himself right. Under the right conditions, and if he prepares for it, absolutely, he could.

You press his body closer, palms flat on his back until your chest brushes his. He’s barely pulling out as he fucks you. When your breath hitches and you let out a particularly loud, pathetic moan, he shoves his hands underneath your shoulders, wrapping around them from behind both to stabilize you and to pull you downwards to meet every thrust. Your mouth is stuck open in a silent scream, and all you can focus on is how unbelievably good he feels. No one else compares. 

“Fuck, baby…” He pants, pressing his cheek to yours, completely drunk on the smell of sex mixing with your perfume. “Wanna feel it… wanna feel you soak the fucking bed.”

Something white-hot tugs in your gut upon hearing his words, like he just cast a spell over your body to obey his wishes. A couple stray tears fall from your lashes, wetting your cheeks. San is quick to kiss them away. Your shaky breaths mix together, completely lost in how the other feels. 

There’s no granted time or space to think about the fact that… you’re having sex without an audience for the first time. This isn’t for anybody but you two. And somehow it feels even better this way. 

San angles his thrusts a certain way, now colliding against that spot that he knows from experience makes you cum hard. 

Hot, white stars explode in your vision, making your ears ring. Your nails dig into his arms, leaving angry red crescent-shaped indents in his skin. He hisses but does nothing to move your hands away. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good before. It’s almost frightening. You bury your face into where his neck meets his shoulder, like he can protect you from it. 

Meanwhile, San can feel your body tighten and shake, pussy already starting to gush around him even more, getting ready to cum. The sound is pure sin. It only encourages him further. Harder, faster. Just how you like it, and just like how he made you cum before. Selfishly, he’s glad the camera is off; he wants you solely focused on him. 

An all too familiar coil tightens in your lower stomach, heat spreading all the way through your body. Your breathing stops as your core tightens around San, damn near choking his cock. Quickly, he brings a hand down between you, rubbing your clit and making your intense pleasure spike even more. 

He moans as you cry out, hands desperate to find something to hang onto, but nothing seems to work. You’re thrown right off the edge before you can process it. Everything blurs, and you’re forced to just lay there and feel the intensity. Only his body weight above you keeps you grounded.  

“Yes,” he breathes, “oh, good girl. That’s it…c’mon, make a mess for me.” 

San looks down in awe, admiring the glistening drops of release that splashed up onto his lower stomach and pelvis, and the excess fluid that now soaks his cock and the bedding. Your hands shake from how hard you’re gripping the sheets, pulling them towards you. You gasp for breath over his shoulder, a low, guttural groan escaping from down in your chest. San slows his thrusts as well as the circles he’s still rubbing over your clit.  

Your hips cant upwards, contracting hard around his cock. Wanting more. Wanting to be filled again, chasing that feeling of his cum spreading inside of you one more time. 

His eyes flicker up to yours, still closed as the aftershocks riddle your body. To satiate that want, he continues to grind into you, gently, to ease you back into it. Every time his cock pushes inside you, you want to scream, no matter how delicately he’s moving. It’s maddening. It’s everything. 

“So sensitive, kitten,” he purrs, looking down at you with mock sympathy but true admiration. 

He steals a kiss from you, then another, and you whimper quietly. You’re stuck between wanting him to kiss you and needing space to breathe. But he straightens up completely, legs now straight up in the air, your heels still resting on his shoulders. He wraps his arms around your legs, making sure they don’t fall off as he continues fucking you, sharp and precise. 

“One more,” he mutters, “g’na make you cum with me.”

The power behind each thrust makes your breasts bounce, only enticing him further. The promise of another orgasm almost frightens you. You don’t know if you can handle one more. But you don’t have much choice as your body gets itself ready for another one. 

You scream again, pleading with him. For what, you’re not sure. His hand that is busy rubbing your clit presses down right above your pubic bone, putting more pressure in your core where your next orgasm is currently forming. Your back arches, causing your hips to raise, and the slight angle change makes him feel even deeper than before. You can’t control what noises come out of your mouth anymore. 

San swears under his breath, muttering praises to you that go straight to your core. His own orgasm builds in time with yours, hurtling towards him at breakneck speed. 

“G-gonna cum for me while I fill you again, baby? Huh?” 

You’re too far gone to give him any kind of verbal response, and he knows it. But he also knows that his words have a major effect on you. He kisses your ankle, groaning into your skin. Then, his arm around your legs leaves you, reaching up to your mouth and pushing two of his fingers past your lips. You make a shocked noise, lips instinctually wrapping around them. The pressure against your tongue makes you even more light-headed. Floating somewhere between the bed and cloud nine.  

“Cum, baby. Be a good girl and cum with me.”  

Everything goes white. You nearly push his cock out with the force of your orgasm, but he slams in deep, refusing to be moved or to cum anywhere but inside of you. It takes everything in you not to bite his fingers as it hits you, pulling you under an intense wave of pleasure. San continues to pump his cock in and out in small pulses as he comes too, not wanting to miss a single second. 

You must be loud because he shoves his fingers deeper, almost to the back of your throat. To find some semblance of comfort in the aftermath, you suck lightly on his digits, whining whenever his other hand taps your swollen clit. Your legs jolt, trying to keep him from doing it again. 

Slowly, he guides your legs back down, framing his body on the mattress. You blink past the blurriness to look up at him. Chest glistening with a thin layer of sweat, splashes and streaks of your release still painting his lower half. He fights to breathe normally as he looks at you, committing this view to memory. 

“C’mere,” he grunts, pulling you onto your side to snuggle into him. You settle against him just as easily as before. You can still feel him buried inside of you, but it’s less pressure now at this angle. “Mm… there we go.” 

Now you feel like you know how it truly feels to be fucked by a pornstar. 

You smile lazily to yourself at the thought. Off camera is even better. 

Breath evening out and consciousness coming back, you press small kisses against his chest. If you shift a little, you can feel a rather large, cold, wet spot underneath you and you blush. San holds you close to him, resting his cheek on the crown of your head. 

“This is my favorite part,” he mumbles into your hair. “It’s the only part nobody watches. No cameras. No crew. No fuckin’ paperwork, just you and me.” 

Your breath catches in your chest as you realize this is the aftercare you needed the first time. His words stick with you. It’s the only part nobody watches. Just you and me. Is that why he wanted to keep going after you turned the camera off? He wants you all to himself? You can’t bring yourself to believe it, but he keeps dropping these not-so-subtle hints that make you think maybe you’re not so crazy after all. 

The longer he holds you, the more you relax into the feeling of him. Not the pornstar or performer, but him. It’s comfortable. Safe. You feel like you could fall asleep in his arms so easily.     

“You did so well, kitten…so proud of you,” He whispers, slowly rocking his hips into yours. 

Your eyes almost fly open at the realization that he’s still somewhat hard. Based on his tired, content expression though, you don’t think he’s planning on another round. At least, you hope not. Your body needs a longer break first. 

You reply with a quiet ‘thank you’, one of your hands sneaking around to his lower back to rest there.  

“Next time,” he breathes, continuing to grind slowly and deeply, “‘m gonna fuck you slow. Gonna spend hours making you feel good for me.”

The words ‘next time’ are not lost on you. He’s already planning on seeing you again. 

And that promise from before comes back. Hours of this. Hours dedicated to your pleasure. It sounds amazing. Almost too good to be true, since he asks for nothing in return. Nothing but him and you, messy sheets, and sheer pleasure. Yes, please. 

Still too blissed out to form an actual sentence, you whimper against him, nodding slowly to let him know you’re into the idea. You wish you could say something to him, but your brain is tapped out. Not a single word forms correctly in your throat. 

“So cute…” he whispers, kissing your forehead. 

A few minutes later, he finally pulls out. Both of you wince at the loss of warmth and the emptiness. Somewhat more conscious than you were previously, you manage to push yourself up enough to reach for your water. San gets up as well, brushing his finger along the trackpad of your laptop to check the time, and the screen jolts awake again with notifications from Discord – from your top subscriber tier chat specifically. From what San can see in the message previews, your fans are just as insatiable as the two of you. 

[mars9843]: god baby is he still fucking u?

[mars9843]: fuck that is so fucking hot

[woogoesthere]: hope he lets her cum off cam shes been so good ㅠㅠ  

[puppyu.u]: im about to go fucjing insane

[fix0nmi]: san u lucky bastard i stfg 

[puppyu.u] ive never been mroe jealous in my fuckign lfie

[woogoesthere]: u and me both 

[mars9843]: i mean in all honesty i wouldnt stop either if given the chance

[fix0nmi]: ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ no way

[fix0nmi]: she gets so sensitive after only a couple orgasms.. i’d wanna keep makign her feel good over adn over until she begs me to stop

[puppyu.u]: god jsut the thought is enough to make me cum again 

[woogoesthere]: im so fuckiing close rn

San smirks, enjoying the effect you two have on people firsthand. 

“They loved you,” you say with a lazy smile, sighing as you watch San shut your laptop. You kiss his shoulder and rest your head there for a moment, waiting for more than an ounce of energy to make its way back into your body. 

“They’re fun,” he admits. Some of them, at least. He thinks back to the other comments that made him limit the chat completely. 

“How’d you like it? The change of pace?” You ask, genuinely curious. 

“It’s different,” he answers after a moment or two, “definitely less eyes on me than I’m used to.” 

You hum, “In a good or bad way?” 

San chuckles at your questions. You’re like a postgame interviewer. “I haven’t decided yet.” 

You kiss his shoulder again, sighing contently. One of his hands finds yours and plays with your fingers absentmindedly. 

He probably wouldn’t be so tired all the time if he chose to do cam instead, you think to yourself. But he’s loyal. And being the Afterdark poster boy has to have its certain perks. Or, more likely, being Choi San is a perk in and of itself.   

You shift to sit next to him, your curiosity on how the livestream did getting the better of you. You set your laptop on your legs, eyes temporarily drawn towards the upper right corner, seeing the Discord notifications for yourself. Those four are so down bad for you. But the way they talk… god, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t help you sometimes during your solo shows. 

The same donation total pop up lights the screen. Your eyes widen. 

$32,092.

Holy. Shit. 

San whistles lowly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. It’s definitely more than the two thousand you got paid for the shoot. 

“Good job, kitten,” he praises, kissing your cheek. 

You stammer a little, still feeling the remnants of your imposter syndrome before replying. “I’ll give you half. You’re the reason why the total is so high, after all.” 

San just shakes his head. “It’s yours,” he says. “You’ve earned it.” 

“Won’t Hongjoong be expecting his star to be paid for his time?” You ask, only half-joking. 

At that, he pauses, knowing you’re right. You give him a playful look before angling your laptop away from him, depositing the earnings into your bank account, intent on sending him half once he gives you his Venmo. You’re somehow able to find your phone in the mess of your bedroom, and you add each other quickly. He doesn’t look as you send him the large amount. In fact, he turns his phone off upon hearing the cha-ching! notification. He’ll check when he’s home. 

He leans forward, kissing you slow. You kiss him back, sighing into the feeling of his soft lips on yours again. When he pulls away, you keep your eyes closed for a second longer, savoring the lingering sensation before it fades away. He looks over the edge of the bed, towards the general direction where you saw him toss most of your clothes. While he stands and sets about getting redressed, you turn back to your laptop. 

As you scroll back through the chat logs, just curious as to what you missed during the show, you can’t help but notice a certain username missing from the bunch. 

“Hm…”

“What?” San asks, glancing up at you as he ties the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

“Nothing, it’s just. There’s this new viewer of mine that I thought would be in the live, but I don’t think he was.” You wave it off, not wanting it to bother him or you. 

“Maybe I saw him,” San says, leaning forward with his hands planted on the bed, “what’s his user?” 

You spell it out loud, “I think it’s pronounced like ‘mountain’.” 

San coughs loudly, out of nowhere, and you jump in surprise. 

“You okay?” You ask, eyes checking over him, visually making sure he’s alright. 

He just nods, face paling and blushing all at once. Avoiding your worried gaze like it’s his job. 

But you catch on quick. He told you before that he watched your lives, it just never occurred to you that he was a somewhat active participant. It explains a lot, though. Especially why ‘mntn’ was able to spend such high amounts of money on you, and why he ‘missed’ tonight’s show. Suddenly, San’s words from last week make sense. He’d been hinting at it. ‘Manners’. 

“Oh… I’ll pay you back–”  

“Don’t you dare,” he says firmly, leaving no room to argue. “It was money well spent.” 

You remember his message in your last livestream, ‘collab with him again’, and you try to suppress a smile. It’s cute. You’d tease him further about it, but you remember he knows the username you used to watch his videos too. So you drop it. 

San disappears into your bathroom for a minute before returning, a small handtowel at the ready. With one knee up on the bed, he drags you closer to the edge by your ankles, and your pussy throbs almost painfully. When you’re within reach, he sets about cleaning you up, running the warm towel up your inner thighs and in between, shushing you gently when you hiss at the contact against your swollen, sensitive clit. 

Now comes the silence. The kind where you can’t tell if it’s comfortable or awkward. He places the towel aside and bends down, picking up your clothes from the floor before handing them to you, and you’re glad to have something to do in the interim. You take your time, some of your limbs are still a little sore. 

San sits on the edge of your bed and runs a hand through his hair, the tiredness slowly starting to creep back in. Once dressed, you crawl over to him, kissing his shoulder again before moving to his neck. He tilts his head to the side, giving you more access, sighing in content. When you start to suck lightly on his skin, he reluctantly stops you. 

“I can’t,” he says apologetically, leaving out the reason. 

You know why without hearing it. Youngmi and Rina would kill him, and he’d no doubt get an earful from Hongjoong. Whoever his scene partner is tomorrow probably wouldn’t love seeing another girl’s mark on him either. You know you fucking wouldn’t. 

“Right…” you sigh. It doesn’t hurt, but in your vulnerable, post-orgasmic state, it does give you a stark reality check. 

He’s not yours. 

He can mark you because your career is slightly different. You can cover any marks he leaves behind with makeup, and your laptop camera in the dim LED lighting will never pick it up onscreen. He has to stay somewhat polished, camera-ready at all times. Both of you sell a fantasy. That’s your job. Even in the middle of the fantasy you’re selling, you have to be mindful of the limits of the one he’s tasked to sell. 

This is part of why falling for a pornstar sucks. But again, you shouldn’t even be allowing yourself to be upset about it in the slightest. He doesn’t belong to you. You’re saving his future costar’s ego, as well as not making Youngmi and Rina’s jobs harder.  

At least you can hold his hand. So, you do. And for now, that’s enough. 

He intertwines your fingers with his, laying your hands against his thigh. You breathe in the scent of him, letting it make your head all fuzzy again. Slowly, your room starts to smell like cinnamon again, the smell of sex gradually fading away. 

“I like being with you,” you admit quietly, mumbling some of your words. You tend to get a little honest and more likely to confess certain things after sex. It’s probably all the dopamine and oxytocin. 

But he hears them. He doesn’t say anything for a second, but he lifts your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of yours before setting them down again. 

“I like being with you, too.” San replies, turning his head to look at you. 

There’s a beat of silence between you two. Only the hum of the air conditioning, and the low volume of the music coming from your bathroom that you’ve yet to turn off, filling in the gap. His eyes glance down at your lips and his tongue peeks out to wet his. The visual makes you realize something: he didn’t do his usual ending move. It’s entirely possible he just forgot, but you wonder if his fans that were watching noticed that he didn’t do it either. 

You forget about it rather quickly when he kisses you again, angling his body towards you to do so properly. One of his hands cups your face, keeping you still, and you lean into his touch. A small moan from you escapes into his mouth, and he hums, getting a bit more heated. You lean back a little and he follows. Your previous thought of being content to just make out with him for an hour returns, and you can’t stop the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips. 

“What?” San whispers, lips against your cheek. 

“Nothing,” you whisper back, “just… I like kissing you.”

Now San smiles, ducking his head down for a moment to hide it. “So fuckin’ cute,” he says, before finding your lips again. 

It’s softer this time. Slower. Like he’s savoring it. You exhale slowly through your nose, body relaxing into the memory foam below you. His thumb caresses your cheek, and a part of you wishes he’d put his thumb in your mouth next. But if he does, you may just fall back into bed with him again, and you know he has to go soon. 

So you break away from him, even though it’s the last thing you want to do. 

He searches your face, trying to see if something’s wrong. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, brushing your hair away from your face. 

It’s too intimate. Certain things he says and does make you think it’s unspoken and real. But you know all it is is simply attraction, a want to be around him, to get to know him better in and out of the bedroom. Only a crush. Nothing more. So why is it so hard to convince yourself of that? 

You think back to last week, about how you deemed the pornstar life as something that you couldn’t do. Now you know for certain. You’re realizing sex means something deeper to you than just temporary pleasure. You’re the type that gets attached from it, because it’s complete,  total trust and surrender to someone else, and what is more intimate and romantic than that? 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer, avoiding his eyes. “Are you?” 

San drops his hand away from your cheek, planting it on the bed, next to your thigh. “I’m okay,” he says. 

Tentatively, he leans forward once more to kiss your forehead, and you sigh, eyes fluttering closed as he moves down to your cheek, and then your mouth once more. He doesn’t linger there though, opting to just press his lips to yours for only a couple seconds before pulling away. 

You open your eyes to see him checking the time on his phone. 

His jaw sets. “Shit…” he mutters under his breath, seeing that it’s nearing one in the morning. “I have to be on set at seven tomorrow.” 

“Seven?” You ask, a little bewildered at the call time. Do they really start that early? 

San scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, my um– my scene partner for tomorrow can only do mornings, so we have until noon to shoot.” 

You hum in response, nodding in acknowledgement. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, obviously thinking something over in his head. He sighs as he stands up from your bed, already missing it. You follow, carefully swinging your legs over the edge and standing slowly, feeling a dull ache in your limbs and your core. Hopefully it will go away by tomorrow, it usually does. 

He watches you wince once you’re fully upright and he has to hold himself back from reaching out to help stabilize you. Instead, he reaches down to grab his unzipped backpack, setting it on the edge of the bed. From this angle, you curiously look down at it, catching a glimpse of a laptop and what appears to be extra clothes. Maybe the ones he was originally wearing before his shoot today. 

Something catches your eye on the floor and you bend down to grab it. When you straighten up again, he sees that you’re holding the bright pink toy he had brought. 

“Can’t forget this,” you grin, and he chuckles. 

“Keep it, baby. I got it for you.” He says, zipping up his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. 

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I– thank you.” You look down at the toy like you’re not sure what to do with it. Luckily, your feet guide you on autopilot into your bathroom and set it down in the sink, to be washed later. 

You cross your arms over your chest, lingering in the doorway of the en suite bathroom for a moment longer, watching San check something on his phone. The bright glow of the screen casts a white highlight across his face, sharpening his cheekbones and pronouncing his jawline even more.              

The question sits on your tongue, waiting for you to say it out loud: ‘Why did you ask for another collab?’ 

But you swallow it back down for now. It’s only the second time you’ve worked together, and only the second time the two of you have met. You’re going way too fast, thinking way too far ahead. So you just smile politely and watch him turn off his phone, asking him if he has everything. He nods after doing a quick check of his pockets and looks back up at you. 

That’s your cue to lead him out. 

You lean against the empty wall in the entryway, watching him put his shoes back on in relative silence. His car keys jingle in his hand, the keyring wrapped around one of his fingers. You can’t quite make out the car logo on them, but you’re not very well-versed on car brand logos anyway. And especially not in dark lighting. You shift your weight as he stands up, not knowing what to say off the top of your head. 

Luckily, he speaks first.

“I’ll text you later, okay?” 

You take a deep breath and nod, daring to step forward a little closer. Close enough that you have to look up at him to meet his gaze. “Okay.”

There’s a charged energy between you, caught up in subtle, sharper inhales and the parting of lips. San’s gaze drops to your mouth, and you stop breathing. He has half a mind to call out ‘sick’ tomorrow, have Hongjoong reschedule everything and just spend the night with you, but he can’t. He’s a professional, and responsible. He hasn’t called out of a shoot in over two years. 

So, like always, he’s very blunt with you when he says, “Kitten, if I kiss you right now, I’m not gonna stop.” 

Your heart rises to your throat and stays there, getting in the way of any type of verbal response. In order to reply, you have to swallow first. But even with a clear throat, you have no idea how to respond to that, other than ‘okay’. 

To make the energy between you even more heated, his hand reaches up to your face, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. Your face burns and you look up at him, wondering if he is just going to kiss you anyway, despite his warning. 

But he pulls away. He has to. The harsh, overly bright hallway light floods in once he opens the door, burning your eyes a little. You place your hand on the door, ready to close it behind him as he steps out. 

“Goodnight, San,” you say quietly. “Thank you.” 

His famous smile returns, tired but genuine. 

“Thank you,” he replies, readjusting the strap on his shoulder as he prepares to head back down to his car. “Goodnight, Y/N.”  

You wait until he’s about halfway down the hallway to shut your door. 

Your back hits the door with a thud as it closes and locks back into place. The apartment feels even emptier now, even more silent than before. Damn, you think, was it always this quiet? 

Your feet pad quietly through the kitchen, back into your bedroom to straighten everything and get ready for bed. Now alone, you suddenly feel just how tired you are. The normal nightly routine you have for yourself after going live feels daunting, like a chore. You groan, catching a glimpse of yourself in your mirror. You cannot sleep in your makeup, at least. 

Deciding to just get it over with rather than delay it and mope about it, you don’t bother turning your bathroom light on, letting the LED lights from your room illuminate it instead. You wash your face a little half-heartedly, although you do admit you feel much better after doing it. Your hair, you just tie up into a messy bun to get it out of your face and off your sweaty neck. Finally feeling a little less gross than before, you get ready to brush your teeth – the final hurdle to clear before you can get into bed and sleep until the sun starts to set again.

Two loud dings from your phone nearly makes you jump.   

[san]: forgot to ask

[san]: did u like me using the toy? 

You text back quickly.

[y/n]: was i not loud enough for u to know already? 😂

[san]: touché

[san]: just making sure ;)

You set your phone down on the bathroom counter, squeezing toothpaste onto your toothbrush as you try to think of a response. It’s one of those texts that you can either let sit for a while or build on right away. You think you’ll let the conversation end there.

But another text comes through. You bite down on your toothbrush to keep it in your mouth as you unlock your phone again to read it. 

[san]: goodnight baby

Your skin tingles, but you refuse to let yourself think anything of it. Only surface level. A single, simple ‘goodnight’ text after what you two did doesn’t mean anything. You’re sure if you asked Yeosang, he’d tell you the same thing. 

Finally finishing up in the bathroom, you can’t get back into bed quick enough. You groan as you stretch your body underneath the covers before curling up again, intent on scrolling through social media until you fall asleep. 

The Discord notification badges on the app catch your eye, and you tap on it, wanting to see what your top subscribers were saying. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t getting turned on all over again from their chat. It may be insane to say based on zero evidence, but you just know they’re all hot from the way they talk. Only men with experience and game talk like they do. Their chat continues, actually up until about half an hour ago. All of them utterly spent and sleepy after however many times they made themselves cum to the visual and the thought of you and San together. Some of them, it seems, more than twice. 

You’ll have to do something for them. Especially because they were such big spenders for you tonight. They deserve something nice, only for them. 

[y/n🖤]: u guys are so fucking good to me

[y/n🖤]: gonna reward u soon ;)

You can’t help but smile, knowing your message will drive them crazy. You’re not surprised when none of them respond since you saw that they all said they’re going to bed thirty minutes ago. All the more reason to be excited to check your phone tomorrow.

Sleep pulls you under quickly thereafter, utterly spent from your day.

Seonghwa stood in the kitchen with a red solo cup in his hand, laughing at something the girl next to him said. She was undeniably beautiful, and you hated that. She has a confident smile that you were never quite able to pull off, and her hand rested on his arm so casually. The sight of it made your stomach twist into knots.

It had been a few months since you found his messages with another girl. Messages consisting of ‘I can't wait to see you again,’ and ‘I will break up with her soon.’ When you found out, he'd stammered out excuses that all boiled down to the same thing: you weren't good enough. You hated him, yet you still felt like you couldn't breathe when you saw him.

"You okay?" San appeared at your elbow, concern creasing his features as he followed your gaze across the room.

You tore your eyes away, forcing a smile that felt like shattered glass in your mouth. "Fine. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." San's voice was gentle, the kind of gentle that made you want to cry. "We can leave. Hongjoong will understand-"

"No." The word came out sharper than you intended, and you softened it with another brittle smile. "No, I'm not letting him chase me out of my friend's birthday party. I'm fine, really." 

Before you can even realize, the emotions hit you all at once. "I need some air," you mumbled, not waiting for San or Hongjoong to respond before you were pushing through the crowd toward the apartment door.

-

The hallway outside was quiet, the bass now just a muffled thump through the walls. You leaned back against the cold concrete, closing your eyes and trying to remember how to breathe normally. This was pathetic. 

"Rough night?"

Your eyes snapped open to find Wooyoung leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face. You hadn't even heard him come out. 

He was in your Sociology class last year. Charming, funny, and always had a new girl on his arm. Somehow, despite being in completely different social circles, you'd ended up as friends. 

You'd never really figured out how it happened. Wooyoung collected people often. But he'd stuck around even after the semester ended, and even now, you sometimes felt like you were waiting for him to realize you weren't interesting enough to keep around.

"I'm fine," you said automatically, then winced at how many times you'd said that tonight. "Just needed a break from the noise."

Wooyoung pushed off the wall, moving closer with that easy grace he always seemed to have. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"I'm not lying-"

"You've been staring at Seonghwa like a kicked puppy." His voice was not cruel, but it still made you flinch. "San and Hongjoong look ready to fight someone for you. And now you're out here looking like you're about to cry."

"I'm not going to cry." Your voice was defensive. "And I wasn't staring."

"Right." Wooyoung stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, the same warm scent from your study sessions. "Look, I get it. Breakups suck. But that guy?" He motioned his thumb toward the apartment door. "Not worth it."

You wanted to argue, to defend Seonghwa or yourself or the relationship you had. Instead, you felt your eyes burning with the tears you'd been holding back all night. "He cheated on me."

Wooyoung's expression switched. "Yeah, I know. Which is why I'm saying he's not worth the time you're giving him."

"I know that." Deep down you knew Seonghwa wasn't worth crying over. "I know he's not worth it, but I can't just... stop feeling things. I can't just turn it off."

"I'm not saying you should." Wooyoung's voice was surprisingly gentle. "I'm just saying you deserve better than spending Mingi's birthday hiding in a hallway."

"I'm not hiding-"

"You're definitely hiding."

"Okay, maybe I'm hiding a little."

Wooyoung was quiet for a moment, studying you with an expression you couldn't quite read. Then he tilted his head toward the elevator. "Come on. Let me take you home."

"You don't have to."

"I get it." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "You shouldn't be alone right now. And before you say you're fine-" He held up a hand to stop you. "-I’m sure you are. But you don't have to be fine by yourself."

The words hit something tender in your chest, and you found yourself nodding. "Okay."

The walk to his car was quiet, the night air cool on your cheeks. Wooyoung opened the passenger door for you, something he'd never done before, and you slid in, grateful for the privacy. As soon as he started the engine, the tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over.

"Sorry," you choked out, wiping at your face. "I'm sorry, I don't know why-"

"Hey." Wooyoung's hand found yours, squeezing gently. "Don't apologize. You're allowed to cry."

"I just feel so stupid." The words tumbled out. "It's been months. I should be over this by now. I should be over him. But every time I see him with someone else, I just... I feel like there was something wrong with me that made him-"

"Stop." Wooyoung's voice was sharp enough to cut through your spiral. "There's nothing wrong with you. He cheated because he's a selfish asshole, not because you weren't enough."

"But maybe if I had been more-"

"More what? More fun? More exciting? More whatever the hell he was looking for?" Wooyoung's grip on your hand tightened. "You could have been perfect and he still would have cheated, because that's who he is. It was never about you not being enough. It was about him being too much of a coward to end things properly."

You looked down at your joined hands, at the way his thumb was tracing small circles on your skin. "I just wish I could stop caring. I wish I could see him happy and not feel like I'm drowning."

"I understand." Wooyoung's voice was softer now. "But you will. Eventually. It just takes time."

"How much time?" The question came out small.

"I don't know. But in the meantime..." He paused, and you could feel him watching you. "You could at least pretend. Make him think you're over it, even if you're not."

You let out a hollow laugh. "I'm a terrible liar. You said so yourself."

"Not if you had help." There was something careful in his tone now, like he was testing the waters. "Not if you had someone to back up your story."

You turned to look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Wooyoung was staring straight ahead at the road, jaw tightening as he chose his words carefully. "I mean... what if you weren't alone at these parties? What if you showed up with someone who made it very clear you'd moved on?"

Your heart skipped. "Wooyoung."

"Just think about it." He glanced at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "You want to prove you're over him. I want to prove I'm capable of committing to someone. We could help each other."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything tonight. You're upset, and this isn't the right time." He squeezed your hand once more before releasing it to shift gears. "But maybe we could talk about it. When you're feeling better. When you're ready."

Your mind was already racing, imagining walking into a party on Wooyoung's arm, Seonghwa seeing you happy, and the freedom of not having to feel pathetic anymore.

"Why would you want to help me?" you asked quietly.

Wooyoung was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, vulnerable. "Because you're my friend. And because..." He hesitated. "Because everyone already assumes the worst about me. That I'm incapable of anything real, that I'm just some player who doesn't care about anyone. And I'm tired of it - of my family asking when I'm going to settle down, of my friends making jokes about my commitment issues. I'm tired of people treating me like I don't have feelings."

You'd never heard him talk like this before. You'd always assumed Wooyoung didn't care what people thought, and that his confidence was unshakeable.

"I didn't know you felt that way," you said softly.

"Yeah, well." He let out a laugh. "I'm good at hiding it and pretending it doesn't bother me. But it does."

"We'd both be getting what we need." He pulled up in front of your building but didn't unlock the doors yet. Instead, he turned to face you fully. "Look, I'm not trying to pressure you. And tonight's not the night to decide anything. I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I just want you to know that you don't have to keep feeling like this. There are options. Ways to take back some control."

"Can I think about it?" you asked.

"Of course." He reached over and unlocked your door. "Take all the time you need. And if you decide it's a terrible idea, we'll never talk about it again."

You nodded, opening the door but hesitating before getting out. "Wooyoung?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For tonight. For listening and not making me feel stupid."

His expression softened. "You're not stupid. You're just human. And humans take time to heal."

You climbed out of the car, but before closing the door, you leaned back in. "I'll text you. About... about everything."

"I'll be waiting." He offered a small smile. "Now go get some sleep. You look exhausted."

"Such a charmer," you said, but you were smiling as you closed the door.

You watched him drive away, his tail lights disappearing around the corner, and something felt strange. The idea he'd planted was taking root, the possibility stuck in your mind.

What if you didn't have to feel this way anymore?

As you got ready for bed, your phone buzzed.

Wooyoung: Made it home safe. Get some rest.

You stared at the message, warmth blooming in your chest. Then you typed back:

You: Thanks, Woo. For everything. Let's talk tomorrow?

Wooyoung: Tomorrow. I'll buy you food.

You: It's a date.

You sent it before you could overthink it, then immediately panicked. But his response came quickly:

Wooyoung: 😏

Ugh, that emoji. You fell asleep that night thinking about possibilities, about pretending, about Wooyoung's hand in yours and the way he'd looked at you like you mattered.

Maybe it would blow up in your face. But maybe it was what you both needed.

The restaurant Wooyoung chose was small and kinda secluded from campus. It was the kind of place that you would always see, but never go inside. When you stepped in, you could already see him sitting at a table in the corner, so you made your way over.

He glanced up as you approached, "Hey. You found it okay?"

"Yeah." You slid into the seat across from him, suddenly aware of all the people who could be watching. 

"So I've been thinking," Wooyoung said once you'd both ordered. "We should probably establish some ground rules before we start this whole thing."

You pulled out your phone, opening your notes app. "Okay. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, first - and most important - no real feelings." He said firmly. "This only works if we both remember it's fake. The second someone catches actual feelings, we end it. Agreed?"

The words stung more than it should have. "Agreed."

"Good." He seemed to relax slightly. "Second, we need to figure out how we're going to act in public. Like, what's acceptable and what's off limits."

You considered. "Hand holding is probably necessary. Maybe arms around each other?"

"Kissing?" The word stuck between you, suddenly making you feel kind of flustered.

Your cheeks heated. "I mean... couples kiss. People would think it was weird if we never did."

"So kissing is allowed." Wooyoung's voice was neutral. "But only when necessary. When people are watching."

"Right. Only when necessary."

"What about when we're alone?" He was watching you closely now. "Do we drop the act completely, or...?"

"I think we should stay in character sometimes," you said slowly, thinking it through. "To practice. So it looks natural in public."

"Makes sense." He nodded. "Okay, what about social media? That's gonna be the most important part of this."

"Soft launch?" you suggested. "Like, subtle photos where we're together but not obviously dating. Then after a week or two, we can make it ‘official’?"

"Smart." Wooyoung was typing notes into his own phone. "We should probably go through each other's social media, make sure we know what we each usually post. And we need to get our story straight, like how we got together, when we started dating, all that."

The food arrived, and you both paused to eat. It was really good, and you found yourself relaxing into the comfort of Wooyoung's presence. This was still weird, but it was also kind of exciting. 

"So," Wooyoung said around a bite of pasta. "Our story. How did we fall for each other?"

You thought about it. "We've been friends for a year. We could say... it just kind of happened naturally? We were spending time together, and we realized there was something more there?"

"That is way too vague. We need specifics in case anyone asks." He leaned back, considering. "What about this: you know how I took you home after Mingi's party last night?" he pauses to take a bite. “What if that was our turning point? You were upset, I comforted you, and we both realized we had feelings for each other."

It was close enough to the truth to be believable. "Okay. So we will be secretly dating for a little bit, and then we ‘go public’?"

"Exactly." Wooyoung looked pleased. "That gives us a backstory and explains why no one's seen it coming."

You added it to your notes. "What about the end date? How long are we doing this?"

"Two months minimum," he said. "Long enough to be convincing. We can reassess after that, see if we need to keep going or if we've both gotten what we need out of it."

"And either of us can end it at any time?"

"Either of us can end it at any time," he confirmed. "No questions asked."

You looked down at your notes, at the rules and boundaries you'd constructed. Could you really fake a relationship like this?

"You're overthinking it," Wooyoung said, reading your expression with the ease of someone who knew you well. "We'll be fine. We're already friends. This is just friendship with some hand-holding and the occasional kiss."

"Right." You forced a smile. "Just friendship with fake benefits."

"Exactly." He grinned. "Now, let's talk logistics. We should probably start spending more time together in public. Study dates, coffee runs, that kind of thing. Ease people into seeing us together."

"We already do that stuff."

"Yeah, but now we'll be doing it with intent. Sitting closer, more casual touches, looking at each other like we're..." He paused. "Like we're in love."

That word felt… weird. "How do you look at someone like you're in love with them?"

"You've never been in love?" He seemed surprised.

"I thought I was. With Seonghwa. But obviously, I was wrong about that." The bitterness crept into your voice before you could stop it.

Wooyoung's expression softened. "Hey. Just because he was an idiot doesn't mean what you felt wasn't real."

"Yeah, well. Real or not, it didn't matter in the end." You pushed your pasta around your plate. "So how do we do it? The ‘looking like we're in love’ thing?"

"I don't know." He looked genuinely thoughtful. "I guess... you just look at the person like they're the only one in the room? 

"Have you ever looked at someone like that?"

"No." The admission came quickly, followed by a self-deprecating laugh. "Told you I'm bad at this stuff."

"But you've dated lots of people."

"Dating and being in love are different things." He met your eyes. "I've never let anyone get close enough for love."

He was clearly being vulnerable, and you found yourself asking, "Why not?"

He looked up at you. "I think you can be friends with someone of the gender you're attracted to, but if you spend enough time together, if you get close enough, eventually attraction develops. And once that happens, the friendship is basically over because someone always wants more."

You frowned. “But what if they both end up wanting more?”

"Maybe. But I've seen it happen over and over. Someone catches feelings, confesses, and then everything gets weird. The friendship ends, or it becomes this awkward thing where one person is always wanting more than the other can give." He shrugged. "So I keep things casual. I date people, but I don't let them get too close. That way no one gets hurt."

"Except all the people you've dated who wanted something more," you pointed out.

"I'm honest with them from the start." But he looked uncomfortable. "I tell them I'm not looking for anything serious."

"And they think they can change your mind."

"That's not my fault."

"I didn't say it was." You studied him across the table. "But maybe... your theory is wrong? Maybe men and women can be close friends without attraction ruining everything?"

"Can they?" His gaze was intense suddenly. "Really think about it. Your close guy friends. Have you ever been attracted to any of them? Even a little?"

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. You thought about your friendships, about the guys you'd gotten close to over the years. And if you were honest... "Okay, maybe there's been some attraction. But that doesn't mean the friendship ends."

"Doesn't it?" Wooyoung leaned forward. "Be honest. Those friendships where there was attraction - are you still as close with those people?"

You wanted to argue, but you couldn't. He had a point. "So what, you're saying you and I can't be friends because we might eventually be attracted to each other?"

"We're already friends," he said. "And I plan to keep it that way. Which is why this fake dating thing is perfect. We get to be close, we get what we need out of it, and then we go back to being regular friends before anything complicated happens."

There was a flaw in his logic somewhere, you were sure of it. But you couldn't quite put your finger on it. "What if we're the exception? What if we prove your theory wrong?"

"Then we'll both be pleasantly surprised." But he didn't sound like he believed it.

The conversation changed to lighter topics after that - like planning your first official appearance as a couple, deciding on pet names (he voted for "babe," you threatened to call him "woowoo" in front of everyone if he did), figuring out how to handle questions from friends.

By the time you left the restaurant, you had pages of notes and a decent plan. Wooyoung walked you home. "Might as well start practicing," he'd said with a grin, wrapping his arm over your shoulder.

"So we're really doing this," you said as you reached your building.

"We're really doing this." He held out his hand, pinky extended. "Pinky promise? Two months, or until we both get what we need. No real feelings, no drama, and we stay friends when it's over."

You hesitated for just a moment, looking at his offered pinky. This was insane. This was going to end terribly somehow. But Wooyoung was looking at you with that mix of hope and mischief that you'd never been able to resist, and you found yourself hooking your pinky with his.

"Pinky promise."

His fingers squeezed yours gently, and for a moment, you were both just standing there, pinkies linked, looking at each other in the glow of the streetlight. 

Then Wooyoung grinned again and pulled his hand away. "Okay, girlfriend. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, boyfriend," you said, testing out the word. It felt weird in your mouth.

You watched him walk away, hands in his pockets, and tried to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. This was fine. This was going to be fine.

You were just helping each other out. What could possibly go wrong?

The past few weeks were surprisingly easier than you anticipated. Meeting up to do some homework in the library, the occasional surprise breakfast before class. Hell, you even babysitted his cat for a few days when he went to visit his parents. 

Today was a group dinner that was planned by Hongjoong for everyone to have the chance to catch up in the midst of the busy semester. When you found out Seonghwa would be there, Hongjoong offered to uninvite him, but you assured him it was fine,

The restaurant was louder than expected. It should have made you nervous, all these people, all these eyes potentially watching, but Wooyoung's presence beside you was surprisingly grounding.

"So," Mingi said, leaning forward with a grin that was entirely too knowing. "When were you two going to tell us?"

"Tell you what?" Wooyoung asked innocently, but his thumb was tracing circles on the back of your hand under the table.

"Oh, please." Mingi gestured between you. "You two show up together, you're practically glued to each other, and you think we haven't noticed?"

"How long?" Hongjoong asked, though something in his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"About three weeks," Wooyoung said smoothly. "We wanted to make sure it was real before we told everyone."

"Three weeks?" Jongho looked skeptical. "You kept it secret for three weeks?"

"We're good at secrets." Wooyoung's implication made several people laugh. You just rolled your eyes.

Pretending felt awkward, but Wooyoung made it easy. His hand never left yours, his attention consistently returning to you even as he joked with the group. It felt natural in a way that surprised you.

"I have to say," San said, catching your eye with a smile, "you look happy. Happier than I've seen you in a while."

The observation caught you off guard, mostly because it was true. You were happy. Maybe it was the relief of finally having a plan, of taking some control back. Or maybe it was just Wooyoung, the smooth comfort of his presence.

"I am happy," you said, and meant it.

Seonghwa shifted in his seat, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn't look at him. You'd spent months drowning in the weight of his gaze, of his pity or his judgment or whatever it had been. You were done with that.

-

The conversation turned more casual, talking about class and free time. 

"You're teaching her to dance?" Hongjoong looked delighted. "I need to see this."

"Absolutely not," you said quickly. "I do not have any rhythm."

"She's better than she thinks," Wooyoung said, and there was genuine affection in his voice that made your heart skip. "She just needs confidence."

Seonghwa finally spoke up, his voice annoyed. "Since when do you dance, Wooyoung? I thought you said it was 'too much commitment' to take on dancing."

The table went silent. The tension could be cut with a pair of scissors, but Woo’s response was quick. "I said organized dance was too much commitment. Dancing with my girlfriend is different." He looked at Seonghwa directly, his smile pleasant but his eyes hard. "It's not a commitment when you actually want to do it."

The implication was there: unlike you, who made everything feel like an obligation. You saw Seonghwa's jaw clench, saw the flash of anger in his eyes.

"Okay!" San said brightly, clearly trying to settle the tension. "Who wants to split dessert?"

The conversation moved on, but all you could pay attention to was Wooyoung beside you, the protective way he angled his body toward yours, of the thumb still tracing patterns on your thigh. When you glanced at him, he leaned in close again.

"You okay?" he murmured, quiet enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, throat tight with an emotion you couldn't name.

"Good." His hand squeezed your thigh gently. "Because you're doing great. He can't stop looking at you, and you haven't looked at him once."

Right. This was the plan. Make Seonghwa see that you'd moved on. Prove you were happy. It was working exactly as intended.

So why did your chest ache when Wooyoung pulled away?

-

Partway through dessert, you'd ended up sharing a chocolate lava cake with Wooyoung, feeding each other bites while your friends made exaggerated gagging noises. You excused yourself to the bathroom.

For some reason, Seonghwa left the table shortly after. 

He appeared behind you in the hallway. He ran a hand through his hair, that nervous gesture you used to find endearing. Now it just makes you tired. "I needed to talk to you. Alone."

"We don't have anything to talk about.” As hard as you tried to shut him out of your brain, you couldn't help but hope that he would somehow say the right thing.

"We don’t?" He stepped closer, and you turned to face him. "You and Wooyoung? Really?"

Well that is not what you wanted to hear at all.

"What about it?" 

"Come on." Seonghwa's voice dropped with a pleading undertone. "You know his reputation. He's going to hurt you."

The audacity of it stole your breath. "Like you hurt me?"

He flinched. "That's not… I made a mistake, okay? I know I did. But Wooyoung?. He's just going to use you and move on like he does with everyone else."

"You don't know anything about him." The words came out sharper than intended, defensive in a way that surprised you. "And even if you did, it's none of your business who I date."

"I still care about you."

"You lost the right to care about me when you cheated." Your voice was steady and cold. "And you definitely lost the right to have opinions about my relationship."

"I just don't want to see you get hurt again."

"Then you should have thought about that before you hurt me yourself. I loved you. And you told me you loved me too."

Seonghwa looked like you'd slapped him. "That's not fair."

"No," you agreed. "It's not. But neither was what you did to me." 

You looked down at his hand on your arm, then up at his face. A few months ago, this moment would have meant everything. The concern in his eyes, the attention, the clear jealousy in the way he spoke. You would have read into it, hoped it meant something, maybe even considered giving him another chance.

Now? You didnt really feel anything.

"Let go of me," you said quietly.

He did, immediately, and you saw slight fear on his face.

You left him standing there, your heart pounding but your head clear. When you walked past him, Wooyoung was waiting at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall with casualness that didn't really hide the tension in his shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked immediately. "I saw him follow you-"

"I'm fine." And you were. You were more than fine. "He just wanted to share his opinions about our relationship."

"And?"

"And I told him where he could shove those opinions." You smiled genuine. "Can we go?"

Wooyoung's look shifted into something proud, almost awed. "Yeah. Yeah, we can go." He held out his hand, and you took it without hesitation. 

The group was disappointed but understanding when you announced you were leaving. San hugged you tight, whispering "I'm proud of you" in your ear in a way that made your throat tight. Hongjoong just had a knowing look on his face the whole time, but he didn't say anything. Those two could definitely see right through you.

Seonghwa returned to the table just as you were leaving, and you didn't miss the way his eyes tracked to your hand in Wooyoung's, to the way Wooyoung helped you into your jacket, to the casual kiss he pressed to your temple as you walked out.

The air was cool, clearing the remaining tension from your shoulders. Wooyoung kept his arm around you all the way to the car, and when he opened your door, he paused.

"That was..." He seemed to be searching for words. "That went really well. Better than I expected."

"Yeah." You slid into the passenger seat. "It did."

The drive back to your place was quiet. Wooyoung's hand found yours across the center console, and you let yourself enjoy the warmth, the casual intimacy, the illusion of being wanted.

When he pulled up outside your building, neither of you moved to get out immediately.

"So," Wooyoung said finally. "First official appearance: success?"

"Definite success." You turned to look at him. "Thank you. For everything. For defending me, for being perfect, for-"

"Hey." He squeezed your hand. "That's what boyfriends do, right?"

Right. Boyfriends. Fake boyfriends.

"Right," you echoed.

There was a moment of hesitation where you both just looked at each other. Wooyoung's eyes dropped to your lips, then back up, and your breath caught. Was he going to…

He leaned in, and your heart stopped. But instead of your lips, his mouth pressed against your forehead, soft and lingering.

"Goodnight," he murmured against your skin.

"Night," you managed, voice barely a whisper.

You practically floated up to your apartment, touching your forehead where his lips had been. This was fake. This was all fake.

But why were you starting to wish it were real?

Week One

The library was your usual haunt, the area by the window where the sun created the perfect reading light. You were hunched over your laptop, supposedly working on an essay, but mostly you were thinking about Wooyoung beside you.

It had been three days since San's birthday dinner, and you'd seen him every single one of those days. Study sessions, he'd said. Got to keep up appearances.

But right now, with his leg pressed against yours under the table and his hand occasionally reaching over to steal your highlighter, it felt less like an appearance and more like... something else.

"You're not even reading that," Wooyoung said, not looking up from his own textbook.

"Yes, I am."

"You've been on the same page for ten minutes. I can see your screen."

You scowled and scrolled down, but he wasn't wrong. You'd been distracted by the way he bit his lip when he concentrated, by the furrow between his brows, by the way he'd draped his jacket over the back of your chair like he was marking territory.

Your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see a notification from Instagram. Someone had tagged you in a post. It was a photo from dinner, you and Wooyoung caught mid-laugh, his hand on your face, both of you looking stupidly happy.

The comments were already rolling in. Cutest couple ever. I KNEW IT! Finally! And, from San: Called it 😏

"We're official on social media," you said, showing Wooyoung the screen.

He leaned closer to look, his shoulder pressing against yours. "Damn, we look good together."

"It's a nice photo."

"It's not just the photo." His voice was quieter, more serious. "We look happy."

You did. That was the strange part. In the photo, there was no acting, no visible performance. You just looked like two people who genuinely enjoyed each other.

"Wooyoung!" A girl's voice cut through your thoughts. You looked up to see one of his classmates, Minjeong, you thought her name was - approaching the table with a bright smile. "I heard about you and..." Her eyes landed on you. "Oh. Hi."

"Hi," you said, aware of the way Wooyoung's hand had automatically moved to rest on your thigh under the table.

"I just wanted to say congratulations," She continued, though something in her smile had dimmed. "I never thought I'd see the day Wooyoung settled down."

"Yeah, well." Wooyoung's thumb traced an absent pattern on your leg. "Sometimes you meet the right person."

Minjeong's eyes flickered between you, and you could see her trying to figure out what made you special, what you had that dozens of other girls hadn't. The attention made you squirm.

After she left, you turned to Wooyoung. "Does that bother you? Everyone being surprised?"

"That I'm in a relationship?" He shrugged, but there was stiffness in his posture. "I'm used to people assuming the worst about me. At least now they have to reconsider."

"It's not the worst, thinking you prefer to keep things casual."

He met your eyes. "When it means everyone thinks you're incapable of real feelings? They think I am heartless and only care about myself."

The hurt in his voice made your chest ache. Without thinking, you reached out and laced your fingers through his. "You're not heartless."

"You're the only one who seems to think so."

"Then everyone else is an idiot."

He laughed, surprised, and the tension broke. His hand tightened around yours. "Thanks, girlfriend."

"Anytime, boyfriend."

You stayed like that, hands linked on top of the table, and went back to your work. When a notification lit up your phone twenty minutes later, you glanced down to see Wooyoung had texted you.

Wooyoung: this is nice

You looked up. He was still focused on his textbook, but there was a small smile on his face. You typed back with one hand, not letting go of him with the other.

You: what is?

Wooyoung: this. studying together. holding hands. being close.

You: we've always studied together

Wooyoung: yeah but now I get to hold your hand while we do it 😏

You bit back a smile.

You: smooth

Wooyoung: you like it

You did. God help you, you really did.

-

That night, after you'd parted ways, your phone buzzed again.

Wooyoung: get home safe?

You: just walked in. you?

Wooyoung: been home for like 10 minutes

Wooyoung: was waiting to make sure you texted

Something warm bloomed inside you..

You: you don't have to do that

Wooyoung: I know

Wooyoung: I wanted to

Wooyoung: goodnight. dream about me 😉

You fell asleep smiling at your phone like a fool.

Week Two

"You're terrible at this," Wooyoung said, laughing as you stepped on his foot for the third time.

"I told you I can't dance!" You tried to pull away, but he held firm, hands on your waist in the middle of his living room.

"You're not trying. Here, feel the rhythm." He pulled you closer, so close you could feel his heartbeat. "It's like a game. You wouldn't button-mash your way through a boss fight, would you?"

"That's completely different-"

"It's not. You're overthinking it. Just..." He started swaying, gentle, and you had no choice but to follow. "There. See? You're doing it."

You were barely moving, just a soft rocking back and forth, but he was right. You were doing it. And more importantly, you were pressed against him, his hands warm on your waist, his breath stirring your hair.

"This isn't really dancing," you said, voice softer than intended.

"It's close enough." He hummed something under his breath, a melody you didn't recognize, and guided you in a slow circle. "Besides, couples dance like this all the time."

"At wedding receptions."

"Exactly. We're just practicing for future wedding receptions."

You paused for a second, trying to not over think what he just said. 

"Your turn," he said suddenly, pulling back. "Teach me one of your games."

"Really?"

"Really. Fair is fair."

You ended up showing him a co-op game that you usually play with randoms online, but this time you actually got to play with someone you knew. Wooyoung was terrible at it - his character kept running off cliffs - but he was laughing, genuine and bright, and you couldn't remember the last time you'd had this much fun.

"How are you so bad at this?" you teased as he died for the fifth time.

"I'm used to dance games! These are different."

"Dance games are so much harder-"

"Are not."

You started playfully bickering, and somewhere in the moment, Wooyoung's arm ended up around your shoulders, your head found its way to his chest, and when you finally beat the level, you both cheered and he kissed the top of your head without seeming to think about it.

The kiss froze you both.

"Sorry," Wooyoung said quickly. "I wasn't thinking.."

"It's fine." You forced yourself to relax back against him, even though your heart was racing. "We're practicing, right? For when people are around?"

"Right. Practicing."

But his arm stayed around you for the rest of the night, and when you left, he hugged you at the door longer than necessary.

Week Three

The restaurant was busy, Friday night crowds filling every table, and you'd somehow ended up in a small booth clearly meant for couples, with candlelight flickering between you.

"This feels like a real date," you said, then immediately wanted to take it back.

But Wooyoung just smiled. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

"Yeah. The point."

Conversation flowed easily, like it always did with him. You talked about classes and complained about professors and debated topics that randomly came up. At some point, your feet tangled under the table, and neither of you moved to separate them.

"Can I ask you something?" Wooyoung said during dessert.

"Sure."

"Do you still think about him? Seonghwa?"

The question surprised you. You'd barely thought about your ex all week. "Not really. Sometimes, but not like before."

"What's different?"

You considered, taking a bite of the cake you were sharing. "Before, I'd see him and it would hurt. Like a physical pain. But now..." You shrugged. "Now I just feel kind of indifferent. Like he's someone I used to know."

"That's good, right? That's what you wanted?"

"Yeah." You met his eyes. "It's exactly what I wanted. This whole thing-" You gestured between you. "-it's working."

Something flashed across Wooyoung's face, there then gone, too quickly to identify. "Good. I'm glad."

When he walked you home that night - he always walked you home now, even though it was out of his way - you lingered at your door.

"Thanks for dinner," you said.

"Anytime." He was standing close, hands in his pockets, looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "I had fun."

"Me too."

Neither of you moved. The space between you felt thick, Wooyoung's eyes dropped to your lips, and you stopped breathing.

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. But you didn't. You couldn't.

His lips brushed your forehead and you felt the loss of what could have been a real kiss.

"Goodnight," he murmured.

"Night," you whispered back.

That night, you couldn't sleep. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the past three weeks. Every touch, every smile, every time he'd made your heart race.

This was supposed to be fake. You'd agreed on rules. No real feelings.

But somewhere between the practice dates and the touches and the way he looked at you like you mattered, you'd broken the most important rule.

You'd fallen for him.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your spiral.

Wooyoung: you awake?

You: yeah. can't sleep

Wooyoung: me neither

Wooyoung: been thinking about tonight

Your heart stuttered.

You: yeah?

Wooyoung: yeah

Wooyoung: I think we're getting really good at this

Wooyoung: the whole fake dating thing

Wooyoung: it barely feels fake anymore

You stared at the message, reading it over and over. Did he mean...?

You: yeah. barely fake.

Wooyoung: goodnight. for real this time

You: night, woo

You fell asleep with your phone clutched in your hand, his words replaying in your mind.

It barely feels fake anymore.

No, you thought. It doesn't feel fake at all.

The text came on a random Tuesday afternoon, three simple words that made you feel… indifferent: Can we talk?

You stared at Seonghwa’s name on your screen, trying to figure out what he could possibly have to say to you now. It had been a while since you’ve broken up, more than a month since you’d started “dating” Wooyoung. What could he possibly want?

You: About what?

The reply came quickly.

Seonghwa: Us. What happened. I just want to talk, please. Coffee tomorrow?

You should have deleted the message and moved on. But some part of you - the part that still remembered loving him, even if you didn’t anymore - couldn’t quite let it go without closure.

You: Fine. 3pm at the cafe on Main.

You told Wooyoung about it that night during your regular phone call - when had nightly phone calls become regular? - and his response was immediate.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Woo, you don’t have to…”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” His voice was firm. “He doesn’t get to ask you to meet alone. I’ll wait outside or something, but I’m coming.”

The protectiveness in his voice made your chest happy. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Always.”

-

The next day, Wooyoung picked you up early, and you could see the tightness in his jaw as he drove.

“You okay?” you asked.

“I should be asking you that.” He glanced over. “Are you nervous?”

“A little. I don’t know what he wants to say.”

“Whatever it is, you don’t owe him anything. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

His hand found yours across the console. “And if he says anything that upsets you, I’m coming in there.”

You squeezed his hand, grateful. “My knight in shining armor.”

“Damn right.”

The place was quiet when you arrived, and Seonghwa was already there, sitting at a table with two coffees in front of him. He stood when he saw you, and you noticed he looked tired, shadows under his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks for coming.”

“What did you want to talk about?” You didn’t sit yet, keeping your guard up.

“Please, just… sit? Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You glanced out the window where Wooyoung was leaning against his car, arms crossed, watching. He gave you a small nod, and you felt braver.

You sat.

“I got you your usual,” Seonghwa said, sliding one of the cups toward you. “Mocha latte, extra whip.”

You didn’t touch it. “What do you want, Seonghwa?”

He took a breath, and you could see him gathering courage. “I made a mistake. Making you break up with me. Cheating. All of it. I was an idiot, and I’ve been miserable ever since.”

Your stomach dropped. 

“Seeing you with Wooyoung these past few weeks…” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been killing me. Seeing you happy, seeing you with someone else. It made me realize what I lost.”

“So you want me back.” Your voice was flat.

“I want a chance to fix this. Or at least try to prove that I can be better.” He reached across the table, trying to take your hand, but you pulled back. “Please. We were good together. We can be good again.”

You looked at him, the boy you’d spent years with, the one you’d planned a future with, the one who’d broken your heart so thoroughly you’d thought you’d never recover.

And you felt… nothing.

No anger, no longing, no pain. Just a distant sort of pity. 

“We weren’t good together, Seonghwa.” Your voice was firm. “We were comfortable. There’s a difference.”

“That’s not true…”

“It is.” You met his eyes steadily. “You cheated on me because you weren’t happy. And honestly? I wasn’t either. I was just too afraid to admit it.”

“But we could try again.”

“No.” The word came out stronger than you intended. “We can’t. Because I’ve moved on. I’m happy now. Actually happy.”

“With Wooyoung.” His voice turned bitter. “You really think he’s going to stick around? Everyone knows his reputation.”

“Everyone knew your reputation too,” you said quietly. “The good guy. The loyal boyfriend. And look how that turned out.”

He flinched.

“Wooyoung treats me better in one day than you did in two years,” you continued, and realized with a start that it was true. “He listens to me. He remembers things I say. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel like I matter.”

“I made you feel like you mattered-”

“You made me feel like an obligation.” The truth spilled out. “Like something you kept around because it was easier than being alone. And I let you, because I thought that was the best I could get.”

Seonghwa was staring at you like he didn’t recognize you.

You stood, leaving the coffee untouched.

“I forgive you,” you said. “For the cheating, for the lying, for all of it. But I don’t want you back. I hope you find someone who makes you happy. But it’s not going to be me.”

You walked out without looking back, and the moment you stepped outside, Wooyoung was there.

“You okay?” His hands came up to cup your face, searching your expression.

“I’m perfect.” And you were. You felt lighter than you had in months, like you’d finally closed a door that had been left open for too long. “Can we go?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” His arm came around your shoulders, solid and sure, and you leaned into him as you walked to the car.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you were in the passenger seat and Wooyoung was wiping your tears with his thumb.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What did he say?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” You laughed wetly. “He said he wanted me back.”

His expression darkened. “And?”

“And I told him no.” You looked up at him, at the concern in his eyes, at the gentle way he was touching you. “I told him I’d moved on. That I was happy.”

“Are you?” His voice was quiet. “Happy?”

“Yeah.” You reached up, covering his hand with yours. “I am.”

His expression changed. It was something vulnerable and hopeful and scared all at once. He leaned forward, and for a heart-stopping moment you thought he was going to kiss you. Really kiss you.

But then he pulled back, clearing his throat. “Good. That’s… that’s good. I’m glad.”

He started the car, and you tried to ignore the disappointment curling in your stomach.

As he drove, one hand on the wheel and one hand finding yours, you stared out the window and tried not to think about how much you’d meant every word you’d said to Seonghwa.

About how Wooyoung made you feel wanted. 

And about how you’d fallen completely in love with your fake boyfriend.

You couldn’t sleep.

It was 2 AM, and you’d been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment of the past month. Every touch, every smile, every time Wooyoung had looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

The forehead kisses. The hand-holding. The protective way he’d shown up for you today.

When had it stopped being an act?

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, and your heart leaped when you saw his name.

Wooyoung: you awake?

You: unfortunately. you?

Wooyoung: can’t stop thinking about today

Wooyoung: are you really okay?

You stared at the messages, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You could lie. Keep up the act that this was all still fake and manageable.

You: I’m okay. Better than okay, actually.

You: I meant what I said to him. I’ve moved on.

Wooyoung: good. he doesn’t deserve you anyway

You: woo…

Wooyoung: yeah?

You typed and deleted three different messages before settling on:

You: thank you for being there today

Wooyoung: always. that’s what boyfriends do, right? 😏

There was a long pause. Then:

Wooyoung: doesn’t feel very fake anymore, does it?

Your breath caught. You stared at the message, reading it over and over.

You: no. it doesn’t.

Wooyoung: is that a bad thing?

Was it? You didn’t know anymore. All you knew was that you were in too deep, and there was no way out that didn’t end in heartbreak.

You: i don’t know. is it?

Wooyoung: I don’t know either

Wooyoung: goodnight. we should talk soon. actually talk.

You: goodnight woo

You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, his words echoing in your mind.

Doesn’t feel very fake anymore.

-

The next morning across campus, Wooyoung was having a crisis.

He’d been staring at his phone for twenty minutes, reading and rereading your text conversation from last night. Doesn’t feel very fake anymore. What had he been thinking, sending that? He might as well have just confessed outright.

“You look like you’re having an existential crisis,” San said, dropping his stuff into the seat next to him.

“I am having an existential crisis.”

Hongjoong appeared on his other side. “Does this crisis have anything to do with your girlfriend?”

“Fake girlfriend,” Wooyoung corrected automatically, but the words felt wrong in his mouth. 

“Is she still fake?” Hongjoong asked. “Because to me, you two look pretty real.”

Wooyoung groaned, letting his head fall onto the table. “I fucked up.”

“What did you do?” San asked.

“I caught feelings. For someone I’m supposed to be fake dating.” He lifted his head, looking between his friends. “How did this happen? We had rules. It was supposed to be simple.”

“Feelings are never simple,” Hongjoong said.

“Especially not when you’re spending all your time with someone you’re pretending to date,” San added. “Kind of unavoidable."

“That’s exactly the problem!” Wooyoung ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “This is exactly what I said would happen. And now I’ve proven myself right, and I hate it.”

“Why do you hate being right?” San asked.

“It means I can’t be close to someone without fucking it up with feelings. It means-” He broke off, his fear finally surfacing. “It means I’m going to lose her.”

“Why would you lose her?” Hongjoong looked genuinely confused.

“Because that’s what happens. Someone catches feelings, things get weird, and the friendship ends.”

“Or,” San said slowly, “someone catches feelings, the other person feels the same way, and they end up together. Did you ever consider that?”

Wooyoung stared at him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Are you serious right now?” Hongjoong laughed. “Woo, she looks at you like you hung the moon. I’ve never seen two people more obviously in love while claiming to be ‘fake-dating’.”

“You think she feels the same way?”

“I think you’re both idiots who need to talk to each other,” San said bluntly. “But yes, I think she’s just as gone for you as you are for her.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted quietly.

“You talk to her,” San said firmly. “You tell her the truth. And you figure it out together.”

Wooyoung pulled out his phone, looking at your last text exchange. Doesn’t feel very fake anymore. No. It doesn’t.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.

-

That evening, you were at home trying to study when your phone rang. Wooyoung’s name flashed on the screen, and your heart jumped.

“Hey,” you answered.

“Hey.” His voice sounded strange. “Are you busy?”

“Just studying. Why?”

“Can I come over? I think we need to talk.”

Your stomach dropped. This was it. He was going to end the arrangement. Tell you he couldn’t do this anymore. You’d broken the rules by catching feelings, and now…

“Yeah,” you heard yourself say. “Yeah, come over.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

He hung up, and you stared at your phone, panic rising in your chest. You had ten minutes to prepare yourself for heartbreak.

You spent those ten minutes pacing your apartment, trying to figure out what you’d say. How you’d react. Whether you should tell him the truth or keep lying.

When the knock came, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Wooyoung stood in your doorway, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it, eyes dark with something, you couldn’t tell what it was.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

You stood there for a second, just looking at each other. Then Wooyoung stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“We need to talk about this,” he said, motioning between you two. “About us.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribs. “Okay.”

“I’ve been thinking about what I said last night. About how this doesn’t feel fake anymore.” He took a step closer. “And it doesn’t. At least not for me.”

You couldn’t breathe. “Woo…”

“Let me finish. Please.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know we had rules. I know we said no real feelings. But somewhere along the way, I broke that rule. And I’ve been terrified to tell you because I thought it would ruin everything.”

“What are you saying?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m saying I have feelings for you.” He was looking at you with such intensity you felt pinned in place. “I can’t tell the difference between pretending and reality anymore because when I’m with you, it all feels real. The hand-holding, the dates, the way I want to kiss you for real instead of just your forehead - all of it.”

Your breath caught. “You want to kiss me?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks,” he admitted. “But I was scared.” He pauses. “But then I realized,” he continued, stepping closer, “maybe my theory was wrong. Not about the attraction part - I think I was right about that. But about what it means.” He reached out, taking your hand. “Maybe the point isn’t that attraction ruins friendships. Maybe the point is that the best relationships start as friendships. And maybe sometimes, falling for your friend isn’t the end of the friendship - it’s the beginning of something better.”

Tears were streaming down your face, and you didn’t even care. “Wooyoung-”

“I think I am in love with you,” he said, the words froze in the air between you. “I’m completely, hopelessly in love with you. And I know that wasn’t part of the plan, and I know we said this would be temporary, but I don’t want temporary. I want real. I want you. Even when we met in class, I felt something for you. It has always been there.”

You were crying in earnest now, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth.

“Please say something,” Wooyoung said, and you could hear the fear in his voice. “Tell me I didn’t just ruin everything. Tell me-”

“I think I love you too,” you said, the words tumbling out. “I’ve been in love with you for weeks, and I was so scared to tell you because I thought you’d think I broke the rules, and I didn’t want to lose you…”

You didn’t get to finish because Wooyoung was kissing you.

And for once, it wasn’t a forehead kiss. It was a real kiss.

His hands cupped your face, and his lips were soft and desperate against yours, and it felt like coming home. You kissed him back with everything you had, months of pent-up longing pouring into this one moment.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

“We’re idiots,” you said, laughing through your tears.

“Complete idiots,” he agreed. “We could have been doing this for weeks.”

“We had rules-”

“Fuck the rules.” He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less sweet. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want this to be real.”

“It already is real,” you said. “It’s been real for a long time.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah, it has.”

You kissed him again, and again, making up for lost time. And when you finally pulled back, breathless and giddy, Wooyoung took your hand.

“So,” he said. “Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?”

“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes, I want that.”

“Good.” He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.

This was real. And for the first time in months, you felt perfectly happy.

Everything should have been perfect.

You were actually together. No more pretending, no more rules. Just you and Wooyoung.

Except something was wrong.

It started small. A cancelled study date here, a shorter text conversation there. Wooyoung said he was busy with dance practice, with family stuff, with a big project for class. All reasonable excuses.

But it had been almost a week since your confession, and you’d barely seen him.

You: miss you. when can I see you?

Wooyoung: sorry, got a lot going on. maybe this weekend?

Maybe. Not definitely. Maybe.

You tried not to read into it, tried to tell yourself he was just actually busy. But the familiar doubt crept in anyway.

Had you been wrong? Had he changed his mind? Had the reality of actually being together scared him off?

When you finally did see him - at a group hangout at Mingi’s place on Friday - he was different. Still affectionate, still attentive, but there was a distance in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Like part of him was somewhere else.

“You okay?” you asked quietly when you had a moment alone.

“Yeah, fine. Just tired.” He kissed your forehead, but it felt forced.

And then you saw it later.

Wooyoung, across the room, laughing with a girl you didn’t recognize. His hand on her arm, that devastating smile turned on her full force. The same charm he used to use on everyone before you.

Your stomach twisted.

“That’s Yuna,” San said, appearing at your elbow. “She’s in Wooyoung’s contemporary dance class.”

“Oh.” You tried to sound casual. “They seem friendly.”

San gave you a look. “Don’t read into it. He’s probably just being nice.”

But you couldn’t help but read into it. Couldn’t help noticing how easily he made her laugh, how she touched his arm back, how he didn’t pull away.

When Wooyoung finally came back over, you were ready to leave.

“Already?” He looked surprised. “It’s early.”

“I have an early morning tomorrow.” The lie came easily. “I should go.”

“Oh. Okay.” He walked you out, but he didn’t offer to drive you home like he usually did. “Text me when you get back safe?”

“Sure.”

You waited for him to kiss you goodbye. He kissed your forehead.

Always your forehead. Never your lips. Not since that first night when you’d confessed your feelings to each other.

“Goodnight,” he said.

You walked home alone, feeling the distance between you growing with every step.

-

By the second week, the distance had become unbearable.

Wooyoung barely texted. He cancelled more plans than he kept. When you did see him, he was distracted and distant. The easy affection had been replaced by something controlled.

You tried to talk to him about it, but he deflected every time.

“I’m just stressed about midterms.”

“I’m fine, really. Just need some space to focus.”

“You’re overthinking it.”

But you weren’t overthinking it. You could feel him pulling away, could see him reverting to his old patterns. The fuckboy who never let anyone get too close and kept everything surface-level.

The breaking point came at Yunho’s place.

You’d come with Wooyoung, but within an hour, he’d disappeared into the crowd. You found him in the kitchen, and your heart sank.

He was flirting with Yuna again. Not just friendly conversation. It was actual flirting. The smile, the eyes, the casual touches. All the things he used to do with you before it became real.

“Having fun?” The words came out colder than you intended.

Wooyoung turned, and something flickered across his face. Guilt? “Hey. Yeah, just talking to Yuna.”

“I can see that.”

Yuna looked between you, clearly sensing the tension. “I should go find Yeosang. Nice talking to you, Wooyoung.” She left quickly.

You and Wooyoung stood in uncomfortable silence.

“What’s going on with you?” you finally asked.

“Nothing. I was just talking to someone-”

“You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks.” Your voice cracked despite your best efforts. “Ever since we made it official, you’ve been pulling away. And now you’re flirting with other girls right in front of me?”

“I wasn’t flirting…”

“Don’t lie to me.” Tears were burning in your eyes. “I know you, and I know what flirting looks like. I watched you do it for months before we got together.”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened. “You’re being paranoid.”

“Am I? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you got what you wanted. Prove you could commit, made your family happy, and now you’re ready to move on. Just like you do with everyone else.”

“That’s not fair.”

“How so?” You were starting to get upset, but you were past the point of caring. “You said you loved me. You said you wanted this to be real. But the second it actually became real, you started running.”

“I’m not running.”

“Then what do you call this?” You gestured between you. “You barely talk to me. You cancel our plans. You avoid me at parties. And when you do see me, you act like I’m someone you’re obligated to spend time with, not someone you claim to love.”

“I do love you.” His voice rose, frustration showing through. “That’s the whole fucking problem.”

You stopped, stunned. “What?”

Wooyoung ran his hands through his hair, and you could see him warring with himself. “I love you. And that terrifies me. Because we were friends, and now we’re not, because we caught feelings.”

“We’re not friends anymore because we’re together-”

“But that’s temporary too, isn’t it?” His voice was harsh, almost desperate. “Relationships end. People leave. And when this falls apart - because it will fall apart, they always do - I won’t just lose my girlfriend. I’ll lose my best friend.”

Your breath caught. “You think we’re going to fall apart?”

“I think I don’t know how to do this, and I don’t know how to treat you the way you deserve.”

“So you thought the best thing to do was to push me away and make me wonder what I did wrong?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “You are sabotaging us before we even gave it a try.”

You wanted to comfort him, to tell him he was wrong and that you weren’t going anywhere. But you were too hurt.

“So instead of taking the risk, you choose to end us before it even started?” Your voice was broken. “You’re proving yourself right by making sure we fail?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. “I just know I’m scared.”

“Well, I’m scared too.” You wiped your eyes. “I’m terrified. But I’m not running away. I’m not flirting with other people to make myself feel safe. I’m choosing to trust this. To trust you.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

The words landed like a blow. You stared at him, at the boy you’d fallen in love with, and realized he wasn’t ready for this. Maybe he never would be.

“Then what are we doing?” you asked quietly. “If you can’t trust this, can’t trust me, then what’s the point?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” You laughed, but it came out bitter. “You told me you wanted this to be real. But the first time it gets hard, you act like caring about someone is a weakness instead of a strength.”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

You waited, hoping he’d say something. Anything. But he just stood there, looking miserable and lost, and you realized you couldn’t do this anymore.

“I need space,” you said. “Real space. To figure out if this is worth fighting for when you’re not willing to fight for it too. I am not doing the whole ‘not being good enough’ thing again.”

“Don’t-” His voice broke. “Please don’t do this.”

“You’re the one doing this,” you said.

You left before he could respond, pushing through the party and out into the cold night air. You made it two blocks before you had to stop, leaning against a building as sobs took over your body.

You’d fallen in love with someone who was too afraid to love you back.

And you didn’t know how to fix it.

The next two weeks were hell.

Sitting next to him at group dinners, feeling the tension between. Holding his hand because people expected it, feeling his fingers tight and desperate around yours. Catching his eyes across the room and seeing the same misery you felt reflected back.

But the second you were alone, the distance returned. He’d drop your hand like it burned. Make excuses to leave. Avoid any real conversation.

Your friends weren’t blind.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Hongjoong asked one afternoon when Wooyoung had left yet another hangout early.

“Nothing. He’s just busy.”

“Bullshit.” San leaned forward. “You two have been weird for weeks. Did something happen?”

You wanted to lie, but you were so tired of pretending.

“We’re fighting,” you admitted. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“What happened?” Hongjoong’s voice was tender.

“He’s scared. Of commitment, of getting hurt, of losing me. So he’s pushing me away before I can leave him.” You laughed hollowly. “Classic self-sabotage.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“I tried. He won’t really talk to me.” You felt tears threatening again. “I don’t know what to do. I love him, but I can’t make him not be afraid. And I can’t keep putting myself through this.”

San and Hongjoong exchanged a look.

“We’ll talk to him,” San said.

“Don’t. Please.” You shook your head. “He needs to figure this out himself. Either he wants this or he doesn’t. But I can’t force him to choose me.”

“He does choose you,” Hongjoong said firmly. “He’s just a dumbass who doesn’t know how to handle anything.”

“Then he needs to learn. Quickly.” You stood up. “I need to go. I have studying to do.”

You left before they could see you cry again.

-

The next couple’s appearance was Mingi’s movie night. Everyone would be there, which meant you and Wooyoung had to show up together and act normal.

You met him outside the building, and the sight of him made your chest ache. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, hair unstyled. Like he hadn’t been sleeping well either.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hi.”

The walk to Mingi’s apartment was awkward. When Wooyoung reached for your hand, you let him take it, but it felt wrong. Like you were both just going through the motions.

Inside, your friends were already sprawled across Mingi’s living room, arguing about what movie to watch. You and Wooyoung ended up on the couch, sitting close because that’s what couples did, but the space between your bodies felt like a canyon.

Halfway through the movie - some action film you weren’t really watching - he shifted closer. His arm came around your shoulders, and you stiffened.

“Relax,” he murmured, quiet enough that only you could hear. “People are watching.”

Right. You were performing. Like you had been from the beginning.

Except now it hurt so much more, because you knew what it felt like when it was real.

You leaned into him because you had to, resting your head on his shoulder. His hand came up to play with your hair, an absent gesture that used to make you feel cherished. Now it just felt empty.

“I miss you,” he whispered against your hair.

The words made your eyes burn. “I’m right here.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

You knew what he meant. You missed him too. Missed the version of you two that had been happy, that had been hopeful. Missed the boy who had looked at you like you were his whole world.

After the movie ended, and after some of the others had left, you excused yourself to Mingi’s patio. You leaned against the railing, allowing yourself to take in the fresh air of the cold night. You hear the sliding glass door open behind you.

“Hey.”

You spun around. Wooyoung stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking uncertain.

“Hi,” you managed.

“Can I…” He gestured to the balcony. “Can I join you?”

You nodded, and he stepped outside, the door closing behind him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You both just stared out, at the lights of the buildings in the distance.

“You look beautiful,” Wooyoung said finally.

“Thanks.” Your voice was cold. “You look nice too.”

More silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what you said. About how I’ve been sabotaging us.”

You didn’t respond, waiting for him to continue.

“You were right. About all of it.” He turned to face you. “I was so scared of losing you that I started pulling away. And I didn’t even realize I was doing it until you pointed it out.”

“And?” You kept your eyes on the horizon, not trusting yourself to look at him.

“And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice cracked. “I’ve been miserable without you. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus. All I do is think about you and how badly I fucked everything up.”

“Woo-”

“I love you,” he said desperately. “I love you so much it scares me. And I know I handled that fear in the worst possible way. I know I hurt you. But please… please give me another chance.”

You finally looked at him, and the raw emotion on his face made your chest tight. “I don’t know if I can do this again. I can’t keep putting myself through this cycle of you pulling away every time you get scared.”

“I know. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I swear, I’m done running. I’m done sabotaging us. I want this, I want you, and I’m ready to fight for it.”

“Are you?” The question came out sharp.

“I can’t promise I won’t be scared,” he admitted. “But I can promise I won’t run. I’ll talk to you instead. I’ll let you in instead of shutting you out.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him so badly.

“When I saw you,” you said quietly. “Flirting with Yuna, a part of me wondered if you would ever change.”

He flinched. “I wasn’t flirting - okay, maybe I was. But it wasn’t about her. It was about trying to prove to myself that I could still be that person. The one who doesn’t get attached.”

“Why would you want to be that person?”

“Because that person doesn’t get hurt.” His voice had a hint of frustration. “That person doesn’t lie awake at night terrified of losing the most important thing in his life. That person is safe.”

“That person is lonely,” you said. “And I know you, Wooyoung. You don’t actually want to be him anymore.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “You’re right. I don’t. I’d rather be terrified and with you than safe and alone.”

“Then prove it.” You finally met his eyes fully. “Stop running. Stop trying to protect yourself from getting hurt by hurting me first. Just… be with me. Actually be with me.”

“I will.” He took a step closer. “I swear I will. Just please, give me one more chance. Let me show you I can do better.”

You studied his face, looking for any sign of doubt or fear. But all you saw was desperate sincerity.

“One chance,” you said finally. “But if you pull away again, if you start reverting to your old stuff, we’re done. For real this time.”

“I understand.” He reached out tentatively, and when you didn’t pull away, he took your hand. “Thank you. I won’t screw this up again.”

“You better not.”

He pulled you closer, and you let yourself lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent. His arms came around you, solid and warm, and you felt some of the tension you’d been carrying for weeks finally ease.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too.” You pulled back to look at him. “But we need to actually talk about this. About your fear, about your patterns. We can’t just sweep it under the rug.”

“I know. And we will. I’ll tell you everything.” He cupped your face gently. “But first… can I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped. “Please kiss me.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to change your mind. But you didn’t want to. You’d been wanting this too.

When his lips finally met yours, it was soft and sweet and perfect, his hands soothing on your face, your fingers curling into his jacket. You kissed him like you’d been waiting forever.  

When you finally broke apart, you were both smiling.

His eyes gleamed with the shine of the light through the glass and he kissed you again, quick and happy. “Let me take you home.”

-

You both head back inside with your fingers intertwined, and the remaining members of your friend group were pleasantly surprised at how your demeanor towards each other suddenly changed. 

“We’re heading out.” Wooyoung announced to them as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. 

“Okay, love birds.” San said playfully.

The walk to his car was quiet, though it didn’t feel like anything needed to be said in the moment.

He opened the car door for you and gestured towards it. “M’lady.”

“Oh my god you are so weird,” you couldn’t help but to laugh at him.

You slid into his passenger seat, a feeling all too familiar. 

The drive to your apartment was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet than the painful silences of the past two weeks. This was comfortable. Wooyoung’s hand found yours across the console almost immediately, his thumb tracing those familiar circles that made your heart race.

“I talked to my dad,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “After we fought. I called him and told him everything.”

You turned to look at him, surprised. “What did he say?”

“He told me I was being an idiot.” Wooyoung’s lips quirked into a self-deprecating smile. 

“Your dad sounds wise.”

“He has his moments.” His hand tightened around yours. “He also said that love isn’t about protecting yourself from pain. It’s about finding someone worth being vulnerable for.”

Your throat felt tight. 

“You’re worth it,” he said quietly, glancing at you before returning his eyes to the road. “You’re worth every moment of fear, every risk, everything. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that I was ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just squeezed his hand, blinking back tears.

When he pulled up outside your building, neither of you moved immediately. The car idled, the soft hum of the engine the only sound between you.

“Do you want to come up?” The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “We could… talk more. About everything.”

Wooyoung turned to look at you, and something in his expression made your breath catch. His eyes were dark, intense in a way that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He turned off the engine, and the sudden silence felt deafening. You both got out of the car, and Wooyoung’s hand found the small of your back as you walked to your building, a touch that felt both protective and possessive.

The elevator ride up to your floor was torture. You were hyperaware of him beside you - the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of his cologne, the way his eyes kept flicking to you and then away, like he was holding himself back from something.

When you finally reached your door, your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped your keys. Wooyoung’s hand covered yours, steadying them, and the touch sent shivers through your entire body.

“Breathe,” he murmured, so close you could feel his breath against your ear.

You managed to unlock the door and step inside, Wooyoung following close behind. The moment the door closed, the air between you became heavier.

You turned to face him, and the look in his eyes made your knees weak.

“We should talk,” you said, but your voice came out breathy.

“We should,” he agreed. He was moving closer, backing you delicately against the door. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“So many things,” you whispered, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, as fast as yours.

“Like how I’m going to spend every day proving I’m worth your trust,” he said, his hands coming up to frame your face. “How I’m going to show you that I’m all in. That I’m not going anywhere.”

“Wooyoung…”

“Like how I’ve been thinking about really kissing,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “Not just forehead kisses. Not just quick pecks. Actually kissing you the way I’ve wanted to since the night we confessed.”

Your breath hitched. “We kissed that night.”

“Yeah.” His thumb traced your bottom lip, and you felt it everywhere. “And then I got scared and pulled away. I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“Then don’t pull away this time,” you said, your fingers curling into his shirt.

He snapped. His mouth crashed against yours, and this kiss was nothing like the sweet one on the balcony. This was desperate, hungry, the emotion of your time apart poured into the connection of your lips.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your entire body feel like it was on fire. Your hands moved from his chest to his hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling him closer.

He groaned - actually groaned - and the sound sent heat straight through you. His hands moved from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed against your lips, trailing kisses along your jaw, “wanted you, for so long.”

“Me too,” you managed, tilting your head to give him better access as his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear. “God, me too.”

His hands slid under your shirt, just slightly, his fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, and you melted into the contact.

“Is this okay?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide.

“Yes,” you said immediately. “Yes, this is okay. More than okay.”

He smiled that devastating smile that had always made your heart skip, and kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands stayed where they were, warm against your skin.

You tugged at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he helped you, shrugging out of it without breaking the kiss. It fell to the floor forgotten.

Your heart was racing so fast you thought it might burst. “Bedroom.”

He pulled back, taking your hand, and let you lead him through your apartment. The walk to your bedroom felt like it took forever. When you finally reached your room, you turned to face him, suddenly nervous despite everything.

Wooyoung seemed to sense your hesitation. He stepped closer, cupping your face gently, his thumb stroking your jaw line tenderly.  

“We can stop,” he said softly. “We can just talk, or watch a movie, or…”

“I don’t want to stop,” you interrupted. “I just… I want this to mean something. I want it to be real.”

“It is real,” he said, his voice fierce. “This is the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

He kissed you again, serene this time, pouring emotion into it rather than just heat. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much. And I’m going to spend every day showing you that.”

“I love you too,” you said, your hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck. “Show me.”

His eyes darkened again, and he walked you backwards toward the bed.. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you sat, and he followed you down, hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, looking down at you with such intensity it made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “How did I get this lucky?”

“Woo…”

He kissed you again, and you pulled him closer, your hands exploring the planes of his back through his shirt. He made that sound again - that groan that drove you crazy - and his hand slid up your side, his touch reverent.

“Can I…” His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt.

“Yes,” you breathed.

He sat back slightly, helping you sit up so slowly it was almost torture, pulled your shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, and the heat in his gaze made you feel desired in a way you’d never felt before.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice rough.

Your hands went to his shirt, and he helped you remove it, tossing it aside. And then you were skin to skin, his chest pressed against yours, and it felt so natural.

His hands mapped your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every dip, every place that made you gasp. You did the same, learning the feel of him, the way his muscles tensed under your touch, the way his breath caught when you ran your fingers down his spine.

“I want you,” you whispered against his lips. “Please, I want all of you.”

“You have me,” he said, pulling back to look at you with such raw emotion it made your heart ache. “You’ve always had me, baby”

His hands cup each side of your face as he notices the tears threatening to break from your eyes. “Don’t cry, darling. I’m right here. I got you.”

He leans down to kiss you again, trying to drown out your emotions with something happier. He reaches around you to release the tension of your bra, each clasp he undoes exposes more of your skin: the swell of your breasts, the delicate dip of your collarbone. He pauses after each hook to press kisses along the new flesh, his lips soft like a worship, sending electricity pulsing across your body.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes against your sternum, his voice thick, with a hint of disbelief. "Every inch of you.”

He runs his hands over each mound, massaging deliberately in the hopes to relax you a little more. The nipple hardens instantly under his touch, and he doesn't hesitate. He gently rolls them between his thumb and pointer finger, as the remaining space of his hands cup your breasts. He wets his tongue, sliding it from the top of your navel, up to your neck, where he begins to leave messy, open-mouthed kisses that were sure to leave a mark by morning. Only quiet, broken breaths can escape your mouth.

His mouth descends, capturing the peak between his lips. He sucks softly at first, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. The sensation shoots arrows straight to your core, a slick heat blooming between your thighs as arousal soaks your panties. His tongue moves slowly, so slowly that it makes your thighs rub together in an attempt to relieve some tension. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as your desperation grows."Wooyoung," you gasp breathlessly. His eyes lift to meet yours, and your expression was enough for him to sense what you wanted him to do next.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, meeting your eyes once again, just to make sure it was okay. You nod, and he pulls them down as you lift up your hips. 

Now with the first barrier discarded, he lowers his head between your legs. Gentle kisses peppered along the flesh of your inner thighs. Once he got closer to your core, he kissed over the cotton of your already soaked panties, and the skin between the fabric and your thighs. There was no rush in his pace. He’s making sure he savors the moment for as long as possible. 

The fake dates that blurred into real ones, the nights you spent pretending not to notice how his hand lingered on yours a second too long, the heartbreak when you thought it might all unravel. But here, in this moment, it's all laid bare. You love him, and from the way his eyes lock onto yours, you know he feels it too.

His fingers brush over the damp fabric of your panties, teasing the outline of your folds. You arch into him, a whimper escaping your lips when he finally pushes the material aside. His touch is deliberate, two fingers gliding through your slickness, coating themselves before circling your clit with just the right pressure. 

Wooyoung's thumb presses firmer against your clit, rolling in small circles while his fingers tease your entrance. “You're so wet for me,” he whispers, voice rough with emotion. “Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.” His free hand cups your face, thumb brushing your lower lip, pulling you into a deep kiss. Your tongues tangle, tasting the salt of your skin on him, and you moan into his mouth as he finally slides one finger inside you.

The stretch is perfect. He curls it upward, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You break the kiss to gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More,” you plead, hips rocking against his hand. “Wooyoungie, please... I need your fingers.” The words tumble out with the desperation that's built over weeks. 

He slides in another finger, making sure to brush across your spongy spot. All you can do is grip your fingers tighter into his biceps in reaction to the increased pleasure. You can feel yourself clenching around him, the feeling overwhelming - how he knows your body like it's an extension of his own, how he's memorized every gasp you make. 

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, not from pain or hurt this time. Wooyoung notices, of course, he always does. He slows his movements, fingers still buried deep but no longer pumping, instead stroking that sensitive inner wall with light pressure. 

“It's just us now. Let me show you.” He withdraws his fingers, earning a whine of protest from you, but then he's shifting down your body, settling between your thighs. His hands grip your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed as he kneels on the floor. You prop yourself on your elbows, watching with bated breath as he hooks his fingers into your panties and tugs them off, exposing you completely.

Wooyoung's eyes drink you in. “Beautiful,” he breathes, before leaning in. His tongue flattens against your core, licking a long, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. The direct contact makes you cry out, your head falling back as pleasure sparks through every nerve. He doesn't rush - his licks are languid, savoring you like you're the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. He laps at your folds, gathering your wetness on his tongue, then circles your clit with the tip, flicking it lightly.

Your hands find his hair again, tugging gently as you guide him. He hums in approval, the vibration sending pleasure straight through you. One hand leaves your hip to join his mouth, fingers sliding back inside you, three this time, stretching you fuller as his tongue works your clit without mercy. The combination is devastating. You feel yourself tightening, your peak approaching fast. But Wooyoung senses it, pulling back just enough to keep you wanting more.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, lips glistening with you. “I want to feel you come around my cock. Want to be inside you when you fall apart.” He stands, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes. His cock springs free, hard and thick, and a lot bigger than you had expected. 

You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, stroking from base to tip. Your hand could barely even fit around the girth of it. He groans, hips bucking into your touch. You use your thumb to spread the bead of pre-cum across the head, massaging the sensitive spot below the tip.  

Without hesitation, Wooyoung climbs back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He lines up, the head of his cock nudging your entrance, but he pauses, searching your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks, even though you both know the answer. The vulnerability in his voice - the fear of rejection after everything - makes your heart ache.

“Yes,” you say, cupping his face. “God, I want it so bad, Wooyoung.” With that, he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. The stretch burns so good, your walls fluttering around him as he bottoms out. You both moan, bodies connecting in the most emotional way. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours again.

“I love how you feel,” he confesses, voice strained. “Like you were made for me.” Then he starts moving, shallow thrusts at first, grinding his hips against yours to hit your clit with every roll. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels digging into his back. The pace builds gradually, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting that sweet spot over and over.

Sweat beads on his skin, dripping onto your chest as he leans down to capture your lips. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, mirroring the way he's fucking you now - harder, faster, but the emotions still obvious. You can feel the love in every thrust, the way he angles his hips to give you maximum pleasure, how his hand slips between you to rub your clit in tight circles. 

His hand tightens on your thigh, holding you in place. “You're mine,” he growls softly, not possessive but affirming. He continues to roll his hips deliciously as you feel your climax start to build up again. Soft grunts escape him as he finds his motion within you. 

He slides out, leaving you empty and wanting more. 

You place your hand on his chest to guide him to lay against the mattress. You swing your leg over his hips, straddling him. You grabbed the base of his cock and glided his tip between your folds before sinking down onto his length. His hands guide your hips, encouraging you to ride him. You do, slowly at first, savoring the slide of every vein dragging inside of you. 

This time, it's you setting the pace - grinding down to take him deep, circling your hips to feel every ridge. Wooyoung's hands roam your body, sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they're pebbled again. 

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and he sits up to meet you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You’re face-to-face, intimate, his breath mingling with yours as you rock together. “I can never get enough of you,” he admits.

The words fuel your movements; you bounce faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. His cock hits deeper from this position, brushing your cervix with each downward thrust. Your pleasure keeps building, coiling tighter, and you can feel him swelling inside you.

Wooyoung's mouth finds your neck, sucking marks into your skin - marks that say you're his. One hand slips between you again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with your rhythm. It's too much, the dual sensations pushing you towards your orgasm.

“Come with me,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. It doesn't take much more for you to be pushed over the edge. You grip on to his chest muscles tighter, as you cry out in pleasure. You throw your head back while you grind down on him. His movements became more uncontrolled beneath you. “Fuuuuuck, I’m gonna cum,” he urges your thighs up. When his length slips free, you rest your weight on your knees, your hand quickly meeting with his cock to milk it out. Cum spurts out in ropes, painting both of your tummies white. “Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans as you start to slow down your strokes. 

As the high fades, Wooyoung eases you off him gently. You collapse together, limbs entangled with each other. He reaches up, cupping your face in his palm, thumb brushing away a stray tear of overwhelming emotion that had slipped down your cheek. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice husky and tender, “you okay? That was... you were incredible.”

You nod, a small smile curving your lips as you lean into his touch, your body still humming with aftershocks. Slowly, you shift off his lap, your thighs quivering, and settling beside him on the rumpled sheets. His arm wraps around your waist immediately, pulling you close so your side presses against his, skin sticking slightly where his release has smeared between you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just lie there, hearts pounding in unison, listening to the rhythm of each other's breathing as it gradually evens out. Wooyoung's fingers trace idle patterns along your hip. You turn your head to look at him, taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his dark hair clings to his forehead with sweat, and the vulnerability in his gaze that mirrors your own.

He eases out from the bed and grabs a warm cloth from the bathroom, cleaning you up with care, his touches lingering. He tosses the cloth aside and joins you under the covers. You cuddle your head onto his chest with your hand resting on his abdomen.  

“I can't believe we're here,” you whisper finally, your voice thick with the weight of everything. “After all that pretending... it feels like a dream.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “Not a dream. It’s as real as it gets.” His hand moves up to tangle in your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. “I kept thinking, during those early 'dates,' how much I wanted to just grab you and kiss you for real. Not for show. But I was scared you'd pull away.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, gazing down at him. “I was scared too. Scared of feeling this much after what happened before. But you... you make me feel safe. Like I can let go.”

He covers your hand with his, guiding it to rest over his heart. “You do the same for me. Every time you smile at one of my dumb jokes, or when you lean into me during those movie nights... it chipped away at my walls.” He pauses, his expression turning serious, eyes searching yours. “I love you. Not the version we pretended to be. The real you - the one who overthinks everything, who always puts others before herself, who makes my world brighter just by being in it.”

Tears well up again, but they're happy ones, spilling over as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. It's not heated like before; it's gentle, tasting of salt and devotion. When you pull back, he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs, his touch like a feather. “No more tears unless they're from laughing at me,” he teases lightly.

You laugh, a soft, watery sound, and settle back down, your head finding its place on his shoulder. The sheets are cool against your overheated skin now. Wooyoung shifts slightly, reaching for the edge of the comforter and pulling it up over both of you, cocooning you in warmth. But he doesn't rush into full cuddling yet - instead, he rolls onto his side to face you fully, one leg draping over yours in a lazy tangle.

“Tell me something,” he says, his fingers now exploring the curve of your spine, dipping into the dimples at the base of your back. “What's your favorite memory from us? The real ones, I mean.”

You think for a moment, your hand mirroring his, stroking along his side, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs. “That night at San's, after the games. We were all pretending everything was fine, but when you pulled me aside in the kitchen... you didn't say much, just held my hand and squeezed it.”

His eyes soften, and he nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I remember. You looked so tired, but strong. I wanted to hold you right there, tell everyone to leave so I could take care of you.” His hand pauses its tracing, resting flat against your lower back, pulling you closer. “Mine's the drive home after we confronted Seonghwa. You were quiet, staring out the window, and I thought I'd lost you. But then you turned to me, smiled that small smile, and said, 'Thanks for being my fake boyfriend.' I almost crashed the car laughing.”

Minutes stretch as you talk, voices low, bodies gradually relaxing into each other. You watch him, heart swelling at the tenderness, the way he meets your eyes every few seconds as if to check if you're comfortable. “You're too good to me,” you say softly, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair.

He smiles. “Just getting started.” Crawling back under the covers, he draws you into his arms properly now, your head cuddling onto his chest, hand resting on his abdomen. The transition feels so natural.

“Stay with me tonight,” you say, nuzzling closer, inhaling the familiar scent of him.

“Every night,” he echoes, his arms tightening around you, fingers resuming their lazy traces over the skin on your back. The steady beat of his heart lulls you, as sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness. 

Tonight, you would fall asleep feeling loved. 

Even if it started fake, it is real now.

And that is all that matters.

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